"Evil is Evil. Lesser, greater, middling… Makes no difference. The degree is arbitary. The definition's blurred. If I'm to choose between one evil and another… I'd rather not choose at all."

-Geralt Of Rivia.

Beau

I truly despise killing.

But I did what needed to be done.

I carried the griffin's head in my carry bag, the blood already staining the entire thing red.

I had taken a contract from a nearby Nilfguard camp. A griffin had been terrorizing the area for some time, killing the locals and destroying the land. The regiment offered 1,000 gold to anyone who could bring them the head of the beast. I luckily had been in the area and accepted the contract.

When I arrived at the area of the latest attack, I saw guards men dead, ripped to shreds. Blood covered the grass like dew, but blood wasn't the only thing I smelled. I smelled an overwhelming scent of alcohol from the men, and I could also smell the beast. The scent took me northwest, to a hill about a fifteen-minute horse ride away. Once I reached the peak, it all made sense.

I saw smashed griffin eggs and a dead female griffin. The scent I was tracking did not belong to this dead griffin. It seems that the Nilfguardians had too much to drink one night, and in a drunken state, killed this female griffin and destroyed her eggs.

But griffins mate for life.

They are incredibly smart.

And they Do. Not. Forget.

It seems the male griffin took revenge for its fallen mate, and decided to take its wrath on the village. I can't say I necessarily blame it, but it was taking it too far. And once I take a contract, I see it through. There was no reasoning with this creature; I had to put it down.

I tracked his scent again, and followed it. It wasn't long before I heard its screeches and the flapping of its wings.

I jumped off my horse, drew my silver sword and my crossbow, then fired two bolts at the beast.

The bolts hit the griffin in the left wing, sending it crashing down. It immediately got back up and slashed its claws at me.

I evaded just in time and cast the Aard sign, sending the griffin rolling back. It shot back up and attempted to fly again, but I jumped on its back and stabbed it in its abdomen.

As the griffin crashed back to the ground, I jumped and rolled to safety. It was near death, time to put it out of its misery. I went closer to collect its head. Before I took it, I swear I saw something close to tears welling in its eyes.

My grip tightened on my sword.

.

I carried the griffin's head, the weight of it dragging on my shoulder like the guilt in my chest. The Nilfgaardian camp wasn't far, I could already smell the smoke from their cookfires and the stench of unwashed armor. The sun finally started to dip lower behind the trees as I rode near.

The soldiers spared no expense in eyeing me down as I entered the camp. They weren't used to men like me. And as I entered, I heard something.

A woman's shout. Sharp, but muffled.

My steps faltered. I told myself to keep walking. Not my problem.

I dropped the sack onto their table, the head rolling free with a wet thud. Blood pooled across the wood, dark and viscous.

"Your griffin," I said flatly.

The soldier wrinkled his nose, but nodded, tossing a pouch of coins. "Good work, Witcher."

I caught the pouch midair, weighing it in my palm. Heavy enough.

I was just about to leave, but then I heard the laughter.

I turned my head, just enough to see the shadows against the tents. Three soldiers, One woman. Her dress was torn, dirt smeared across her face. Pinned between the soldiers, her face was pale, eyes wide with fear.

I tightened my grip on the coin pouch, my knuckles white. Just walk away. Take the gold. Don't meddle.

But then one of them whispered something in her ear that made her eyes squeeze shut and left me in utter shock.

She started to cry.

The sound cut through me, sharp and cold. I clenched my jaw, fingers curling around the pouch of gold. The weight of it felt heavier now. My legs moved before my mind caught up.

The first soldier barely had time to turn before my knife pierced through his stomach, his eyes bulging as he gasped. I twisted the blade free as the second lunged at me. He swung his sword wide. I side stepped easily and drove my knee into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then, I slit my knife against his skull. He dropped like stone.

The third came at me, sword raised high. Before he could even swing it, I slashed across his thigh, severing tendons. He screamed, collapsing onto the ground. I silenced him with a thrust to the throat.

The last one came at me. Faster than the others, and more precise; I barely dodged his attack. But I disarmed him quickly with Aard, and he fell to his back.

He looked up at me with horror, his life flashing before his eyes. He asked, stuttering "W…What are you doing?"

"Killing Monsters."

I drove his own sword into his heart.

The camp was silent now, save for the crackling of the fire. The woman stared at me, trembling, unsure whether to fear me or thank me. I tried to help her up, but she ran away in terror.

I looked down at the corpses. The scent of blood and death ravaged me; my heart was beating in my ears.

I hated this.

.

I rode out of there as fast as I could. It was twilight when I finally made it to the city of Forks. I went to the nearest tavern and walked in.

As soon as I did, everyone's heads turned. As usual at this hour, it was full of people. They looked noticeably uncomfortable. Loud and full of life in one moment, motionless and silent the next. As I continued to the counter, the murmur of the people started to come back, but not by much.

I reached in my cloak and pulled out a single gold coin.

"I'd like room please," I said lowly to the bartender. I still wasn't entirely over what I had to do, and I was tired. I just wanted to sleep, to forget. At least until morning.

The bartender was a middle-aged woman, with dark brown hair and sky blue eyes. She reminded me of someone I knew long ago, from another life.

"Of course," she said. "Would you like dinner as well sir?"

I was about to answer, when a bald man with a beard chimed in. He dismissed the woman, and spoke to me.

"We don't want your kind here, Witcher."

"I'm tired. Just let me rest and I'll be on my way," I responded.

I heard a group of men get up from their seats, six to be exact. No doubt this man's acquaintances. They all started to approach me, and one of them spoke.

"You don't give the orders around here, mutant. Now go, on your own, or our way. Your cho..."

I eyed the man who was speaking, and he stopped as soon as he saw my piercing blue cat eyes. I tried to de escalate the conversation.

"An easy choice. I'll be on my way."

Humans. Always fearing the alien, the odd. Even though I was once human and now protected them, some still treated my kind as a pariah. Their hatred and prejudice will never be eradicated.

I pulled my hood over my head and began to walk out, when an all too familiar voice spoke.

"Now now boys, play nice. Leave all well alone."

"But Mlady, this Witcher.."

"I will not ask again," she said sternly.

The group of men backed away slowly and sat back down.

The sorceress pulled me in closer and pulled down my hood.

"You look terrible Beau," she giggled.

"Hello McKayla. It's been a while."

.

McKayla Newton. The Sorceress of Conquest. She was called that due to her many accomplishments. The once lead advisor to the Duchess of Toussaint. The former head of the lodge of sorcerers. Now: The Queen of Beggars, roaming and helping the people of the city where she grew up.

We had met back in Toussaint, where I had taken a contract of a beast the Duchess at the time wanted me to hunt. She had sent McKayla to assist me, to my ever disdain. I had to admit, her partnership wasn't entirely bad. She actually proved quite useful in helping me track the beast, but I'm sure she would say it was all her doing.

"You know, you didn't have to go through all that trouble right now just to get my attention Beau. After the time we spent in Kovir together, you could've just written me." She jested.

A small smile fell upon my lips as I remembered our time in Kovir. Had two years gone by already? Time meant little to me now; Witcher's aged incredibly slow. I was nearly 70 years old, but still didn't look a day over 25.

"Wasn't exactly how I pictured us meeting again." I said. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my Father's inn, I'm just paying a visit before I head to Skellige."

She sat me down next to her at the bar. She flipped her blonde hair behind her ear and faced the bartender

"Two beers please, one for me and my friend here."

As the bartender poured us our round, McKayla kept looking at me like she wanted to consummate our reunion. Her green eyes radiated.

"Leaving already? Your hometown already rubbing you off the wrong way?" I joked, trying to keep it friendly between us.

She laughed, maybe a little too hard. "Quite the contrary, Witcher. I've missed this place, truly, but I've done all I can. Plus, the Queen of Skellige wrote me requesting my aid in the teaching of her new druids."

"Ever the Conqueror" I told her.

"Always the charmer," she fired back.

We locked eyes. Her ears turned pink and her cheeks flushed. She looked away. Then, as if to chase away whatever thought crossed her mind, she chugged the rest of her beer.

It was strange, seeing her again. Two years, and she hadn't changed a bit. She sat her mug down with a satisfied thump. "What are you looking at Beaufort?" she sounded defensive, but there was something softer behind her jab.

I smirked, "Just savoring the moment," as I looked at the foam still on her upper lip.

McKayla wiped it off and hit me at the same time, both of us laughing. She was always helping me when I least expected her to. My broaden mood from earlier had melted quickly from her presence.

We talked some more, about what we've been through these last two years. But eventually, she stretched her arms and sighed.

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay here and reminisce, duty calls," she said, getting up from her seat.

"Skellige, right." I said.

She nodded, brushing stray strand of blonde hair from her face "The Queen wouldn't like to be kept waiting."

"Punctuality never was your strong suit," I jested.

She grinned. "You wound me Witcher. Oh, and before I go, I think I saw a monster contract posted on the news board outside, if you're interested."

I arched a brow. "Oh? What is it?"

"Beats me. I'm no monster hunter. Just thought it might peak your interest."

She adjusted her cloak, and then reached out and squeezed my hand, just once, fleeting. "It was nice seeing you again. Take care of yourself Beau."

She turned toward the door, and she didn't look back as she stepped into the night.

I exhaled and rolled my shoulders. I just finished a contract. I didn't want to look. Not tonight.

I told myself that I was done. I had already saved one woman from bleeding in the mud tonight, that should have been enough.

But it wasn't.

My thoughts started digging a mile long pit behind my eyes. What if there's more? What if someone else is screaming for help, someone like me to show up. And I just look the other way?

I cursed at myself. I drained the rest of my beer and sat it down as I walked outside, toward the notice board.

"To any sword-for-hire with the skill and steel to face what hunts us:

Our small village, nestled in the pine vale east of Forks, has fallen under a dire and unnatural plague. Villagers found pale as chalk, bodies torn apart and drained of blood.

Come swiftly. Bring silver, and beware the dusk.

Reward offered: 800 crowns. Paid upon confirmation of the beast's demise.

See Elder M. Tavish at the Forks inkeep for reward."

Bodies drained of blood? Ripped apart? A Vampire no doubt. A lesser one at that, probably an Ekimmara, or a Katakan. Higher vampires tend to leave bodies intact after feeding. Lesser vampires were the ones who made a mess of their prey.

But a vampire? Here, near Forks? I could almost laugh at the thought. I have never heard of a place more dull and uneventful than The City of Forks.

Or maybe I just didn't want it to be a vampire.

I didn't want to feel the slow dread pooling at my chest. The familiar pulse of anger, fear and frustration, all in one. I didn't want to track this ancient beast, with my adrenaline screaming in my bones.

But the job was done. I was already committed. Already angry for the dead, already aching for the ones still alive.

I took the notice, folded it carefully and headed toward this village in the East.

Rest would have to wait. Again.

.

The woods grew quieter as I rode near.

No crickets. No owls. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

The path to this village twisted into a narrow game trail, barely wide enough for a horse. But as I started looking closer, I started seeing footprints.

These were Ekimmara footprints. I've hunted plenty in my years to memorize. I got off my horse and investigated more.

Multiple Footprints, all crossing each other simultaneously. Strange, I've heard of Ekimmara forming pacts, but this is the first time I've personally seen it.

Three different feet sizes.

Three different walking patterns.

I continued onto the village, hand resting on my silver sword.

As I approached, the village wasn't much to look at. A scattering of cabins, all slouched in on themselves like they were almost ashamed to be standing.

But as the wind carried and the scent hit me, my eyes widened in horror.

Thick. Coppery. Rotten sweat. Blood, mixed with death and decay. It clung to the back of my throat like oil, and it made me pause. I've never smelled blood as overwhelming as this before. But aside from that, I also smelt something else. Something extremely faint. I couldn't quite place it, but it was like perfume layered over decay.

I left my horse behind and traveled on foot. Easier that way. As I entered the village, bodies laid out in the open. Some semi intact, some barely recognizable. The ground squelched beneath my boots, but it wasn't rain that turned the dirt into mud. It was blood, soaked into the earth, thick and dark. Mixing with the soil until it clung like paste. Every step felt heavier, as if the village itself didn't want me to get closer.

As I moved deeper, the scene became even more gruesome. Throats torn out, stomachs turned inside out. Bodies so pale. So empty.

I knelt by a woman near a well. Face up, eyes wide. Mouth slack like she had died mid-scream. Her hips down were missing from her body. I closed her eyes and looked away.

My stomach turned, but I pushed the feeling down. That ache, that anger, it had no place now. Not yet.

I stood, scanning the village, every sense of mine multiplied.

But then, I heard a voice. It was soft, almost too soft to hear at first, even for my ears. But I heard it. I heard..a woman?

"Wolves asleep, amidst the trees.

Bats all a-swaying in the breeze.

But one soul lies anxious wide awake.

Fearing all manner of Ghouls, Hags and Wraiths."

I stopped breathing.

It was the most beautiful voice I have ever heard.

It wasn't just singing. I've heard this song before, but now every note wrapped around something ancient and aching within me. Like it had been echoing through me long before I even stumbled upon it.

Even a siren, I thought, those sea-born creatures that lure men to their deaths with their serenade would've gone quiet to listen. This voice made theirs sound like broken instruments.

And it was coming from just around the corner.

As I waked closer, I saw her.

A figure, still as stone, standing in the center of the square. Blood streaked across her arms. Crimson staining her coat. Long bronze hair flowed in the wind. She stood with her back to me, head tilted slightly. As if listening to something I couldn't hear.

Everything within me turned cold. A Bruxa. A much more dangerous, higher vampire. They made these Ekimmara I was hunting seem like child's play. But a Bruxa teaming with lesser vampires? I've never heard of something like this.

She turned to face me, and her scent carried over. It was her scent that I smelled when I had first entered the village. It quickly overpowered everything else. She smelled absolutely divine, and it was everywhere. All over the area. Over the bodies. In the air.

She hadn't moved, but her eyes locked on mine, and for a second I forgot why I had come. They were not crimson, not wild. But gold. Deep and burning. Like sunlight caught in honey.

Unlike her eyes, her rich copper hair was wild, like it had never known stillness. It spilled past her shoulders in waves, glinting in the moonlight. Her skin was pale, luminous, like polished marble.

Gods help me, she was a goddess.

But the blood that drenched her broke me from my spell. She was death, standing in the heart of this graveyard of a village.

But I still couldn't look away. So I spoke.

"Nice tune. Been a while since I heard it last."

She seemed surprised, like that wasn't even on the list of things she expected me to say.

"Folk have forgotten it." She responded.

Her voice was like silk. Soft and controlled. It sent a chill through me.

"They got other things on their mind," I said back to her.

She pouted, actually pouted, as if that worried her.

"Things like me?" Pressing a hand to her chest, eyes wide with fake innocence.

Fire burned inside me. How cruel.

"They paid me, for you and your friends."

Her expression instantly changed, along with the air around me.

The slight amusement vanished behind her eyes like a candle being snuffed out from a storm. It was almost instantaneous. Her body stiffened, every muscle coiled in a way no human could ever mimic. She looked at me. Predatory. Furious. Cold.

"Mmm times past. No amount of coin would convince a Witcher to take this contract." She bared her fangs, and they grew two inches in length. Her talons grew too, and her eyes became lethal.

The wind stirred. Her cloak shifted, blood flaked from the hem and splattered around her.

I tightened the grip on my hilt.

"We don't have to fight. I don't want to fight," I said. And I meant it

She gave the faintest smile.

"Then you've chosen the wrong line of work, Witcher."

And just like that, she charged at me.