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Chapter 45 — Hidden Boss, Familiar (Edited) (Public)
🕑 Added 2024-07-21 10:47:05 +0000 UTCImpaling a Red Rider on Ziraeal, Ciri spins, bisecting the elf in half just as his Frost Hound decides to give her bun a messy trim.
Blinking behind the beast, the Witcheress stabs deep into its rib where its defense is weakest.
She has barely celebrated her victory, when something–someone crashes into the grounds next to her. Mouth wide open, Ciri stares as a portal open up in front of the Mage, from which a charred Rider exits… “Leo?!”
She has never seen him in such a state;
Never seen the Mage not well-dressed, unpresentable or hurt.
Even after their ‘sessions’, he’s always awake before her; already working on a Spell with that intensely-focused look she has grown to adore against her will.
Half his face’s now covered in dark bruises; the other half fighting to keep the pain from showing.
She didn’t think it was possible for him to be defeated.
While Leo has certainly made it clear he’s in no way invincible; Ciri has not seen signs indicating otherwise… Not until now, at least.
Towering over the slumped Mage, the elf turns around to reveal blackened skin slouching off his facial muscles, yet she recognizes him still. From the rigid posture that reminds her of her biological father; the cutting aura that coats him head to toes; to the sword he wields. He’s not just any Rider, but the King of the Wild Hunt in the scorched; scalding flesh.
“Eredin…” The whisper slips from her lips, barely audible really, but it catches the Elven King’s attention nevertheless, for an instant—just long enough for the Mage to recover a semblance of composure and strike the elf’s exposed jaw.
The blow lands perfectly, sending the King of the Wild Hunt hurtling to the summit of the snow-covered peak with Leonis hot on his heel, their silhouettes little more than faint shadows to the she-witcher’s wide eyes as an enormous Ice Golem—larger than any she’s seen—materializes above them.
Floored by what just took place, the Witcheress instinctively glances towards the nearest enemy.
The elven navigator seems just as uncertain she is.
In fact, the entire battlefield seems to have frozen solid in order to witness the battle of ‘Titans’.
“I thought your friend just another coward hiding behind his Spells… I see now I was mistaken.” Next to her, the Skelligen Prince mumbles, his gaze welded to the top of the mountain where her lover and sworn-enemy are ripping each other apart. Even at the base of the mountain, their roars and powerful blows still deafen the ears.
Suddenly, the Aen Elle start to chant in their Tongue, words which spark no connection in the Witcheress’ brain, but she knows they’re referring to Eredin…
“They are cheering him on.”
“Should we do the same for yer’ lover?” Hjalmar slurs… The fighting has stopped completely now—grunts and cries replaced by loud, blood-thumping chants while Ciri mentally calculates the quickest path up the mountain. Just when she’s about to kick off, Hjalmar’s hand latches onto her shoulder. “What do yer think yer doing?”
“He needs help.”
“You can’t just interrupt a battle like that! If he wins, his name will be sung for ages!”
Pushing the An Craite’s arm aside, the Witcheress furrows her brows in protest.
“Honor isn’t worth his life!”
“A man’s honor IS his life! Think about it—if it were you, would you want your moment of glory taken away or diminished…? His feats could earn him a seat in Freya’s halls! Do you really think he’d want you to come to his aid?”
— [Infinity] —
Taking yet another punch that nearly drains my Od reserves, I curse under my breath. ‘Where is everyone? Why is nobody helping?!’
I know it’s unrealistic to expect the average Joe—regardless of how trained and battle-hardened they are—to rush to my rescue against a foe like Eredin, but still, a well-timed meteorite or two from Triss would be a game changer.
*BOOM!*
Eredin’s fist collides with Senza Esitazione, sending me skidding across the ice, helpless to block the Golem’s attack—or so it seems.
As the tip of my swordspear digs into the slippery ice to slow my momentum, my Od channels into the Mystic Code, transferring itself into the icy surface and converting Into kinetic energy.
Since the cold is merely the absence of heat, with energy suddenly introduced, the ice beneath our feet starts to melt into water; the surface cracking like a shattered glass that makes moving harder for the both of us.
Losing its balance, the Golem lurches forward like a newborn taking its first steps, nearly crushing its conjurer beneath its massive foot. If only it had, but no such luck.
Noticing spatial ripples out of the corner of my eye, I quickly retreat, expertly dodging seconds before Eredin's hand—fused to his gauntlet emerges through the portal. ‘Fool me twice…’
Like a Souls game, I'm gradually adapting to the King's moves, but his Stats which are fifty times that of an average Red Rider proves an issue still.
Movements slowly devolving to that of a rabid and injured beast, Eredin widens the rift in Space-Time, his eyes rolling wildly as the soles of my shoes connect with his face. "Fuck off, cunt!"
With the portal sealed, I empty my magazines at the Golem's back, causing it to stagger and tumble off the mountainside, its weight plus clumsy movements triggering an avalanche in the process. I can only hope those below can manage or at least steer clear.
If they get buried… Well, that’s more their problem than mine.
Barreling toward me at triple my fastest speed, Eredin slams me into a rock that knocks the wind out of my lungs. Wheezing, I kick the elf away to get a moment of respite.
The King of the Wild Hunt, not too keen on giving me a breather, tightens his grip on my forearm, his grip practically cutting off the blood supply to my hand.
My gaze shifts to the artifact Triss enchanted for me as a thought hits me.
Shrinking, I slip out of Eredin's dead-grip, then slide between his legs to avoid a kick that’d have ripped my jaws clean off, [Kinetic Shield] or not.
“Tricks, tricks, and more tricks! Is that all you can do?!” Eredin sneers, opening another portal to save himself from slipping off the cliff. With a vicious swing, he shatters my shields into pieces; boney fist caught and locked in place against the Swordspear that glimmers and shines together with my erratic heartbeat.
The only thing keeping me alive is Senza Esitazione.
Unfortunately, while the Mystic Code’s holding, the same cannot be said for my arms, both of which are shaking violently beneath the strain.
“Y-You know—!”
I grunt, the humanity gradually draining from my smirk. “I was trying to fight fair, to be honorable… But I forgot myself… I’m no knight, nor am I a warrior—!”
“What are you rambling about, Mage?”
Eredin fumes, steam escaping from his nose and teeth as he goes in for another swing.
“I’m a fucking politician, and we don’t fight fair!”
“What are you on abo—?” Is all the elf can manage before [Pilferage] kicks in.
Option 1: Elemental Magic (Ice)
Option 2: Swordplay
Weighing the two options briefly, I focus on what I’m really looking for. ‘Gotcha’!’
Option 3: ‘Adaptive Plot-Armor / Strongest Mortal’ (Type: Blessing / Curse)
> Numeralize the total strength of your opponent and increase every Stats of yours—quality of equipment included—to triple that numerical value.
>> WARNING: If your opponent’s weaker than you, your Stats will be reduced accordingly.
‘No wonder…’
It’s no wonder Eredin seemed to have the upper hand despite my efforts… And the arrogant bastard had the audacity to call me a coward?
Well, well… How the turntables…
Even channeling the stolen [Blessing], which leaves me even weaker than usual, I’m still three times stronger than the weakened Elven King.
Face frozen in shock as I lunge at him, Eredin manages a cry just as Equality blows apart his left shoulder.
Just when I’m about to deal the finishing blow, the mountain beneath gives under my weight, throwing us both onto the platform below—me into a particularly nasty pike that punctures my ribcage, and the King of the Wild Hunt on the snow which cushions his fall.
This is blatant speciesism, I say! Speciesism!
Even with the snow-softened landing, given the state I left him in, Eredin is living on borrowed time.
“Wha- What did you d—?! Why am I so—”
“Weak?”
I tighten my grip on the Elven King’s throat, forcing his head into the icy water among the shattered ice.
It’s then I notice the Red Riders charging toward us, desperate to save their king.
The first to reach us is a monstrous Frost Hound. Quite a bit larger than its brethren, it jumps to intervene, only to meet the butt of Equality which caves in its skull with a wet and sickening crunch.
“Whoever dares to approach,” I snarl, “I’ll rip their spines from their ass and beat them to death with it! There will be no honor, no glory! You'll die with shit on your face and piss in your pants!”
The remaining Red Riders hesitate, torn between loyalty and a primal desire for their own survival.
Even the determined, world-hopping elves know fear, it seems.
And it’s me they’re afraid of…
Not a bad feeling, I must admit.
Seconds tick by as Eredin struggles, his attempts growing weaker with each passing moment, bringing him ever closer to Death’s door.
“You thought you could take my girl, bitch? You thought selling your crummy Soul’s gonna change anything?” Pulling pull him back up, I taunt, my voice a dangerous mix of anger and pain further fueled by the searing wound in my side.
Eredin sputters, gasping for air, before I shove him back into the icy water.
“Breathe this, you edgelord wannabe! Get with the program, motherfucker—I’m the only one who gets to act edgy around here!”
Letting loose cries that I’m certain will haunt the Red Riders’ nightmares for the lifetime to come, I slam their King repeatedly against the ground until the very muscles of his face look half-fused with the ice.
De-materializing my Mystic Code from a trembling Rider’s grip, I summon it back to my hand and spear the armor-clad elf, hurling his lifeless body against the mountain cliff behind me. “WHO’S NEXT?!” Even the Frost Hounds, as primitive as their minds might be, begin to back away from me cautiously. “Whichever one of you mofos wants a piece of me—COME!”
“””His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you~”””
Arms spread, I watch as the world seems to grind to a halt.
“””His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you~”””
I thought it adrenaline at first, until—“Me.”
Startled by the jarring, almost weaselly voice, I whirl around to see the Merchant of Glass hovering an inch above the ground, features twisted into a grotesque, demonic mask that grins so wide, I fear his jawline might detach.
His eyes, now like dark abysses, bore into me with malice.
“O’Dimm… What brings you here?” I ask cautiously, my gaze darting around.
Everyone, even Ciri, has been caught in his trickery.
“To greet my newest debtor, naturally.” The Devil replies, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement as he claps in amusement.
“What are you talking about?”
I retort, hissing the words through clenched teeth. “Your bargain died with Eredin!”
* DING!!!
[Event: The Devil’s—]
Before I can even process what’s on the screen, O’Dimm materializes right in front of me, his eyes bulging from their sockets.
“He who holds my ware owes me a debt.” He intones, tone unbearably condescending.
“You want your damn ‘ware’ back? You can have it.” I snap, mentally commanding [Pilferage] to relinquish the cursed Blessing.
But try as I might, nothing happens—nothing but a wave of nausea that washes over me, accompanied by flashes of blinding light behind my eyelids.
[Perk Interaction: Blocked ×10!]
“You—!”
“My Blessing was meant to claim Eredin’s soul upon his death. That claim has been denied, thanks to you. I hear you’re a man of business yourself, Leonis. Tell me, what’s the proper recompense for destroying someone else’s property?”
Something of equal value?
“I can offer another—”
“I don’t want that shabby Daemon residing within your Vessel! I want yours!”
Had I let Ciri and Geralt handle Eredin, the King of the Wild Hunt wouldn’t have gained such a significant power boost. I even found it strange at the time…
Why would the Merchant of Glass betray his client?
That’s just poor business practice.
“Well played.” He planned this from the beginning…
“I’ve always been curious about how the Most-Highs craft their entertainment…”
Gaunter O’Dimm says, his hand tightening around my throat as he opens his mouth wide and reveal a bottomless, yet strangely inviting Oblivion, ripping in fragments of my soul being reclaimed along with the Blessing. “After I am done with you, I might just create my very own System.”
[Original Sin]
[Illegal Soul-Drain Attempt: Detected]
[Blocked (x10!!!)]
“Illegal?”
“How about another deal?” I fake a chuckle. “That should make it legal, right?”
My cockiness earns me a sword right next to the shoulder joint. “Don’t get too full of yourself; I can still kill you.”
“Y-Yeah.” That’s exactly why I’m trying to make a deal, you weasel!
“Ah! How about a riddle, Leonis? One in exchange for your Soul.”
“Shoot.” I gesture.
O’Dimm may be a scheming bastard, but he’s always been fair with Geralt.
I can only hope that fairness extends to me as well.
“I make no sound, yet voices I lend,
To heroes and villains, foe and friend.
I have no life, yet lives I unfold,
Of passion and desires, of the great untold.
Though I have no eyes, I’ve visions to spare,
Of Kingdoms and Castles, beyond compare.
What am I?”
Leaning close, the Devil casts me to the ground like a sack of potatoes. “Clock’s ticking, Leonis.”
The sound of an ancient bell tolling echoes ominously through the valley to seal our bargain… The sky, once a brilliant blue, is abruptly consumed by a sickening, visceral red akin to the raw interior of a colossal beast that corrupts vibrant life around us.
Once-lush trees wither, their leaves trembling in a death throe, while the grass beneath our feet blackens and wilts.
The landscape still resembles Kaer Morhen, but now a twisted, nightmarish version of its former self.
“He really swapped out the Texture Pack…”
How original.
I glance at the statues of the Riders and Skelligens, my gaze lingering briefly on Ciri as I step into the darkness draped over all of Kaer Morhen, where Demons creep, their whispered Curses carried by ominous miasma.
“Whoever that was, you’d better brush your damn teeth next time!”
Dusty-ass Demon. Preparing to ascend the winding, mountainous path to the School of the Wolf, I come face-to-face with a skeletal horror which lunges from the darkness; maw dripping of saliva so foul I nearly retch.
Not a skeleton exactly, but something more disturbing—a layer of white silicone stretched over a vaguely humanoid bone structure.
The resulting abomination looks like the unholy offspring of a xenomorph and Gollum; complete with a hunched back, eyelids sewn shut and a mouth of jaggedly jutting fangs that makes no logical sense for any animal, let alone mammal, and it’s definitely a mammal. Don’t ask me how I know…
Describing 6 pairs of shriveled; wrinkly tits that hang to its stomach isn’t exactly my niche.
My arm shoots out, fingers locked in a vise-like grip around the demon’s throat. It struggles, a faint, sulfurous smoke emanating from its form, before going limp as my hand crushes its spine to dust.
And people say Demons are scary.
They’re not so tough when you have a way to defend yourself.
Somehow though, I get the feeling that wasn’t the only one.
Worst case scenario, I can world-hop, but that would mean abandoning this reality completely or risk getting my Soul sucked by O’Dimm, and that’s not an option.
“Fine.” If Geralt could do it, I can too.
Travelling further upwards, I get rid of a few Demons, at last confronted by the fortress Witchers of the Wolf School have lived in and protected for eons… Barelling through each door, I search the entire place for anything that may be out of place—any clue while my brain works on the riddle. “A fantasy story…”
Every book I spot, I grab while the ancient bell hastens, perfectly mirroring my heartbeat.
“Where’s it? Where’s it…?”
Every book I touch turns out to be science or magical—no literature,
No story except…
Rushing out of the library, I kick open Ciri’s room.
Of all the people who have ever lived in the fortress, only the she-witcher would care for fiction.
The rest live it every waking moment of every day, and probably see very little need for more excitement and unknown.
Sure enough, after a while of searching, I spot the box under her bed, within which a stack of ancient-looking books rest.
A puff of dust escapes as I crack open the book’s covers.
It’s a pop-up book too, each page a miniature stage recreating my escapades with Ciri.
The shift from the early fairytale charm to the intense, vivid imagery of blood and chaos is almost jarring as I flip past the first 10 pages.
My gaze travels across the pages, finally spoting the Merchant who seems disappointed despite the stylized and simple artstyle.
The Devil leers up at me, perched atop a wave of black fire, his eyes—tiny eyes stapled to the paper—burn with malicious delight…
Remembering Geralt’s own bet with O’Dimm to salvage Olgierd’s Soul, I reach into the pop-up book and pull the Devil out to face me.
"I won." He smirks—it’s an infuriatingly confident grin that screams, ‘Everything's going according to plan,’ even though nothing is; not from his POV at least.
"You think you've defeated me, but you're mistaken," He mumbles in Tongues, his body starting to crumble like cigarette ash. "I cannot be killed. I'll retur—"
Grip tightening around his collar, I hiss, "You think you can just disappear without paying your due? We're capitalists—you've lost the bet, now pay up!"
The Demon locks eyes with me, its head tilting with mocking amusement. "Are you daft? Your reward,"
He sneers, "Is your Soul..."
"A Soul that was never part of your bargain to begin with. You will uphold your end. Pay up!" I demand, my gaze clashing with his as the Void around us shudders violently.
"Fine!" To my surprise, the Devil echoes loudly, his laughter shaking the entire dimensional plane he’s half-trapped in. "A Soul for a Soul..."
With a snap of his fingers, the realm—the Reality Marble that has overridden Kaer Morhen—shatters into pieces. "I eagerly await our next meeting, Realm-Hopper."
"Thanks, but no thanks!"
I mutter, resisting the urge to flip the Devil off, before collapsing to my knees with a sigh of relief as the pop-up book bursts into flame. At least the birds are singing again…
*Meow!*
Jolting at the noise, I instinctively level my Mystic Code at a… "A cat?" And breathe, taking in the tiny creature cutely gazing at me.
Its fur is impossibly dark, absorbing the light like a greedy black hole, its golden eyes blinking back at me cutely. For a moment, we simply regard each other, my grip easing on the Swordspear as a stray fly buzzes into the kitten’s line of sight.
And that's when things go horribly, terrifyingly wrong.
The cat's head balloons, its form distorting into a chaotic mess of lines—an indescribable abstract nightmare from Picasso’s fever-dream coming to life.
It opens its jaws wide, swallowing not just the fly but Ciri's entire bed. With an ear-piercing crunch, the bed frame disappears into its maw, followed by a small, satisfied burp.
"What the Hell are you?!"
I take three steps back, and the Demon mirrors me by going six steps forward.
Spinning on my heel, I make a swift escape through Ciri's window, determined to put as much distance as possible between myself and the demonic feline monstrosity.
*Meow!*
Feeling it clawing at my very expensive boot... I hold back vulgarity that’d have made even a sailor blus… The audacious little shi—
*Meow?*
Its curious mewl causes me to groan as I gently retrieve my foot. The kitten, seeing this as an invitation to play, latches onto my leg and climbs me with the enthusiasm of a seasoned mountaineer tackling Everest for the first time. Realizing the Demon poses no threat, at least not to me, and not now, I pick it up by the scruff of its neck and muse, "What should I do with you?"
It mewls again, legs clinging around my forearm.
It's a Demon, and an underling of O'Dimm at that, but I can't bring myself to kill it.
Pretty privilege at its finest, folks.
"Ugh..." Time and again, I attempt to lose it among the forest as I descend from the dilapidated School of the Wolf, but every single time—without fail—the kitten finds me by some miracle.
Halfway down, I surrender and let it happily drape around my neck like a scarf.
By the time I return to the battlefield, the fight has concluded. The Wild Hunt, with their ranks decimated and their King murdered in the worst way possible, have fled back to their icy Realm, while our allies search frantically for Ciri.
"If she's not with you," Yennefer demands, pacing, "Then where is she?"
Features taut with worry, Geralt places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, eyes fixed on me still.
"I might have an idea."
Though the Conjunction of Spheres has yet to begin, there's nowhere else Avallac'h and Ciri could be.
Together, we teleport to Tor Gvalch’ca, where we find Ciri and the Elven Sage slumped against a boulder.
Once there, Geralt and Ciri exchange their usual dialogues, with Yennefer fidgeting uneasily on the sidelines and ocassionally putting in her two-cents. "I don't like this… It's too dangerous."
Yennefer's not wrong.
But tempted as I am to agree with her, I know for a fact that:
A) Ciri is incredibly stubborn and will attempt to save the world or die trying, regardless of our opinions.
B) She would die if we tried to talk her out of it.
And finally…
"I'll come with you.”
"No," She cuts me off firmly. "You've done more than enough. I can't ask more."
I want to argue, but some burdens must be borne alone.
Her journey has been fraught with hardship, yet it only marks the beginning of her tale, one that starts where Geralt’s ends.
"Wait for me?"
"I will." Gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, I give her a playful flick on the forehead. "Return soon. I have a gift for you."
I've been working on something for her over the past month.
Her ring is nearly complete.
Just a few more finishing touches, and it will be perfect.
"See you again soon, Leo."
"Wait," I grab her wrist. "You're leaving right away?"
"Of course I am, silly."
But I thought the Elven Tower required the Conjunction of Spheres to operate?
"Why, are you worried?"
"What kind of question is that? Of course I am!"
Laughing, she gives me a quick peck on the lips before ascending the stairs backward.
"Don't be, the world's in safe hands."
Comments
Ano Nymous
Leo finally got a spirit animal for his Kingdom.
Hoang Nguyen Bui
The broman returned!
