Punishment

Atram broke his meditative stance and stood up, stretching his numb body. He felt the tension in his muscles release, and instant relief washed over him as his joints popped back into place. He had been sitting in the same position for hours, as Elsa had taken his bed for the night.

Walking towards the window, he noticed the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. The warm glow illuminated the room, casting a soft orange hue on everything in sight. He took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh, feeling grateful for the simple pleasures in life.

A tap on his back jolted him out of his reverie, and he turned around to greet Geralt. "Will you stop sneeking up on people? I swear, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack," he joked, giving his friend a playful punch on the chest.

Geralt took the blow with a grin. "As long as it pisses you off , I'll keep doing it," he replied, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Atram rolled his eyes. "Of course you would," he nudged his head towards Elsa. "Should we wake the young lady? Look at her; she's sleeping like a log."

Geralt nodded in agreement. "We should get going anyways. We have a long journey ahead of us."

Atram approached her and rubbed her softly on the back. "Rise and shine, Elsa. We need to hit the road," he whispered.

She stirred and opened her eyes, looking around groggily. "What's going on?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"It is morning. we shoul-"

Elsa sprang up like a jack-in-the-box, her chestnut hair cascading down to her shoulders as she untied her bun. She moved swiftly to her backpack, deftly rummaging through its contents until she retrieved a pair of sturdy brown woolen pants, a crisp white shirt, and a thick, forest-green tunic. She quickly changed into her outfit and tied her hair back into a ponytail. "We should get going," she declared, her eyes bright with anticipation.

She turned around to see Geralt and Atram staring at the opposite wall with their backs to her. "What are you doing?"

Seeing that there would be no response, she thought about it and immediately realized her shameful action. "Oh,I...thank you." She said awkwardly, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Atram chuckled, and Geralt gave a small smirk. "Think nothing of it. I understand your enthusiasm; I just didn't expect you to be so... bold." Atram replied, amused as Elsa's face turned a darker shade of crimson.

Geralt patted her slightly on the shoulder. "You'll have to get used to his teasing and shenanigans. He appears to have matured physically, but the kid inside still reigns supreme." He teased, eliciting a groan from Atram and a giggle from Elsa.

They descended the short flight of stairs and were greeted by a pair of gruff-looking men from yesterday's traveling party and Lothar, the inkeeper. "There she is! Did you spread your legs for the mutant freaks? You filthy harlot!" Lothar shouted, spit and anger flying from his mouth.

Atram looked at them calmly, his eyes betraying no emotion. "Geralt, would you be so kind as to escort Elsa out of this establishment?"

Geralt nodded and accompanied the frightened girl out of the inn. As he was about to exit the front door, he heard swords being drawn from their scabbards. However, he didn't need to intervene. What would happen in a couple of minutes was not on his conscience, nor would he condemn Atram's actions.

When Atram saw the pair leave, he turned his attention to the men in front of him, who waved their sharp instruments menacingly and spouted an assortment of insults.

"I will ask you two with your swords drawn and your tempers flaring. Did you know the young girl was not the inkeeper's daughter and that he severely abused her?" He inquired, his voice low, concealing the malice hidden behind it.

One of the two, a pudgy middle-aged man with a few strands of hair adorning his otherwise bald head, laughed hoarsely. "Are you her nanny or something? Since when did witchers care for the affairs of common folk?"

Atram's fingers cracked, barely containing his anger. "I asked you a question. Did you, or did you not?"

The hefty man clicked his tongue, poised to attack, but his companion intervened, placing a restraining hand on his shoulder. The second swordsman stood tall and sturdy, with short, oily hair and an unkempt beard. "Listen, lad," he began, his voice gruff but persuasive, "we don't need to fight over a mangy lass. Lothar here promised us ample 'services' from her, knowing how profitable Elsa is for the inn. So, how about you bring her in, and we'll share the rewards with you?" He paused, his lips curving into a ghastly, toothless smile.

"It's not like you haven't thought about it. That small, beautiful body of hers squirming and moaning in delight as you plow her. So what say you, eh?"

Atram blinked several times, and a smile formed on his lips, which turned into maniacal laughter. After a moment, he stopped and looked them dead in the eyes. "How about I wet my cock with you instead? Seeing that the pox ridden whores you call mothers gave birth to unbelievable cunts!" He growled.

The room fell silent as Atram's words hung in the air. The men gazed at him with their mouths open. The offense was heavy, and the tension palpable. However, the stillness of the moment didn't last for long, as the pudgy man lost his temper and attacked him with an overhand slash.

Atram sidestepped the oncoming blow, shifted his weight, and, with a straight kick to the man's gut, sent him flying across the room. The sound of the man's body crashing into tables and chairs reverberated through the inn, a cacophony of splintering wood and groaning furniture. Finally, with a thud, he collided with the far wall, crumpling to the ground in a heap of pain and confusion.

The others looked on in shock as Atram stood tall, his eyes blazing with fury. "Swine should know their place," he declared, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. Then, turning his gaze to the remaining aggressor, he issued a challenge. "Your friend started this. It's up to you to finish it."

The man in question was indeed tall; standing at an impressive 1.93 meters, he usually towered over his peers. Yet, when Atram stood a breath away from him with his arms spread open, inviting him to attack, he couldn't feel more insignificant. But it was not his height. Even though he was more than a head taller than him, it was his 'presence' that caused him to break out in a cold sweat. The fearless posture, combined with his piercing gaze and muscular build, made him seem almost invincible.

He swallowed hard and gripped his trusty longsword in a two handed grip. His opponent looked at him with indifference, arms open, waiting for his attack. With a ferocious battle cry that sounded more like a shrill cry of despair, he lunged forward and, with a powerful piercing motion, plunged his sword deep into Atram's midsection. The tip of his blade connected, and a smile curled across his lips.

However, something was wrong. No matter how hard he pushed, his hands could barely move forward. It felt as if he was trying to pierce something extremely dense and impenetrable, almost chitinous in essence. Lifting his head, he saw his blade lodged about an inch inside Atram's belly, blood pouring from his opponent's wound.

What made him gasp in horror was the fact that it had bended slightly. "How—" His question remained unfinished as a resounding slap reverberated through his ears, sending shockwaves through his mind. His surroundings twisted into a muddled array of distortions and wavering apparitions. With a heavy thud, he collapsed headfirst onto the ground. No movement, no words, no sounds—only a plunge into an abyss of darkness and silence. With that, he shut his eyes and surrendered to a profound, dreamless slumber.

Lothar saw it all from behind the counter, and his mind was racing with fear and confusion as he tried to make sense of everything. He witnessed Ingo being flung across the room like a rag doll and Dorn falling to the ground like a puppet with his strings severed after he was slapped in the ears.

What was the thing standing in front of him? Why does such a being exist? He felt a shiver run down his spine as he tried to gather his thoughts. The creature before him looked and talked like a human, but he was certain that 'it' was not. How could it be? Can a man stop a sword with his bare stomach? Can a man send a fully grown adult flying with a single kick?

"No, he can't," he muttered to himself. The sound of footsteps awoke him from his stupor. He lifted his head and saw the 'man' approaching. His teeth began to chatter as he realized that 'death' was coming for him. He moved backwards, but the barrels of ale blocked his escape. The 'man' drew closer; he had to think fast!

In a desperate attempt, he tried to jump over the counter , but his legs failed him, and he fell to the ground. The towering figure stood beside him, his face expressionless, and his eyes shone with a frenzied red.

As the 'impossible entity' drew near, Lothar felt his heart thundering within his chest. With a swift motion, Atram seized him by the collar, effortlessly hoisting him into the air. Lothar's head was forcefully turned to meet the unyielding gaze of his captor. Struggling fruitlessly against the iron grip, he realized the futility of his efforts—he might as well have been a mere child in the grasp of a giant.

The 'man' spoke in a deep, guttural voice that only deepened Lothar's despair. "Which hand was it?" he demanded.

"I don't understand? Please! You can have the girl if you want! I'll give you good coin t-"

Lothar's cheeks were pressed together by his assailant's massive hand, silencing his words. He fought for breath as the pressure on his face intensified. Atram's gaze bore into him. "I will not ask thrice. Which hand was the one that delivered the 'punishment'?"

Lothar, with tears in his eyes, begged, "I won't do it again, I swear! P-please don't harm me."

"I see." Was the only thing Atram uttered before he let go of Lothar, who fell hard on the ground, wiping and sobbing uncontrollably.

Atram stood there, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. "Answer me one last thing and be honest. When you beat her until her fragile skin turned bright red with blood clotted bruises, and you scorched her flesh with the hot iron, did you feel any remorse as she told you the exact same thing? Or did you continue to revel in your twisted sense of power and control over her? Did you feel any guilt as she cried out in pain and begged for mercy? Or, did you simply derive pleasure from her suffering?"

"P-please. I beg of you! Give me a chance to fi-"

CRACK

Lothar looked at his right forearm. Atram's foot had pulverized his bones , causing them to break and protrude out of his skin like a jagged, toothy mountain range. Then the pain came. It was excruciating and unbearable, but the only thing he could do was let out a blood-curdling scream.

A second later, silence fell over the room. Lothar lay unconscious with a broken nose, shattered teeth, and a part of his tongue missing. Atram quickly healed the tongue just enough for him not to die from suffocation and swept his bloodied hand on a rag.

After tending to his insignificant wound, Atram gazed at Lothar with disdain. "Now your outward appearance will match your inner ugliness," he muttered under his breath. Rummaging through Lothar's belongings, he found what he wanted, then stood up and made his way toward the exit.

As he made his way past the stairway, he caught a glimpse of the temporary residents watching him fearfully from the balcony. Tilting his head upwards, he addressed them. "None of the men died; you can either help them or loot this inn to its bones. I know what I'd do. But I am just a mutated freak, right?" he declared in a voice that reverberated through the inn, before departing.

Passing the threshold, he felt the cold air on his face. The frigid wind caressed his form like a lover's touch. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the sensation. His nerves calmed, and his temper was swept away by the sereneness of this motion.

He opened his eyes and marveled at the scenery surrounding him. Snow-capped mountains loomed in the distance, their majestic peaks piercing the sky like icy sentinels. Nearby, a frozen lake glistened in the sunlight, its surface reflecting the splendor of the world above.

With his mood uplifted, he trod towards the bridge, where Geralt and Elsa were waiting. Upon seeing him, the latter rushed forward and embraced him tightly, her petite frame almost disappearing in his arms.

"Did they hurt you?" Elsa asked as she pulled away from the embrace, concern etched on her face.

"No, I'm fine," he replied with a smile. "Also, none of the men died. They will have some permanent 'impairments', but they'll survive."

Elsa let out a sigh of relief, oblivious to what those 'impairments' might be. "Thank you. Both of you, for everything."

"Hold on to your gratitude; you may be cursing us in the coming days." Geralt said, and Atram snickered.

Elsa cocked her head to the side, a flicker of confusion dancing in her eyes at their words. Before she could voice her question, a weighty pouch was pressed into her hands. "Lothar was deeply remorseful for his actions," Atram explained, "and he asked me to give you this as a gesture of his apology."

Elsa squealed as she opened the pouch and saw the sea of ducats inside. "There must be at least 180 ducats in here," she exclaimed.

Atram shrugged. "If you say so."

Elsa squinted at Atram suspiciously. "Lothar didn't give you this pouch, did he?"

Atram's response was the same. "Does it matter? If you feel guilty, I can ret-"

Like magic, the pouch vanished from sight and entered Elsa's backpack. "Let us get a move on; we have a long journey ahead of us." She stated in a serious tone, trying to hide her materialistic tendencies.

"And how would you know?" Atram inquired with his arms crossed and a grin on his face.

"A woman's intuition?" Elsa replied with a playful smile.

Geralt shook his head in amusement. "She got that right. There will be no stops until noon."

"I concur," Atram said.

"No problems here!" Elsa declared. "Speaking of departure, who will I be riding with?"

Then she saw it. Both men were cheerful and relaxed, but there was something in their eyes that made Elsa uneasy. Something that told her to run away and never look back.

"Who said you'd be riding with us? Why was Geralt insistent on your wearing pants instead of a dress?" Atram explained with a vicious grin on his face.

"You can't possibly..."

"Yes, we can, and yes, you will." Geralt added with a deadpan expression.

"You'll be jogging alongside the horses. Now, get moving!" Atram shouted at the young woman in a militaristic tone.

They are demons! Merciless, bloodthirsty demons! she thought to herself, but complied, nonetheless.

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Tell me if I should place a 'disturbing content' label at the start of such chapter. I know everyone has different limits to such stuff.