The storm

On a cloudy, wintry day, two individuals were engaged in a 'friendly' bout of skill and martial prowess. The only observers of that spectacle were three witchers, who, atop the fort's wall, overlooked the ensuing fight with excitement and anticipation. Each one of them had different reasons to be interested in the outcome of the battle.

Geralt and Eskel sought entertainment. In this ancient fortress, amusement was scarce; typically, their days were filled with extensive patrol duties to eliminate any monsters or threats lurking nearby. These duties, along with other mundane tasks, often consumed the bulk of their precious free time. Therefore, the sight of two warriors of such caliber duking it out in earnest was a rare treat. The added excitement of a bet on the outcome only heightened their interest and attention.

Vesemir, however, observed the combatants for a more personal reason. He had an intuition, a 'feeling', that the newest member of their tight-knit society would bring a fresh perspective to their training regimen. With years of experience as a trainer of witchers, Vesemir's responsibility was to keenly observe and catalog anything that could prove useful in their monster hunts. Atram, hailing from another world, undoubtedly held a wealth of information, and the seasoned witcher refused to let such an opportunity pass. 

A trade of blows between the combatants woke Vesemir from his stupor. He noticed Lambert clutching his sides with one arm, while Atram retreated to a safer distance, blood trickling from a piercing wound on his left thigh. Sensing an opportunity, he concentrated his inner energy, hastening his healing factor and sealing the wound in seconds.

Lambert rummaged through his leather pouch and extracted a small volumetric flask containing an orange liquid. Downing its contents, Atram watched as Lambert's veins slightly darkened and his pupils shone with a brighter amber hue.

"I can't believe you'd drink a swallow in the middle of a sparring match!" Eskel mockingly yelled from the battlements.

"First of all, it's none of your damn buisness! And secondly, if he can heal, so can I!" Lambert retorted angrily and turned to gaze at Atram, who waited patiently for him to recuperate. "Did you get my measure? Do I pass your little test?"

Atram showed him a beaming smile. "You are one of the best warriors I've ever had the pleasure of fighting against." He replied honestly with pride in his voice, reflecting on how their exchange had begun.

They started slowly, testing each other's limits and assessing their respective strengths and weaknesses. Lambert moved with incredible speed and was fleet-footed, like a dancer. His movements had fluidity and grace that were almost hypnotic to watch. The fighting style he used was not one of a soldier, as it required space to fully utilize the supernatural awareness and agility that witchers possessed.

On the other hand, Atram dodged slashes, deflected thrusts, and powered through any mistakes he made with his absurd resilience. Cuts that would disembowel a fellow man couldn't penetrate more than an inch inside his body, and thrusts that would skewer anyone else, were met with extreme resistance from his dense muscles. However, his biggest advantage was his size and immense strength, as he clearly demonstrated on their last trade, when he shifted his body slightly to lessen the damage and punched Lambert right in the ribs, lifting him off his feet.

Atram nodded sagely, fully content with his sparring partner. He shifted his head upwards and gazed at Vesemir. "He is a superb fighter, Master Vesemir. The fighting technique you witchers use is for multiple opponents, and it includes a lot of precise slashing motions. All in all, a great sword art to fight a horde of 'mindless' monsters." He said with an underlying hint.

Vesemir pondered for a moment, his eyes widening like saucers. "You... Don't tell me!?" he exclaimed, a flicker of realization crossing his features.

"It is a good thing; it means your order doesn't fight sentient beings often." He then turned his attention to Lambert. "Now then, shall we fight in earnest?"

Lambert glanced between Atram and Vesemir with confusion, but he shrugged it off and nodded. Gripping his longsword with both hands for the first time, he assumed a fighting stance that showed no openings.

Atram took a deep breath and centered himself. Focusing his inner energy, he allowed it to spread throughout his body. Suddenly, the air around him warmed considerably; his breath felt like hot lava against the frigid breeze. He experienced a familiar sensation of lightness, as if shedding his mortal form and transcending into something greater.

"I will give you a warning. Right now, I'm faster than yesterday. Don't stumble as you did before." He stated with a predatory grin on his face.

Lambert scoffed and pinched his nose. "Don't you ever sh-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Atram charged at Lambert like a raging bull. His speed was such that with every footstep, it seemed as though he glided over the ground. Mid-air, he jumped and pirouetted, delivering a devastating kick that Lambert narrowly evaded. Reacting swiftly, he countered with a blindingly fast upper sweep, but Atram sidestepped it and retaliated with a thunderous jab aimed at his opponent's torso. Lambert barely managed to backstep the strike, feeling the force with which it would have landed.

Bloody monster! I should have downed a thunderbolt and a full moon. Even a decoction wouldn't be overkill. Lambert thought to himself, regretting his decision, and cursed under his breath.

The frenzied bear of a man unleashed a barrage of well-timed punches and consecutive kicks, compelling his opponent to either jump out of the way or deflect with his sword. Atram's skin had toughened to the point of steel, causing Lambert's sword to barely make a dent. In fact, it was the opposite. The edge of his blade bore numerous chips along its length after their last exchange of blows.

After those fast and furious moments, both fighters stepped back, sizing each other up. However, contrary to everyone's expectations, Lambert didn't pause; he seized the initiative. Drawing a bomb from his bandolier, he lit it with Igni and threw it at Atram's location while adapting his pupils for the incoming flash.

Witnessing no piercing materials fastened to it, Atram believed it carried something flameable or explosive. So he took a few steps backward and threw his hands up to protect himself, always having Lambert's location in sight.

Alas, that proved to be a fatal mistake. The bomb exploded, engulfing Atram's world in a deafening roar and blinding whiteness. He attempted to blink, but all he saw were black dots in his vision. Disoriented and helpless, he tried to identify him by sound, but to no avail. If he had learned anything in his two days at Kaer Morhen, it was that witchers were as silent as the night when they chose to be.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his abdominal area, and to his surprise, the sword had pierced almost all the way through. Gradually, his vision returned, and he saw Lambert with a smug expression on his face, which turned to confusion as he attempted to retrieve it from Atram's stomach, but it would not budge an inch. The witcher looked down and saw something that shook him to the core.

The madman is holding my blade with his bare hand! The pain alone should have paralyzed him.

Atram was no stranger to pain. He had endured everything from incineration to having electricity coursing through his body. Thus, this was just a flesh wound for him. Seizing the opportunity presented by Lambert's momentary shock, he twisted his back and threw a punch with considerable strength behind it. Lambert's jaw was dislodged from its socket by the blow, causing him to stumble backward with his hand still gripping the sword.

Atram went for another quick jab, intent on finishing the fight, but he felt telekinetic energy forming on Lambert's hand. Unfortunately, in their current positions, he was too late to react. The world shook around him, and his body was hurled like a ragdoll into the nearby wall with tremendous force.

Collapsing to his knees, his stomach churning in agony, he struggled to regain his bearings as he looked up at Lambert, who approached with a serious expression. Though the telekinetic energy had dissipated, the damage had been done. Even so, he was not one to give up easily. He forced himself to stand and focused his energy on roughly patching up his liver and stemming the bleeding. 

In his enhanced state, the healing was slower, but all his physical attributes skyrocketed to unprecedented levels. Despite that, pushing himself to the limit so soon after his recovery would be a foolish decision. Thus he opted for a quick resolution. 

The next exchange should end it. A shame. I was starting to have fun.

Lambert stared at his opponent, astounded that he wasn't unconscious and that his eyes blazed with a fierce determination to fight on. He waited for him to stand up and prepared his stance for the blow that would determine the victor.

He let me heal when I was injured, so I guess I have to return the favor.

Atram nodded in silence, silently thanking Lambert for not tarnishing the beauty of their fight. He stood and exhaled slowly, releasing the excess energy from his body. Adopting a low, crouching position with his fingertips touching the ground, reminiscent of a panther preparing to pounce, he concentrated his energy exclusively on his legs. His muscles groaned and bulged against his skin, emitting a leather-like sound as they tensed with anticipation.

He took one last look at Lambert and sprang at him with speed that even surpassed his previous accomplishment. Geralt was briefly reminded of his old, long-lost friend Regis, with whom he had saved Ciri from Vilgefortz's clutches.

Even so, a witcher's reflexes are nothing to scoff at; these legendary monster slayers could even deflect a crossbow bolt mid-flight. Therefore, Lambert was prepared and jumped into action immediately. He pirouetted to the right with a full turn of his body and readied his sword for a piercing strike. When he turned around, however, Atram was not in his line of sight. Instead, he heard the cobblestones crack behind him, accompanied by a whooshing sound that brought his opponent's leg right to his back. Thankfully for the witcher, the worse never came, as he stopped right before delivering the blow.

Lambert felt a shiver run down his spine as he imagined the outcome of that straight kick, knowing Atram's explosive strength by this point. He turned around and sheathed his sword. Giving him an unexpected bright smile, he extended his hand. "Dwa?" He asked, the words coming out incoherently due to his broken jaw.

Atram shook the witcher's hand. "There is no draw in a fight; if you hadn't let me recover from that blast, I would have been done for. So by all rights, the victory is yours."

Lambert grunted angrily. "Thef no pleathing yo! Itf a dwa, juf leaf at thath."

"Fine, fine. Does that mean we are friends now?" Atram inquired teasingly.

Lambert muttered something under his breath and searched his pouch for something, becoming increasingly angry as he didn't find what he wanted.

"What an amazing fight! You truly are a monster, aren't you?" Eskel shouted excitedly as he descended the stairs along with the other witchers.

"I strive to be. Being normal is boring. Anyways, who won the bet?"

"What bet?" Eskled replied, trying to feign ignorance.

"Oh? So there wasn't one? That is good, because the match ended in a draw."

"Shhhh, I bet Gera-"

"I heard that; give my coin back." Geralt requested.

Eskel clicked his tongue and returned a hefty pouch of coins to their owner.

"It seems, you noticed one of the flaws in our sword style," Vesemir remarked, brushing his mustache.

"Well, even a blind man couldn't miss the gap in your defense amidst all these pirouettes and half turns. Don't misunderstand; your technique is flawless against monsters. The continuous spinning not only keeps you aware of your surroundings but also creates essential distance. However, it's just not suitable against someone of equal intelligence and skill," Atram explained, casting a quick Clean spell as he waited to recover from any wounds he had sustained.

"Still, to see it just once and come up with a flaw, is incredibly impressive," Vesemir responded in a respectful tone.

"Thank you, but uhm... can we eat something? My stomach is killing me!"

"Sure, let's put this servant of yours to the test. Lambert is going to be pissed when he learns what you called it." Vesemir noted, with uncharacteristic mischeviousness in his voice.

"Whath waf thath?"

"Shut it, Lambert. You sound like a hound." Geralt said.

"I wia shoa yo a hont!" He replied, angrily.

Vesemir, rolled his eyes. "Children."