C44: Final Boss?

Once we located Avallac'h's laboratory and, more importantly, his diary, Ciri wasted no time in smashing his belongings in a fit of rage.

Most of the valuable knowledge was, of course, preserved thanks to the discreet and quick use of my [Vault Ring], but she doesn't need to know that.

By the tenth day, we managed to cure the Elven Sage of his… Affliction.

Ciri didn't slap him, but she seemed quite intent on burning a hole in the sheepish and apologetic elf's forehead.

Memes or grudges asides, Avallac'h isn't a bad… Elf—at least not compared to his fellow Aen Elle. While it doesn't say much considering the atrocities they have committed against the only sentient, humanoid species on the planet they invaded,

Not to mention the ongoing devastation the Wild Hunt is wreaking on human settlements in the worlds they've passed through, although they did spare the 'horned horses,' so there's a case to be made there…

As a hairless, shit-flinging chimpanzee myself, I am compelled to despise their species, even if their racism did benefit me.

Their late King was so racist that he couldn't even entertain the thought of sleeping with a halfbreed, which is why the she-witcher was spared from bearing his child.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank the Gods for rampant speciesis—!

"Ugh… Ugh!"

Letting loose a deep sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn to the shrieking bandit.

"Can you shut the Hell up? I'm trying to think, and your muffled screams aren't helping."

In response, he kicks and screams even louder, retching up the green liquid I force-fed him earlier. How wasteful… Those herbs were expensive to purcharse.

Ripping the bundle of rags from his mouth, I demand, pointing at the corpses behind me, "What do you want? And if it's just insults, I'll snap your neck like I did to your friends!" 

"Wh-Why are you doing this?! Just kill me already!" The bandit pleads, his gaze darting from me to the twitching, tangled pile of horrifically mutated bodies behind me. "Gods above, have mercy… I don't want to end up like that! Please, I beg you!" 

"Be patient. I'll get to it eventually." I assure, slapping the gag back in place. 

Only after he's been injected with the altered formulae, of course.

Once I've observed its effects, I'll have no use for him.

"Youths these days—no respect for science at all." 

Syringe in hand, just about to inject the bandit, I jump when sudden knocks sound at my door.

Whirling around, I leave the syringe on the table and call out, "Who's there?"

"It's Ciri. Everyone wants you at the meeting."

The final battle is set to take place at Kaer Morhen, chosen for its isolation from the rest of the world and its sparse population.

Vesemir isn't too thrilled having so many soldiers stationed near his School, but neither Emhyr nor the an Craites want a fleet of Red Riders near their shores either, which is completely understandable.

They are humans, but above all, they're rulers who must prioritize the well-being of their people first and foremost.

I was surprised they agreed to send so many troops.

Emhyr's involvement made sense, since it's his heiress at stake, but I definitely hadn't expected the an Craites to send an extra 300 plus the 500 as per our arrangement.

After assuring her I'll be at the meeting, I return at my terrified lab rat, arms crossed. "Before we start, I have a few questions…"

Like a swarm of worms, my Od slithers into his brain.

One thing I've discovered with [Hypnosis] is how well it pairs with [Reinforcement]. Attempting such a maneuver on a Magus would connect our Circuits, much like Rin did with Shirou in the VN and give the recipient full control over the situation—something I'd never allow in a billion years. Against the average Joe, though? It's a relatively simple procedure with little risk.

Once I've asked the hypnotized bandit the usual questions—his name, his hometown—I delve into what really matters. "[Any sob story you want to tell me?]"

"I—I was orphaned young… The bandits took me in, and I was—"

He breaks down, slamming his fist onto the floor repeatedly until it bleeds.

Quite a convincing performance, if only I were a bit less paranoid.

"[Was any of what you said true?]"

The bandit's tears immediately dry up, his face turning red with exertion as he struggles against the combined forces of [Hypnosis] and his altered brain chemicals. The bandit never stood a chance. "N-NOOoo!"

Fucking called it. His friends had tried to lie as well.

Just as not everyone can be redeemed, not all sob stories are genuine.

The bandits were in truth death-row inmates, sentenced to hanging.

Months ago, during a bloody skirmish between remnants of the Temerian forces and Nilfgaardians, they managed to slip away under the cover of darkness.

As for my captive here, he had killed his own parents in a midnight altercation while trying to steal their hard-earned money.

Why, you ask? What could drive a person—or rather, an animal—to such extremes?

"Gambling… I lost a huge bet; saw no way out and…" The bandit admits, shaking with fear.

"Thought so." I reply.

Dragging the bandit by the hair, I press a syringe to his neck and whisper, my voice deceptively soft. "Don't worry… You'll be part of something greater. It's not like your life was headed anywhere good, anyway."

"No, no, please! I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to! They were just in the way!"

"Sure you didn't." I retort flatly, steel-grip holding him in place by the neck. I've met plenty of shitty people on this journey, but this guy definitely takes 'cunt of the year'—an insult to the word itself, actually… Even a dog knows better than to bite the hand that feeds it.

With a swift slap, I knock out his teeth, inject him with the new serum, and threaten, "Keep flailing, and I'll twist your arms in the opposite direction."

In just five seconds, he starts convulsing, his skin turning ashen as if doused head-to-toes in white chalk, while I quietly observe and note the time as his veins darken and swell, pulsing an angry red.

"3:12, the subject's frontal cortex is growing quite a bit larger compared to his, which I believe is a result of the Lycan RNA mixed with the serum."

He's in his early to mid-twenties, not the ideal age for the Trial of Grasses, but I have adjusted the formula and reduced the dosage, spreading it over a year instead.

So far, only 7 out of 23 bandits have survived the process, and 3 of those have received fewer enhancements than the average Witcher.

Given the circumstances, I see this as a success.

The original serum would have left no survivors amongst them.

"Help me…" The bandit pleads, shaking violently on the ground as half of his face swells with blood and yellow discharge, his skin sagging as thtough detached from the muscles beneath.

"Hold on…" Placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, I administer the stabilizer—a concoction that has proven remarkably effective for his fellow bandits.

The primary issue with the Trial of the Grasses was its inaccuracy.

Compared to the precision of CRISPR technology, the serum is far more destructive to the DNA sequences, hence the rampant mutations. The stabilizer, however, helps not only to fortify the DNA strands after the initial removal, but when combined also directs the serum to the incomsequential junk DNA rather than the Sequences that make a human, well, human.

Strapping the convulsing bandit to the operating table with leather straps made from Aghoul hide scraps, I whisper, "Stay here, I'll be right back."

Ignoring the screams that echo behind me, I leave the Workshop with an innocent grin and lock the door. Hopefully he'll still be alive when I return… I have high hopes for Mr. Kakarov.

Heading ubonstructed to the encampment at the base of the mountain, I burst into the tent where Witchers, Sorceresses and Kings alike are screaming themselves hoarse.

"Hey, good buddies, good pals! How's the battle plan coming along?"

"Wonderfully without you…" Yennefer says, tapping her foot impatiently. "Care to explain why you were late?"

"I was just thinking about all the things I like about Ciri." I joke, winking at the she-witcher in question, who coughs into her glove to hide the blush dusting her cheeks.

"And experimenting on people?" Yennefer presses.

I shrug in response.

"They forfeited their lives the moment they drew their blades against me. Besides, if we perfect the Trial of Grasses, Vesemir can create and train more Witchers. They are a dying breed, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Who'd want to be a Witcher?" Lambert scoffs.

"You'd be surprised." Give their world a few centuries, and this raggedy lifestyle might just be a godsend to the lost and the downtrodden.

Hell, I'd know—I was one of them.

"As long as the Conjunction of Spheres is still a thing, Witchers will be in demand."

Snorting, the Wolf replies with a bitter note to his voice. "Say that to the Witch Hunters."

"Sooner or later, they'll be overwhelmed."

While a nest of Nekkers or Ghouls might not be a major threat, creatures like Aghouls, Rot-Fiends, Noonwraiths, and Vampires will tear the Witch Hunters apart like cheap tissue unfit to wiping one's ass… I doubt even a heavily armed militia could handle such an onslaught, let alone poorly equipped thugs in uniforms.

"While I appreciate the discussion, we do have a battle to prepare for."

Emhyr interjects, ever the killjoy, putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

"Everything's ready. We just need Cirilla to summon them with the Elder Blood."

Philippa Eilhart chimes in, looking constipated as all eyes turn to the Witcheress.

"We can take the day off if you'd like." I suggest, and everyone seems to agree, even Emhyr, hardass as he is.

"No… The longer we delay, the worse morale will be."

Stepping forth, hands cupped behind his back, Emhyr adds.

"My heiress has spoken… The situation in Temeria is still unstable. I cannot afford to stay much longer. We finish this today."

He's right… Sitting around any longer won't increase our odds of victory, only lower it.

"If she's not ready—"

With a steely gaze, Emhyr glares at Yennefer—an act that likely hasn't been tried by anyone in the decades the Sorceress has been alive, and it shows.

"She's as ready as can be." Emhyr states.

"He's right." Ciri murmurs.

The crash-course she received from Avallac'h should be sufficient, so long as it's not Eredin himself she faces.

"A day or two will not change anything."

"Ciri…" Yennefer begins, but is cut off.

"It's fine, Yen. I know you're worried, but I'll be fine… I've run from the Wild Hunt for a long time. It's time I bring the fight to them."

With the final preparations put in place—bombs hidden underneath the shores along with wooden spikes lodged into the seabes, the Witcheress teleports to the shores and errupts in a blinding display. Less than a minute later, Imlerith appears in the middle of the formation, the hulking behemoth barking in elven speech, unceremoniously backhanding a Nilfgaardian soldier to the ground.

Moments after the navigator vanishes into the portal, dozens more open in the horizon, the elven fleet ripping Space-Time open as if they were cheap, disposable stockings and not the fabrics of the Universe.

I have no idea why they need the Elder Blood when they can teleport entire fleets across worlds at the drop of a hat. But from the Elven Sages' perspective, having their most prized creation along with their princess stolen by some hairless, primitive ape must have been a huge blow to their ego. And that's really what this all boils down to, isn't it? Ego.

"You want to do the honors?" I ask, turning to the few sorceresses Geralt and Yennefer managed to duped into—I mean, 'rally'—to our cause.

"Will you be joining us?"

Shaking my head, I summon Senza Esitazione and flash a grin. "No, I'm more of a melee fighter."

"Then stay away from the fleet. You'll only cause problems."

Philippa Einhart commands, her tone both dismissive and oddly confrontational, as if she expects everyone to bow to her every whim and will. Some people find her attractive, I do not. The bitch sparked the literal 'Witch Hunt' in the Verse and still thought she was some tough shit after paying for her mistakes with her eyes.

Much like Cersei Lannister, the Sorceress tends to underestimate those she sees as beneath her, which is a lot of people. Anyone who thinks she's capable instead of arrogant beyond her capability is simply blinded by the 'bear trap' beneath her over-the-top skirt. My younger self fell for it too; then again, he was a cunt who walked a third of the city for pussy…

Point is: She's not a threat to anyone, least of all to me.

"Eredin's on the largest warship. I think I'll pay him a visit—get this over with."

"Did you not hear a word I said?" 

"I did." I smack my lips, ready to activate [Notice-Me-Not]. "And then I realized I couldn't care less about your opinions." 

"Respect your elders, child." 

"Need I remind you what happened the last time you mouthed off to someone? How are the members of the Lodge, by the way? Other than Lady Yennefer and Triss, that is… How are those pretty eyes of yours feeling?"

"You—!" 

"Shut up before I give you the Radovid treatment. You're not my girl; you're not my mentor, I'm not obliged to take your shit." 

Clicking my tongue, I wink at the sheepish she-witcher, throw her a wave and activate [Notice-Me-Not], vanishing from sight with a cocky, "See ya, ladies." 

"Typical male…" Screw you too, you treacherous, delusional, sexist, egocentric bitch. Never before have I met a person that gets on my nerves like she does, but live and learn I guess.

Making my way to the shoreline, I leap from one ship's deck to another, my momentum causing several vessels to instantly sink into the icy water beneath us.

Airborne again, I launch several rocks filled to the brim with Od at the ship decks, where explosions rip through Riders and their Hounds alike, aided by Triss' explosive Fireballs… One of the few things I've learnt about [Notice-Me-Not] is even if the initial action triggers a chain of events, if I'm not directly interacting with a lifeform, my presence won't be revealed.

In fact, I can just stand back and bombard their ships alongside the Lodge, but the battle won't conclude until the head of the snake has been severed, for there'll always be more and more elves who aspire to become Red Riders, but there's only one Eredin Bréacc Glas.

Landing on the last warship, I crack my neck and casually stroll past the bewildered Riders and Hounds who are frantically searching for the source of the disturbance.

Tossing a handful of pebbles at the King of the Wild Hunt, I watch—caught off-guard as he catches them mid-air, tanking the explosions as he crushes the pebbles to fine dust in his palms.

"The power to overcome all adversaries… Good for you."

Muttering something in his native tongue, Eredin sends his guards away through portals, leaving the two of us alone on the shipdeck.

"I expected to fight the White Wolf, not you, Mage." The King of the Wild Hunt muses, "Show yourself! Or is the human who struck fear in the hearts of my men just another craven?"

A spear in one hand and my shotgun in the other, I fire directly at the exposed face of Sauron-Wannabe.

The bullets have barely left the barrels when I lunge forward, every fiber of my being vibrating to life as [Hyper-Metabolism], [Reinforcement], and [Kinetic Blast] all channel into one powerful thrust, further amplified by [Extended Thrust] and [Flurry Jab].

'First try? Nice.'

To ensure victory, I even add [Super-Charged: False Star] as well, smirking as the elf slices the bullets in half only to be engulfed by 'Star'.

The explosion nearly ruptures my eardrums as I backtrack, shielded by [Kinetic Shield] which absorbs most of the energy.

The intense heat evaporates the surrounding water, tears the ship asunder, and summons a dense fog through which I can barely see, but I know for a fact my strike struck true.

Just as I'm about to celebrate my victory, my head snaps back as an arm pierces through the fog, melted and fused to the gauntlet of the Elven King, "How the fuck—?"

I'm certain even I couldn't have survived such an attack, how the Hell did he?!

"How?!"

Stumbling into the open, the elf snarls. "There you are…"

Gone is the red cape drapped over his armor; gone is the armor-clad menace.

The elf looks like something out of a bad, cheesy 90's horror, slasher flicks, only much more gruesome… Detailed in the way that'd have gotten the movie banned instantly in said time period.

"I despaired when my men told me about you—the monster in the guise of a human… The Mage who can wrestle Monsters unarmed. A beast that fights and laughs and murders as easily as he breathes. You're powerful as I've expected."

Barely balancing himself as the ship tilts, swallowed by the vortex beneath it, Eredin throws himself at me like a rabid dog that has been fed a little too much sugar and coffee. "But you have had your chance!"

The rest of the ship shatters into millions of pieces as Eredin grabs my neck with lightning-fast speed.

Armored fist driving into my stomach, breaching both layers of my [Kinetic Shield], Eredin nearly dislocates my jaw with following punch.

Teeth gritted, I brace myself for the collision, crashing into a cluster of frozen Skelligans.

If there were any doubts about their demise, there's none now.

Before I can regain my footing, Eredin's arm protrudes through a portal, seizing my ankle and slamming me onto the deck of the ship he's landed on. Lifting me to face level, the elf mutters, "The price I've paid the Merchant… I'll make you pay in full."

With another throw, I find myself in the palm of a massive Ice Golem conjured by Eredin's Magic. Whatever O'Dimm gave him, it certainly has not left his Magic untouched.

Plunged into the ice-cold water by the mountain-sized Elemental, restrained by its crushing grip, I counter with [Super-Charged: Infernal Blast], diving deeper in the water while the flame coats the Golem from head-to-toes. "Show yourself, craven!"

Ignoring the taunts, I lurk just beneath the surface like a shark drawn to the scent of fresh, burnt blood. Finally spotting an opening, I channel kinetic energy into my Mystic Code, launching my swordspear to tear through the ship Eredin is on.

[Tyche's Favor] kicks in as a name floods my mind: [Skymother's Wrath]. I haven't gotten the [Enchantment] that since I caved in the priest's skull.

Never got to learn what it was, but there's only one Goddess who fits the description… Hera—one of Olympus' most vengeful.

The moment Eredin touches the water's surface, I spring into action. Drawing my Magnum V and firing into the water to electrify it. With vindictive satisfaction, I watch the King of the Wild Hunt seize and twitch, his pearly white teeth cracking as he tanks the attacks.

With a roar, Eredin's Elemental Magic freezes everything in a 5 miles radius, us included.

I'd love to stun-lock the elf to death, but that's out of the question for now.

Storing the weapon, I rip myself from the ice and board another ship with Eredin hot on my heels, having ripped himself free of the ice as well.

I know it's rich coming from me, but—"O'Dimm, what the fuck is this hax?"