The Divine Hunter

Cintra. A once serene and bustling city. Now a hellscape of madness and chaos. Smoke and ash billowed in the alleyways while flames licked and engulfed the abodes and cadavers of the people.

Only a thousand Skellige and Cintran soldiers remained. Still they held their weapons up, swinging them down at the invaders, trying to fill the hole in their defenses with nothing but their flesh and bones. And yet it was futile. The neverending assault had worn them down, culling their numbers and energy. It did not take long for the Cintran forces to fall.

An army of armored horses trotted into the weak links of their formation like wraiths, their riders slicing off the defenders’ heads. The invaders easily split up into different teams and went around what remained of the defensive line. Into the houses they went, looting and pillaging everything they set their eyes on. Every living being they saw was brutally slaughtered, and then they burned everything.

Triss was in an alleyway in the east not too far behind the first line of defense. A whip of white flames sprouted from her fingertips, lashing out at a Nilfgaardian soldier trying to assault a woman. The flames burned him, making him roll in pain. Blisters bubbled and popped over his face, arms, and torso, his flesh giving off the stench of charred meat.

Roy charged at a soldier in the alleyway, cutting through his spear and fingers easily. The witcher spun, swinging his sword at the soldier’s neck. A gash formed, and blood spurted out into the air.

“Let’s go, Triss. Killing these small fries won’t do anything.” Roy flicked the blood off his sword and looked around. One woman was lying in a nearby ditch, dying and gasping for air. Yet every time she breathed, the woman would cough up blood and chunks of her innards.

Standing beside her was a house on fire, the bodies of children hanging on the stakes and rafters.

“Cintra has fallen. Time to leave. We’re going to the castle and opening a portal to Vizima. You did your best. We need to leave now, or it’ll be too late.”

“No.” Triss shook her head and charged ahead, shouting at the top of her lungs. Her hair swayed behind her, flames shooting out of her hands. A Nilfgaardian soldier was sent flying, but Triss did not stop. She bellowed as loudly as she could, attacking any enemy she could see. And yet for every enemy she killed, two more would take his place. The Nilfgaardian soldiers were leering at the sorceress, no doubt having dark ideas for her.

A bolt whizzed past her, and another hit her leg. She felt all her strength leaving her, then a warm embrace held her. She closed her eyes, tears welling within them.

Roy picked the sorceress up and darted through the alleyway like a bolt of lightning. On his way out, the witcher killed off any stray Nilfgaardian soldiers, saving the suffering Cintrans, though for but a moment. Eventually, our witcher found himself a black horse, courtesy of a dead Nilfgaardian soldier. He rode the horse and charged toward the castle on the cliffs. Triss was in his arms.

***

Eist and Crach were leading two dozen soldiers in a battle with the Nilfgaardian soldiers on the streets, retreating to relative safety as they went.

“Come back ter Skellige, Eist.” Crach cracked the head of an enemy open, blood drenching his cheeks and beard. He looked at the castle from the corner of his eye. The only place that was yet uninvaded. “Listen ter me. We be getting back at ’em, but not today. ‘Tis the best we could do. A miracle, lad. We held ’em off for a week. Ya die now, and it’d mean nuthin’. Ye be destroying the Cintran bloodline, tha’s whatcha doin’.”

Eist kicked the sides of his horse and sliced off the head of a Nilfgaardian soldier. He looked around him, but all he saw was carnage. Chaos. A city on fire, his people howling in agony. Blood and corpses drenched the streets. Corpses of women and children, and beside them were houses clad in flames.

Not too far from where Eist was, a group of citizens was standing up to the invaders with nothing but pikes. The invaders easily crushed their meager resistance and killed all of them.

Shouts and bellows. Screams and howls. All tormenting the soul of the king. Tears welled within Eist’s eyes, and with a gravelly voice, he said, “Cintra has fallen. I have no reason to live. I have failed my people.”

“Ya still ‘ave Ciri an’ Calanthe. Are ya telling me yer gon’ dump them? At least see them before ya leave…” Crach gave his men a look. A dozen knights changed directions and made their way to Cintra’s port. The Skellige soldiers back on the ships had put up the sails and were ready to leave at any moment. The invaders tried to board their ships, but all were taken down by the sailors.

“You’re right. This is my sin. I shall pay for it myself.” Eist pulled on the reins, resolve flaring in his eyes. “Calanthe must live on. Ciri too. And my child.” And Eist set off for the castle.

***

The city was still screaming in agony. A troop of Nilfgaardian soldiers led by a burly man in a black cloak was riding toward the castle. The man rode a black horse and had a helmet with wings as big as a beast’s.

A man with gleaming, black eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips donned the attire of a mercenary. A pendant made of zircon hung around his neck. He moved around the landscape like a phantom, avoiding the areas where people were fighting and hovering before the castle of Cintra. Then he entered through the window on the second floor.

***

Beneath the black beams of the great hall hung a long row of shields on the wall. And on the shields were the emblems of all Cintran royalty. This royalty now stood before their emblems, wearing nothing but pure black attire. Everyone—from the young to the old—was solemn and grim.

The women were holding their husbands’ arms, their faces pale as ghosts, and they shivered in fear. The girls fiddled with the hem of their dresses, confusion and questions swirling in their young, gleaming eyes.

Some were covering their mouths, breaking out in sobs. Their shoulders shook, their eyes tearing up. Some held their heads up high, putting a look of proud solemnity. These people were ready to die.

Calanthe stood before the royalty, wearing a long black dress. Sorrow crept up her face, her eyes speaking of untold sadness. Untold agony over what she was about to do. Quietly, the queen took out a petite glass bottle from the basket behind her. Inside it housed some liquid, green and gleaming dangerously.

She solemnly handed the bottle to the brave royalty and held a man’s ice-cold hands. The queen gave him an encouraging look, and the man nodded silently before he backed off.

Coria, the servant, was following her queen, distributing the poison to the other royalty. Her face was as pale as a tombstone, however.

“Damn the gods!” Geralt cursed for the first time in a while, murder filling his eyes, and he quickly cast a black shield with his left hand.

Ciri got the message from Geralt, and she waddled into the shadows of the corridor.

The man looked at Ciri darkly, then he turned his sights to Geralt. Something clicked, and a sneer curled his lips. A bright bolt of electricity appeared within his hands. It plowed through the ground as it charged at the witcher.

Geralt tried to roll away, but the lightning grazed him, shattering Heliotrop into pieces. He got back up right away and swung his blade down, charging ahead at the mage in a zigzag pattern.

Then, metal and magic clashed.

***

Eist blocked the enemy knight’s blade and smacked his forehead with the pommel. The slight concussion dazed the enemy, flinging him off his horse. Then Eist’s mount raised its front legs and stomped on the fallen knight’s ribs, cracking a few of his bones.

Calmly, the king of Cintra surveyed the battlefield. His side had an overwhelming advantage. Mousesack was raining down the wrath of nature on the enemies. The druid alone cracked open the heads of nearly ten enemy knights. He’s a tough warrior, that’s for sure.

And the remaining knights were mercilessly slaughtered by his soldiers. Eist looked up at the castle, where his wife was staring at him lovingly. Their eyes met, and he felt a surge of affection warming his heart.

The king charged straight at one of the remaining knights. Before the enemy could hit him, the king blocked his attack and launched a counterattack of his own, slamming his pommel into the enemy’s head repeatedly.

Then, something whizzed through the air. Eist tried to block it with his sword, but it was too late.

***

Roy once told him seriously that a crossbow bolt would be his death. Back at Marnadal, Eist thought he had changed his destiny. No longer would he die from a crossbow bolt, but alas, he was wrong. Destiny never changed. It was always waiting for this one fateful moment. Calanthe… Ciri… my child… Farewell. That was Eist’s last thought, and then… darkness engulfed him.

A crossbow bolt that appeared from nowhere pierced through the left eye of Cintra’s king. And he fell. Right before his lover’s eyes, he fell.

***

“NO! No!” Calanthe’s face was contorted with rage and agony, a heart-wrenching scream escaping her lips. She felt great desolation welling within her, taking her soul and tearing her heart apart. Everything had ended, so why was the battle still raging? Everything lost its color, and yet her lover still bled red.

Everything was taken over by grief. By bereavement. For a moment, nothing mattered. The death of her kingdom, her cheeky granddaughter, and her unborn child… Nothing mattered. She shuffled like a living corpse, standing atop the window. Her heart was telling her to do it. To leap off to her death. She felt a gust of cool sea breeze brushing across her cheeks, taking away the broken kingdom beneath her. All she saw was death.

She spread her arms and fell forward, where her husband waited beyond the veil. The winds howled and screamed, desperately trying to tether her to life.

***

And then, the embrace of something warm, soft, and almost rancid. Eist, is that you? The queen’s eyes snapped open. Before her were the great blue skies and the port of Cintra overseeing the glimmering seas. Everything around her seemed to be zipping past her at inhuman speeds.

Wait, this is…

Gryphon let out a little roar as it flew through the skies. Those still standing beneath the castles looked up in awe and horror.

The griffin circled the air and landed before the castle. Once the queen came down from its back, the griffin roared once as a goodbye, then it flapped its wings once more, taking to the skies.

Calanthe sat upon the bloodstained ground, staring ahead dumbly. Around her were the people of Skellige, and she muttered, “I’m… alive?”

***

Roy came down from the horse, holding the half-unconscious Triss in his arms. He glanced at the countenance of the lifeless king and looked at the dispirited queen. There’s nothing in her eyes. He shook his head sadly. I tried so hard, and got so far, and yet destiny didn’t change. Good thing Gryphon was keeping an eye on the queen. It’d be really bad if she died.

“Calanthe, His Majesty is no more. If you had actually died, then there would be no reminder of him left in this world. There would’ve been no reason for his coming back to protect you.”

***

***