The Divine Hunter

The stars had already dimmed when the witchers made up their mind to fight. In a few hours, they would be witnessing the beautiful sunrise in the wilds of Poviss. Concerned that the pigs in Pamela’s records might come too soon, the witchers didn’t meditate that night. Instead, they carried the skeletons with them as they rode back to the temple. Pine branches were tied to the rears of the steeds, erasing the hoof marks from the snowy ground.

The witchers rode until the first sliver of dawn was about to break the horizon. They stopped in the woods three miles away from the temple and dismounted from their steeds.

“One of the Cursed Ones is a werebeast. Has a keen sense of smell. If we want to take the fight to them, we have to get rid of our scent to not alarm them. Rub some scent remover all over yourself. Yes, including your dick.” Carl poured a handful of yellow powder out of a long neck vial and rubbed it all over his palm. The witcher proceeded to spread the powder across his face, hands, whole body, and even armor and weapon.

Even Scorpion and Wilt had to be subjected to this. Their glistening fur was turned into a shade of light yellow, and there was a complaint in their eyes.

“You sure that actually works?” Acamuthorm had his doubts, but he didn’t stop moving. He rubbed the powder across his armpits and the insides of his thighs. He looked like a madman taking a bath outside on a winter morning.

“Kalkstein never disappoints. With the scent remover, Quen, and Heliotrop, not even the best dog can sniff us out, even if we stand right in front of it.” Carl carefully took the steeds to a thick kale bush. He cast Axii on the horses and covered them with more bushes.

***

This wasn’t enough preparation to fight an evil god’s priestess. The witchers checked their supplies. It was the first time any apprentice went out on a solo journey in a kingdom this far from home. The brotherhood put a lot of importance on it. They gave these two all the usual decoctions, health potions, mana potions, bombs, and Cloaks of Silence.

To make sure the trip went perfectly and that the kids wouldn’t be killed by any powerful enemies, they went above and beyond to make some higher vampire decoctions for them. Crimson liquid and the best decoction they had. And they also had the most powerful new-gen clay bomb with them.

Without these supplies backing them up, Acamuthorm wouldn’t even step into the battle, no matter how powerful his sense of justice was. However, the real reason they felt secure was because of another item they had.

Carefully, Carl took out a small, diamond-shaped, multicolored crystal from the saddlebag. He raised the crystal up and looked at it shining under the light of dawn. A drop of red blood swirled within the crystal, as if it had life. The drop of blood reflected a shade of a dreamlike color. “Keep it well. Crush it when you think you’ll die.” Carl handed the crystal to Acamuthorm.

“No, you take it.”

“Then I’ll be the vanguard.”

***

Gusts of morning breeze tickled the snow-covered lands. A plump white hare stuck its head out of an edelweiss bush, looking around carefully. Seeing no predators around, the hare munched on the grass.

And then a breeze flew past it. Thinking it was a predator incoming, the hare froze up, its ears upright. It turned around to see what was behind it, but there was nothing. There were no sounds or scent. There were only two rows of vague footprints left on the ground.

Beyond the hare’s line of sight, a pair of silhouettes, quick as panthers, hurtled across the land.

***

The witchers stopped under a pine tree a hundred yards away from the temple. They hadn’t slept in two days, and the journey had been long. Even though they were mutants, they felt the slightest bit exhausted. Still, their passion for battle pushed down their discomfort.

Acamuthorm leaned on the tree trunk, looking through the cracks between the woods. Three exquisite horse-drawn carriages stood in the clearing beyond the temple’s fence. They were black in color, had gold roses engraved on them, and their windows had purple silk curtains hanging from them.

Standing at the courtyard’s entryway was Rumachi the guard. He was in a thick cotton jacket and a wool cap. The guard stood guard with his back turned to the carriages, his arms crossed. He yawned languidly, his eyes glinting icily, like a lion taking a short break after a meal.action

The witchers’ preparations came in handy. Rumachi had no idea he was being watched. The other guard, Dino, must’ve been in one of the temple’s rooms along with Daisy, the people in the carriages, and the kids.

***

“Let’s go through our plan again.” Carl patted his companion’s shoulder.

Acamuthorm’s face was tense and red. He was shivering from excitement and nervousness, his ears trembling. He could make a good speech, but he was still in fact an amateur. The young witcher whispered with a shaky voice, “We sneak into the temple, get Daisy as our hostage, force her to release the kids from the evil god’s sign… We’re running late, pal. We gotta make it fast.”

“Calm down. I’ll cause a diversion in five minutes and get Rumachi’s attention. You only have one chance, so seize it, mate.”

The witchers shook hands, unsheathed their weapons, and greased them in two layers of oil. Then they downed their decoctions.

Golden and black barriers swirled upon the witchers’ armor, and black veins crawled upon their faces. They split up, with Acamuthorm going around the back of the temple, while Carl tiptoed toward the entrance like a cat in hiding. He was holding his breath.

***

When Carl was ten yards away from the carriage, Acamuthorm had leapt over the backyard’s fence, sniffing and listening for where the kids were. He went to the window behind the dormitories to have a check, and what he saw shocked him.

A dozen gaunt children were huddled in a pile, looking dazed. They circled around slowly, chanting an eerie prayer under their breaths.

“Destiny’s threads weave themselves into webs under your ancient gaze… Pain and suffering begets growth… misfortune and death are its servants… your power is eternal change…”

Acamuthorm only heard excerpts of the prayer, and already it made him frustrated and spaced out. What worried him more was that he could see black ripples coming from the kids. The air itself looked like a perturbed surface of a lake. The chaos energy in the air was moving erratically.

Acamuthorm’s medallion was buzzing violently, like a bird trying to escape a web. “What on earth is Daisy trying to do?”

Angouleme and a few other kids weren’t among the group. Acamuthorm left quietly and tiptoed to the prayer room beside this room. He could hear grunts and heavy breathing and painful moans getting louder and louder.

Through the window, he saw a circle made of lit candles within the room. Children were lying on a crimson rug and in chairs. Five of them. Their limbs were sprawled limply, their eyes dead, their faces stiff. They were like soulless marionettes, the only proof that they were alive being the hint of pain and suffering flickering in their eyes from time to time.

In stark contrast to the kids were the hairy, bloated middle-aged men in the hall. Their actions were… despicable. Grotesque. Under the dim light, these men were like portly demons enjoying a feast.

Beside the altar in a corner, a bald guy was pushing Angouleme down, throttling her from the back with both hands, keeping her head pinned to the ground. He watched her struggle like a fish out of water. A grin of excitement was carved on the man’s twisted face, and he cursed Angouleme. “Scream, you little wench. Scream!”

Daisy, the temple administrator, stood at the prayer room’s entryway, not disturbed by these actions. She watched the acts of violence in silence, and an eerie smile curled her lips.

Acamuthorm knew that smile. Every time he showed some improvement in his training, Coen would give him the same smile. He held the hilt of his sword. Come on, Carl.

***

A deafening explosion roared from the temple’s entrance, and a pillar of flames shot high up into the skies. One of the carriages caught fire, the flames licking it quickly. The steed whinnied and rammed the fence down, charging into the courtyard, dragging the ball of flames behind it.

Rumachi leapt away from the horse’s deadly rampage like a big cat. The carriage slammed into the statue of Lebioda in the center of the courtyard and fell into the snowy ground.

Flames shone on Rumachi and his contorted face. He turned to the arsonist. The witcher was hiding behind a second carriage, beckoning at him challengingly. There was disdain on his face.

Furious, the man bared his fangs and pounced on the witcher, agile as a lion. He covered five yards in a single jump, and the man had turned into a beast before he even landed. He was a bipedal monster with a lion’s head, his teeth replaced by fangs and incisors, and he stood over six-foot-six.

The moment it landed, Carl leapt far away to the side, holding his sword in one hand and a bomb in the other. The witcher and werelion stood face to face. Carl looked like a child in front of this monster, but the witcher was unfazed. He calmly assessed his enemy’s weakness.

The monster’s golden mane billowed in the wind, its bloodshot eyes filled with bloodlust and cruelty. Its maw was filled with incisors laced with poison, the barbs on its tongue standing on their ends. “We’ve shown you mercy once, witchers. Why did you come back? This will be the place where you meet your doom.”

***

Everyone in the prayer room was shocked by the explosion, and they froze for a moment. In that split second, Acamuthorm shoved a blast of Aard and shattered the wooden window. He leapt into the room and walked ahead, spinning his sword around. As if cutting through butter, he sliced the nape of two men open, cutting their spines.

Blood splattered into the air like fountains. The pigs’ eyes went wide, and they fell into pools of their own blood, gurgling.

Most people were still shaken from the explosion. Only Angouleme barely managed to turn around. She saw someone.

Acamuthorm tensed up and darted at the priestess like a bolt of lightning, his bloodstained weapon slashing through the air.

A bellow of shock and rage rang in the air. A big, furry claw shot out from Daisy’s back and smacked the witcher’s weapon away. A second werelion leapt into the room and pounced at Acamuthorm.

***

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