The dirty men, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, crumpled to the wet cobblestones.
Surprise and pain flickered in their eyes as they clutched at the silver blades embedded in their flesh.
The eerie silence hung heavily in the air, broken only by the distant echoes of the city and the soft patter of rain.
Nefeli's eyes, still fixed on the fallen men, reflected a storm of emotions—anger, frustration, and a simmering determination that burned beneath the surface.
"Fuck!" she yelled, the word tearing from her throat with a raw intensity.
Frustration and self-blame surged within her, manifesting in the way she pulled at her short hair as if trying to physically shake off the weight of the situation.
It wasn't right, and Nefeli knew it.
Marilka's desperate cries for help lingered in her ears, a haunting reminder of the peril that awaited the innocent child.
The tower, ominous in the distance, seemed to mock her, a silent witness to the choices that had led them to this point.
The realization hit her like a blow—she had to do something.
Nefeli couldn't let Renfri's monstrous actions go unchecked. The responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders.
A familiar hand fell onto Nefeli's shoulder, its weight grounding her amid the swirling turmoil within.
Her head snapped up, and she found herself locking eyes with the tall figure standing above her—Geralt.
His black eyes, usually filled with the stoic neutrality of a seasoned Witcher, flicked towards her.
With a small, almost imperceptible nod, he conveyed his choice—a silent agreement that they would stand side by side in the face of the impending threat.
Cupid sighed, her swimming thoughts struggling to find clarity amid the chaos that enveloped her.
He would help her fix it.
A group of men rounded the corner, their eyes shifting from the fallen comrades at Nefeli's feet to the imposing figure of the Witcher at her side.
Anger surged in the faces of the approaching men, their swords drawn and raised in a menacing challenge.
With a primal roar, Geralt charged forward, his silver sword gleaming with a deadly promise.
The air crackled with the impending clash, tension hanging thick like a storm on the horizon.
The men, undeterred by the ferocity of the Witcher, met his charge with a defiant resolve.
Chaos erupted in the narrow alley as the clash of steel rang through the air.
The scent of blood mingled with the damp earth, and the rain intensified, adding an additional layer of slickness to the cobblestones.
An arrow unleashed, its trajectory cutting through the air with a swift and deadly precision, with fast accuracy, Geralt's sword intercepted the arrow, diverting its path to the ground.
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the angels hidden blade
FanfictionNefeli, or "Cupid", as the infuriating beast likes to call her, has never been wanted at anyone's side, and she sure as hell has never been loyal to a single soul. The stoic and fierce Vesemir bled the ability out of her, just as he tainted her blo...
