The Witcher The Swallow and The Monster

The Will to Go Forward

"I carry two swords. One of silver for creatures that roam the wild. One of steel for humans in their cities of stone. Both are for monsters." - Geralt of Rivia

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(F/N) howled with sorrow as he looked at all the bodies, the actions of what he had done were sinking in. In his animal like state, he apparently believed it to be a good idea to bite the heads off, among other things. There was blood everywhere. In the house, the grounds, even the damn ceiling. He was covered in it. He had lost control. No. He would have had to be in control in the first place. The bloodlust, it was so powerful, he couldn't hold it back.

He tore his clothes off and threw them on the ground. He threw his blade on the stairs were it clattered. He threw his belt as far away as he could. He couldn't control his sudden burst of rage. He couldn't control much. He made the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror, almost all his hair was gone. His skin was so grey, it looked as though he had been dead for months. He could see his grey and black veins under his skin. He was a damn monster. He let out a powerful yell. The witcher punched the mirror, and yelled, blood leaked from his hand and onto the floor. It looked like a roof was leaking. He pushed over a dresser. Flipped over a table. Punched walls. Slammed things to the ground. The steady stream of blood kept dripping. His thirst grew, all it ever did was grow.

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(F/N) slowly ran the water over his skin, he was shaking slightly, he couldn't get the blood out from under his yellow fingernails, "No more blood. No more blood." He kept muttering that to himself under his breath. He could stop anytime he wanted, and he would do so now. He set the jug of water down. He had tried to stitch his hand back together, but it would scar. A reminder of his failure. That's what he had done. He had failed. There was only one way to put it.

The witcher slowly slipped and tightened his armor. He wrapped his hand tightly, careful not to pull the stitches. It stung. He made sure to put the bodies in one big pile and then used Ignii. He couldn't have someone calling a witcher to deal with a vampire. They'd figure him out immediately. The witcher stared at the pile of burning flesh. It would serve as a reminder to him, it had to. He couldn't do this, never again.

He sighed as he walked to the gate. He tried to focus on the only thing that mattered, the mission. He nearly had all the pieces of the puzzle now. Ciri had ridden from Velen to Novigrad, she found Dandelion, she had a broken phylactery, which he now possessed. What she was planning on using it for he had no idea. Then they had somehow found Whoreson Junior who had the means to repair it. Then Ciri and Dandelion stole Dijkstra's treasure to pay off Whoreson, but Menge confiscated it, along with Dandelion. Then Whoreson took Dudu, Ciri rescued him, and after that (F/N) had no idea. The only one who could answer that was Dandelion.

The witcher needed to save him next. As he opened the gate, he saw that there was a group of Redanian soldiers waiting for him. (F/N) almost went to pull his sword, but the soldiers looked more bored than angry, "Seems you resolved your matters. It's time you returned the favor."

(F/N) sighed and nodded, he looked at his armor, there were light blood stains. He shook his head, he wanted to get Radovid's favor over with, he didn't want the King of Redania to humiliate him any further, "Fine. Take me to Radovid."

The soldiers nodded and started marching, the witcher reluctantly followed. He could hear the blood in the soldier's body moving slowly through his veins.

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The soldiers led the witcher to a large warship. The entire place was crawling with soldiers. Radovid's paranoia was obvious, he clearly knew the dangers of fighting Nilfgaard were grave. One of the soldiers that had spoken to (F/N) on the trip turned and smiled at him, "The HMS Oxenfurt-Tretogor, once the crown jewel of the Redanian fleet. Decommissioned now though."