A/N: Sorry for the delay. Real life issues.
Towards an Universe far beyond the reach of mortals, a Magus is being hurtled through a wormhole at speeds no mortal could possibly fathom.
That Magus is me, naturally.
I expected the Void to be dark… It was a black abyss when I met Detachment and Obsession.
But now I see more clearly… I can perceive endless webs of energy, some vibrant and colorful—thriving, others dark and dreadful—lifeless. It's like the first time one steps into a forest as a child, where every direction holds naught but wonders and adventures! Or so I've been told.
Born in the heart of a bustling city, the closest I ever got to a forest was the concrete jungle that surrounded me—a place where no birds could survive, where the air itself reeked and people constantly hurried about—faceless.
Funnily enough, the artificial beauty of the manmade only revealed itself at night.
That's why I cherish the darkness;
Every gaze out the window and glimpse of light I caught would bring an inexplicable warmth.
Still, as beautiful as the scenery is, "Are we there yet?" I've got places to be; things to do. On cue, I detect light at the end of the tunnel before finding myself nailed into the earth, my legs buckling from the strain and suddenness of the impact. "That was intense…"
The sound of snapping branches alerts me to an approaching presence. Judging by the volume, it's humanoid and around 300 pounds. Fear me, for I am a smart anime protagonist who can even count all the molecules in the clearing I'm in!
Whirling around, I summon my spear to block the sword aimed at me. It would've bruised me had I not acted.
'At least I'm right about the 'humanoid' part…' My attacker has stark white hair, even though she looks to be in her early to mid-twenties at most; her eyes are a far deeper emerald than mine—brighter too.
One would think it's the angry scar which's her most pronounced feature, but for me it's in fact the hair.
Some will label it the 'boozy housewife hair', I call it the 'slightly messier Saber hair'.
It does things to me… Weird things.
"Spitfire, are you?" I grin, dancing out of her reach.
Although she'll be s bolt for most people, Ciri looks about as fast as a snail to me.
"Eredin sent a child to do his dirty deed?"
Putting Senza Esitazione on my shoulders, hands slung over the Mystic Code to show I'm not a threat while simultaneously portraying confidence, I dance back lazily and respond in a joking manner.
"Nobody sent me, I sent myself."
"You're here for me?"
The princess of Cintra asks, alert in her tone; sword raised slightly as to communicate she'll not go down without a fight, should I initiate it.
I snort, leaning against the straight hill relaxedly. It's the wrong move to make, since my shirt's now like my boots—covered in muds. "I'm here to find a Witcher…"
"In the middle of a forest, wielding that?" She points at my spear—no, not that spear, you perv—her gaze cautious and distrustful, as she should be given the circumstances. "Witchers hunt monsters; monsters live in forest. Where the Hell else am I supposed to find one?"
Lowering her sword a few inches, she questions, "Why are you trying to? You've got a monster in need of being slain?"
"No monster I can't handle." Except for Gaunter O'Dimm, but he falls less in the Monster category, and more Godly.
"Then why?"
"Reasons…" I quickly deflect. "Do you happen to know any?"
"I know a few, but—" She begins, but is cut off as wolf howls echo in the distance, causing both of us to whirl around.
"Dangerous place."
"Not so dangerous when you can defend yourself." Her gaze briefly fixes on my Mystic Code before she raises her own blade, which seems to absorb and reflect the moonlight… Mine, in contrast, emits an ethereal glow—one of gold and riches. Then comes a sharp, high-pitched scream. 'Gretka, if my memory hasn't failed me.'
The peasant girl who was left to the wolves by her parents, literally in this Timeline.
Considering what she did, and how dire a circumstance her family's in, I can't really find it in myself to be too tough on her parents, though I can hardly condone their actions either. "Will you accompany me?"
"Depends, will you introduce me to a Witcher?"
"I'll think about it afterwards." Teleporting towards the source of the noise, Ciri of Cintra vanishes into the line of trees. 'Skips… She's skipping forwards in Time.'
At first, her 'Blink' seems instantaneous, but the streak it leaves suggests otherwise.
Now, my hypothesis might be off, but that's what I infer from the visual cues.
"I need to stop being such a Magus…"
At least I'm touching grass, which's a lot more than many can say.
With all my weight on my right leg, because I'm just an ordinary, right-legged normie, I jump above the trees, taking a few branches with me in the process.
[Mimir's Eye] activated, I begin to actively search for convergences of Mysteries.
This Mystic Code doesn't detect Mana at all; instead it translates all things unnatural or those defying the known laws of physics into a spectrum of colors. The most colorful spots indicate where Spells or Superhuman feats are happening.
It's incredibly useful for tracking the Supernatural, but the view is like peering through one of grainy, infrared lens that will be so readily available on online platforms for 50 bucks. 'There…'
I think to myself, using [Kinetic Blast] to propel myself towards the 'King of Wolves'.
The odd thing is, he's not where he's supposed to be… He's attacking Gretka's village instead.
I hum in confusion.
Having replayed the game thrice, I'm quite familiar with how the missions are supposed to progress. This should be 'The King of Wolves,' Ciri's first appearance where she resolves the locals' hairy little problem. The battle should conclude within his goon cave—the chosen lair of the neighborhood werewolf, rather than amongst panicking civilians running, yelling, and crying like headless chickens.
Hell, as someone who had battled chickens in the past, they'd have put up more of a fight than these guys.
Where even is Gretka? Zooming in with enhanced vision, I scour the forest from above, using [Kinetic Blast] as a primitive form of levitation.
Finally, I spot a chewed-up corpse slumped against the root of a massive tree.
'So much for sticking to the script.'
Soaring into the village, I land squarely before the rampaging werewolf, just as it lashes out at a hapless lass.
The beast snarls and charges, a blur of feral rage, its slavering jaws snapping like one of those alligator turtle, splashing foul-scented saliva everywhere, stopped by [Kinetic Shield], which I can't be more thankful of. One splash of that and my shirt would have been done for. "Brush your fucking teeth!" With a slap, I knock the werewolf on its side, sending it seven feet to the left as it whines pitifully.
I like dogs, but not when they're a furry's wet-dream and smell like somebody's unwashed undies.
Seeing this, one of the wolves leaps forth, before being seized by my hand and wrestled to the ground—domesticated in an instant. "Down."
I glare, pinning it tightly, and growl as I used to do when my cats misbehaved.
This method works 8 times out of 10.
Now it's 9.
The rest of the pack, still under the werewolf's Mysteries, slowly back away, forming a circle around their downed leader and me. "Y- You!" Shaking its head, tongue licking its burst lips, the hairy creature silently crawls toward me on all fours. It glances around, expecting support, but the other wolves merely watch.
Strange, I have never gotten this reaction before. Either the wild animals want their 'king' usurped, or the terror I instill in them is so big it has managed to override one of the werewolf's most basic magical abilities.
Ciri chooses that exact moment to throw herself in-between us, her eyes wide like a pair of saucers. "Should I have come later?"
"No, you are right on time."
Pointing my thumb at the salivating beast, I ask. "So… You wanna take a swing at him, or should I?"
"Can you handle it?"
"Easy-peasy lemon squeezy."
Ciri turns with a somewhat confused expression at the bizarre scene, then lowers her blade.
"I'll leave it to you then."
"Alrighty."
De-materializing the Mystic Code, I crack my knuckles, puzzled by the werewolf's reaction. It's backtracking so quickly one would think I bear a great plague.
Yet, there's a nagging sense that its fear is directed not at me, but something behind me.
Head swerving, I'm greeted by a horrifically disfigured figure dressed in priestly attire—Kirei. He looks far worse than I remember. His movements are stiff with rigor mortis; his skull grotesquely enlarged—three to four times its normal size, with a rotting tongue protruding through crooked teeth.
His eye sockets hold no eyes, just bottomless abysses that could drive even the most hardened warriors into a state of panic, for beneath the unassuming darkness lies Hell itself staring back at them. The priest—Angra Mainyu in his guise snarls, its hands clenched tight on my shoulders, chest heaving rapidly like a methhead whose unhealthy addiction is starting to rear its ugly head.
"K-Kill th-them! Make a spe-spectacle, yOuR HiGhneSss!"
The Daemon hisses, hiccuping through every word—its voice like a symphony of broken, almost incoherent noises.
It's rather disappointing of a realization…
And there I thought I was scary enough to put the fear of Gods in monsters and wild beasts.
'Pipe down.' I telepathically send Angra a warning. If animals can feel it, I have a feeling other Supernatural can as well. "Bo—ring—!" Flesh simmering like boiling water, it dissipates and replicates my appearance, but it cannot hide its lack of humanity, not with eyes like that, manic and wide enough for me to fear for those eyeballs. A slap, and they may fall right outta their sockets.
With the World's Evils or the Incarnation of it gone, the werewolf suddenly seems to regain its vitality.
Standing to its full height, its claw pointed at me, the 'King of Wolves' taunts, "Child cha-challenges me? I rip you up like the others… Chew on your bones and drink your blood!" Wow, what a captivating threat! If only I haven't heard several different iterations of it spoken by the Magi I hunted already. "E for effort." I clap, walking towards it with not a care in the world.
That first bitch-slap was to gauge the power disaprity between myself and the natives, and so far I'm not impressed. In fact, it feels like I'm stronger somehow; my muscles more full, my strength more explosive.
Even my Spells are more effective, like the world itself is assisting me, unlike Gaia's petty ass who is being a complete killjoy to us poor Magi.
I call racism…
That's right, you heard it here first, folks!
The planet's being racist to an oppressed minority! Protest, rage, loot!
The werewolf lunges at me, ferocious as the animal it embodies,
"You mock me?!"
"I am, what are you gonna do 'bout it, you hairy; edgy; dusty-looking mutt? Gonna cry about it?"
The werewolf recoils, as though burnt by my words.
'Did I just hurt a monster's feelings?!'
I cannot know for certain, but this must be what He-Man felt when he grabbed the Sword of Grayskull for the very first time. 'My- My words can hurt others?'
Oh, no! However will I reconcile with the guilt?!
Anyways…
"Put them paws up, animal-fucker!"
Yelling like an overhyped athlete, I raise my guard and beckon the werewolf which jumps at me with the fervor of someone who just lost a 'Yo mama' battle horribly.
It's faster, its movements more explosive than its mundane kin, but even the fastest five-year-old is still statistically slower than the average adult.
Fingers curling around its snout, I hold the werewolf back with my right hand while pressing a thumb against its forehead with my left. While I usually enhance my strikes with [Kinetic Blast], there are still many applications I have yet to tested on live targets. One idea is to magnify the potential energy of its skull.
All I need is a touch, and—Splat!
There goes the mangy mutt.
The back of its skull erupted outward like a morbid shotgun blast, fragmented bone tearing through flesh and splattering the ground with the chunky, liquefied mess that was once the beast's brain.
My eyes, bright with adrenaline, dart to the wolves circling the carnage, a feral grin splitting my face as I run my tongue over a canine still slick with blood.
With a shoo, I send the sated pack scurrying back into the trees.
"That," Ciri's voice rasps behind me, "Was intense. You're pretty horrifying for a kid, you know."
"Oh, stop it! You're making me shy!"
I chirp, my heart jumping with morbid glee at the compliment. My hands fly to my cheeks to hide the redness. They don't teach you this in school, but faking a blush really is just a matter of practice.
"That wasn't a compliment." The Swallow deadpans.
Smiling at her, I wink. "Not to you, maybe, but it's pretty flattering to me."
"… You don't act like a kid. Possession?"
My head jerks at her out-of-nowhere yet accurate guest.
Lips lifting in the most genuine smile I've managed yet, eyes twinkling at her, I clap.
It feels relieving to be seen.
"Nice guess," I purr, "But not quite. Do you know a Sorceress as well?"
Pausing, I tap a finger to my chin thoughtfully. "This childish form is quite limiting."
What I need isn't a permanent transformation, but one that allows me to switch back and forth. Leonis Magnus is the actor, the public figure and eventual CEO, he shouldn't attend the Tower, but 'someone' has to in his place.
"Hmmm,"
Thoughts running a million miles a second, I talk to myself.
"I'mma need a second name."
With the threat gone, the villagers trickle back into the village square. But much like the aftermath of the Great Fire, I spot a few opportunistic souls already wheeling the carriage away, muttering amongst themselves about the Baron and the cruelty of his men.
'But it's better than this.'
I think, watching them disappear down the dirt trail—Temeria really hadn't paid much attention to their infrastructures, had they?
Nobody enjoys the Red Baron's idea of the IRS, but at least his soldiers provide some semblance of protection in these trying times, something the fallen Kingdom and the ones invading have failed to.
They are… Simple folks.
Rare few dream big, some don't dream at all.
"Come, sit with us. You have our thanks, strangers—"
"Thanks?" I scrunch my brows. "Your lives are only worth thanks?"
Snapping towards me, the Swallow pinches my ear, but even her tightest grip just feels like a love gesture.
It's pretty fun to be overpowered…
All these 'powerful' monsters and warriors, reduced to toddlers before me.
It's hilarious to see— 'Calm.'
Recognizing the boost in my ego, I immediately mute my emotions.
Pride's the enemy…
Pride leads to stagnation, and stagnation invites destruction.
"Apologies, he's—"
"Pay up!"
Interrupting, I stretch my open palm out, tapping at it with haste, my foot following suit impatiently. "Can't you see this is difficult times for them? What can they offer you except tools for farming?"
Ciri's brow furrows, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features.
Disappointing, really, how little professional courtesy seems to matter these days. Not that these folks possess anything of value, but I did just save their hides from a werewolf. The least they could offer is—
The thought dies unfinished as I turn to the farmer's wife, a disarmingly charming grin spreading across my lips.
Following my line of sight, the farmer jumps in front of his lady, stuttering.
"Y- You, what do you want?!"
Even Ciri stares at me, speechless.
I don't understand their reactions.
All I want is the stale bread clutched in the woman's hand.
It's been a lifelong dream to try authentic medieval bread.
Apparently, it's as hard as a rock.
Maybe the taste makes up for it?
I shove the two out of the way and beeline for the woman.
My hand lashes out, not to steal, but to repossess their
The thought that I might have just implied their lives were worth a single loaf of bread hits me a beat too late.
Oh well, they can cry about it later.
"Kinda has a tough texture to it, doesn't it?" I muse, squeezing the loaf, only to be met with disappointing stringiness while the three keep their gazes trained on me. "What?"
"You were,"
The lost princess of Cintra begins, her words catching like a spaek choked before it could truly ignite. "Never mind… I apologize for my companion's rashness. He is quite young, as you can see."
I smirk.
I'm not stupid enough to know what they assumed, I merely find amusement toying with them. Ripping the loaf in half, I chew on the smaller piece, humming at the new experience. "Not the best I have had," Then I turn the loaf in my hand, smiling. "But filling, I suppose."
With a casual toss, the remaining bread land perfectly in her hands. "Now, if you lot will excuse me, I've got to get to Crow's Perch?"
"It-It's getting late. You two wouldn't be needing shelter, would you? We've a spare room, see. My daughter's, it used to be…"
The farmer's voice cracks. The grief is probably real, but he's leaving out the fact he sent her to her death. "You wouldn't happen to have known a girl named Gretka?"
Their faces blanch. "Th-She's…"
"Dead," I finish, my face a bit strange. "Torn apart by the werewolf before it went after your village. She had candies in her hands."
"The Ladies of the Wood were supposed to protect us," Stuttering, the farmer lowers to a crouch, dropping on his behind a moment after. "The village had a deal—provide them with tribute and they would keep the horrors away. Fat loads of good they did…"
I look at the man, face twisted by resentment.
Can my presence alone truly cause that big of a change?
Ciri doesn't look like she's met Gretka, or she'd have had a reaction to the mention.
The werewolf, the village, even Gretka—they were all pieces that do not piece.
Why was the werewolf even here? Why this village, and where are the 'Ladies'?
They may be terrorists guilty of several war crimes and crimes against humanity, but they have a track record to keep.
No way those Crones would've allowed faith in them to fade.
"Enough of the pity-party." While I certainly understand the position he's in, the guy did throw his daughter to the wolves, literally. It's only fair he suffers the guilt. Peeking at the pile of mangled bodies behind the grieving mother, I echo Gretka's line absentmindly. "Too many mouths to feed, guess that solved it."
Walking away from them, I chase after the carriage, while the Swallow seems to hesitate for but a moment, before opting to come with me for the ride. "Glad to see you've decided to accompany me, miss."
"I do need to reach the nearest settlement. Perhaps they'll be in need for a Witcheress."
'Her accent's awesome…'
Pretty basic British accent, but it's the way she delivers it that really sells the hopeful sellsword—the trend once upon a time, before realism grew in popularity. Kudos to her VA.
"Witcheress?" Knowing how cautious she is, I play along.
There are few Sorceresses whose integrity I trust, and both have deep connections to the woman next to me. Although neither's help will come easy, kid or not, negotiation will definitely be smoother with Ciri vouching for me.
"In-training." She grins confidently. "Fret not, I can throw my weight around plenty."
"I never suspect anything else."
Winking, I gestures with a head movement at the sword strapped to her back.
After a while of running, Ciri's breathing gets ragged and rough.
Even skilled, she's still a normal body-modifications wise. Sometimes I forget how different my Stats are compared to even trained specialists with years ahead of me in term of experience.
"You need a rest?"
I expect her to stubbornly refuse, but the Swallow seems to know her limits well.
"That and a fire would be nice."
Humming, I focus on the temperature.
It's not a problem for me, but it's getting chilly.
Pacing my step, I come to a slow, then stop, pointing at the carriage we're following.
"Maybe we should join them?"
We approach the carriage at a measured jog, each crunch of gravel underfoot raising the tension like a tightening string on a lute.
The villagers, huddled within its rickety embrace, watch our approach with a wariness that border on hostility.
.Given the bloody spectacle they'd just witnessed, I don't take it too personal.
Once sure we're not here to rob them, the villagers finally relax, but the atmosphere's not festive, not with the losses they've endured still heavy in their minds. Ciri and I, able to read the air, decide to keep to ourselves mostly. "I have not introduced myself, have I? I'm Ciri."
"Just Ciri?"
She smiles apologetically at me. "Afraid that's all I'm comfortable sharing."
"Fair enough. Leonis, Leonis Magnus, Magus extraordinaire, at your services."
I'll never get tired of this joke.
"Magus? You're a Mage."
"Yep."
Hand plopped on her kneecap, Cirilla leans forth, "I sense a story here… And you never did explain why you look the way you do."
"Trying to pry for information, are you?"
Laughing, clearly a bit shy at getting caught, the Swallow answers.
"Just wanted to know who I'm working with."
"I died and woke up in a great tragedy, one that takes the life of this body. Before it cools, my Soul slips into it, and that's that."
Simple, short and effective at communicating my backstory, but also doesn't reveal much.
"I see, you're trying to regain my form?"
"No… Just to make my appearance match my actual age."
While there are certain benefits to looking like a kid, there are too many disadvantages—enough that I'll need access to an older form.
"Why search for a Sorceress if you're a Mage yourself?"
Brows knitted in attempt to figure me out, Ciri asks. At least she phrases it more as a request than a demand.
"Magecraft requires knowledge, and I'm mostly self-taught." I shrug. "What about you, 'Just Ciri'? What are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
"Running," She states simply, tossing a dry branch onto the flames. The firelight dances across her face, revealing a fleeting grimace that vanishes as quickly as it appears.
I hold my tongue, letting silence draw out the explanation Ciri seems hesitant to give.
"You can't begin to fathom the enemies I have. We best part ways once we reach Crow's Perch."
"Why?" I press, suspicion prickling at me.
"Being near me… it's not safe," The Swallow answers, her gaze flickering up to meet mine. There's a shadow in her eyes—a bitterness. "Quite a few learned that lesson the hard way."
I consider for a moment, then make the offer, "Let's make a deal. You help me find a Mage who can solve my problems, and I'll help you deal with whoever's breathing down your neck. Win-win."
"A world's after me, Leonis."
"Then it's a world I'll fight."
I may be a sleazy salesman, but I have my own code of honor to follow—my blessed codex.
Eyeing me for a moment, she clarifies.
"I'm not jesting, a world—a species is after me due to what I am. You're strong, but you could still die."
I snort, fixing my posture. "Miss, I could die even if I sit in a well-fortified fortress. The grounds could give; meteorites could fall; a murderer could turn me into their new biology project." The likelihoods are not high, but these are all possibilities. "Furthermore, how can a man ever reject a call to adventure?"
I wonder what I'll be able to loot from Eredin's Castle and Avallac'h's Workshop.
Precious metals will be great, and the latter should contain the knowledge of an Elven Sage—allegedly one of the highest authorities in their society. His research will be of immense help if I manage to acquire it.
"Why are you helping me? There are more Mages than the few I know."
But there's none I trust, probably since I and the rest of the playerbase played from Geralt's perspective.
Phillipa's fucking ruthless;
Keira tried to sell a bio-weapon to Radovid to save her skin—fat load of good that did her when Geralt (The Player) opted to leave her to her fate.
Margarita seemed like a nice person, but if she's good, she'd not be in the hands of the fire fanatics;
The rest I can't recall the exact locations.
What? It's been a while, I don't even remember the map that well.
"It's—"
"Fire off! We don't need to attract the monsters!" One of villagers, a gruff looking man hollers.
"Goodnight, 'Just Ciri'."
"You as well, Magnus the Extraordinaire."
She returns the jest lightheartedly as I put out our campfire with but a flick.