The Divine Hunter - Chapter 464

Chapter 464: Change
[TL: Asuka]
[PR: Ash]
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.
A few minutes later, everyone was holding a bottle of poison. Including the children. Then, the men led their families into their assigned rooms, and they lay down closely together on the beds. The wives smiled at their husbands and patted their children’s head, whispering into their ears as they fed the children poison. Then the ladies hugged their children for a moment before they, too, took the poison. Before they did, however, the ladies kissed their husbands goodbye, one final smile etching their lips.
Finally, it was the men’s time. They hugged their families one last time, staring at them as the poison started ravaging their bodies. And then, with resolve in their hearts, they finished their poison as well. Not a single drop was left.
Despite the carnage and destruction happening outside, the royalty calmly took their poison and smiled as they greeted death. Lady Freya, we’re returning to you.
Slowly, the royalty met their doom. Calanthe and Coria returned to the room on the top of the castle, a few doses of poison remaining in the basket.
***
“Where’s Grandpa?” Ciri—wearing a silver-grey cloak—tugged on her grandmother’s sleeve, her eyes wide with demand, her cheeks puffed. She shouted, “I thought we’d go to Novigrad together!”
“Your grandfather is carrying out his duty. His duty as a king, a man, and a husband.” Calanthe stood before the window, staring out at her burning city, tears filling her eyes. “Now listen to me and leave, Ciri. Geralt will take you.”
“No!”
“Calanthe, I suggest you come with us for the time being.” Geralt rubbed his teleportation crystal, staring at Calanthe seriously.
“Surely that must be a joke.” Calanthe shook her head, smiling bitterly. “The invaders are killing my people down there, and I do not know where my husband is. Yet you expect me to run away? To hide in Novigrad with you? Do not insult me, witcher.” She leaned out the window, her eyes fixating on the moat’s drawbridge. A squad of Skellige knights were advancing to the castle, and in the lead were two familiar faces.
“You actually have another choice.” Mousesack pinched his beard. He advised, “Crach, King Bran, and I have talked about the worst-case scenario, and we’re ready to welcome you should Cintra fall. King Bran is more than willing to provide his assistance. As long as you live, there is always hope to take back lost land and avenge your people. The ships are ready, and we may depart anytime.”
Calanthe froze up a little.
And then to her horror, she saw a troop of twenty armored, Nilfgaardian knights charging out from the east. They went straight to Eist’s troop, stopping htem in their tracks.
Cloaks whirled and billowed as metal clashed against shield, and horses screeched into the air.
“Mousesack, you have to save them!”
Geralt came to see what was going on.
“As you wish.” Green light glimmered, and a cloud of white fog appeared in the room. A raven flew out the window and made its way to the drawbridge, turning back into its human form as he descended to save the king.
The druid held his staff tightly and waved it around, smacking one of the enemy knights off his horse and cracking his skull. Then, the druid leapt into the enemy squad and stirred up a green storm, easily pushing the enemy knights back.
Calanthe heaved a sigh of relief, but Geralt still looked grim.
“Your Highness, stop right there!” Coria suddenly shouted. To everyone’s concern, Ciri was gone. The bedroom door was wide open, inviting the biting cold of the wind inside.
“Ciri!” Calanthe’s face contorted, and she clutched her belly, fury welling within her.
Coria went after Ciri, and so did Geralt. He was angry at the girl. It did not take long for the witcher to catch up to the girl. He held her up by her collar like she was a little chick.
“Let me go, Geralt! I wanna be the first to welcome Grandpa.” Ciri’s cheeks turned red, and she flailed around like a puppy trying to break free.
Coria shook her head in resignation.
“You almost ruined everything, you know that? That is enough, girl.” And Geralt no longer hesitated. He rubbed the crystal, and it gleamed with magic. Something boomed, and a square portal appeared in the air, howls of wind coming from within.
Just when Geralt was about to toss Ciri inside, a blue light came from across the corridor. Then, a silhouette appeared out of nowhere. His lips were thin, his eyes filled with malice. At the same time he made his appearance, the man cast a spell. A blinding flash of blue light shone on everyone in the corridor, catching them by surprise.
Mana rushed through the air, and Geralt fell back, roaring like a lion. The girl fell beside him, while the air bullet’s impact shot Coria into the portal, making her the first to reach the orphanage.
***
“Get in, now!” Geralt kicked Ciri’s rear. The girl moaned and fell down right before the portal. Her lips puckered, and tears fell down her cheeks. Dammit. Just a bit more.
The man who appeared out of nowhere produced a ball of fire in his hand and hurled it at Geralt. The White Wolf held his sword straight up, cutting the fireball in two. Some landed on him, but Heliotrop fended it off. All seemed well, but that moment of delay changed things forever. The portal’s time was up, and it disappeared into thin air.
“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.”
***
 

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