#;witcher

   The witcher glanced at the nearby buildings; hoping people had the sense to stay inside during this. It was unfortunate that he had tracked her to a city. Even more unfortunate that she had discovered him and taken matters into her own hands. How awkward, the hunter turned prey. Lambert swirled the sword once, taking it into one hand now, as his other extended out from his side. Forming his fingers until the purple glow manifested on the cobblestones around him.

   She cloaked, as expected; darting forward. The rain, while cumbersome, came with one advantage. It was easier to see where she was, since the rain revealed her cloaked figure. His eyes fell to her feet, seeing where they splashed against the ground and he grinned viciously, side stepping past her first attack, sword held close to his body as he did so; edge aimed against her. The vampire shrieked when her claws and fingers fell against the oil coated silver, Yrden destroyed her cloak as she staggered out from the circle. Hunched over, she watched the blood on her fingers, lips curling in rage, before she had no choice but to jump backwards as the witcher hadn’t paused in his attack.

   Lambert missed this time but he used the momentum to turn and run along her side, moving quickly as the sword swung upwards this time, towards her shoulder. At the last moment, he feinted, turning direction and her side step launched her straight into the blade. Lambert twisted the blade as he saw it impale her side, working fast to try and take her out before she’d actually get pissed off. Her hand flew up though, backhanding him with such force that he fell to the ground; taking the sword with him.

   “Fuck,” he hissed, flexing his jaw with a crack, while staggering back up on his feet. She lunged towards him, forcing him to dodge backwards; he felt her claws nick his forearm, before he twisted the sword back, hitting her chin with the pommel of the sword instead. The bruxa flailed backwards, sprawling as she screamed in fury, before getting up on all fours, staring him out. His upper lip curled unpleasantly, before he charged forward; throwing Quen on himself as he did so.

   He practically threw himself on top of her when she stood again, trusting the shield to stop her first attack and that he’d be able to overpower her before a second attack got him. One foot landed on her arm, pinning her down; her other hand swiped at the shield furiously, screeching as his sword threatened to impale her chest this time. He felt her chest heave suddenly, the high-pitched sound forming inside of her lungs and his eyes widened in alarm, before he threw himself to the side instead. Her shriek attack directly missed him, but the sound from it left his ears ringing, as he gritted his teeth in the pain of it; making the throbbing pain in his jaw even worse.

   She was suddenly over him this time; launching up on his shoulders and back; wrapping her legs around his chest. Her wet hair covered his sight suddenly, the way she had flung over him and he felt her foul breath over his neck.

   “Fine, drink it then,” he growled, reaching back to grab at her arm; still trying to pull her off of him. He’d prefer if she didn’t, after all, but when he felt her sink her teeth into his neck, he realised the choice had been made for him.

   A painful noise escaped him when she basically tore out a chunk of flesh from his throat in her effort; his fingers drew blood from her skin as he tugged harder at her arm; struggling for his life now. She had seemed content at first, until she realised his blood wasn’t fit to be anywhere near her throat. The vampire started to choke; spitting out blood by his shoulder suddenly. Maybe she understood what he had done; because she gathered enough strength to jump off of his back, before she wildly raked her claws down his entire back, almost as if taking satisfaction from the slow blow.

   This time he couldn’t hold back the loud cry of pain; as he felt even the front of his ribcage vibrate as the claws cut into the bone. The gazes were deep; blood oozed out within moments, especially when he forced himself to move despite them. It was now or never, or he’d just become another forgotten medallion in passing; lost in some obscure city.

   She was still staggering; coughing up the poison that was his blood and Lambert strode up to her, almost dragging the sword behind him. Pale eyes turned to face him before he swung the sword in a wide arc across her shoulders. His chest heaved as he watched her head slowly slide off her shoulders; not pulling back the sword until her body crumbled to the ground as well.

   “Fucking bitch,” he snarled, attempting to sheathe the sword when he realised, he couldn’t even bend his shoulder that far back. Let alone that the sheath itself had been eviscerated by her claws; the steel sword only clung to the sword harness by a thread. He’d have hoped she had hit the sword instead of his back, but she had somehow managed to slide past it.

   Lambert was downing a Swallow already before he picked up her head; attaching it to the hook by his belt, purely by habit. Everything right now was out of habit; he had nothing to go on but instincts honed over decades. He wasn’t out of the woods yet and he knew it; the wound on his back was lethal and the rain hardly helped in cleaning it. Looking up to the sky, he closed his eyes, pressing his teeth together again in pain, before letting out a sharp gasp between them. He was in a city. There had to be healers.

   A few doors had opened in the houses along the street now, curious citizens who possibly had seen the fight through the windows. Wide eyes, hushed whispers, mothers clutching their children; as they stood in the doorways, the light of fire behind them looking incredibly tempting right now.

   He killed it single handedly. It wasn’t admiration he heard in their supposed whispers. Freak. Lambert looked away, he knew there’d be no help from people like that. If we’re lucky he’ll bleed to death, leave us be. His gaze fell down the street, spotting the sign hanging outside one of the buildings there.

   The sign was that of a healer and he made his way there, carrying the silver sword in his hand still. He heard the doors close behind him, felt their eyes in his back from the windows. The cold rain was starting to seep into his bones; not making the burning sensation on his back any better. He was tired, as he walked up to the door with the sign and knocked on it. Lambert heard someone shuffle from within, someone reluctant to open it. He suddenly slammed his fist into the door; he had no fucking patience for their stupidity when his life was on the line.

   “Open the fucking door or I’ll break it down, it’s your fucking choice,” he roared close to the surface of the door. Amber eyes glared at the shorter, older man who opened the door suddenly; glaring back at him.

   “Ugly and rude,” the man claimed instantly. Lambert’s irises rolled to the heavens for a moment in exasperation. Then he turned slightly, showing the wounds on his back.

   “Too stubborn to just roll over, I take it,” the healer grumbled. “Can you pay?”

   “Yes.” With that Lambert staggered inside, ignoring the protests about the muddy boots. Or having a mutant under his roof. What would the others say?

   “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ until I see the coin,” the healer insisted. “I’ll take 60.”

   “60?!” Lambert spat; that was two whole fucking contracts. The older man smiled cruelly.

   “You’re dyin’. Ain’t got a choice. Pay up or you can walk out.” The wolf growled, bristling to the point where the hand the healer held out started to tremble. But he was beginning to feel weak; the pain was starting to become too much, even if sheer stubbornness stopped him from outright showing it. If looks could have killed, the healer’d be nothing but a smear on the wall, but Lambert handed him two pouches with thirty gold in them each.

   The human hurried to fetch the things needed while Lambert undressed his torso; one glance told him that it wasn’t the finest tools he produced but he was too tired to argue; gritting his teeth with a hiss as the man went to work. A crude needle piercing through skin with unkind hands; it was something he’d gotten used to. Healers who’d rather not use their valuable reagents on mutants, and if they did, it was overpriced. Mostly because they knew that the wounds a witcher sustained were usually mortal.

   He knew the bastard decided to not use any type of soothing balms either, as he poured alcohol over the wound with no warning; tugging at raw skin as he saw fit; making noises of disgust from his mouth as he worked. Lambert stared dead ahead into the wall, as the healer wrapped up his chest and back.

   “Now, get out of here. And take your fucking bad luck with you,” the older man barked sharply, already washing off his hands. The wolf collected his things, putting the bloodied armour back on, winching as it scraped against the wounds under the bandages. Not bothering with buttoning anything, he threw the remains of the sword harness over his shoulder, letting the steel sword rest against it. The silver was held in his hand again, as he left the building; hearing the healer slam shut the door behind him.

   The pain was worse now, but at least he’d not bleed to death with the stitches on. There was no way that wasn’t going to scar though, with the way they had been stitched; he hadn’t dared to look but he knew it’d be crooked and bumpy.

   He tried to brush his hair away from his eyes, shaking it next to get rid of the damn water everywhere. The heavens seemed determined to drown the lands below and he paused under a roof from one of the sheds, hugging himself with a frustrated noise, trying to dispel some of the cold from his body.

   Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he realised he had to do something about the wound in his neck too. Frankly he had no strength to bother right now, as he slipped to the ground, letting the sword lean against the wall instead. He pressed his heel against an uneven cobblestone on the road, sighing to himself. Kicking harder at it until it became loose entirely. He loathed the waiting, it always brought back the shitty memories. Especially outside in the rain. It reminded him of his childhood; locked outside, not daring to scream because if his mother found out; she’d have let him in and faced the wrath of the monster who had shared their house.