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[PR: Ash]

Lambert saw her. She was standing within the mist. Her long, dark hair was draped over her back like a cloak, her face beautiful but pale as snow and calm as an unperturbed lake. Her eyes were like starry skies. There was not an inch of fabric on her skin. The mist half-covered her naked body like it was an ethereal gown. It only made her more seductive. Words were not enough to encapsulate her beauty.

But her hands, hanging by her sides, had nails sharp as needles and black as obsidian. One little scratch was enough to cut open the flesh of humans. Lambert knew who this was, or to be precise, what it was. An alp or a bruxa. Creatures who can turn into beautiful women and seduce young men to suck the blood out of them. They have deadly screams, invisibility, the power of teleportation, and the ability to summon bats. Compared to ekimmaras who prefer to get close and personal and tear their prey apart, these creatures retain a bit of their sanity. Their killings are more elegant. Gentler.

They wouldn’t kill innocents. Most of the time, they would pick a lover and suck off him continuously, giving him the tenderness of a woman before they died. If their lover was powerful enough, their relationship would last for a long, long time.

Lambert would prefer not to deal with dangerous monsters like these, unless he had to protect himself. He took a deep breath and kept his attention on the Moon Dust in his pocket. Quickly but gently, he approached the creature standing five yards away from him.

The young lady in the mist was staring at the witcher, her eyes filled with desire. She licked her lips. If this were anyone else, they wouldn’t have been able to resist her charm.

The witcher held his hand on his chest and bowed slightly to the creature. Solemnly, he said, “This is a misunderstanding, lady. I didn’t mean to barge into your domain or disturb your rest. If I crossed you, allow me to apologize. And you should know that witcher blood contains lethal decoction elements. It’s not a good drink. One sip, and you get your lifespan cut by ten years at least.”

Half of that was a lie.

The creature stood, unmoving and silent.

“I’ll be honest. Take down the mist, and I’ll take those rowdy bastards where they came from. I swear we’ll never return to this tomb and disturb you. In the name of the Wolf School, I swear.” Lambert showed the creature his medallion.

The creature said nothing.

“Lady, we should take a step back amicably before anything really bad happens. Those soldiers are just carrying out their orders. Their blood is common. It’s not worth killing for.”

The creature nodded, but then she tilted her head and looked another way, as if it was eyeing a shivering prey in the mist. A bright but creepy smile cracked its lips, and its fangs glimmered.

“Who are you looking at? The knight of the White Rose? That arrogant fool?”

The creature shook its head.

“The sorceress?”

The creature nodded quickly.

“If anything happens to her, I can’t face the brotherhood. Can’t you let her go, for my sake? And if you must know, she’s working for someone powerful.”

The creature smiled, its eyes twinkling with disdain, and it growled like a beast.

Resignation filled Lambert’s face, and he held a bomb. “Then I’ll have to kill you to save her.”

The Moon Dust arced through the air. Once it landed, a gray dust cloud exploded, but the creature had sidestepped the bomb. Its back arched like a big cat bristling, its smile turning into a snarl. It roared at Lambert, sound waves traveling through the air.

Lambert was hit by something that felt like an invisible sledgehammer, but all it did was shatter the barrier of Heliotrop, and the waves were gone. Unperturbed, Lambert leapt ahead. He spat out a wooden cork midair, and black veins filled his face.

He raised his silver sword high overhead, its edge gleaming with poison and oil. The witcher brought it down like a meteor slamming through air.

The blade was pointing at a gigantic bat that was once a beautiful woman. It had a pair of webbed wings, and it held his metallic claws before itself like a shield. Sword and claw met, and the air screeched. Sparks flew, but the blade that could cut through beasts like butter left nothing but a small wound on the creature.

However, the oil wounded her. The gigantic bat screeched, flapping its wings silently. Like a kite, it flew higher into the mist and reappeared in a place most people wouldn’t think of, going after Lambert’s throat.

The witcher spun, holding his sword. Once again, his weapon clashed with the bat’s claws. This time, the bat flew away and disappeared into the mist. Not even the witcher could catch a glimpse of the creature, but he calmly cast Yrden.

The imprisoning magical circle glowed underneath his feet, covering a five-yard radius. He held his sword with one hand, standing in the center of the circle with one foot before the other. He closed his eyes, listening and feeling for his enemy.

He stood silently, just like a statue. Winds blew around him, his medallion buzzing.

And then, a pair of claws appeared in the purple circle, poised to attack Lambert’s back. It was wide open, but the witcher, as if he knew what would come, raised his left hand and made a Sign.

The mutated Quen covered its master in golden armor and defended against the attack just in time. The armor shattered, but a powerful reflective burst of energy slammed the bat back. Another Moon Dust exploded around the flailing monster, and dust flew everywhere.

Lightning bolts jumped around the gigantic bat. Even though it had lost its special powers, the bat pounced at the witcher once more, and they brawled.

At unimaginable speeds, the fighters leapt, jumped, darted, circled, and chased their enemies. Silver lights flashed through the battlefield, cutting through the mist. Golden and purple light died and were reborn once more. The cycle went on and on.

In just one minute, Lambert’s cheeks were already drenched in sweat. The bat’s body was covered in burning gashes left by the oil. Its eyes were filled with murder. Once again, the monster pounced at the witcher, long hair appearing behind its head, billowing in the wind.

Lambert shoved a blast of Aard in the bat’s face and pushed it back. He held his sword level to his chest with both hands, and he took a big step ahead. The witcher thrust his blade, and the bat screeched, flapping its wings.

To its surprise, the sword moved ever so slightly before it hit the bat’s chest. The blade swung through its wings and sliced through its face. A stream of blood flew into the air, and a pair of silhouettes crossed one another.

Lambert rolled around and stood up. His left cheek had a small gash on it, blood trickling down his chin.

The bat was in an even worse state. Its hoglike nose was missing, and half its face was minced, bones revealed to the air. Flesh was already wriggling and trying to reconnect, but the deadly oil was rampaging through the wounds, burning the monster until smoke was coming out of it. The bat wobbled, and it returned to its human form.

The woman with a mangled face glared at Lambert with venom in her eyes. She let out a horrifying scream, as if it came from hell itself. The scream pierced Heliotrop and made air feel like fire, but the witcher launched into his final attack without stopping, swinging his sword at the lady.

It was a feint. The injured woman swung her claws at the sword, but that was what Lambert was after. He darted through her underarms and circled round her back. The witcher swung his whole arm and sliced his sword through the monster’s limb. Blood splattered into the air, and one monster arm was sent flying.

The woman let out a sorrowful scream and turned around. She tried to attack Lambert, but he was like her shadow, turning around before she could. He pointed his blade at the other arm and swung his weapon once more.

Another bloody arm danced in the air. The woman, both her arms lost, felt a surge of power crashing into her back. She fell forward, as if electrocuted, and her head was buried in soil. She felt cold metal touching her throat, and her soul almost froze up.

“Told you we should’ve done this the easy way.” Lambert stepped on the woman’s smooth, silky back, and he pressed down on the back of her head. He imperiously said, “But I’m merciful. I’ll give beauties a second chance. Drop the mist and I’ll spare your life.”

The creature let out muffled noises, struggling under Lambert’s feet.

“What a gentle person.” A praise came from behind. Lambert heard three pairs of quiet footsteps. He tasted perfume, and it had the scent of violet and rose and multiple herbs.

The witcher turned around. What met his eyes was a stunning beauty in a red dress and a gaunt male with a hook nose who looked like a taxman. These people weren’t muscular or strong. They didn’t have the claws the bruxa had, but Lambert felt his blood freeze up. It was common knowledge that the more powerful a higher vampire was, the closer to humans their appearance was.

These guys look even more like humans than the bruxa. Higher vampires. “Is this just rotten luck, or am I cursed by some sort of evil god? I was just pointing in some random direction, and we were led into a lair of higher vampires?”

Lambert felt bitter about this, but he wasn’t despairing. He had one trump card in the form of a decoction. The witcher turned to the person standing between the higher vampires. It was Triss. She had a vacant look, her face the shade of clouds, and she looked like a doll who’d lost her soul.

She looked pitiful, but at least there were no visible wounds, and she was alive. We can still talk this out.

The woman spoke, her voice sweet as honey and alluring as the night. She held Triss’ arms and smiled at Lambert, inviting, “Thank you for sparing my sister, witcher. Before things get too bad, why don’t we make a deal?”