Castoff: Harsh Truths (ch. 7) (Patreon)

"You couldn't have waited five seconds?!" Ciri snapped at him the moment they were both out of the door, chasing the monster down. He almost thought it was an apostle given how it spoke and acted. It transformed like one too, but he hadn't encountered an apostle that would flee like this. The creature was bipedal, moving on all fours at times, but between clinging to shadows it seemed to… glide. Almost as if it were fading out of existence to avoid the sunlight, a slight afterimage blurring where it was and where it had been. As far as monsters went, it was a very different breed compared to the others he encountered.

They were basically animals. This one was closer to the Crones than not.

"Didn't think I needed your approval to act," Guts snapped back at her, sprinting through the streets that parted for the monster with panicked shouts. His crossbow would be useful about now, but instead, a hand went to the throwing knives across his chest.

"If you waited, I could have told you what we were dealing with," Ciri continued, very unhappy with him. The conversation felt familiar to him. More than he wanted to admit. How many times has Casca berated him for acting too early in battle or rushing things along? The number was probably around as many battles as they had been in together. The thought was as painful as it was nostalgic. "Katakans are dangerous. They aren't something you fight unprepared."

"Something you wouldn't fight," Guts responded, flinging a knife forward through the air just as the Katakan emerged in a patch of shadow across an intersection. The leaf-shaped blade landed directly in its ankle, making it cry out in pain before it slashed at a man that was too slow scrambling away. It's claws tore through the man like a cleaver through meat and bone. Blood and bile flew free before the creature grabbed what amounted to a snack to carry with it.

Then it leaped up, using a sign as leverage to hurl itself on top of a roof. Guts pivoted, following along, letting the sharp pain in his neck tell him if he was getting closer or further away.

"What happened to quietly leaving so we can get to Novigrad?" Ciri questioned, looking up just in time for blood to splash down in front of them. The Katakan was doubling back. It thought that it was clever. Guts snarled to himself, coming to a stop when he did, Ciri grabbed onto his arm to stop him from following, but Guts ripped his wrist out of her grip. "We let it get away. For now."

"No," Guts rebuked, not even considering it for a second. That creature -- whatever Ciri wanted to call it -- reacted to his brand. That meant it died. Period. It may not be an apostle, but that didn't matter. It died.

Ciri punched him. Not with her full strength, but not exactly gentle either. Her fist slammed against his jaw, tilting his head a bit, but beyond feeling some warmth as blood rushed to where she hit him he felt little. Based on how her lips peeled back into a scowl, she hurt her hand more than she managed to hurt him. It did get his attention. "Stop and fucking listen to me! You're going to get people killed chasing it through the city!"

"I don't care," Guts snapped back at her, his temper flaring. This was why he worked alone and tossed Puck away when he made a nuisance of himself. However, even as he uttered the words, Guts was forced to consider if that was the truth. He was no stranger to collateral damage. He hunted the apostles, relentlessly, no matter where they were. Sometimes, he managed to catch them alone and unaware. Most of the time?

What was the point of power if you didn't have those to lord it over? More often than not, his hunt took him to villages or towns. Sometimes they burnt down or people were slaughtered as a result. Guts didn't care. Not enough to prevent the slaughter or destruction. The hate that burned in his chest only cared about killing an apostle, regardless of how much everyone around him suffered for it.

"It's not an apostle, Guts!" Ciri snapped at him, shoving his shoulder with minimal success. "Why do you have to kill it right this fucking second?!"

Guts opened his mouth to retort, but the words failed him as Ciri threw an irrefutable proof right in his face. That thing -- Gael -- wasn't an apostle. It was just a… thing.

Ciri had her own issues she needed to vent because she dragged a hand down her face, snarling to herself before she followed it with another curse. "I don't even know why you're hunting apostles -- but if it's not to protect people from them then what? What is it Guts?" She pressed, making his lips press together into a thin line, almost as if he was refusing to answer. "Use your words! I can't read your bloody mind!"

He knew the reason. Revenge. That moment when the Band of the Hawk found themselves in hell… surrounded by apostles, all there to welcome Griffith. He understood that day better now -- now that he knew what apostles were. How they were made. Why. It didn't help. The knowledge just twisted his guts into knots and made his blood boil with a searching rage that could only be quenched with blood.

They slaughtered the Band of the Hawk. His friends. His family. To his dying day, he would carry that regret with him -- he never should have left them. He should have stayed. Not for Griffith, but for them. Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, Rickert, Gaston. Casca. Griffith himself stated that his quest for vengeance meant nothing. That he couldn't possibly kill all of the apostles or hinder whatever he was planning.

And he was right. In the past two years, he had killed dozens. A hundred, even. Yet, there always seemed to be more. God Hand could replace every one that he killed and create two new ones on top of that. But that didn't mean he could give up.

He had to kill them. He needed to kill them. The same way he needed to breathe, eat, and shit -- he couldn't live in a world that still had the creatures that butchered the Band of the Hawk. That branded them, slaughtered them, and dragged their souls into the depths of hell where they would suffer endlessly. He couldn't free them. He couldn't lift them up from hell and kick their asses up to heaven. What he could do was kill their killers.

For that reason, he would never stop.

"Guts," Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand on his forearm. His prosthetic. The snarl was gone, replaced with an expression of alarm. Fear. Concern and confusion. It was only then that Guts realized that his own expression was twisted into one of hate. The maddening rage he felt within leaking out through his expression. He wiped it away and jerked his prosthetic out of her grasp, grinding his teeth. "Okay -- you hate apostles. But he's not one."

That was why he couldn't respond because she wasn't wrong. Gael wasn't there during the Eclipse. He was some random fucking thing that tried to flirt with him. He didn't have to kill him. He didn't need to. However, Guts wanted to. Even if it was a pointless act.

"We know he's in the city. I can prepare some oils and a potion that'll hurt him if he does manage to get a drink from us. Your brand made him brave sunlight -- it clearly has a pretty strong influence on him. We can use it. Draw him out to somewhere isolated, then we can kill him," Ciri continued, her brow drawing together as she looked up at him. "Okay?"

"Fine," Guts bit the word out as if it was bitterer than poison. Ciri looked surprised at the concession, her eyebrows climbing high as she looked at him like he was going to run after the creature the moment that she turned her back. She couldn't understand. She could never understand. The only one that could was Casca and she was driven insane by that day. And there were days that Guts was forced to wonder if he hadn't been driven insane by it too.

"... Right. Sorry for punching you," Ciri offered, earning a noncommittal grunt. Guts looked around them, at the peasants that had been watching the entire argument. They looked upon them with fear and hope -- fear of them, and hope that they would kill that monster. Because he was looking, he saw who was coming.

The Witch Hunters. Far too late to actually do anything or even to chase that thing down. They shoved through the crowd, weapons in hand. Guts recognized the one at the front from the barracks -- it was hard to forget a mug that ugly. Half of his face looked like it had melted ever so slightly, like cheese that had been left too close to a fire. He still had his eye, however, so whoever healed him certainly knew their stuff.

They seemed shocked to see him and Ciri standing in the back road as they skidded to a halt. The one at the head of the pack gave a wide smile, revealing a few teeth that had been blackened. “Seems you have a habit of a fallen inta’ trouble, friend,” he greeted them. “Where’s the monster?”

“It got away,” Ciri answered. “Killed a man and took off to the rooftops. Strange behavior from a Katakan.”

“A fookin’ vampire?” one of the Witch Hunters exclaimed, his face going bloodless. Guts noted that Ciri seemed impressed that he knew what a Katakan was.

“Vampires hate the sun. Couldn’t be one of them,” Another Witch Hunter said, cuffing the younger man on the back of the head. “Lass is mistaken. Easy one to make. All monsters look alike,” he continued with a laugh. Guts noticed that they were standing around, utterly at ease. They were asking about the monster itself, but they certainly weren’t in a rush to hunt it down. It was a little early to tell, but Guts had his measure of the Witch Hunters.

Quick to run towards a fight but quick to run away as well.

Ciri narrowed her eyes at the man that spoke, who seemed undaunted. However, it was the leader of the group that spoke. “I am curious, friend. Seems like you bath in monster bait. Haven’t been in the city for more than a few hours and you’re already tripping over another. Don’t strike me as a monster lover, so how do you do it?” He asked, striding towards Guts, his face all smiles as he showed off his wounded face.

He was trying to be intimidating, Guts realized. It was a struggle at times to recall what normal men would find threatening. He supposed a heavy-set man with a half-melted face surrounded by a handful of men would intimidate most.

“Do we really have time for this?” Ciri interjected, knowing that the Witch Hunter was asking a dangerous question. “The monster is getting away why we gab away,” she added, her opinion completely reversing to get them to move along.

“Don’t worry about that thing. Got another group tracking it down right now. Perks of being with the Witch Hunters,” he said, his eyes sliding to Guts. It sounded like he believed that, at least. For whatever that was worth. “I imagine that beasty is in pieces by now. So, why don’t you come with us and explain your techniques? They’d be… invaluable,” the man said. A bribe.

His crossbow was still needing repairs. The arrows and cannon balls needed replenishment. He also needed to purchase the alchemical ingredients to make more black powder. The sun was nearly directly overhead, meaning that he had a number of hours until he needed to leave Oxenfurt, or risk bringing a tide of vengeful spirits here. Given what he saw of the Witch Hunters, he imagined that there would be many.

Ciri glanced up at him, expecting him to refuse. It was tempting. The Witch Hunters didn’t seem that plentiful, so killing them all would be easy enough. It would complicate things with the children, however. That’s not something he could risk. He would just waste some time with them and make his escape easily enough.

“Fine,” Guts answered, his voice a low growl as he took a step towards the Witch Hunter with half a face. Making him take a step back and the half of a face that he had displayed an expression of alarm for the briefest of seconds. “Let's get this over with.”

…

“HNNNNNGGHHHHHHH… AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Puck screamed at the top of his lungs, grabbing the two iron bars before him and pulling with his incredible might. Yet, the bars refused to bend. “RAHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH!” He continued to scream, shifting his leverage so his feet were braced on one bar while he deadlift against the other. The thin bar felt like it was cutting into the bottoms of his feet, and he wasn’t so desperate to leave that he was willing to give them up.

“Quite down!” Puck heard a moment before he felt someone grab his prison before giving it a hard shake. Puck tried to hold onto the bars, but they were ripped from his grasp, flinging him into the ceiling and the floor of his cage. “You keep screaming and I’ll take your tongue, monster.” His captor declared, setting his prison down on a shelf.

Batter and bruised, Puck picked himself off of the floor to look at the man who captured him. All humans kind of looked the same, really, but the guy had a memorable face. Puck would give him that much. His face looked bit like a mouse, blondish brown hair pulled back, and he had tattoos near his eyes. He was ugly. U. G. L. Y. He got hit a lot with the ugly stick as a baby because he was hideous. And smelly. And a kidnapper.

“Let me go!” Puck shouted, biting at the iron bars that kept him within. The gap was pretty narrow. He could fit pretty much his entire body through the thin wires, but his head was too big to fit. The one thing he couldn’t valiantly cut off. Like a wolf with a leg pinned. Or arm. Puck wasn’t too sure how animals counted arms or legs.

“Won’t be doin’ that,” Ugly said, peering into his cage so Puck gave every rude gesture he could think of. That just made Ugly laugh. “Ain’t ever seen a monster like you before. I’m sure those posh cunts will be knifing each other to own you.”

“You can’t own people, ugly!” Puck shouted, stomping a foot. He wasn’t having PTSD flashbacks. This was like the circus all over again. He hated those guys. He never thought he’d end up in a cage again and that jerk Guts was sooooooo focused on killing that Gael guy that he completely abandoned Puck in his hour of need.

“Ya’ have to be a person to be people,” Ugly returned before he thumped the birdcage that he was in, making Puck’s entire world shake. “Now, be quiet. I’ve heard bout enough of your whinging.”

“Never!” Puck shouted, his Bardock emerging from hand and he noisily dragged it across the bars to make as much noise as possible. Ugly just sighed before he tossed a dirty -- and foul smelling -- rag over the cage, muffling his righteous rebellion. He tried to grab the cloth from the bottom and pull it up, but there was too much excess. Throwing his Bardock on the floor, Puck looked around at the cage -- it had a small swing for a bird to sit on. So, technically, it was an upgrade from the last cage he was trapped in.

"Guts… how could you let me get captured like this?!" Puck demanded, shaking a fist up in the air. Ciri and Guts both took off after Gael, leaving him behind. Then he got swatted to the ground. When he came to, he was in a cage with no escape. Now that guy was talking about selling him? "You better come save me-"

Puck paused and he thought about the words he was saying. Guts. Save him?

"He's totally going to abandon me," Puck realized, his hands going to his cheeks. Oh, this was bad. This was so bad. If he couldn't rely on his Black Castle property to escape then how was he going to?! With renewed desperation, Puck started trying to bust out of the cage but it was no use. How long he tore at the bars was unknown to him, but at some point, Ugly picked up the cage and started moving.

The cloth muffled a lot of sounds, but in his experience hiding out in his private room in Guy's pouch, he could make out what people were saying. Something, something monster roaming the streets, something, something, Witch Hunters are useless, something, something, people are dead. Puck felt the fear around him. The uncertainty. Ever since he arrived, Oxenfurt has been filled with an air of fear. It just got worse.

Puck realized he had to change tactics when he heard the sound of a door opening. Looking around, he searched for a method of escape before his eyes found his trusty Bardock. Grabbing it, he held it up for a moment.

He knew what he had to do.

"Whoreson Junior," someone greeted Ugly, and wow… even his name sucked. No wonder he was such a jerk. Guy never stood a chance. If Puck had a tiny violin, he might have played a song. Unfortunately, his hands were busy with another task. "It will be a cold day before I allow you to enter these hallowed halls."

"It's a bleedin' auction house, not a temple," Junior replied. "And I know you, Horst. You'sa man of business, such as meself. And it is business that has brought me to your… hallowed halls," Junior replied, copying the man's faint accent in a mocking way.

"A bird, is it? How droll," Horst replied and Puck could practically hear him rolling his eyes. His annoyance didn't match what he felt, though.

"Not a bird. A monster," Junior informed, lifting the cover on the cage to reveal where they were. Puck saw that they were in a much nicer building, to start. Stone floors, stone walls or dark wood in some places. They stood in a wide room that was filled with all kinds of stuff -- swords, armor, paintings, and a bunch of random junk.

Horst was a self-important-looking human. Nicer clothes, scruffy beard, shiny head. Puck leapt to the bars of his cage, "You gotta get me out of here! This guy's crazy!" Puck shouted, hoping to find a sympathetic ear. Horst flinched back at his shouting, his eyes flickering to Junior.

"What is it?" Horst questioned and Puck was crestfallen to learn that he was a jerk too. Why was it that only kids had anything resembling a conscious and basic decency?

"Do I look like a fookin' Witcher to you? Dunno what it is, but it can light up a room. And talk," Junior answered with a scoff.

"How am I supposed to sell this to the nobility?" Horst questioned, crossing his arms, but Puck felt his emotions. Greed. Want. Jerk. Looks like he was going with plan B after all.

"Do what you do with all the junk you peddle," Junior scoffed. "Talk it up. Make it sound rare. Somethin' that blue bloods would want to talk about while they're kicking their feet up by the fire. You's a fine businessman, Horst. I'm sure you can rouse a little interest," Junior retorted.

Horst's lips thinned, "The docket is rather full, Junior. This war has people worried. Everyone is shipping off what they can and going to me to sell what they can't."

Junior smiled a nasty smile, "Then I suppose I should go straight to the blue bloods meself. Not cut you in at all if you're so busy makin' money that you don't need a little extra in these troublin' times." Junior knew he won the argument, even before Puck felt Horst cave.

"I'll see what I can do. Do know that I can't force anyone to purchase anything, you understand," Horst stated, holding out a hand for his cage. Junior just chuckled before he passed Puck over while he was busy twisting the stem into a knot.

"I'm sure you'll manage, Horst. That's what the Borsody Auction House is for, ain't it?" Junior added before he started to leave. Puck stuck his tongue out at his back, before nearly choking on it when Junior glanced over his shoulder, a deadly smile playing at the edges of his lips.

He closed the door behind him with a sense of finality, and it was only then that Horst let out a sigh he had been holding. "I do detest that man…" he muttered under his breath before he lifted Puck up to eye level. Puck stuck his tongue out and widened his eyes at the man. "But he does bring the most interesting items. I expect you'll fetch a wonderful price. A talking monster the size of a thumb. I thought I had seen it all," he muttered to himself before exchanging the filthy-smelling rag with a cleaner and softer red velvet one.

Puck was placed to the side, left deaf to what was going on. He spent his time bending the stubborn stem into place and waiting for something to happen. It felt like three separate eternities later when Puck heard something start happening. A faint echo of it managed to reach him.

"Lord's and Ladies, as the head of the Borsodi family, it is my greatest honor to once again welcome you all to the Borsody Auction House. The war looms ever closer and the cursed Nilfgaardians arrogantly posture near our sacred gates, but there is no need to fear. The good king Radovid shall surely trounce them, and run them off!" There was some applause at the proclamation. "Today, we have a fine selection of items that'll surely catch the eye and heart. You all have familiarized yourselves with the docket, but, for those that take risks, I have a number of items that were… left out."

There was some general muttering at that, sounding interested. "I shall save those towards the end, my dear friends. Our first item is a fearsome and striking portrait of a fierce black dragon painted by the now, sadly deceased, artist Laurent Debouis. The starting bid is three hundred gold! Do I hear three fifty?" Horst started and the number kept going up until someone bought it for five hundred pieces of gold.

Someone came into the room and Puck heard them shuffle something around before the process resumed. Horst would describe something, give a starting price, then he would see who would bid higher. Sometimes an item went for way, way, way more than the starting bid. Other times, it was raised once before Horst sold it. Puck was forced to wait as they went down the entire list of items, bored out of his mind after his preparations were done.

It felt like another eternity had passed before Puck felt his cage shake again, telling him that it was go time. He looked up at his trusty Bardock, lamenting its sacrifice, before he righted himself. The cage came to a stop. "Our final item of the night is one of a kind. A rarity unlike any other. A creature never before seen by the eyes of mortal men! A creature that knows the language of men, that shines as bright as the sun! I present to you-" Horst started, ripping the cover off of the cage.

A gasp rang out as Puck was revealed. One end of the Bardock tied around the swing in the cage while the other was tied around his neck. Puck hovered in midair, but to the untrained eye, it would look like he hung himself.

"By the Eternal Flame!" Horst cursed, fumbling with the latch as there were noises of protests from the crowd of people before Puck. Not that he had supposedly killed himself. That they wouldn't get to hit him. Though, that didn't stop some from throwing out bids on his corpse. Jerks. He was so going to make them suffer for that. "Shit! Shit! Junior is going to murder me-" Horst started, filling with a sudden burst of fear as he finally got the patch undone.

The moment it was, Puck sprung into action. Jerking his head out of the noose, he threw himself through the gap as Horst reached into the cage. "FFFREEEEDDOOOMMM!" Puck screamed, flying directly up at Horst and punching him square in the eye. The man flinched back, shouting in pain and nearly crushing Puck when a hand went to cover it. Puck flew up above the cage, out of reach, and there was sounds of panicking as everyone looked up at him.

"Final… Flash!" Puck exclaimed, throwing his head back and screaming while his fists were clenched at his sides, shining brightly and filling the auction house with pure light. The panicked screaming of the jerk humans became ones of pain as they were flash banged. “You all suck and I hate you!” Puck shouted, darting away from the scene of the crime, weaving around a chandelier and heading right to the door. The fleeing people helped him get out easily enough.

Escaping out into the city, Puck flew directly up, determined to get out of reach of any humans. Because of that, he noticed the darkening sky. Guts was probably long gone by now, Puck realized as he overlooked the city. The shadows were getting longer and darker, people were lighting their torches and lamps to keep them at bay. That jerk. That total jerk! He-

Just as Puck started to tear at his hair, plotting his vengeance against his Black Castle property, he heard it. A faint whisper in the wind. “Damn you…” Puck heard whispered in his ear and he felt a huge wave of relief crash over him. Guts was still in the city. He hadn’t left him behind. Puck placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thumping against his palm, and let out a huge sigh of relief.

Wait.

Guts was still in the city.

It was nighttime.

Oh no. That was a bad thing!

The whispers were growing louder and there were sounds of panic coming from below as people realized that it wasn’t just the wind. Puck looked around the city, searching for Guts and Ciri so he could get them out of here. It was when Puck heard a familiar loud explosion that he knew where to look. The sound of Guts’ cannon arm going off was unmistakable. With his arms pressed forward, Puck took off into the darkening sky as the sun made its descent. It was as he made his way over the wall, and heading to the breach, that Puck saw Guts.

Gael was still darting around, but the white sand of the beach they were on was dyed red. There were a lot of chunks of bodies thrown around, spilling out organs and blood. The Witch Hunters, Puck realized, seeing a handful of them hovering around the edges, their faces pale and fear radiated from all of them.

Gael himself looked heavily injured. A bunch of arrows sticking out of him, missing an arm, but Guts was still directly in front of him, exuding a murderous focus that only he seemed capable of possessing. The two clashed while Puck neared, and just as he was about to scream out to announce himself, and lay into Guts and Ciri for their lack of a rescue, he paused.

“What is that?! You hear it too, right?! Vampires can’t do that!” Puck heard one of the Witch Hunters exclaim, his tone betraying his fear. He had half of a face, half melted like someone pressed his face against a grill. His knees were trembling and his breathing was ragged. The only reason he hadn’t already run was because he lacked the strength to actually flee.

That’s not good. Very not good. That was as bad as it could get. If they figured out it was Guts… then the kids would suffer for it. And Guts didn’t want that. Meaning he had to do something…!

A brilliant plan sparked in Puck’s mind as a wide smile tugged at his cheeks while Guts battled Gael below. Taking in a deep breath, he clasped his hands together and made himself glow brightly, illuminating the dark beach that was cast into a harsh darkness, illuminated only by a moon. Naturally, all of the attention shifted up to him.

“MWAHAHAHAHAHA!” Puck threw back his head and laughed evilly. “Go, my minions! Plague this city with your… evilness! Haunt the citizens and stuff!” Puck proclaimed as he descended from above, and Guts was used to his antics, Puck saw. That much was confirmed when Gael looked up above and because of it, Dragonslayer took his head. The guy crumpled to the ground, dead, and Puck looked down at Guts and Ciri.

Ciri looked like she was trying really hard not to laugh. Guts looked like he was about to lose his other eye with how hard ithis was rolling.

“What is that?! What kind of monster is that?!” The Witch Hunters cried, scrambling back at the ghosts that darted around them, whispering hateful and mean things. The shadows twisted and churned like they were alive as if they were going to open up and swallow them whole.

“I am… your… DOOM!” Puck boldly proclaimed, lowering himself to eye level, casting a far reaching bright light. “I shall steal your mightiest of champions… and teleport away! Because I can do that!” Puck said, hoping that Ciri would catch the hint. “I’ll do it! Right… Now-” Puck said before he felt that weird feeling again. Magic.

Then, all of a sudden, they were standing in a field with no beach around.

“You really saved our hides there, Puck,” Ciri remarked, a laugh in her voice. There was a lightness in her mirth and Puck basked in it. It was a really nice change from Guts’ constant brooding.

“Naturally! It’s what I do,” Puck declared, puffing out his chest with a smirk. “Now, where are we?” He wondered, his attention drifting to Guts, whose gaze was drawn to something. A wall. Did they just teleport out of Oxenfurt? Puck would have taken them a little further away-

Ciri took a step forward, standing next to Guts. “Novigrad. We’re finally at Novigrad.”