(Warning: Some scenes of torture.)

Suddenly we were in a town square and it was daylight. But what light there was was grey and shadowy. The houses looked deserted and a mist flowed through and past the houses.

I saw the Witcher raise his hand to his temple and rubbed for a moment.

There was a table with benches on either side of it just in front of us. The table was laden with food and drink and it was as though all the colour and lustre that was lacking from the village was in the food instead. I could smell the roast pork and fresh bread. There was a wheel of cheese alongside a bowl of honey and some apples next to that. The sight and the smell reached down into my subconscious and triggered something primal.

I felt my mouth beginning to water and moved towards the table.

The Witcher caught me by the scruff of the neck.

At first I wanted to fight him as I felt so hungry as though I hadn't eaten for days.

“Unfair Witcher,” came the whining voice. On the bench opposite us was an old man. Bearded and stooped with age. A shirt was tucked into a pair of woollen trousers belted with a leather strap. A hood finished the ensemble but the voice that came out of this elders mouth was the things voice.

“Unfair indeed.” The old man's face pouted. All the expression that it's original figure lacked. This old man had.

“What would you have been allowed to do to him if he had eaten without permission?”

The old man smiled horribly, drool spilling out of the corner of it's mouth. “I'm going to enjoy playing with you Witcher.” It stood and gestured extravagantly. “Please sit as my guests.”

The Witcher stood stock still. Still holding onto my collar with a grip of iron. I did fight him that time, striking at him with my fists and feet.

The only thing I can say in my defence was that I was not in possession of my full intelligence.

The Witcher slapped me across the face. Hard enough to really hurt. Then he took my collar again.

“Really?” he asked the man. “The food is given freely?”

“Indeed,” The old man gained an erection and I suddenly wanted to vomit.

“I'd like to hear you say it.” I couldn't see it but I could tell that the Witcher was answering the grotesque behaviour with one of his repertoire of horrible smiles.

The old man sighed extravagantly.

“The food and drink is my freely given gift. Given without desire or expectation of anything in return.”

The Witcher let me go and we sat.

“Please,” The old man licked his lips “tuck in.” He drooled again.

If anything the food smelt even better.

I couldn't have stopped myself even if I wanted to, tearing a lump of bread off, dipping it in the pork gravy and shoving it into my mouth.

The old man started to laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh.

My stomach roiled and I looked down at the rotting piece of flesh that I held in my hand. It looked like it had once been a foot but the slime and dried, black blood made that identity a mystery.

I fell backwards off the bench, dropping the thing that I had taken bites out of as I went and pushed myself further backwards.

Then I retched, heaved and vomited until I could taste bile. All to the sound of that thing's giggling that would turn back into laughter whenever a new spasm took hold of me.

The Witcher just stared at the shape of the old man, or the mask of an old man that the creature was wearing.

The costume it was wearing.

I hated him then. I hated them both.

The Witcher examined his gloved hands, picking at a bit of dirt. “Are you finished?” He asked the thing.

Diverted, the thing stopped laughing immediately. Almost mid breath and peered at the Witcher suspiciously.

“Yes, your bargain.” He drew out the syllables for a long time as though he was savouring the taste of the word. “Tell me, what does a Witcher want?”

“Many things,” The Witcher said with a slight smile as I dragged myself away from the slow pool of spreading vomit.

The thing smiled.

“What do you want?” it asked more directly.

“I want you to leave these woods. I want the child back that you just took and I want you to leave me and the villagers of Ambers crossing, past and present, alone.”

“Interesting.” It literally stroked it's chin in thought. “What are the villagers to you?”

“That isn't part of the bargain,”

The smile broadened.

“What if I insist?” it countered.

“Then I would likewise insist that the answer to that question would be given after the deal is sealed.”

The smile broadened even further, past the point at which a human mouth could sustain it. I saw skin tearing and a grinding noise that I assume was teeth and bone being pushed together.

“I'm going to enjoy this,” the thing said.

Something was bothering me though.

“Hold on.” I said. The Witcher spun and glared at me.

“Be silent, wretch,” he hissed, his eyes glowing and not for the first time, I had the impression of fangs in his mouth.

Terror closed my mouth over the question.

He hadn't asked for a guarantee of my safety. A cold knot of ice began to settle in my stomach.

The thing's grin widened even further.

“How interesting. But what do I get in return for your, wants?”

“You get him,” The Witcher said pointing at me. “Mind, body and soul.”

I moaned. I was trying to say “No,” or protest in some way but it seemed as though my mouth wasn't working properly.

The betrayal started to sink into me. It was as though a knife was slowly being pushed into my gut.

It hurt like nothing on earth.

I felt the things eyes on me.

Foolishly I raised my own eyes to meet it's gaze.

I felt another sharp stab behind my eyes.

“Oh don't worry. It can be fun. You might even learn to enjoy it, having every dream fulfilled.” The voice was low, husky and female.

I found myself in a castle bedroom. It took me a while to recognise it as the master bedroom at my father's castle. Only this time the walls were covered in book shelves. A writing desk was placed next to the window and all around the room were trophies taken from the bodies of various monsters.

It was my room.

I turned. Through the open door came the smell of freshly cooked bread and roast meats and I found my mouth watering.

“Your pleasure is my pleasure,” came the woman's voice again.

I became aroused as involuntarily I turned to see the bed.

On it was a woman.

Or not really a woman, this was the woman.

I will admit to having never fallen in love before. I've certainly been attracted to women, I've slept with women and I have thought I've been in love before. But as it turns out I wasn't.

The way it was once described to me was by a poet friend of mine who claimed to have known many women but to have loved none of them. He said that if you think of the person that you are with at the moment no matter what stage of the relationship that you are in. Now imagine that person leaving you without warning. He said that if you can't imagine that happening, no matter how hard you try, or if you can imagine it happening but that it would destroy your world. Then you love them.

But.

If you think that what would happen is that you would be upset for a while, maybe have a cry, go and get drunk with your friends who will tell you in great detail how you deserve better than him/her/it?

Then it's not love.

Now he said that one can turn into another and back again without warning which complicates the matter but the point is that I've never been in love.

So I don't know what my ideal woman actually looks like.

But she was lying on the bed.

I couldn't tell who she was. She seemed to shift before my eyes from one person to the next.

There was lady Josefina from the adventure with the trolls. There was my old friend from university, the woman I lost my virginity to, my sister, my mother, the maid in the castle who had been the first person where I'd noticed that boys and girls are different in exciting ways other than just icky ones.

I saw an elf. A princess and a whore. I saw a demon, an angel, a succubus, a priestess of many varying religions including made up ones.

All combined into one woman.

They were chained to my bed.

My lust swept through me like a wave of fire and I was tearing at my clothes in a frenzy.

“Or maybe,” said the woman, licking her lips sensually, “maybe you prefer being controlled instead.”

Suddenly it was me who was chained to the bed. The woman or women were climbing up and although I had thought that my lust had reached a peak, it went even higher,

“Or maybe, we can look at your nightmares.” It was my fathers voice, my lecturers voice, my older brothers voice dishing out some kind of torture.

I was still naked and strapped down but now I was strapped to a torture rack. My brother and Lecturer turned the wheels and I screamed at the pressure.

Then My father took a red hot spike in his bare hands, placed it at my navel and started to push.

“Nah,” said the creature dismissively. “He's rather boring really.”

I was still in amongst the trees, lying on the ground, my hands stretched out above my head and the anticipation of agony still there in my gut.

I was also naked and just as plainly, had soiled myself.

I couldn't move as I could still feel the restraints holding me down.

It occurred to me from a distance that I had probably lost my mind and right then and right there, I found that I didn't really care that much.

The creature was being dismissive about me.

“He's a grown man, has fairly standard sexual appetites with slight fixations towards his mother and sister marking for a very common taboo leaning and a basic but very small Oedipus complex. I would also sense a bit of a type of exhibitionism and only a very light bondage desires of both directions.”

“What's an Oedipus complex?” The Witcher asked curiously,

“A trick of the mind involving members of your family from the opposite sex.” the creature answered as though the Witcher was being unusually stupid.

He sounded like an etymologist talking about the latest moth that he'd pinned to a board

“He's also annoyed at male authority figures that he disagrees with.

“He's killed but not with any kind of malice.

“He's not even a virgin for father's sake. No darkness to pursue and very little innocence to ruin. What could I possibly want with the likes of that?”

May the flame burn me and keep me warm in the darkest nights of my soul but I found that, as I was lying there in my own filth and the muck of the forest. I was disappointed.

“So you reject my terms?” the Witcher asked with a yawn.

There was a pause,

“I do utterly.”

“That's a shame,” A chair scraped across the floor. “I'll be going then.”

Footsteps.

“It's a shame though,” the Witcher said. “Because he's drawn some interest.”

Another pause, more footsteps getting further away.

“Whose interest?” the creature feigned boredom but it didn't fool me.

I felt as though I was separate from myself. Displaced from my body. I could identify myself and recognise the state I was in. I felt like my body was a puppet on a set of strings that I could control. Or a mannequin that I would move around. I tried the experiment and got some small movement from my hands but the effort was overwhelming.

The Witcher had paused for some effect.

“Jack,” he said simply.

Another pause.

“I want him.” the creature hissed, “I accept your bargain.”

“No, you rejected him. You remember how that works? Now you can't take him. He belongs to himself. Maybe Jack will come and pick him up when he finds the time.”

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The creature hissed. I could hear it pace and move about, it struck something with a howl and I heard a tree creak with the force of the blow.

The Witcher continued to move away.

“WAIT,” the creature screeched and I felt a wetness at my ears and afterwards they rang for some time. “Wait,” it said, calmer.

“There can be a new deal.”

“No deal,” said the Witcher but this time he didn't move away.

The creature paced a while.

“I could harm you now and simply take him from you.”

“An empty threat,” the Witcher said. “You rejected the first proposal and that means...”

“Yes yes yes yes yes,”

There was another pause.

“I might,” the Witcher mused. “I might play you for him.”

“Done,” the creature screamed. “But there still must be new terms.

The Witcher moved back and sat back down.

I found myself physically moved until I was standing upright. Chains formed around my wrists and ankles until I stood chained to the nearby tree.

“What terms?” the creature was back in it's old, monstrous form. The table and benches remained however. There was also a small boy nearby in torn and filthy clothing who was playing with something that I couldn't see. There were piles and piles of bones, all lain haphazardly across themselves. I tried to count them but my mind sheared away in horror from the effort.

“Same as before,” The Witcher said, “with a couple of additions. He must be protected as well,” he gestured at me, “You will also not inform Jack or any of your fellows about us. If they should stumble upon us then fair enough, but you won't put them on our trail. You will also leave this world and this plane of existence until the end of all things.”

The creature shook his head. “That's too long,” it spat. “One thousand years.”

“Two thousand years.”

“I want something else as well for that.”

“Which is?” the Witcher asked.

“I want you as well if I win.” It hissed it's hatred. “Mind, body and soul.”

The Witcher considered.

“My soul is not my own to give,” he said with a far away look in his eyes. “But I will offer you something.” He thought about it for a while. “I will give you that part of me that makes me a good Witcher.”

“And what is that?” the thing demanded.

“Beat me and find out.”

“That doesn't sound like a big deal for me,”

“Being a Witcher is my entire purpose in life. You take my ability to do that away then I am not 'me' any more. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

The creature considered this time.

“Done,” it said.

“Which game?” The Witcher asked,

“Which other game is there for times such as these?” the creature was almost rubbing it's hands with glee.

“I see,” the Witcher wore his ghost of a smile, “The oldest game then. Shall I start?”

“By all means,” The creature spoke as though he was inviting a prostitute to disrobe.

The oldest game.

I didn't know it by that name but I guarantee that you've either played it or played a version of it at some point in the past. The most common version of the game is the game of riddles where people take it in turns to ask riddles of their opponents until one person cannot answer and then the questioner is declared the winner.

At university I understand that the maths people do it with equations and sums. Heraldic students used nobles and their heraldry.

But the form of the game that the Witcher and the demon played that night is rumoured to be the oldest form of the game.

It's played by two people. One person starts by declaring themselves a thing or concept. The other will then answer to declare themselves the thing or concept that defeats the other players words. Then the first player will respond with another thing and on it goes. You lose when you can't think of anything to defeat the the thing your opponent just said.

It is a game for travellers, two companions on the road who are just moving along without any intention of giving each other their business or life story or personal secrets. They won't speak after the journey is done so they play this game. That or two people meeting in a pub. It is most often won by the person with the largest imagination and vocabulary as well as knowledge of the world.

But when you see two truly great players of the game and you enjoy playing yourself it can become something else. You can see the traps that can be played, the gambits and the avoidances. The truly great players can force you to say things that they can respond to with words of power for which there is no return.

For example. “I am the paper that holds the knowledge,” to which the unwary player would respond, “I am the fire that burns the paper to ash,” then the clever player beats the first by saying. “I am the water that quenches the flame to the last spark”

You see it's also a game of theme. If you can trick your opponent into travelling down a single path of thought then they will struggle to tear themselves away from that path.

The two of them played.

On and on it went. Gambits were traded and lost, words were given and let go. The Witcher seemed relaxed, sat back in his chair feet out in front of him. The creature however would occasionally get up and pace, clearly agitated as the Witcher played on.

Amazing how the prospect of losing your life and soul to some creature will focus your brain.

It started to feel as though the game was drawing to a close and increasingly it was looking as though the Witcher was going to win. It was a not an uncommon gambit, creation versus destruction with the Witcher taking the part of the creation side of things and the creature being the destroyer.

“I am the world that nurtures all life,” said the Witcher. He was, incredibly still, his eyes frozen in regards to the creature.

“I am the army that crushes all life underfoot.” The creature responded. Licking it's lips. A seemingly nervous habit as it is sat back down and stared at the Witcher.

“I am the fortress that protects all from the invading army.” The Witcher responded. It seemed that he leaned forwards slightly.

“I am the dark magic that snuffs out all of existence.” The creatures lips were pulled back into a snarl.

“I am the resistance that will fight till the end,” The Witcher whispered. I thought I could see where he was going. Something fluttered in my chest.

“I am the informer that gives the resistance away to the enemy so that all is lost.

The Witcher smiled.

“I am hope,” he said simply and the self same emotion flowered in my chest. I had seen many of these contests played out amongst uppity students in philosophy class. It was one of the oldest words, one of the oldest gambits. No-one ever came back from that word. There was no response to it.

“I am the despair that crushes all hope.” the creature said with sudden relish.

The Witcher opened his mouth to say something. Then he paused, looked aside and as I watched I saw terror strike him like a hammer between the eyes.

I felt my heart sink. I was wrong, the Witcher was wrong. He'd played the gambit in the wrong order. The point was to get your opponent to play despair before you pull out the hope. But in his haste to win the Witcher had forgotten that and the creature had won.

It grinned at him.

“You played a good game Witcher. A very good game.”

He laughed.

Kerrass looked stricken.

“No-one has played so well or for so long against me since... Well I don't think it's ever been done. But you fell for my nerves didn't you. You thought you had me beaten.”

It cackled again prancing around the clearing in delight.

“You thought you had me beaten but you forgot who I am Witcher.” It stopped and was suddenly next to the Witcher, holding him by the throat. “I have been playing this game since the dawn of time.”

It laughed and laughed and laughed. Every titter, every guffaw and chuckle was like nails across a black-board but what they actually were were nails in my coffin.

All he was doing now was anticipating taking it's prize.

I need to issue a word of warning here.

I have never met anyone who has lost their soul. Apparently the closest form of that kind of thing would be some of the things that mages and sorcerers of both genders can do. But as I have the magical talent of a roof tile, I was not given the training or mental conditioning to be able to properly report what it was like so what I'm going to be doing here is what I perceived to happen.

What I think I saw.

That being said I can no longer distinguish between what I saw at the time and my memories of that time.

The creature leapt at me suddenly. He seemed to float over to me in a strange kind of smooth motion and grabbed me on either side of the head but I felt no physical contact. Instead it was as though the outside of my skin had been pierced by millions of tiny little pin-pricks. The sort of thing where you don't even manage to draw blood. Then the pins started to feel as though they were growing, extending into the middle of my skull. Straight needles of freezing cold agony that came together into the middle of the skull.

Then they started to move wriggling inside me like worms on a hook.

I tried to scream but the creature moved it's mouth to cover mine and it... flowed into me and as I screamed it felt as though I was screaming all my strength and will into it.

My vision went black as the scream went on and on. The breath had been sucked out of me a long time ago, after my will and my strength went my sense of physical sensation. I no longer felt cold, then I could no longer taste.

Taste is one of those senses that I never really think about. My mouth, tongue and saliva are always there so even when I haven't eaten for a while I am aware of that sensation in my mouth. I didn't miss it until it was gone.

Then my sense of smell, The forest around me, my own sweat and filth. It just left me, sucked out of me.

My eyesight had already gone, but then it was my hearing.

One by one the sounds of the outside world left me. The trees rustling in the wind, Kerrass attempting to call out to me, telling me to hold on and that he was there. My own sobs and grunts.

The creature's laughter.

Finally went my sense of physical sensation. The cold wind against my naked flesh. The wet feeling of the mud and filth against my skin. The pain from the various bruises and scratches I had suffered.

It just went. Stretched out

Now that I think about it. Imagine a basin of water with a small hole in the bottom that the water just flows through. The water level sinks, maybe you get a small whirlpool in the middle and eventually there is a gurgling sound as the last of the water disappears down the drain.

That was what it felt like. Like my life was being sucked away, spiralling down a drain.

I was only aware of utter blackness then. It wasn't even numbness. Just the lack of anything. Inside my head I started to scream again.

Then it started to suck out my memories. My entire life started to replay before my vision including things that I had long since forgotten about. Positive and negative. Sometimes it would speed up through what I guessed the creature didn't care about or wanted to save for later. Like a man reading a book and wanting to see what happens next.

I was also aware of it's opinions on the matter which were not complimentary.

It watched the memory of the dream about Jack over and over again for what felt like years.

Then I was no longer myself I was just a thing, a raw animal being with raw animal emotion and instinct.

But he decided to take those too.

I cannot describe what it's like to lose your instinct for survival, or losing your raw animal fury at what's being done to you or your fear about what this might mean. I tried to panic but even that had been taken from me.

And through all of that the creature was laughing at me.

I was now just a machine, a golem for his amusement and I could see some of the things that he wanted to do to me, including using me as some kind of meat suit so that he could interact with others. Maybe he would put another soul in his collection into my body and go on a rampage with it. Sight, sound and other sensation started to come back to my body and I could feel them all as though I was far away from them. As though I was watching the entire thing in the form of a play from the perspective of the protagonists point of view.

But then I became aware of something else as well. My memories, my instincts and my emotions were somewhere else along with all the other parts of me that made me into the person that I am. I tried opening it's eyes.

I wish I hadn't. To this day I wish I hadn't

I was suspended in a cage by means of giant golden spikes that had been driven through my body which kept me suspended well above the floor of the cage. Those spikes were a constant feeling of agony until that pain became a single musical note of sensation that ran through my soul that I clung onto in the same way that a drowning man might hold onto a floating piece of wood. The cage was made out of metal and though it seemed huge to me, easily as tall as the hierophant's tower in Novigrad and as wide across. It looked like a cube to me, I could see through it. Next to me was another cage and in it was a similarly suspended woman. Head tipped back and her eyes and moth open in a silent howl of agony.

On the other side of me was a dwarf.

Above me was another cage although I couldn't see the occupant and the same below me.

And beyond them were more cages and more cages. Each of us stacked on top of another cage and another cage was stacked on top of us.

Across from me was a wall of similar cages full of humanoids in various shapes and sizes. The noise was oppressive in it's constancy.

I have no doubt that I was adding to it in my own way. Seemingly a giant form of the creature, still bald and without feature came down the corridor between the rows of cages and bent down to look at me. As though his mouth was acting as it's eyes.

“Welcome,” came it's voice, the very sound a torture. “Welcome my new play-thing. We shall see what we can get up to you and I. But first I must see to your friend. Your friend who brought you here and left you to my mercies. But in the meantime.”

It turned to address the other cages. “Make our new friend feel welcome,” he said.

Dear Flame the noise.

I shut my eyes and became aware of what I thought was still my body.

I just don't have the words. I've tried and I've tried, many times, to describe the difference between the two states.

The torture came from the fact that I was neither one thing or the other. In the one state I was agony in a cage. I was aware of who I was and all my emotions and feelings and memories but while there I was pierced through with golden spikes of poison and the sound of agony was a solid thing that surrounded me like a blanket made of fire and ice. I knew that the sensation could stop, that I could return to nothingness but in doing so I would lost my sense of self.

The other state was the state of a golem. Where I had physical sensation but it wasn't connected with anything. I was cold but didn't feel pain. I had no doubt that I could and would plunge my hand into fire, acknowledge the heat without feeling the burning pain. I would also lose all sense of self. Memory, instinct and will were lost to me. My name was nothing. I could hear words but their meaning was lost. But even here I knew that there was an alternative, that there was a place where these things were known to me but that it came with unimaginable torment.

So I flipped between the two. Life in the cage seemed to drag and to my perceptions I spent years in that cage but when I returned to the shell that I had left behind, it seemed that only moments had passed.

But the shell could see and hear things. It remembered.

The creature crawled towards the Witcher. It's torso moving slowly across the ground, it's long cloak trailing after it, unmoving but dragging dead leaves and bits of twig after it, arms and legs moving to support it's body in lightening fast movements. The Witcher backed away slowly and drew his sword.

“You promised,” The creature hissed.

Kerrass took a breath and knelt, driving the sword into the ground. He removed his medallion and wrapped it around the hilt and knelt next to it gripping it with both hands and resting his head on the pommel.

The creature sped up then. The Witcher was no longer drawing things out so the anticipation was less. It stalked up to the kneeling figure and spent a long time standing over him before lightening fast he swept in and hands were placed at the side of the Witchers head in the same way as it had mine.

The contact lasted a few seconds.

As if yanked by a rope the Witcher flew back from the silver blade and clutched the side of his head and howled in agony. He was clawing at his face, pulling at his hair which came away in clumps. It's only now that I realise that the fact that he was wearing gloves saved him from ripping out his eyes.

One hand went to his gut and started tearing there as well but it couldn't get through the armour. He turned on his side and vomited some black slime as he went back to beating his own head with a fist.

His reaction was extreme.

The creature however stood stock still, vertical, stiff as a board. Slowly it grew eyes and a nose and ears looking remarkably more human before it changed again, the skin of it's head rippled until it was smooth and white as a goose egg. Then it vanished, to be replaced by a cloud of inky blackness before the original figure was back.

It moaned,

it shook it's head and moaned again, a single word this time

“Noooooo,” it moaned and shook it's head with more and more violence.

“Noooo, no no no no no,”

It went on and on and on, starting to move round the clearing, clutching at it's head.

The small child amongst the bones had collapsed to the floor and seemed to be asleep.

“What have you done?” the creature said in a calm sounding voice. “What have you done?”

The voice seemed familiar to me in some way that I couldn't place.

It stalked over to Kerrass who was thrashing around in some kind of spasm, feet and hands lashing out. It grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet so that they stared at each other, monstrous face to face.

“What have you done?” The creature said in it's new tone of voice.

From somewhere through his pain and madness. Mud and blood mixed in equal measure over his face and staining his teeth. Kerrass managed a smile. It was horrible.

“What have you done?” The creature shouted it this time and I recognised it.

It was a Witcher's voice.

He threw Kerrass' body aside and moaned again.

A horrible sound started to emerge into the clearing like nothing on earth. A sound far more monstrous than anything else I had heard up to that point.

Kerrass was laughing.

“I gave you,” he paused as another spasm racked his body. “I gave you what I said I would.”

Somehow he managed to get to his feet. He screamed again and staggered, both fists clenched to the sides of his head.

“I gave you that which makes me a Witcher,” he laughed, a sound of utter despair. “I gave you what I am you cowardly piece of filth.”

“I can't feel anything,” the creature moaned. “Nothing at all,”

Kerrass laughed even louder as he staggered towards the creature, hacking and spitting as he came.

“You are an empty thing now,” he said through a deaths head rictus. “Your sensations from your prisoners are utterly gone. Your Witcher feelings have taken them from you because you never felt them in the first place, not even the ghosts of forgotten things.”

Kerrass laughed again. I cringe to remember it now. If the concept of vengeance could laugh at it's victim it would sound like that.

The creature retreated from Kerrass, scuttling sideways. Still moaning.

But Kerrass wasn't walking towards the creature. He was walking towards his sword.

He fell.

Then he started to crawl.

“Take it back,” The creature demanded.

“No,” said Kerrass. “No I won't.”

The creature moaned again and started banging it's head against a tree.

“Take it back,” it bellowed at him.

Kerrass just laughed. He had made it to the sword and was pulling himself up towards the hilt.

The creature hissed, pounding it's head on the tree so hard that splintering could be heard. It's hands covering where it's ears should be.

Kerrass was standing now, leaning heavily on his sword he unwound the medallion slowly, painfully slowly as though he had to remember how his hand worked.

“Take it back,” the creature pleaded.

“Fuck you,” Kerrass spat at it as he put the medallion back on. Hate, disdain and scorn dripping from the words. He was breathing deeply now, sucking down air as though it was precious.

“Please take it back,” the creature fell to it's knees. “A life without feeling is no life.”

Kerrass took his time, the creature babbled it's pleading to the floor. Gone from a powerful entity it now produced scorn and, dare I say it, even pity.

Kerrass drew his sword from the ground, in a movement I knew so well he cleaned it in the crook of his elbow and sheathed it. Staggering under the weight.

“Take it back,” the creature begged again. “I beg you. I'm sorry.”

Kerrass looked at the stars for a long moment before looking at the creature, bright tears on his face. He staggered to the creature and grabbed it by the scruff of it's neck and hauled it to eye level, the mirror of the earlier scene.

“What's in it for me?” The Witcher snarled.

This time I am certain that the shell that was my body saw fangs.

“Everything that you asked for. I can't give you more. Your friend will get his soul back. You are both protected, this village and it's descendants are protected. I will leave, not to return for two thousand years.”

“What of the other souls you have collected?”

The creature shook it's head.

“Their bodies are long dead. Their souls cannot be moved.”

“Bastard,” The Witcher swore. “Done,” he said then simply.

The creature vanished.

I opened my eyes to a new agony and screamed my lungs out. The scientist in me says that it was the agony of returning sensation, both mental and physical. The religious and superstitious side of my being says that it was the agony of rebirth.

Kerrass walked over to me. His easy walk returned and the madness had left his eyes as he crouched next to me and looked into my eyes.

“Frederick, look at me, look at me Frederick.” I forced my eyes back open, not remembering when I'd closed them.

“We won Fred, We won,”

I covered my face with my hands and wept.