The battle at the plaza was coming to an end, though smoke still billowed in the air.

Like a great dam in the river, the ice giant barred entry for the hundreds of guards who tried to penetrate his defenses. Still, the guards charged ahead relentlessly, prodding him with their weapons, shooting at him with their arrows, and burning him with their bombs.

Even though their attacks did nothing but negligible damage, the accumulation of their insignificant attacks could still wear Leviathan down. Before he knew it, the ice giant was already covered in wounds, his breathing ragged, his ruby eyes dim. His oak tree bat was already broken from the countless swings.

Leviathan grabbed the stake that Jiji was tied to earlier and spun around like a whirlwind of death, the air crackling. Any guards who tried to even get near the ice giant, even the heavily-armored cavalry, was smashed into meat pies.

The plaza was covered in blood.

***

While the ice giant was distracting most of the guards, the witchers charged ahead, swinging their swords at anyone who would try to attack them. The guards fell by the droves, unable to match the witchers.

The witchers stepped upon the bodies of fallen guards and Scoia'tael members, carving a path through the northern part of the plaza. A path won through arduous battles. And finally, they came to the main hall of the church.

Letho and Vesemir cut down the guards who foolishly still defended the entrance. Lambert, Auckes, Geralt, and Coen cast Aard at the same time, and a devastating current of air smashed into the golden doors.

The doors yawned open, revealing the great hall behind. Braziers burned in the corners, illuminating the spacious chamber. The ceiling was held up by a few pillars made of gold, and a blazing red carpet unfurled before them, leading to the dais further down the chamber, where Cyrus' throne stood. Where a crimson wall overlooked the hall.

Cyrus stood with his staff in hand, protected by twenty guards. His robes were sullied by blood, his arrogance replaced by fear, his beard shivering. The old man looked nervous and worn out. Never did he expect this day to come. Fifteen lowly witchers. Fifteen bloodied, wounded witchers with black blood coursing through their veins.

They were outnumbered, their potions almost depleted, but despite the disadvantage, these mutants tore down an iron-clad defense line made up of five sorcerers and hundreds of guards. And they did it in Novigrad, the base of the Eternal Fire's operations. They carved a path through the bodies of their enemies and made their way to him, the Hierarch.

This was a feat no human could accomplish. Even with the ice giant lending them immense help, the witchers had proved themselves to be far more formidable than he had expected.

The apprentice witchers closed the golden doors. They no longer had the air of children after going through that bloody battle. Their eyes radiated murder and determination, almost like they were full-fledged adults.

With Letho in the lead, the bloodied witchers quickly closed in on the Hierarch. The blood that fell from their armor drenched the carpets in an even deeper shade of red.

Jiji trailed behind them, and he felt conflicted seeing his erstwhile superior. He never thought he could escape death and face Cyrus in triumph. For that, he was glad the witchers were his allies.

Rivulets of sweat poured down the guards' faces, their hands shaking uncontrollably, and they prayed in their hearts. The demons. They've arrived. Please, gods, deliver us from evil.

"Cyrus, you old fool!" Lambert mocked loudly, his voice laced with fury. He wiped the blood from his blade with the cloth of his shirt. "If you'd tried to coexist in peace, you'd never have this kind of trouble, but no. You just had to… what did you say again? Ah, yes, leave no survivors. Well, wish granted, I think."

The witchers glared at Cyrus, livid.

Cyrus' heart skipped a beat, his face red with fear. His back was hunched, his beard drenched with foam. "T-This is all a misunderstanding. Someone's trying to turn us on each other. A-And I fell for their trick. I swear this is a misunderstanding."

The Eternal Fire hasn't spread its flames far enough. I can't die here. At this point, I have to surrender and look for more opportunities. Cyrus took a deep breath. Once this crisis is over, I'll find a way to topple these bastards.

Cyrus raised his trembling right hand and swore loudly, "In the name of the Eternal Fire, I swear, if you cease this meaningless massacre at once, then I shall tell the citizens the truth of this chaos. It was the elves. Yes, the elves were the ones who brought this upon us!"

This is enough, isn't it? I'm bowing to you. Me, the Hierarch. The head of all fifty churches in the North. Cease this at once, mutants.

Lambert scoffed, and he dragged himself up the stairs. "Oath? Your oath means nothing, you reneging scum."

Serrit's eyes twinkled. "But we don't mind knowing who your partner in crime is. So who's the one you've been working with?"

"Rience," Cyrus answered without hesitation. Rience is just a common goon. Vilgefortz might get mad, but at least I still have a chance for a negotiation.

"And who might Rience serve?" asked Letho, his voice monotonous.

Someone started slamming the golden doors, the wooden beam blocking it shaking tremendously.

Cyrus looked reinvigorated. Reinforcements are here.

"I do not know." Cyrus tried to buy time. "He despises witchers, and he proposed a partnership. I fell for his tricks, thinking it was a fair deal, but all is still not too late. Please, cease this at once. I'll explain everything to the citizens. You can still build a home in Novigrad, and I promise no one will get in the way of your… project."

"Sorry, but it's too late for that." Vesemir shook his head, a sigh rushing out of his lips. The moment they launched the attack, they knew the consequences that awaited them. Too many people saw their onslaught. Too many guards died by their hands. The influence would spread far and wide. It would not be something easily mitigated nor diminished in a short span of time.

The witchers couldn't deny all allegations either. Their home would never know peace for a long time. In response to Cyrus' feeble offer, the witchers unsheathed their weapons and flickered across the halls.

Flashes of light drowned Cyrus' guard, and they fell without making a move, blood spurting from their throats, and they rolled down the staircase.

Kiyan grabbed Cyrus by his hair and pressed him down on the cold, hard ground. The old man fell to his knees, too weak to even resist. He knelt before the very creatures he loathed the most.

"Repent. For the deaths your foolish decision has caused."

"You've won, witchers!" Cyrus' face was red with humiliation. Like a tamed dog, he howled. "Please, have mercy. You cannot kill the Eternal Fire's priest before Its eyes. This is blasphemy! It will rain down retribution!"

"You're invoking the name of your god?"

Fury flared within the hearts of the witchers. If his god is nothing but a monster that torments those who only want to live peaceful lives, then that monster deserves no worship.

"Silence!" A carbon copy of Letho took a step ahead, glaring at the once revered and sacred Hierarch. He once respected this senile man. "Cyrus, under your leadership, numerous commissioners found themselves beguiled and lost to the allure of coin, lust, and power. For their abandonment of the path, you condemned them, claiming that they were not devout enough to resist the temptation of worldly offerings."

Jiji hissed, "But you're blind to your own pitfalls. You, despite being the Hierarch for so many years, are blind to your own corruption. For many years, you've been consumed by your own greed. The power, title, and honor have gone to your head. You would do anything to reach your goal, no matter how nefarious the acts are. You'd twist stories in your favor and condemn innocent souls to death, and you claim it is done for the spread of the fire. That is nothing but an excuse. Excuse to cover up your own avarice. Your actions have brought nothing but the taint of darkness upon the sacred fire."

Jiji took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the golden emblem of flames behind the throne. "Your actions have consequences, and now they have borne fruit in the form of divine retribution. God hath judged you."

Cyrus shivered, his face turning three shades whiter. His conviction that he held on for decades wavered for a moment, and tears streamed down his cheeks, as if he had a mental breakdown.

Divine retribution? Me? Impossible. I spent my life spreading the glory of the Eternal Fire. I have given everything to it. For my mission, I've remained celibate. I've refused to sire my own heir, and I have no family to call my own. It cannot punish me! It cannot!

Cyrus raised his head and let out an ear-piercing shriek. "You doppler bastard!"

The witchers exchanged a look and nodded. They gave Cyrus not a moment more, bringing down their sword on his nape. Blood streaked into the air, and the head of Cyrus rolled down the staircase, his face contorted in rage.

Cyrus Engelkind Hemmelfart was venomous until the very end, but no longer could he do any harm.

Letho touched the head, and it disappeared, tucked away in his ring. He then tucked the headless corpse away as well, cleaning up the crime scene. Silence fell upon the hall. Besides the witchers and the Eternal Fire, no one was privy to the death of the Hierarch.

Jiji was surprised. He couldn't understand why the witchers did that.

Letho said, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jiji was confused.

The guards were pummeling the door even harder.

"He's not the only corrupted official around. There'll be more like him ready to exploit this power vacuum, but do you really want another Cyrus to take the throne of the Hierarch?" Vesemir stroked his bloodstained beard.

"What we're trying to say is… Why don't you take up the mantle of Hierarch and lead the church of the Eternal Fire? No, not just a single church. All the churches in the North. If you're Hierarch, no guards or believers would suspect you of being a doppler," Lambert suggested adamantly. "You can rewrite the rules and lead the church to a better path."

They want me to take over as Hierarch? Jiji shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

The door was moments away from being taken down.

"This is your chance to realize your ambitions, Jiji. Miss it, and you won't have another chance." Geralt patted Jiji's shoulder. "Or would you rather suffer the citizens' prejudice and escape like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, all the while allowing ignorance to rule this city?"

The witchers stared at Jiji, anticipation filling their eyes.

Jiji gritted his teeth, memories of being tied to the stake, slandered by the people, and judged by their ignorance flashing in his head. All his passion and uptight morality was cooled by his frustration, and he sighed. I will not run this time. Lights strobed from within the doppler, and his body contracted and wriggled like a ball of dough getting kneaded into another shape.

One moment later, Cyrus reappeared among them, hunched and in bloodstained robes. He stared at his gaunt, gnarled hands, confused for a moment. He then took a deep breath and straightened out the golden crown atop his head, his visage taking on a solemn shade.

He then felt the cool of a blade touching his neck.

Serrit looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, but we have to do this if we want to look more credible. Don't forget, it's all the elves' fault. And we'll always be allies."

If the witchers came out chatting happily with Cyrus when they were at each other's throats a minute ago, anyone would know that something was off. They had to appear like they were holding Cyrus hostage and ensure their future would be secure.

"Let's go. Time to bring this fiasco to an end."

The doors finally gave in, and they fell. Guards charged into the halls, roaring and swinging their weapons. And then they froze, their blood running cold. The sight they were served with was more shocking than the escape of the ice giant. It was unbelievable enough that the giant escaped through the sea, but now they were seeing something worse. The blasted witchers were standing atop a pile of corpses, holding the Hierarch hostage while slowly approaching the guards.

***

There was another battle going on in a certain antechamber, and it too was coming to an end.

Roy scanned the sorcerers slowly. Rience, Lydia, and two Scoia'tael sorcerers. Tension was running high. Should I kill them all? No. That won't help. The true mastermind is still free. As long as Vilgefortz draws breath, we'll never be at peace. I cannot allow him to live and scheme against us. This is for Ciri. For my Unexpected Child. And I cannot forgive him for ruining our hard-earned home.

Roy wouldn't stop until he met Vilgefortz and took him out of the picture. He has to pay for his actions.

"You promise we'll have a plot of land of our own if I shake your hand?" Roy held Gwyhyr like it was a crutch holding him up. He wiped the blood off his forehead, a gentler air surrounding him.

"Yes, if you give in willingly." A smile twinkled in Rience's eyes. "I will take you to Vilgefortz, and you shall tell him where Ciri is. Vilgefortz is known for his generosity. Serving him is miles better than working for any king. And you'd better get on it." Rience glanced at the plaza through the corner of his eye.

At the end of his wits, the ice giant charged through the defense line and leapt into the sea under the island. The guards charged into the great hall, raring to kill.

"Hesitate, and your comrades die."

Roy had hesitation in his eyes.

"What are you waiting for? Throw down your weapon." Rience stared at Roy, moving his knife around Gawain's neck. "Get on your knees and submit."

Lydia was deadpan, but the Scoia'tael sorcerers looked satisfied.

He wants me to kneel? Roy shook his head, smirking, and he stared at the arrogant sorcerer. "One little mistake, Rience. I do not take well to threats."

Roy pulled the trigger, and a Scoia'tael sorcerer was blasted through the air before the enemies could see what was happening. He slammed into the wall of the antechamber and fell limply, a big hole bore through his chest.

Roy blinked through space and appeared before the corpse. Crimson light strobed, and the other Scoia'tael sorcerer was drowned by the tentacles that leapt out of the void.

Roy swung his sword and lopped off the enemy's head.

Lydia fired a bolt of electricity at the witcher. The bolt leapt across the ground, but it only hit air.

Roy blinked through space again and appeared before Lydia. The bolt he fired smashed her magical barrier, and the sorceress' arm flew into the air, sliced by the witcher's blade.

She grunted, and a burst of green light came forth from within her body, then she disappeared into thin air.

Rience slit Gawain's throat and tossed him away, then he sent a column of fire flying at Roy, the flames burning up the air and ground.

Roy appeared beside the dying Gawain and spun his blade around, cutting the rope and cuffs off. His Elder Blood roared, and the power of time came rushing out of him, enveloping the dying Gawain.

Just like that, Gawain's slit neck healed and was good as new.

"What happened, Roy?" Gawain sat up, touching his neck. He looked at Roy, surprised. He vividly remembered Rience slitting his throat, and then he fell into the darkness of death. So how did I live?

Gasps came from the air.

"You have to hide. I'll explain later," Roy said. He then made a complex gesture with his left hand and held it high up over his head. The shield of Heliotrop opened up like a black umbrella and deflected the incoming fireballs.

Roy summoned his minion, and a frost atronach came jumping out a maroon sphere. It stood before Gawain, protecting him.

Roy fired off another bolt and appeared at the spot the fireballs were launched. He took a deep breath and…

Fus!

The power of the Bones crossed dimensions and lent immense power to Roy's Shout. The antechamber rumbled from the waves of the Shout, as if it were hit by a devastating earthquake.

A grunt came from nowhere, and Rience fell like a bird with broken wings, his invisibility spell dispeled. His face was bloody, his mind torn apart by a thousand knives. Everything was spinning, and a look of agony painted his face. All his bones were crushed, and not an ounce of strength would respond to his summon.

Someone propped him up and held a blade to his neck, drawing a line of blood.

The witcher's icy voice hissed into his ear, "Alright, Rience, I'm not a generous man, so you have one option." Roy looked around, trying to look for the masked sorceress, but there was only silence. Not a drop of blood was left behind. She's probably escaped, I think?

He turned back to Rience. "Contact your master. I'd like to talk."

***

***