The newfound danger

/ I wanted to write more fighting scene but after finishing and reading, it made no sense so back to the first square. /

Within the shattered remains of the ancient castle's throne room, 

the formidable white saint, one of the twelve esteemed saints of color, began to feel the prickling beads of sweat upon his brow, a rare sensation of fear creeping into his consciousness after many years. 

Previously he was just annoyed by the hard to kill two human masters' presence, he had dismissed them as inconsequential threats. Seeing them as nothing but mere beasts along with the killing intent they carried.

However, now facing her, he sensed a shift in the dynamics between them, a looming threat that he couldn't quite quantify. Especially from the newly forming aura of the female master. 

Thinking about the change and pondering its reason the saint of white now stood motionless in thought.

As he pondered the significance of survival of ..., a sudden slash oozing with danger from a longsword shattered his reverie and descended toward his head. 

Clenching his teeth he forcefully propelled his upper body backward, standing firm on both feet and arching his spine to avoid the blade by a mere fraction of an inch. 

With a swift maneuver, he narrowly evaded the lethal strike, 

Employing a back-spin kick that hit nothing but air to create distance, the white saint dashed back and began to assess the newfound powers of the master before him while he assessed the connection inside himself. 

His brother was still alive but that sensation felt vague and his connection with his memories was still in disarray.

Across the battlefield, Gemma stood bathed in a purple aura that exuded an ominous and dangerous presence, making the saint hesitate. 

Uncertain of the properties of the purple enigmatic mist surrounding her, he hesitated to launch an attack without a well-devised plan.

As the saint stood motionless again in inner turmoil, Gemma, too, was in her thoughts. 

She knew her powers were not real. 

It was a borrowed power meaning that she could lose its control at any given moment or the power could rampage whenever she let her guard down. 

But that level of danger did not stop her from forcefully manipulating the purple energy to follow her will.

Summoning her newfound abilities, Gemma raising her left hand commanded the purple aura to form into a wing upon her left side. 

The once purple aura, now a purple mist, followed Gemma's will as it formed an artistic description of an angel's wing upon her left back side.

Upon its completion, from inside the wing, small crystallized shards emerged and shot out, aimed squarely at the white saint. 

As she advanced whilst shooting the small shards from her wing, gripping her sword tighter, Gemma poised for a strike, the saint responded with his martial prowess, raising his one hand above and one below. 

When the shards shot into his range he would shatter them all with a defensive movement before forming a fist with one hand to counter Gemma's strike.

—--- —----

Meanwhile, Geralt found himself in a peculiar state, outwardly appearing unscathed while inwardly battling exhaustion and doubt. 

Mentally drained and exhausted, he grappled with conflicting voices urging him to rest or rise and aid Gemma in her struggle against the formidable saint. 

One voice comforted him.

'Why are you blaming yourself? You've given your all, achieving far beyond anyone's expectations, including your own. Take pride in your accomplishments, you've done more than enough. Gemma is strong and resilient. Trust in her tenacity. She'll find a way to overcome the saint. Take a moment to rest. When you awaken, victory, peace, and honor will await you, and you can bask in the triumph of your accomplishments."

While the other voice urged him.

'No!'

'You must rise, you must press on. Crush the obstacles that threaten the church. You swore an oath, bound by duty and obligation. You have no right to falter, you have no right to give up. Follow orders and fulfill your duty. Stand tall, and fight forward, for it is your duty, your solemn obligation towards humanity.'

Trapped in a limbo of indecision, Geralt's consciousness wavered, until a mysterious third figure emerged from the depths of his subconscious, disrupting the tumultuous debate within his mind.

The third figure scratched his hair and waved towards him. 

If he could raise an eyebrow, he would but he had no strength left inside him. 

Before Geralt could react, the third figure halted him with a gesture.

 "Hello, Sir Geralt. It's me, Raian." 

Without allowing Geralt a chance to respond, Raian thrust a bottle of mysterious liquid into his mouth. 

Lacking the strength to resist, Geralt had no choice but to swallow the liquid to avoid drowning. 

Within moments, the contents of the container were depleted, and Geralt felt a surge of strength returning to his body.

Realizing what had transpired, Geralt braced himself for the impending pain. He knew what kind of memory he had gifted to Raian.

Just as a person anticipates the sting of an impending injury just like hitting their pinky toe and sensing the pain flow over. 

Geralt felt a similar apprehension. However, his main concern was not the physical pain from the potion but rather the risk of alerting their location. 

As if attempting to relieve his anxiety, Raian covered Geralt's mouth with both hands and pinned him to the ground. "Please, sir, endure it. Captain Gemma and I will need your assistance," he implored.

Geralt's response was a muffled scream, stifled by Raian's firm grip.

//// Another chapter in few days, maybe a 2 if i m feeling like it.////