The thrown torch really did catch the female vampire's attention. Her hunting instincts told her that in darkness, humans were simply meat to be butchered—so in her half-mist form she reflexively batted the torch away to the ground. But with the firelight masking the angle, by the time she noticed two round objects flying in right behind it, it was already far too late.
Boom! "Kii—aaah…!" First came the blast, then her shriek of agony.
In her half-mist state, the Moon Dust's silver flecks burrowed into her and brought a delirious, maddening pain. The Dancing Star's burning effect lit her up like a walking torch. In almost an instant, the vicious female vampire became something unrecognizable.
Seeing that, Victor and Angoulême didn't hesitate—swords up, they rushed in to finish her.
The witcher apprentice had warned her again and again before they came: show absolutely no mercy. Kill her as fast as possible. Otherwise, a dying counterattack would be lethal—and if she escaped, it would be extremely hard to pull off the same trick twice.
…And sensing her life in danger, the female vampire suddenly dropped low and rolled toward a corner. The Dancing Star's flames were smothered in the process, but at the same time—
Clack!
A bear trap clamped down on her right foot.
With her movement pinned by the trap, her eyes blinded by silver flecks and fire, she had only her ears to judge where her enemies were by their footsteps. But for her, a direction was all she needed.
The female vampire's chest swelled. She drew in a deep breath.
With the low-light vision from the Cat potion, the two members of the Phantom Troupe could clearly see what she was doing. In the next heartbeat, Victor felt something was wrong—Angoulême realized it even faster and stopped short first.
But both reactions were too late.
"Kii… aaah…!"
A bizarre, piercing scream burst from the female vampire's throat and slammed into the young man and the young woman. The circular chamber's echoing resonance only amplified the sound, giving the shockwave even more force.
Back in the game, that move at most made a witcher clutch his head and cover his ears like it hurt, but once she finished screaming you'd barely lose any blood and could just keep fighting. And the books Victor had read didn't particularly emphasize this ability either—so he'd come in with no preparation at all.
Yet what a witcher could grit his teeth through was a violent impact strong enough to knock an ordinary person unconscious. The toughness of a body before mutation and after mutation wasn't even in the same universe.
So in the scream, Angoulême wobbled—then collapsed first, bleeding from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Victor also slammed down hard, reeling in agony. Dizzy and half-blind, he couldn't even use his herb kit. For a moment, he had no way to counter it.
He didn't last much longer than she did. His vision quickly blurred. Warm blood seeped from his ears, his nostrils, and the corners of his eyes. Only his strong physique kept him from dropping immediately—but if she kept screaming, the Phantom Troupe being wiped out was only a matter of time.
In the chaos, his hand found something cold on the ground…
Melitele above! It was the crossbow Angoulême carried—gifted by Rose Knight Siegfried!
He forced his trembling arm up, lining up sight, notch, and target, enduring the brutal pounding in his temples—his eyes bleeding until the world was a wash of red, his nose dripping hot drops onto his hand.
"You motherfucker, shut up!"
Pfft…!
The sound of the bolt punching into her neck was small, but it was enough to turn that enormous scream into a hoarse, choking howl.
That one hit dragged the Troupe back from the brink. Victor dropped to one knee, gasping, keeping his guard up against the female vampire—blood tears spilling from her blinded eyes, a bolt in her neck, her whole body burned and flayed by silver flecks until there wasn't a clean patch of skin left.
With her scream stopped, she couldn't see, and she'd lost the enemies' position. In the agony of the silver powder's burn, she started prying at the bear trap.
Ignoring pain and fury, Victor took a few deep breaths and forced reason back into his head. He hooked the crossbow that had saved them onto his belt. Bleeding from seven places, he gathered what little strength he had left, dragged Angoulême—also bleeding from seven places—into his arms, and retreated slowly.
Mutual destruction was pointless. A crippled Phantom Troupe couldn't afford a death. So even though the monster was caught in a bear trap, the witcher apprentice refused to risk attacking and provoking her further—
fearing that at the edge of death she would go berserk like a ghoul, tear off her own foot, and lunge anyway.
He focused everything on the monster's movements while feeling the steady beat of his teammate's pulse in his arms. Step by step, he backed toward the chamber entrance. He was almost at the tunnel—if he could just slip inside, a heavily wounded female vampire wouldn't take the risk of chasing out.
As long as they got out of here, next time he would come fully prepared and show her that an outsider's dirty tricks had no limit.
That thought was still in his head when his steps froze.
His blood felt like it turned to ice.
Because he backed straight into the embrace of a tall, broad body.
Was this "female vampire" somehow symbiotic with a "higher vampire"?
…
"I learned one thing in my short life: the more a person lives by planning, the more they'll crash on something they couldn't possibly predict… unless they go beyond human…"
Excerpt from—The Flamebearer Sage's Bizarre Adventure, Chapter Eighty-Two
…
Half-turning to look behind him, Victor nearly fell into despair—because it wasn't just one person blocking the way.
It was three.
Three fully armed…
witchers!?
Despair turned into shock—then relief. The Cat potion hadn't worn off, so Victor could clearly see their yellow-brown slit pupils. Those bright eyes meant they'd taken Cat too. And on their backs were two hand-and-a-half swords—the standard witcher kit.
The huge brute in the middle made Victor look like a child; the apprentice only came up to his chest. That was who Victor had slammed into just now. His Common Speech carried a heavy southern Nilfgaardian accent.
"Interesting. I thought we were already too late—and would only be here to collect your corpse."
The big man stepped past him, putting Angoulême and Victor behind his back while he watched the female vampire as her vision gradually returned. The other two who'd come with him advanced as well. The three witchers formed a wall of bodies, shielding the injured pair.
Taking in the female vampire's miserable state, the brute sighed with genuine amazement. "I didn't think you could push her this far. Auckes—protect Victor and his little partner. Serrit—let's finish it."
His voice was rough and gravelly, like there was sand in his throat. To Victor, it sounded like salvation.
The man called Serrit didn't say a word. He drew his silver sword and moved forward alongside the brute.
And the female vampire—having forced the bear trap open, her sight returning—saw enemies closing in. With her mist-form stripped away by silver flecks and her ranged scream ruined by the crossbow bolt, she had only one option left: climb the ceiling, move fast above them, and drop straight down in a killing pounce.
"Aard."
The brute formed a Sign with his fingers. Wind gathered instantly in his left palm—then he struck outward, releasing a shockwave that blasted the diving female vampire backward into the wall. The impact boomed, and sewer bricks shuddered as dust and grit rained down.
The sheer coolness of that moment made Victor suck in a breath.
This was the witchers' unique combat art: Signs. The Aard Sign's shockwave.
And one day…
He noticed that even with an overwhelming advantage, the brute and Serrit didn't get reckless. They still advanced cautiously from both sides, tightening the net.
In this situation, Victor could say with certainty—
this hunt would end very soon.
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