The Divine Hunter

hile Roy was using Aerondight.
According to Vivienne’s description, Dagon should be a relict, so they smeared relict oil on their swords, and they added a dose of paralyzing poison on it as well.

Roy concentrated on his character sheet and spent his final skill point.

‘Meditation Level 3 → Level 4

Constitution: 10.6 → 11.1

HP: 146 → 151

Spirit: 10.5 → 11

Mana: 145 → 150′

A surge of warmth coursed through Roy’s body, bringing him back to his best state.
The witchers looked at each other for a moment, and they stepped into the charred forest for their final battle against Dagon.

The witchers stopped thirty feet away from the altar, and they took their potions out.
They uncorked Thunderbolt and Swallow and gulped them down.
The moment they did, black veins popped up on their neck, and they crawled up to their faces.
Roy could feel his heart beating like a drum, and for some reason, he felt excited.
Two potions was his limit for the time being.
Any more and the toxicity would kill him.
Then he made the sign for Quen, and a yellow protective shield appeared around him.

They unsheathed their swords and held them up in the plow stance, the blades gleaming brown from the oil on them.
They crouched down and flanked the altar, getting closer and closer to it.
They were moving in sync, as if one of them were a reflection of the other.

Twenty steps later, the altar sensed the incoming intruders, and black smoke shot up into the air above the altar, swirling around it.
The smoke thickened into a dark fog, and eventually, a huge humanoid monster with a grotesque head appeared within the black fog.

Its head was ethereal at first, but as time passed, it gained shape and became corporeal.
Its nose and eyes were scrunched together on the top of its head, and its gaping maw took up most of the empty space on its face.
If the witchers didn’t look closely, they would have thought the monster only had a maw for a face.
Its body slowly appeared within the fog from top to bottom.
Four tentacles tumbled down its mouth, stretching over its short, stubby neck.
Its dark blue back had muscles that looked like hills and was covered by thick, sturdy keratin scales that were arranged haphazardly.
Then, the monster stretched its limb out, and it pushed itself up with its muscular arms, its claws glinting menacingly under the sunlight.

The monster knelt on one knee, and its head was hanging low, as if it were trying to get used to the space outside the altar.

‘Dagon

Age: ??

Status: Projection (This creature is a projection created by the real Dagon who resides in another dimension.
It possesses less than a hundredth of the real Dagon’s strength.)

HP: 300 (Suppressed)

Mana: 200 (Suppressed)

Stats:

Strength: ??

Dexterity: 12

Constitution: 30

Perception: 12 

Will: 8  

Charisma: 13

Spirit: 20

Skills:

Domain of Enrapturement (Passive): Dagon can spread its spell in the form of murmurs that can create dreams based on the target’s deepest desire.
It can brainwash the target and turn the target into its devout believer.
The lower the target’s will, the faster the target will fall.

Cursed Waters (Sealed): Dagon can summon the filthiest liquids from the depths of the lake.
This liquid can corrode its target’s flesh and awaken the target’s darkest emotions.

Glance of Malice (Sealed)

Others (Sealed)

***

The witchers wouldn’t give it time to adapt, of course.
They tossed their Dragon’s Dreams and Dimeritium bomb, and the canisters were shattered into tiny little pieces, releasing the white flammable gas and dimeritium dust around Dagon.
Letho pushed his left hand forward, and a snake made out of flames charged toward Dagon.
A great explosion blew up around Dagon, and the monster roared in pain and fury.
Roy pulled the string on his crossbow and fired ten arrows in the span of a few seconds at the monster, but it didn’t stop Dagon from charging out of the sea of flames.
Countless white whirlpools appeared around it all of a sudden, dousing the flames that were hurting it.

The monster stared straight at Roy with its red eyes.
It cracked its neck and whispered hoarsely, “Ceadmil caerme darganfod ensh’eass…”

It wasn’t any language that existed in this world, but Roy knew what it was saying without any translation at all.
The monster spoke to its mind, and the spell hidden in its voice frustrated him, alluring Roy into its embrace. Give me the bloodstone.

It was as if the voice were an order.
Roy lost his focus the moment he heard it, but fortunately for him, the bloodstone radiated a crimson light, and the witchers shook their heads, breaking the spell miraculously.
Then they pounced at their adversary.