[The fact Geralt doesn't answer at first isn't the most weird thing, but it is there's not even a grunt of pain. Or an annoyed grunt. Or a "fuck." Nero gets to his knees, realizing he's kneeling in something wet.
His demonic arm does not become human again. The rough scaling and spikes instead begin to thread through with glowing blue light; the only light in the whole fucking room. It's otherwise pitch-black in here.]
Geralt?
[The blue light turns it an almost unfamiliar color, almost purple, but he's been in plenty after that damn tree to know that's blood. Staining the floors in thick, stinking layers. Some as hot as if it was just spilled. Other patches cold, turned to sludge.
He jerks as a scream echoes around them. It's not Geralt's, for sure. Too high pitched. Like a -- a kid.
Shit. It's like the basement of a haunted house. Or a serial killer's.]
Geralt? [He nearly trips over him, thrown off by the way his light is reflecting off all the wet, off all the noises bouncing off and hitting him right in the head. Just like the Horizon, he guesses, for you to be on a mountain one second and then in a dungeon the next.] Hey. [Nero touches his shoulder. Between one scream and the next, though, he can hear him. Like he's choking on air.]
Hey! Geralt! Come on, man. [Geralt suddenly moves past him like a bear about to take a massive shit in a hurry, but he misses the door -- is that a door? He gets closer, sees it is. Shit. What the fuck is happening? Where is this?]
Okay, okay. Come on, big guy. Gotta get somewhere I can actually see. [He tries tugging Geralt, but too much resistance sparks Nero's annoyance (and this growing sense of dread he's going to cover up.) All right, fuck this. Fuck the Horizon. Fuck its little games. But pissed as he's gettin', he's not leaving Geralt behind.] I got you, grandpa.
[His transformation surges through him. It's not like manifesting a sword or a gun; this is him. Another tug, and it's sharper, until Nero's wings unfurl and he simply picks up Geralt with the two of them, ethereal claws digging into his shirt. Geralt's huge, and it's fucking awkward, but Nero's got plenty of strength to manage to get Geralt half onto his shoulder. Effectively four-armed for the moment, he holds Geralt and holds his glowing arm out to find how to open the door. A knob... a bar?
Seriously, not a single goddamn torch in this place?
With a oh, fuck this Nero simply shoulders the door, barreling out of it carrying the hulk of the Witcher with him. They fall out into more stone hallway, but a gust of fresh, freezing air greets them, pushing down the smell of blood for at least a second. Nero sets him down, slapping his face (lightly).] Hey, come on. Get back with me.
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His demonic arm does not become human again. The rough scaling and spikes instead begin to thread through with glowing blue light; the only light in the whole fucking room. It's otherwise pitch-black in here.]
Geralt?
[The blue light turns it an almost unfamiliar color, almost purple, but he's been in plenty after that damn tree to know that's blood. Staining the floors in thick, stinking layers. Some as hot as if it was just spilled. Other patches cold, turned to sludge.
He jerks as a scream echoes around them. It's not Geralt's, for sure. Too high pitched. Like a -- a kid.
Shit. It's like the basement of a haunted house. Or a serial killer's.]
Geralt? [He nearly trips over him, thrown off by the way his light is reflecting off all the wet, off all the noises bouncing off and hitting him right in the head. Just like the Horizon, he guesses, for you to be on a mountain one second and then in a dungeon the next.] Hey. [Nero touches his shoulder. Between one scream and the next, though, he can hear him. Like he's choking on air.]
Hey! Geralt! Come on, man. [Geralt suddenly moves past him like a bear about to take a massive shit in a hurry, but he misses the door -- is that a door? He gets closer, sees it is. Shit. What the fuck is happening? Where is this?]
Okay, okay. Come on, big guy. Gotta get somewhere I can actually see. [He tries tugging Geralt, but too much resistance sparks Nero's annoyance (and this growing sense of dread he's going to cover up.) All right, fuck this. Fuck the Horizon. Fuck its little games. But pissed as he's gettin', he's not leaving Geralt behind.] I got you, grandpa.
[His transformation surges through him. It's not like manifesting a sword or a gun; this is him. Another tug, and it's sharper, until Nero's wings unfurl and he simply picks up Geralt with the two of them, ethereal claws digging into his shirt. Geralt's huge, and it's fucking awkward, but Nero's got plenty of strength to manage to get Geralt half onto his shoulder. Effectively four-armed for the moment, he holds Geralt and holds his glowing arm out to find how to open the door. A knob... a bar?
Seriously, not a single goddamn torch in this place?
With a oh, fuck this Nero simply shoulders the door, barreling out of it carrying the hulk of the Witcher with him. They fall out into more stone hallway, but a gust of fresh, freezing air greets them, pushing down the smell of blood for at least a second. Nero sets him down, slapping his face (lightly).] Hey, come on. Get back with me.