[h2][center]Geralt of Rivia[/center][/h2]
[center]The End[/center]
[center]Lvl 5 (35/50) -> Lvl 5 (57/50) [/center]
[center]Word Count: 873 words[/center]

Geralt managed to avoid [i]most[/i] of the damage from being slammed by the dragon's tail, between what remained from Quen and his own efforts to evade the appendage, but he couldn't prevent himself from being knocked along the ground, and through a small layer of acid, before rolling to a stop and groaning. "Devils, that hurt." Struggling to get himself up, the Witcher carefully shook a bit of the caustic liquid off of himself before pausing to take a few deep breaths. He wouldn't go down from just that, but there came a point where that much muscle might as well have been a tree swung by a rock troll right into him. Forcing himself to stand, Geralt frowned when he realized that he was much further away from the fight than he'd have hoped, though his distance did allow him to get a good look at all that happened. 

And, hell, did a lot happen. Donnie decided that his flying machine wasn't going to be useful anymore, apparently, with all the damage it had taken. At the same time, Jak dropped from above the dragon and unleashed his massive dark energy attack. He heard a few massive explosions around the same time, from that over-sized gun the Courier was using, and there were still a few people clinging to the dragon while the biggest explosion occurred. Geralt winced when he noticed that, but the cat things managed to rescue Link and Euden. That much damage, though? This was done. Geralt put his pistol away and nodded, unconcerned. 

Until he noticed the dragon was still moving, missiles detonating against its hide, as it slammed a massive clawed hand onto Tora, crushing him beneath it. Geralt tried to move, but the dragon whipped its tail around, forcing him to dodge lest he be pulverized by the oversized appendage. A second hammer blow crushed Tora utterly, leaving him stuck in the ground, immobilized. The dragon took a deep breath, and a ball of acid descended upon Tora, disintegrating the metal golem utterly, killing him. Geralt shut his eyes, unable to watch, anger coursing through him at his inability to save [i]another[/i] person, sentient golem or no. 

Until he heard Tora's panicked shouts and witnessed Blazermate's quick thinking in healing their ally. A shuddering breath of relief escaped Geralt's lungs, only for his mood to be replaced by 

[h3][i][b][u]RAGE[/u][/b][/i][/h3]

Maybe somebody looked at him accidentally. Maybe he was reminded of one too many people he couldn't save. All Geralt knew was that he was unusually angry. The stress of being torn away from everything he fought and bled for? The realization that he didn't know if he'd even [i]see[/i] Ciri and Yennefer again? 

You'd have to ask somebody capable of conscious thought, because Geralt wasn't at that moment. 

He was a swinging, screaming bladestorm of fury, tearing limbs from Endermen and chasing their retreating forms flawlessly. Whenever his current target teleported, Geralt was right behind them, silver sword flashing. He'd completely abandoned the group's target, instead chasing the damned little distractions that had kept them from protecting Tora. Was it foolish? Absolutely. Was it counter-productive? Probably. 

But the part of Geralt's brain in charge wasn't thinking about the tactical benefits of eliminating the small fry before dealing with the larger threat, of splitting their forces up erratically. All it wanted was destruction. And destruction it had: the Witcher had ultimately done little more than distract a few of the Enderman Linkle and the Bowsers hadn't yet destroyed and angering a few others. If anything, he might have even been a liability with how much attention he was probably drawing.

As his sword exploded out the back of yet another Enderman, Geralt forced himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, lest he get caught back up in the aggression he so often suppressed. It was a moment or two before he realized what he'd done, and his stomach felt like it was missing. Adrenaline was still flooding through his veins, but he had to clamp down on that before he lost control again. 

Wiping the blood from his sword, Geralt turned back to the fight, only to realize that it had ended without him. 

He caught the last of Bowser's destruction of the Ender Dragon, of the wave of force the creature's explosion gave off, which only briefly irritated him. It wasn't enough to make even him, as off as he was, stumble. 

A few more deep breaths had Geralt stowing his weapon, walking back towards the others, before his stomach dropped again as the strange otherworld they were in starting dissolving and gravity took control of the island they were on once more. 

"Whoreson." He sighed. Of course there was some catch to this. Never just a simple victory. Looking at the others, Geralt frowned. "Something about that water feels...off." He couldn't place it, but he didn't want to get wet. Thankfully, as the party fell, Sectonia was kind enough to grab a hold of one of Geralt's elongated arms, not deigning to look at the Witcher. Better for them both that way, Geralt was sure there was some Enderman blood staining his armor and clothing.