CHAPTER 58: 58: BLOOD QUEEN VS LIGHTNING GOD II

Geralt moved first, his body a blur. Black lightning coiled around him like living serpents, hissing and writhing as they traced the length of his arms. Sparks danced along his shoulders, crawling toward the claw-shaped blaze forming around his hands. With a sudden lunge, he swung, the claw of lightning tearing through the air with a sound like ripping metal.

Isobel slipped away by a hair’s breadth, the heat of the strike grazing her cheek as she propelled herself backward, wings of energy carrying her into the open sky. The wind from Geralt’s attack whipped around her, sharp enough to sting her skin.

But Geralt was already in pursuit.

"Stop moving!" she snapped, her eyes flaring crimson.

That glow locked onto him, invisible tendrils of compulsion digging into his mind. Geralt’s forward momentum faltered—his pupils dilated, his body freezing mid-stride. For a few precious seconds, he was caught, like a beast snared in a hunter’s trap.

That was all the time she needed.

Blood pooled into her palm, coiling together until it solidified into a long, jagged spear. With a sharp thrust, she hurled it straight at his heart. The crimson weapon cut the air, its tip vibrating with lethal intent.

It struck.

The spear punched into his chest—just an inch shy of his heart—before Geralt’s trance shattered. His eyes snapped into focus, rage igniting like wildfire. He seized the weapon’s shaft before it could sink any deeper.

"You damn... bitch," he growled, voice laced with venom. "You are so dead."

Lightning flared in his gaze, pure and blinding, and the sky responded. Clouds thickened overhead, swallowing the sun. The first deafening clap of thunder split the air, followed by wild forks of lightning clawing downward, unrestrained and savage.

"You were holding back... weren’t you?" Isobel’s tone was almost mocking, her gaze sweeping him from head to toe, as if measuring his true form for the first time.

"You’ll pay for daring to try and kill me." His voice was calm, but cold—ice wrapped around steel. Beneath the words, though, his pulse thudded faster. He had been seconds from death, and that truth coiled in the pit of his stomach like a warning.

"Well..." her lips curved upward, fangs glinting faintly. "It’s too late for that. My blood is already in you."

The meaning hit instantly.

"Urgh!" Geralt staggered, his muscles clenching involuntarily. A molten burn spread through his veins, like his blood was trying to boil its way out of his body.

"What... did you do?!" His roar echoed over the city.

In answer, lightning surged down from the black clouds, obedient to his call. Dozens of bolts tore through the sky toward Isobel, each one snarling like a pack of hunting hounds.

"Nothing much," she said with a careless shrug, a cocoon of blood swirling around her like a living shield. The lightning struck again and again, but the cocoon absorbed every blast, humming with each impact. "Just the same thing my foster parent suffered."

Geralt’s frown deepened. The pain was sharpening, his strength ebbing. Those few seconds of immobility had cost him dearly.

"You think... a foreign force inside my body seals your victory?" His tone flattened, eyes narrowing. "You’re wrong."

The storm above bent to his will. One colossal bolt shot downward, striking him directly. His entire body became a conduit. The electricity seared through every cell, burning away the invasive blood. Energy surged in its place, his muscles and nerves snapping into overdrive.

He bit his lip, tasting copper. Overdrive was dangerous. Once it ended, he’d be drained. That meant this fight had to finish—fast.

"Alright... let’s get to it." Isobel’s eyes blazed brighter.

The world around them shifted. Across the city, every bleeding wound, every hospital blood bag, every spill of crimson—contaminated or pure—rose into the air, as if gravity no longer applied. Together, the countless droplets gathered into a vast, churning pool of blood above her, its surface rippling like a restless sea.

Far below, the city had stopped. Cameras from rooftops and hovering drones captured everything, live-broadcasting the duel between a little girl and a living demigod. The rest of the world watched, bewildered and enthralled.

"This is your last chance, child," Geralt said, his voice rumbling like the storm itself. Black lightning engulfed his body, consuming every inch of skin. The very atoms around him vibrated so fast the air sang—a deep, resonant hum like high-tension wires, but amplified a hundredfold. "Surrender... and I might spare your life."

Isobel didn’t answer. Her silence was her choice. The pool of blood rippled violently as it took shape—fangs, claws, scaled hides, and sleek pelts emerging. Hounds with eyes like molten garnet, serpents coiling with forked tongues, direwolves bristling with malice. Each creature stood poised, awaiting only her command. Her own armor of blood slid over her frame, plates shifting into place.

"I’ll take that as your answer."

Geralt vanished.

Sound lagged behind him—each movement a silent cut through reality, with the booming roar only arriving seconds later. He appeared before Isobel, flinging black bolts of lightning with precise, surgical coldness.

Her blood beasts surged forward, intercepting the blasts. One by one, they exploded into crimson mist under the lightning’s force, but the barrage never touched her.

Geralt hadn’t expected it to. The attack was a feint. In the same instant, he reappeared behind her, fist already cocked. His strike connected, slamming into her side and hurling her downward.

She fell like a star cast from the heavens, trailing sparks of blood. The impact cratered the earth, stone and dust erupting outward as she buried five meters deep.

Above, Geralt hovered, lightning spiraling around his arm as he called on the storm for one decisive strike. He raised his hand, power compressing into a single point.

But from the crater’s depths, a compressed bullet of blood whistled upward. Instinct forced him to twist aside—the shot passing so close he felt its heat. The narrow dodge cost him his window to strike.

A blur of red burst from the pit—Isobel, wings cutting through the smoke. She fired again, dozens of blood bullets screaming through the air, each faster than sound. Geralt was forced into a defensive dance, twisting and vanishing in blinding flashes to avoid them.

Her shots came relentlessly, rhythm unbroken. She gave him no space to counter.

But Geralt’s expression never shifted. He let the assault continue, his mind tracking patterns, watching for the single opening he needed.

It came.

As she launched another volley, he snapped his hand outward. A bolt of lightning tore toward her from an angle she couldn’t possibly watch while firing.

"Too bad for you," she said, smirking, a blood shield blooming to intercept. "I don’t have a blind spot."

"Well... you didn’t."

He was already behind her. She hadn’t even felt the air shift before his hand drove forward, piercing her chest. His fingers closed around something warm and thrumming. With one brutal pull, he tore her heart free.