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Blood dripped from Wolf’s sword, the body of a rat lay dead at his feet, gathering flies. It had put up a good fight, but then again, so did everything he encountered on his trip through the mountains of Ashina. He looked up at the shrine he had discovered, atop the peak of one of the tallest mountains. The shrine had been guarded by various monks. It seemed they had allied themselves with the rats, which was certainly a problem. Nothing Kusabimaru couldn’t solve, of course. Sekiro looked at the shrine he had found at the very peak of this mountain. He entered the majestic shrine, massive wooden doors slowly creaking open as he pushed them. Within the shrine was a large wooden room, a gong located in the center. Sekiro considered the gong, eventually deciding that logic dictated it was predestined fate for him to ring it. Why would a gong be in the middle of the room if it wasn’t supposed to be rung? he wondered. He picked up the mallet for the gong and looked at it thoughtfully before slamming it into the gong at full force, causing the entire room to shake with the powerful ringing noise. The sound waves were so powerful that Sekiro disappeared from the room with a loud pop.
He was gone now, to some dimension unknown to him. It appeared to be supplied with tea. It also appeared to be almost entirely empty. A room of nothing but pure white, with a table at the center. The tea did look good, although the pot was pink and frilly.
Suddenly, Sekiro felt the cold touch of steel at his back. In an instant he turned, drawing Kusabimaru and deflecting the blade. The man that stood before Sekiro was tall, and unnaturally pale, almost as pale as his long white hair. Stranger still, his eyes were like that of a cat, and a long scar traced its way over his face. The man was dressed in leather and chainmail, a blade glowing with runes in his hand, and another on his back. The man traced a shape in the air, and a powerful gust of wind sent Sekiro flying backward. Sekiro flipped in the air to halt his momentum and landed superhero-style. He glared at this mysterious figure, and prepared the umbrella.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the man in a gravely voice.
“I could ask you the same,” Sekiro replied coldly.
“Geralt of Rivia. Witcher.” And you are? Some sort of… lanky dwarf?”
“I’m Sekiro. What is a dwarf?”
“Never seen a dwarf before?” said Geralt surprisedly, “So, you can’t be from where I’m from. How’d you get here?”
“Gong,” Sekiro replied, nothing but absolute seriousness in his eyes.
Geralt raised an eyebrow “A gong. A magical artifact, maybe. A gate between worlds.”
Sekiro looked at him blankly. “I see,” he said, clearly not understanding half the words Geralt had used.
“You lost, then?” asked Geralt, sword still raised.
“Yes,” Sekiro replied, sword gripped tightly and umbrella at the ready.
“Hmm. Not the only one, I've been lost here for a while. Been looking for a way out.”
“Did you try the tea? It looks good.” Sekiro said, clearly having items of more import on his mind.
“No. I was too busy trying not to get stabbed by a psychotic midget with a sword. You're fast. Moved with the speed of a witcher. What are you?”
“A shinobi. Who was the psychotic midget?”
“Put away your sword and maybe I’ll tell you”
“Only if you sheath yours as well.”
Geralt did so, slowly. His eyes dilating ever so slightly. Sekiro followed suit, without the eyes bit.
“Tea?” Sekiro inquired.
“What? oh… sure.”
Sekiro sat down with practiced poise, pouring himself a cup of tea. Geralt pulled up a chair, still eyeing Sekiro. Sekrio eyed him back.
“It’s Jasmine,” said Geralt.
“What?” asked Sekiro
“The tea, it’s Jasmine”
“How do you know that? You have not yet drunk any tea.”
“I can smell it” said Geralt plainly “Guessing they don’t have Witchers in your world,”
“World?” Sekiro said, clearly confused.
“Or schools,” mumbled Geralt. “Where you’re from, the place you come from.”
‘Ah,” Sekiro said, understanding now. “No, we do not.”
“Well, we don’t have shinobells, or whatever, where I'm from”
“Shinobi,” Sekiro corrected calmly. “Hired bodyguards or assassins. What is a Witcher?”
“A man, mutated with magic and trained from a young age to kill monsters for coin. Brutal work, and pays bad too,” said Geralt despondently. “Must be nice, wherever you live, if there are no Witchers.”
Sekiro snorts audibly. “I wish.”
“Hmm. Just as fucked as the rest of the world then?” Geralt grinned nastily.
“Yes.”
“Talkative, aren't we”
Sekiro considered this for a while, before eventually coming to a conclusion. “No.”
“Tell me, Sekrio, are all shinobi such scholars?”
“Of the four I know, counting myself, no.”
“Answer me this, then, do they all have wooden arms?”
“Just The Sculptor. He gave me this one.”
“Did he cut off your arm for you too?” asked Geralt, practically dripping with sarcasm.
“No,” Sekiro answered with all the elegance and loquaciousness of a wet sock.
“I’ve got no notion how to get out of here,” Geralt said, looking around the space, “been looking for a while, but all I’ve found is the tea table,” he turned to Sekiro, “and you.”
“Perhaps we should tell each other what we’ve been through, to pass the time,” Sekiro suggested.
“Ah, so you are capable of having a proper conversation. Well, to start, I got whisked away here after I found a portal in some other world”
“I rang a gong.”
“You’ve said.”
“Ah.”
“How’d you come across this ‘gong’ anyway?” asked Geralt
“I was in the mountains of Ashina, killing rats and monks when I found a shrine at the top. Entered it, there was a gong. Obviously, I rang it.” Sekiro replied.
“Obviously. Did you say you were killing rats and monks? Why?”
“They were trying to kill me. Also, the monks murder children.”
“People will do anything for their faith,” Geralt scowled, “You religious?”
“Not after I stabbed God and took his tears,” Sekiro answered plainly.
Geralt laughed, “You killed a god?”
“Not killed, and it was more like a massive dragon. It was just the closest thing we had to God.”
“Your dragon god must have ether been weak as shit, or…” Geralt trailed off, looking at Sekiro, clearly remembering the speed at which he, not only drew, but parried with his weapon.
“It was in fact one of the easiest things I fought. I just had to throw lightning at it,” Sekrio answered as if what he just said wasn’t some of the most ridiculous bullshit to ever come out of a human mouth.
“You threw lightning?”
“You can not?”
“Must have missed my lightning chucking classes back at Witcher school” said
Geralt. “That was a joke,” he added quickly. “It’s not supposed to be taken literally,”
“Ah, jokes. I have heard about those. I did not know there were classes for learning such skills. I just read a scroll, and figured it out.” Sekrio commented.
“Here’s a scroll, or, rather a book, for you to look at” Geralt pulled a old leather book from a pouch at his belt, and handed it to Sekiro. The thing was badly tattered and stained with blood, but still legible.
“It’s a witcher’s Bestiary” said Geralt, “it catalogs the monsters we witchers commonly fight. Give it a look,”
Sekrio opened the book, and flipped through the whole thing, “You have fought all of these?”
“That and more.” Geralt smiled, “See this scar?” he gestured to the scar over his eye, “I got it from the Cockatrice of Spalla. It was an ordinary contract, like any other. Goes to show how dangerous my unchosen profession can be”
Sekiro nodded in approval, “Impressive. You must be quite the skilled warrior. My “father” gave me my scar.”
“Must be a nice guy.”
“No. He was quite strong, however. He did teach me everything I know.” Sekrio mused.
“My father died before I was born. My mother sent me off to Kaer Morhen to become a witcher.”
“If training to be a witcher is anything like training to become a shinobi, that must have been a living hell.”
“Honestly, would have taken hell over it. Only 3 out of 10 boys survive the mutations, not to mention all the ones who die while training. I took to the mutations extremely well, so they loaded me with even more of them. That’s why my hair’s so white. All that just to become a walking freak, forced down a path you didn’t choose. Killing monsters for coin, only to be shunned by everyone for your differences.” Geralt looked up at Sekrio, “They say the mutations rob us of our humanity. Make it so we can’t feel any emotions, any sympathy.”
“You look human to me.”
“Not sure if that's a good or bad thing. But at least you’re not some ignorant peasant, spewing zealotry like shit from a sewer after I save her diseased child from a fucking vampire.”
“Sounds horrible. My life is much more simple. Almost everything wants to kill me, unless they’re a merchant or one of the four people I can trust. A lot more straightforward.”
“Had your fair share of near-death experiences then. At least you have those you can trust. Life’s empty without them.”
“I can not die. It is a problem.”
Geralt would have been surprised, if not for all the random shit he heard from this short man. “You are human, right?” asked Geralt, “I've never seen anyone who looks like you before.”
“I am human,” Sekrio responded, clearly confused as to why the question was asked.
“Hmm, Well, immortality. Sounds rather nice. As someone who has died before, I would like to be able to avoid the experience in the future.”
“It is not as nice as it sounds. Imagine dying painfully, coming back to life, and then repeating the process.”
“Rather not.” Geralt grimaced, “Are all shinobi’s immortal?”
“No, just me. Because of my twelve-year-old lord’s blood. A lot of people want his blood.”
“Care to elaborate?” asked Geralt with genuine curiosity.
Sekiro took a deep breath, preparing for a long explanation. “My Lord Kuro has the Dragon’s Heritage, which gives people immortality if he uses his blood to accept people into his immortal oath. A lot of people want this, Lord Kuro does not.” Sekiro finished his explanation, having said more words in that explanation than he had in the past year.
Geralt suddenly smiled “We’re a lot alike, you and I. I’ve got a magical child who needed protecting too, my daughter, Cirilla. Well, I did. She’s off on her own now.”
Sekiro smiled, “That is sweet. Lord Kuro is currently in the stomach of another child.”
“Umm…” Geralt was stumped, “is that a good thing?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yes,” Sekiro said, without any further, yet very much warranted, elaboration.
“Ahh. Well, that’s… good” Geralt said slowly.
“How did you die, that one time?” Sekiro asked, recalling that Geralt said he died once, “and how did you come back?”
“I got stabbed in the back by a drunkard with a pitchfork.” Answered Geralt, slightly embarrassed.
“What is a pitchfork?” asked Sekiro
“Long, pointy, and extremely uncomfortable when logged in your chest.”
“I see”
“well, you’ve asked me how I died. So I deserve to know how you've died.”
“Do you want all the ways, or just the worst ones?” Sekiro enquired.
“Just the worst.”
“Once, a giant ape threw its boulder-sized dung at me, poisoning me, then threw me into the ground, killing me on the spot. Another, the guy who cut my arm off birthed his grandfather from his neck, and I died quite a lot to the neck-birthed warrior.” Geralt looked at Sekiro with intense concern. “is that all?”
“No,” Sekrio replied, once again completely missing Geralt’s sarcasm, “by far my worst death was when a fat headless man ripped my soul out of my butt in a dark cave.”
“Damn, Sekiro. There’s a lot of messed up shit in your world. Honestly, didn’t think another world could be as bad as mine. Now I don’t think they can get any worse than yours.”
“I would hope not”
“By the way, unicorns, do you have in your world?” Geralt asked with an odd expression
“No, why?”
Just as Geralt was about to respond, there was a loud popping sound from somewhere above them. Geralt and Sekiro both jumped away with lightning speed as a large black shape fell from the sky, landing directly on top of the tea table where they had been sitting. Wood splinters and jasmine tea when flying, as Geralt summoned a magical shield to protect himself from the debris, and Sekiro casually parried a chair leg.
“Ow” groaned the figure.