"Bloodlines of the Unknown"- A witcher tale

Kael crouched beside the creature's corpse, his dagger still slick with blackened blood. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human—at least, not anymore.

He studied it carefully. The body was twisted, unnaturally gaunt, its pale skin stretched tight over its bones. The sunken eyes, the jagged teeth, the black veins crawling beneath the surface—it all pointed to something ancient. Kael frowned, running a gloved hand along the thing's arm. The skin was cold, almost waxy, but there was a firmness beneath it, the kind found in bodies that had been preserved too long.

Not a corpse. A revenant.

Something dead, but still moving. Still thinking.

He exhaled slowly, turning the body onto its side. The wound in its throat gaped, still oozing thick, dark ichor. The color, the consistency—it reminded him of necrophages, creatures drawn to the scent of rot. But this was no ordinary ghoul.

Kael's fingers brushed against the torn fabric of its tattered cloak. The material was rough, but stitched in a way that suggested it had once belonged to someone. A traveler? A villager?

His mind turned back to the experiments, the ruins beneath the mountain. The things left behind. The failed trials.

'Could this be connected?'

He reached for the monster's jaw, forcing its mouth open. The teeth were sharp, yellowed, but human-like in structure. A few were **filed to points—**not natural. Done on purpose.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

'This thing had been made. Not born'

His grip tightened on the dagger. Someone—or something—had turned it into this.

And if this one existed… there could be more.

Kael worked quickly, pulling a small leather pouch from his belt. If this thing's body held mutagens, it would be a waste not to take them.

His dagger slid easily through its grey flesh, carving deep. The scent of old blood filled the air as he worked with precision, cutting away the parts that might be of use.

The claws—sharp, reinforced. They could be ground into a fine powder for oils. The blackened veins—filled with something unnatural, something worth studying. A gland near the throat—still pulsing with lingering energy. A mutagen.

He placed each carefully into separate vials, sealing them before tucking them into his pack. The gland in particular… it radiated something faint. Not quite magic, not quite alchemy. Something in between.

Kael frowned. He would need to study it further.

Finally, he pulled a length of rope from his pack. The thing was too large to carry over his shoulder, but he could drag it back. The villagers needed to see this. They needed to understand what had taken their people.

The trip back to the village was slow. The creature's weight dragged heavily across the dirt path, its limp form catching on roots and rocks as Kael pulled it behind him.

Dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon, staining the sky a deep shade of purple. The village of Oldtown was still quiet, the air filled with the distant crackle of dying torches. The scent of morning dew mixed with the fading traces of smoke from the previous night's fires. Kael stepped into the village square, the monster's body thudding against the dirt behind him.

The first to notice him was an old man sitting outside a small hut, pipe clutched between his teeth. His eyes widened. The pipe fell from his lips.

Moments later, more villagers emerged. First a handful. Then a dozen. Murmurs spread, whispers turning into hushed gasps.

Then—a scream.

A woman clutched at her mouth, her eyes fixed on the corpse Kael had dragged behind him.

"By the gods… what is that?" someone muttered.

Kael let the body drop, dust kicking up around it.

"The thing that's been taking your people," he said, voice low but steady. "And I need answers."

The village elder pushed his way to the front of the gathering crowd, his face pale as he took in the sight. Kael met his gaze, expression unreadable.

"Tell me everything you know."

The elder's face paled, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. Around him, the gathered villagers whispered in hushed tones, eyes darting between the monster's twisted corpse and Kael's unreadable expression. Finally, the old man swallowed hard and spoke.

"We don't—" he hesitated, then shook his head. "We don't know anything more than what we already told you, mercenary. People disappeared. We never saw what took them, never found any trace of them, no signs, no tracks… nothing."

Kael studied the man's face carefully. His breathing was steady, his pupils weren't dilated. If he was lying, he was good at it.

The monster's corpse lay motionless at his feet, its lifeless eyes staring blankly into the sky. Whatever this thing had once been, it was no more. The elder turned his gaze to the twisted body, his wrinkled hands tightening into fists.

"What… what is it?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Kael glanced down.

"A revenant," he said simply. "Something dead, but still moving."

A murmur spread through the crowd like wildfire, fear creeping into their voices.

"Like a wraith?" a younger man asked, stepping forward.

Kael shook his head. "No. This was human once. Someone did this to it."

Silence followed his words, the weight of them sinking into the villagers like a stone thrown into deep water. The elder exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Gods preserve us…" he muttered.

Kael didn't believe in gods. But he knew one thing—if something made this creature, it wasn't the last of its kind.

The villagers could offer nothing more. No strange travelers, no signs of sorcery, no lingering footprints leading into the night. But there was one thing.

As Kael pressed for details, an old woman hesitated before speaking.

"The graves," she said quietly. "The ones up on the ridge."

Kael's eyes narrowed.

"What about them?"

The woman fidgeted, glancing at the elder before continuing. "Some were empty. Freshly dug, but nothing inside."

He straightened. That wasn't normal.

"Show me," Kael ordered.

The path up the ridge was steep, winding between twisted trees and loose earth. The village elder led the way, the old woman trailing behind him. The rest of the villagers remained behind, unwilling to follow.

The cemetery was small, barely more than two dozen graves, most marked by simple wooden crosses. The land here was old—Kael could tell from the way the air hung heavy, the scent of damp earth mixing with decaying leaves.

The elder pointed. "There."

Kael stepped forward, his boots pressing into the soft dirt. Three graves stood out—recently dug, yet untouched by time. The soil was disturbed but settled, as though something had been buried… and then unearthed.

He crouched, running his fingers over the surface. The dirt was packed unevenly, the signs subtle but clear. Someone had opened these graves. Recently.

His hand dug into the soil, pulling away the loose dirt. The smell hit him first—not of decay, but of something colder. Wrong.

Kael's jaw tightened.

'No bodies. No traces'

Just the faintest trace of blackened residue, like ash mixed with bone. This wasn't natural. Someone had taken the bodies. Or worse—they had never truly died. Kael stood, turning to the elder.

"Who was buried here?"

The old man hesitated, then spoke: "The missing."