Game in Marvel 105

"Because this is an Aen Elle." Liam replied. This ca as a bomb to everyone.

"You have got to joking now for sure." Geralt said.

"I can feel the power of an elf emanating from it. It is a curse that had made him look the way it is now. But I can wager easily that it is an Aen Elle." Liam insisted. This made everyone silent. Aen Elle ant that it was probably a part of the Wild Hunt, and if it was then Uma should be imprisoned and interrogated.

"Who cursed him?" Steve asked. Liam just shrugged his shoulders, signifying he didn't know.

"I will take him with and put him under observation. And also try to lift the curse on him in Kaer Mohen." Vesemir suggested. Geralt thought about it and accepted. The trail had almost run cold and Vesemir wasn't much of a help now.

As the group prepared to depart, Vesemir carefully took Uma under his care. The deford creature let out faint, pitiful sounds, but there was a flicker of sothing in its bulging eyes that unsettled them all. Liam placed a hand on Vesemir's shoulder, his tone asured but firm.

"Be cautious with him. If I'm right, lifting the curse might not just reveal his identity but also draw unwanted attention from forces we're not ready to face yet."

"Send word if you discover anything. We'll handle the rest from here." Geralt gave his old ntor an advice.

With that, the group turned their attention to their next objective. The Crones of Crookback Bog.

The air in the swamp was thick with moisture and the pungent stench of decay. Every step squelched through and the calls of unseen creatures echoed ominously. The group had landed in Crookback Bog, and their mood grew darker as they made their way deeper.

After landing on the Bog, they asked around and the more they asked about the witches of the bog, the more the blood boiled. Liam had forgotten how the nefarious the witches were and though the locals didn't have a general idea of what was going on, the group figured it out themselves.

Finally they t soone who had their location and gave them to Geralt after Tony threated her with lightning attack as it blew her ho away in one strike. She was supposed to be the speaker of the witches so she held information about them. She gave a more detailed description than the rest of the group. She recounted the horrors of the Crones—the child sacrifices, the blood-drenched rituals, the lives destroyed in service to these monstrous beings.

"Why stay here, then?" Barton asked, as he pointed his arrow towards her. Everyone could tell that Gran herself was living in horror.

"It's not by choice. They bind us to the land with curses. None of us can leave, and even if we tried... they'd find us." Gran burst into tears as she said that.

"Then it's ti we broke their hold. Where can we find them?" Steve clenched his teeth. Geralt was the only one who didn't have an expression in his face. He had seen and heard such worst cases all the ti, and he had been living this kind of life for years now.

Nothing new here.

Gran pointed deeper into the swamp. "You'll find their lair at the heart of the bog. But beware—the Crones are powerful, and their magic is dark. You'll need more than just steel to face them." Gran hoped that this group could take them down as she just saw how Tony was able demolish her ho with a wave of his hand. She really hoped to get away from this cursed land.

When the group finally reached the witches' dwelling, it was a grotesque sight. There were small huts around made out of tree branches and leaves and even had a fencing made of them. But that was not the only ingredients used to make the huts. There were human bones, parts of bodies rotting and even heads of people on all sides of the dwelling.

The more they saw, the more they were furious. The swamp was alive with the dark magic of the Crones, pulsing like a malignant heartbeat and Liam was able to sense it, thanks to the rings.

"This place reeks of death," Barton muttered. His bowstring taut as his sharp eyes scanned the shadows.

"It's not just death," Liam said grimly. "It's centuries of cruelty. They've turned this entire bog into a feeding ground for their magic."

"Then let's end it." Steve said and Tony stepped forward. He had long put on his armor.

"Alright, team. No holding back. These ladies aren't going to go quietly."

As they closed in on the largest hut, a chanting abruptly stopped, that they had been hearing for quite so ti. The swamp fell eerily silent, save for the faint sound of dripping water. Then, from the shadows, three figures erged.

The Crones—Whispess, Weavess, and Brewess—were a terrifying sight to behold. Whispess, tall and gaunt, her face half-hidden beneath a tangle of dark hair and rags. Weavess, hunched and clawed, carried a bundle of what looked like living thread. Brewess, larger and more grotesque, had the sickly sheen of blood dripping from her hands, with bulging eyes.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Brewess sneered. "Intruders? Or sacrifices?"

"Neither," Geralt said coldly. "We are here to take your filthy lives and also your knowledge."

"Brave," Whispess hissed. "Foolish, but brave."

"You think you can take us on?" Weavess cackled. "Your steel will rust, your flesh will rot, and your souls will feed the swamp. Many have tried for centuries and all have failed."

Without warning, Brewess waved her hand, and the blood coating the floor surged to life, forming crimson tendrils that lashed toward the group. Steve leapt forward, raising his shield to block the attack, but the tendrils sizzled as they tried to drain energy from the tal.

"Get off the ground!" Geralt shouted. "She's manipulating the blood—don't let it touch you!"