The blood.
The death.
Creatures beyond imagination ripping terrified soldiers apart like children's toys. Screams echoing through out the horrid landscape. Beasts biting through solid armor like it was nothing. Claws and teeth shredding meat and breaking solid weapons in mere swift movements. Swords crumbling into bits of broken metal.
Organs and entrails flying wildly as their owners were devoured by the demons. Bones cracking and snapping apart. The sky was lit by a black sun, painting the landscape with its red hue. Blood flowed into one massive pool, filled with whatever was left of the devoured knights.
Guts rose from the pool, painted completely red from the sickening fluid. A feral cry pushed through the violent discharge of blood from his lungs. His mind was nowhere to be found. Every step he made, forced to wade through the ocean of corpses, was done on nothing but pure hatred. His armor was stained red, the black cloak clung against his back.
He reached dry land, more blood poured from his armor, from every crack and opening it could find. Guts dragged his sword against the surface of wherever he was. Only withered faces made up the ground, all howling and screaming as the massive, rough blade clawed them apart. His muscles burned at the weight, nearing their limit.
He stared down at the form bleeding before him. Ready to strike.
It was Rosine, the girl that sold her parents to become an elf. Then kidnapped children to turn them into 'elves". Blood spilled from her mouth, the wound deep into her pelvis was fatal. The one he finished her with. But it wasn't enough.
He raised the sword, ready to spill more blood. To keep making her suffer. She deserved it. They all did. Child or not, she was filth. He would send her straight to Hell.
"Stop!" Adonis said, throwing himself on top of the dying Apostle-child. The blonde haired boy was the son of a man Griffith had Guts kill, all those years ago. A deep hole was clear in the back of the boy, pierced straight through his torso and out of his back. It was an accident. He didn't mean to kill him. Guts didn't know he was at the door. It wasn't his fault.
The screams changed. They warped, slowly but surely, into the crackling of fire. Heat surrounded him, almost cooking him in his armor. Guts looked around, but only flames greeted him. Intense, bright flames that threatened to consume him. He screamed, but only the fire answered back.
"Mommy..." Guts heard a small child say, mere inches from him. It was no taller than his a little below his waist, and it was made of nothing but flames. The face and body were barely discernable, the roaring inferno still raged around them. The child's voice was so human, so lifelike. It wiped its eyes as it cried, still begging for its mother.
Guts swung the sword, the massive hunk of iron called the Dragon Slayer, and split the fiery creature in two. Its body crumbled into ash. All around Guts, more sobbing children were heard. The fire grew hotter, the children grew closer. They all begged for the pain to stop, for their parents to save them, and for them to go home.
He could only laugh a sickening, psychotic laugh as he swung his sword. A wild animal had more grace. Every spirit he cut down was replaced by three others. And the fire only grew worse. No matter what he did, the creatures only pressed forward. Their fingers clutched onto his cape, and they climbed the mountain of a man as he swung wildly. The vengeful spirits piled on as Guts struggled to fend them off. Fire burned his skin, and numbness replaced all feelings wherever it seared him.
Guts roared as the monstrous children dragged him down. He tried in vain to keep swinging his sword, to throw them off with his arms, or to beat them to death with his metallic arm. Nothing worked. As he was dragged down into the all consuming blackness below, Guts could only claw towards the only thing he could recognize in the ungodly nightmare.
The misshapen fetus that he recognized as his corrupted child. A malformed abomination that sat in the flames, burning to ash. The fires licked every part of it. It thrashed and seized in the blaze. That one, piercing eye it had stared directly at Guts, as if it were begging him to save it. The heat burned hotter than the sun itself. Pure Hellfire rained down on them.
"Come on!" Guts shouted at the barely formed fetus, desperation filled him to the brim. The fire drowned out every word he screamed. "I'll get you out of here!"
Guts reached his right arm out. He just needed to stretch a little further, and he could shield the infant from the fire. His fingers almost touched the deformed baby before more children arrived. They covered his entire body, flaming bodies consuming every shred of him. His vision became nothing but the flames. Soon, even that faded into pure darkness. Nothing but cold, isolated darkness.
The only voice he heard was that of Gambino, his adoptive father as a child. The one who raised him, and taught him how to be a mercenary. The same father that sold him to Donovan. The same man Guts killed, his sword pierced straight through his throat.
"You're just like your old man..." the twisted voice of Gambino said, tone cruel and vicious. "What kind of father tries to stomp their newly born kid to death? At least I tried to give you a chance."
"Shut up..." Guts said, having finally found his voice. The words drilled into his brain. His gut twisted at every syllable.
"I mean, you two were the perfect match!" Gambino continued his cruel tirade, formless and all encompassing in the pitch black around Guts. His words echoed endlessly, whipping Guts like a battered dog. "A demon child would obviously have another demon crawl out of whatever whore he slept with."
"Shut up!" Guts wanted to run from the voice. To find his sword and slash at Gambino until that smug voice stopped. But it never did. It only persisted further. The torture only got worse. He wouldn't have been a bad father. He wouldn't have been. If he just had a chance to prove it, he knew he would have been good. Gambino was wrong. Guts wasn't like him. He knew he wasn't.
"Shisu should have learned that lesson," Gambino pushed on, no sign of ending his cruel attacks any time soon. "Your woman did. She turned herself into a blithering maniac because of the evil you put in her belly."
"SHUT UP!" Guts could only swing his arms in the dark, hoping to hit Gambino, where ever he hid. Guts threw punch after punch into the black void. The only thing his fists would catch would be nothing but air.
"If only Shisu left you to rot under that tree where your real mother hung from," Gambino sneered out, his body formed in the emptiness of the abyss. Those evil, proud eyes stared down at Guts, towering over him. "Then nobody would be dead because of you!"
One of Gambino's massive hands flew towards Guts, faster than he could have ever possibly have seen. The hand caught Guts, pushing him further into the black nothing. Guts could only scream in horror as he was caught in his grip, unable to break free.
The last thing he heard were the words that stuck with him for so long. The ones that he heard before, just like he was a child all over again. Those words were said before he saw his sword through his father's throat, blood sliding down the blade and making his hands slick. Before his life became one long bad dream he couldn't wake up from.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!"
Guts snapped awake, a growl in his throat. Heavy breaths left his chest. He scanned the room, but it was pitch black. His heart raced. Sweat soaked his body, as though he was drenched by heavy rain. A warmth on his right hand made him snap his arm away as he snarled in the dark. Only the rocking of the ship calmed him down.
"You had a nightmare," a familiar voice said, catching Guts' attention. It was Schrieke's, the young witch who joined Guts on his journey. She was still young, not even older than twelve years old. She lit the candle to the small lantern she held, a soft light bloomed in the room. She stood beside his bed, just tall enough to match his gaze as he laid down. Her bright green hair was a mess, the bags under her eyes told Guts she must have been asleep. She still wore her witch robe, which made Guts give a dry chuckle.
"Yeah..." Guts said, his form crumbled down into the bed. He rubbed his face, "did I wake you up?"
Schrieke gave a small, hesitant nod. She stared down at the bed, her eyes refused to raise and meet his eye.
"You were thrashing around quite a bit," Schrieke said worriedly. She bent her neck to catch a better view of his Brand, the mark permanently carved into his neck. "If the protective charm is wearing off, then it could have attracted an Incubus."
Guts shook his head slowly, tiredly. He almost snickered at her worrying nature. She always doubted herself too much. Found too many reasons to think she failed. Kid needed to relax more.
"No," he said, his hand waved in the air as he spoke, "it was just some bad memories."
He looked to Schrieke, who lowered her head. She turned away from him, ready to leave the small compartment in the ship used as a bedroom. A slight frown of disappointment tugged at her lips. Schrieke walked slowly, as if to give him enough time to stop her. The tired, crippled man gave a sigh, and ran his hand through his spiky black hair.
"You ever have nightmares?" Guts asked suddenly. He noticed the girl froze, head perked up from the sudden question. It was a stupid question, but at least it would make her feel better. At least, he thought it would.
"Sometimes," Schrieke said, her head sank as she answered. A red tint colored her cheeks. A part of her was glad she wasn't facing him. She drew a circle in the floorboard with her foot as she remembered the ones that always made her cry to her Mistress the most. "They're all very foolish. 'Monster hiding under the bed' types."
Guts nodded, as silent as a ghost. He closed his eye as the words came to his mind. Children were never anything he thought about. Even when he was at his most happy with Casca, under that waterfall years before, they never came to mind. He wasn't a nurturing type of man. Guts learned that when he tried to murder his son, any sorrow or grief drowned out by pure malice. Paternal instinct just wasn't in his blood.
Guts fell back onto the mattress. The soft, firm surface almost sent him right back to sleep. Yet he couldn't. She needed help. Even though he knew to keep a distance, to not let himself get too close, that she'd be taken away just like everyone else was, some part of him couldn't leave her alone in the dark. It reminded him too much of himself.
"Don't be scared when you have those types of dreams," Guts said, his tone oddly warm. He heaved a heavy sigh, that large, scarred chest rose and fell with the breath. "The monster ain't gonna hurt you."
"H-How do you know?" Schrieke asked, embarrassed to still be on the subject. It made her feel like a child. To still be scared of such juvenile dreams. Their entire group fought off horrid abominations and evil spirits countless times. She should have been able to force out any fear from her mind.
"You want to be scared because you're afraid it'll get you," Guts began, his voice low and quiet. His limbs felt like lead, and his body sank further down into the mattress. "It looks big, mean, and scary, like a wild dog about to bite an arm off. But it's just a coward," Guts gave a sad, weak smile. Barely even that, as it appeared and vanished without a trace on his face. It felt nice to talk to her like that. "You're stronger than anything that has to hide under some bed sheets. Stronger than any of us."
Schrieke gave a small huff, and left the room without a word after that. He didn't see it, but a grin just barely formed on Schrieke's lips as she heard the words. All light vanished, which left Guts in the dark. He only had his thoughts, the gentle groans of the ship, and the slight crashes of the waves against the hull to keep his mind busy.
He thought back to the infant he despised for so long. That deformed, tiny thing that followed him since his long journey began. It was so malformed, so premature. He wasn't even sure it was his son. Whatever body it had was so corrupted that it could not even be classified as human. Guts thought back to the idea of children; of being a father, and taking care of something so small and innocent. He failed once before, but if he ever gained another chance? To go back and fix the mistakes he made, and be able to have a real family?
"I would hope my daughter turned out as strong as her," Guts thought as he felt sleep finally win over him.
He knew it was impossible. Men like him didn't have families. They could never have found peace, or purpose in anything other than battle. In death. They brought only misfortune and suffering onto everyone they cared about. It clung to them their entire lives. Guts knew that if he tried to play house, then only bad shit would follow suit.
"Still..." Guts thought, his mind emptying, "I hope she'd be as strong as her."