The words of the witch rang through his mind.
Carve with this soapstone and give aid, so you may draw strength in your coming battles.
He glared at the length of stone in his palm, his hand coated in the faintly glowing specks it flaked off with the slightest touch. Whatever it was was extremely fragile, likely to fall apart at a single use. And yet...
He felt that base tug at the back of his mind, the urge to give in to everything.
Use it. Draw power. Become more.
Thoughtlessly, he carved a series of runes into the leaf strewn earth, characters he was completely unfamiliar with. The chalky stone glowed on the outlines of the runes, an infinite blackness filled the center. Something, he felt it, something was drawing him away, further from the woods he took shelter in. He fought it at first, the overwhelming pull of another world calling to his, then finally gave in, sinking into an endless mist...
When he woke, his surroundings were vastly different. A cave wreathed in the deepest darkness possible, biting cold worming through his armor, his brand burning, no, screaming at him, and yet he fought through the haze on his thoughts, focused on the reality. There was his hand, wreathed in an unearthly white glow, there was his sword, little more than a barely sharpened hunk of iron...and there was someone else.
A Knight, by all apearences, with a claymore that faintly crackled with an unknown power and a heavily dindged shield. Dressed in tattered heradlry and durable armor, they bowed to him, completely silent. He attempted to speak, but the words were cut off, expressed as a thing vapor of fog from his mouth.
The Knight shook it's head and turned, pointing to a swell of fog cascading down, shining through the darkness. With a flick of their shield, the Knight beckoned him to the foggy gate, turned, trotted off, and waited for him.
The witch's words sang through him once more, cut this time. Give aid. Become more.And he hauled himself upright, following the Knight, gently swaying from side to side, as if waking from a night of drunken revelry. The Knight lifted their shield and turned, waving a hand as they passed through the fog gate.
The brand burned.
A vision flooded his mind, a dozen eyes, a brighter red than blood, glowed in the darkness. A hand, impossibly long, snatched the Knight and slammed them into it's domain. An unearthly howl.
The trickle of blood down his kneck brought him to reality. The fog gate swirled, who knows how long had passed since the Knight had moved through it. The brand ached a dull ache, something below was calling to it, and through it, he could feel the Knight...
He seized the hilt of his sword and charged forward, not even bothering with the gentle waving the Knight had made. The pit they were grappled through made no difference, he landed with a shudder of stone.
The Knight was engaged with a beast, both formless and inherently primal, lightning flickering on the Knight's blade as it slashed and dodged every strike from the beast's great hand.
The brand screamed. The Knight fell, shield raised.
He charged.
The creatures great hand fell in a coup de grace, only to be stopped by a slightly sharp chunk of iron. The Knight took the chance and scrambled out from under him, taking a quaff from a brilliant orange flask before rising again, blade at the ready.
With a shrug, he managed to toss the hand aside, leaving an immensely deep gash that bled an unknowable blach ichor. With a howl, it raised a blade he had not noticed, the brand screamed into his mind again, an endless pain as the blade glowed brighter-yet-darker, and...
The Knight lunged forward and sank the crackling blade into beast. It roared again, a soul rending, primal roar, and sank against the blade, gradually fadinng into...a flurry of light?
He felt faint as the thing disappeared. Something unknown, something that didn't make his brand burn and weep blood, entered him, strangely revitalizing him and yet exhausting him at the same time.
The world slowly melted out of focus, until only the Knight remained, sharp against the blurr. They nodded and bowed gently, and then, they too, faded with the rest of the world. And with that, he sank back into sleep...
"GUTS! Wake up! It's almost night!"
Puck flitted back and forth in front of his face, occasionally stopping to flick the tip of his nose.
Guts shuddered awake and shook sleep from his eyes. The word "night" made him grin, and he gripped his blade tight. Whatever it was, dream or witchcraft, he was ready to take as many of whatever could come from the night.
AN: I'm currently taken by Resupply (It's another fic, look up my author title to find it!) But if there's enough interest in this I'll write a whole 'nother bunch of stuff for this!