DISCLAIMER: I do not own Berserk, or its associated characters. I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, or its associated characters. I'm just writing this for my own amusement. Thanks for the reviews! Bear with me, the crossover part of this story won't happen for another chapter or so, I need to set the stage a bit more first…
There were twelve in the first wave, twelve armored horsemen that split neatly around the lake, sending up sprays of snow as they came. And behind them, a figure all in white...
His eye narrowed, and his hatred polarized as time slowed… They must be human, or they wouldn't have come around the lake. They would've charged right through. What is Griffith playing at?
Still, he knew how to deal with soldiers. He whipped the sword back into its sheath, and from his belt, he pulled out a box of cable and metal, and set it into the mechanism of his metal arm…
Hargin rode for all he was worth. "Easy money!" he shouted to Zarek, alongside him. "Just one man, that's all."
Zarek shouted back, "Don't get cocky! I heard of this guy, the hundred-man killer."
"Yeah, but those Chuder idiots were on foot, we're mounted! Besides, they weren't really knights…"
And then there was little time for discussion, as they began to round the lake. He lowered his lance, and set it against his side, as the shield came up. Four-hundred pounds of man and metal on horseback, his lance could pierce armor like an arrow through laundry on a drying line. And now it was pointing straight at the big man in the black clothes and armor, who was pointing his arm back. The bastard was grinning as he grabbed his left arm with his right, and started to turn his arm in a circular motion…
There was something on his arm, Hargin realized. "What's he-" There was a CRASH from next to him, and he whipped his head around, to see Zarek and his horse sprawled on the snow, shot through with a dozen bolts. Some had gone through the weak points, the slits in Zarek's armor. Others had ricocheted off. Still more had pierced his horse, which screamed and bled into the white, white snow… And then he galloped past, and his helm hid the sight of poor, dead Zarek from view.
He looked back at the Swordsman, fifty feet away. Forty… It's a bow! He realized. Some kind of crossbow… He's turning a crank on the side, and… Fip, fip, fip… He saw the black streaks going by him, and heard the whip of air as the bolts sped by his head.
Thirty feet… And for a second, Hargin thought he'd make it. He set his lance, and then he saw the streak of grey approaching him, filling his vision through the eyeslit in his helm…
And then there was nothing for Hargin, not any longer.
Horses screamed and died as they thrashed, and the snow around the lake was turned into an abattoir of blood, twitching horses, and dying men.
Guts lowered his arm, and took his hand away from the autocrossbow attached to it. It was the work of the same smith who had forged his armor and sword. It had unusual stopping power, deadly accuracy, and could spit bolts out at a tremendous rate.
It was nearly useless against his true enemies. But it was good for weeding out the small fry.
Glaring at the white figure across the lake, he pulled out a new box of bolts and slammed it into the crossbow. With a KLIK-KLATCH the deadly little weapon loaded, the curved metal of the bow setting to the ready position.
He spared a glance back at Puck, who was busily tying rope around Caska's waist. "Griffith's up to something. Elf, get her-"
"I know! I know! Out of the way! Working on it!" He finished a final knot, even as the madwoman fussed with it ineffectually, and sobbed. "C'mon Caska! This is no place for you…"
And the last slivers of the sun died below the horizon. Guts started around the lake, spraying bolts at the white horseman as he went. It was long range and the light was bad, but his target almost seemed to glow with an inner illumination, almost a halo…
Fip. Fip. TAK! And the horseman rode gently along to meet Guts, the bolts passing above and by him easily. Occasionally, he'd whip his rapier up and knock one aside, as easily as a kitten batting at string.
Behind Griffith, Guts could hear more people moving through the trees, more metal and shouts. That's it, he thought. He's brought an army with him, the horsemen were just scouts. Well, it doesn't matter! If I can reach him before they show up, it's over. We can end this…
All I have to do is get him within my reach…
He was out of bolts, and he stowed the crossbow, slowing a bit as he did so. When he looked up, the horse and rider were gone!
He stopped. Stared for a second, in the dim light. A trick? Illusion?
"GUTS!" It was Puck's voice.
He whipped around, knowing what he'd see, and feeling his throat fill with bile…
Caska. In the horseman's arms, him lifting her up as she stared in wonder at the angelic youth above her.
Puck, lying crumpled in the snow, stretching out his arms toward the couple. He had been batted away like nothing more than an insect.
"No…" Guts whispered. Somehow, Griffith had crossed the distance in no time at all. Passed him silently, and caught up to them at the woodline.
And he'd gotten Caska.
The brand on his neck PULSED, and he felt the liquid warmth flow down onto his back, soaking into his shirt. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and he saw Caska whimper as the front of her robe became bloodstained as well. The brands BURNED, as the white youth smiled first at Caska, then at Guts.
"Why are you surprised?" His voice was silver and soft, like the moon if it could talk. Yet somehow, its gentle tones carried across to the Swordsman's ears as if the words were carried on the wind.
But Guts' eye was not on the youth. It was on Caska. Caska, who huddled against the youth, shivering in the cold even as her breast bled from his proximity. Caska, who looked up at his face with a smile, and cooed as he spoke.
After all that he'd done to her. Everything, her mind body and soul broken…
She still loved him!
And Guts felt his heartbeat grow, and heard it deafen his ears… thudTHUD. thudTHUD. THUDTHUD. THUDTHUDTHUDTHUDTHUD-
He was moving then, and the world was turning red, the sword was in his hands but he scarcely felt it as the lake and snow blurred by in stops and starts, his eye caught perfectly on HIM, and the howling that came from his mouth, that was like nothing human…
"GRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTHHH!"
The men coming out of the treeline paused, fear shooting through their hearts like a freezing wind. Some of the ones at the far edges fled. They were not paid enough to face anything that could make that kind of noise.
It wasn't bravery that held the closest ones to their post, but fear.
Fear as they watched the howling, raging black form race toward their employer.
Fear that held them as Griffith leaped from his horse, carrying the woman with him, and Guts' swing merely cleft the white horse in two.
Fear that paralyzed them as the swordsman burst through the cloven horse, sending its two halves in different directions, spraying him with blood as he tore past and after the running youth.
Fear that made them hold up their shields, and raise their swords as the white youth and the blackfury behind him raced toward their lines.
They watched their doom come, and knew they'd been fools to take the youth's gold.
"God help us all."
"A Berserk…"