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Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
They weren't followed, not with Harry holding his sword to Charlotte's neck. Slowly, they had made their way back to Windham Castle presumably to where they snuck in, to begin with. A secret tunnel in an art gallery provided them with their means of an exit to the graveyard beyond.
He felt useless as Pippin carried him the entire distance. All of them had risked their lives to try and save his, or what was left of it. It was a terrible truth for him to admit to himself, but he could do nothing. He could just stay still and be cradled in Pippin's arms and watch the rescue party that had come to his aid.
There was Casca, no surprise there. She had always been one of his top commanders and felt deeply indebted to him for saving her life those years back. Of course, she would be the one leading this mission, she was probably hoping that she wouldn't have to play at being the leader anymore. As capable as he knew her to be, she never desired power for herself, just to help him and remain by his side. And as his blue eyes took her in he felt there was something different about her, but he could not put a finger to it.
Then there was Pippin and Judeau. Pippin had the brawn where Judeau had the stealth. Both would be handy if a brawl erupted or a lock needed picking.
Never would have expected to see the princess or a handmaiden-who was probably just dragged along into all of this. That night he had shared with Charlotte, she seemed to have taken it deep within her heart, so much so she was now willing to give up a pampered lifestyle of a princess to aid them. She was even allowing herself to be taken, hostage.
Harry, the one holding her hostage, had grown in the near year of his imprisonment. He-like Rickert was tall for his age, and within a year or two he might not have to look up to meet Casca's eyes. Aside from his physical growth, he seemed to have matured in his mentality as well. Of course, his holding Charlotte at sword point was an act. There was no way that Harry would have actually harmed the naïve girl, which she seemed to know, unlike her handmaiden.
"What were you thinking, you young ruffian!" The handmaiden-whose name he believed to be Anna, berated Harry once they were out of the graveyard and heading to where the horses were hidden.
"Holding the princess captive after she aided you, how dishon-!"
"It is alright, Anna," Charlotte attempted to assure her servant. "I volunteered to be taken, remember?"
Anna took a second to compose herself. "Be that as it may, you could have gotten hurt." Harry had the decency to look remorseful.
"I am sorry about that, Charlotte."
"Princess Charlotte," Anna corrected.
"Yeah, that. I could have given a better warning than just, 'play along.'"
Casca mounted her house and offered a hand for Charlotte to climb on back. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Lord Griffith is safe, that is what matters."
Strange. With the bout of courage she went through to assist in his rescue, she still held traces of her naivety. Could she not see his body? All the scars and missing nails, were they just paper cuts in her eyes? Or perhaps, was the love she felt for him blinding? Being the only one to have made love to her, had her love for him been so strong that she simply does not care about his appearance?
More likely she just believes that love can heal him, heal everything that had been done and that when he was whole again that they would one day wed one another. If that was true, and he had a suspicion it was, she was living in a dream. And he of all people knew how dangerous that could be.
"You got that right, princess," said Guts hopping onto his own horse. "Corkus and Gaston should be near the border by now, if we ride the rest fast we might be able to reach them by sundown."
Guts.
Guts.
Guts.
Guts.
He had come as well. The one who left returned to save him. When he had opened his eyes the first sight out of all his rescuers had been Guts. The whirlwind of emotions that had begun to brew inside of him made him want to shout, curse his name for their fight, call him a traitor, make Guts feel the pain he felt for losing his dream.
But he didn't. He barely had the strength to move or yell. His throat was incredibly dry, not having a proper drink of water in a while would do that to the voice. Instead, he just allowed himself to be carried away as he watched Guts' fury unfold on the torturer and all the guards who stood in their way. He had grown stronger, they all grew stronger while he grew weaker.
Guts had always been strong, and any who said otherwise clearly hadn't met him before. During their fight was the true eye-opener for Griffith, not only was Guts strong with a sword but with his will. It, in that moment, had been stronger than his own; a dream unrealized.
But Guts was too stubborn to see it. That dream he believed that lied out there, waiting to be found was non-existent. Guts' dream had been within his reach the entire time, much closer than Griffith had ever been to his. And he envied Guts for that.
But even with his envy, he did not hate the swordsman. For walking away, for leaving them, for not seeing the dream that had been so close to him the entire time, Griffith did not hate him. He was just the most disappointed he had ever been in his life.
The sun had risen and was beginning to set when the rescue party neared the border of Midland. The setting sun was beginning to cast a warm orange glow to the clouds in the sky, and the slightest of breezes made the grass of the plain lands ripple like the waves of a great grass sea. That was the rendezvous point for the Bank of the Hawk.
Gaston, the soldier who dreamed of being a tailor later on in life, and Guts' second in command, was the first to greet them. "Captains! You all made it back!" He noticed Charlotte and Anna. "And you've brought guests."
"Not guests," Casca helped Charlotte down from the saddle, "it appears that they're joining us."
Anna fidgeted nervously. "A rather hasty decision."
"Wait-isn't that the princess?" Gaston pointed to Charlotte.
"It is," Judeau said. "She was kind enough to aid us in our rescue of Griffith."
Gaston's face broke into a wide smile. "You actually got him? Where is he?"
The vice captain's face fell instantly at the sight of him being cradled like a baby, wrapped nearly three times around in a cloak. Gaston didn't need to say anything, everything he needed to know was written as plain as day on his face.
"Hey, Corkus!" Gaston called.
"What is it?" Corkus asked back.
"Bring a covered wagon over here! And some gauze!"
Harry offered to tend to his wounds; wrapping him up with the gauze and supplying him with a spare pair of breeches for his lower half. More than once Charlotte stopped outside the wagon to try and check up on him. He watched her talk with Harry from his propped up position in the back of the wagon.
"Please," Charlotte pleaded. "We're safe for the time being, all I request is a moment alone with Lord Griffith."
He saw Harry shake his head. "Griffith's… been through a lot. He just needs time to rest right now."
"Then allow me to assist," she insisted. "Anything that I can do to help I will try my best to do. If I truly am joining you all in your travels, I will need to make myself useful. Please."
"You still can," Harry reasoned. "Just, for right now the most you can do is give him a little space." He couldn't see her face, but she must have been pouting or conveying some other displeased expression. "But… when he's feeling up to it, you can be the first to come and visit him."
That certainly seemed to brighten her up as she flung her arms around Harry's neck for a hugging embrace. "Thank you," she said. "You mean it?"
Harry looked a bit flustered. "Uh… yeah, sure."
Casca yelled for the other girl's attention. "If you want to help, you can go and fetch some water for him."
Charlotte must have looked perplexed. "I've never fetched water before."
Her handmaiden came to her side. "Come then, your highness. I'll show you. Such a menial task," she muttered under her breath.
Harry climbed into the back of the wagon with him holding a pouch of something. "I asked Judeau if I could borrow this," Harry said putting his hand inside to come out with a gel-like substance. "It's elf dust. Casca used some on Guts after the forest fight and it seemed to have worked."
He took his wrist in his hand and rubbed some of the dust over where his tendon had been cut. It took a moment but a slight stinging sensation prickled his wrist where Harry had rubbed but was quickly replaced by a warm soothing feeling, maybe even a little ticklish. "How does it feel? Do you think its working?"
A single nod of his helmeted head was his answer. The dust seemed to fade fast on his wrist and Griffith tried to bend it. His fingers managed to twitch, but instead of moving in his wrist slanted back, the opposite of the direction he wanted it to go. He narrowed his blue eyes in frustration. "Don't push yourself too far," Harry advised as he rubbed some more on his other wrist and heels.
He turned his helmeted head to the side of the wagon where a sword lay propped up. One of his thin arms moved to grasp for it. His skeletal fingers wrapped around the hilt for a second before falling from his clutch. Honestly, what had he expected? Grabbing that sword would not make him the man he once was. Even the elf dust provided could not restore his broken body.
"Whoa," Harry said, putting the sword back where it was before. "Just take it easy. It might not work right away, but it'll help at least." Harry tried some more gauze around his wrists and ankles. "You know, I was thinking that I might be able to help you recover too." Griffith didn't make a sound; he just looked at the boy expectantly. "I might try and go to the woods near Enoch village. Casca told me that a witch lives somewhere inside the forest. She might know some healing spells, I could learn them, or take you there to have you fixed up. We're here to help you; all of us."
Griffith smiled sadly. Fairy tales and legends seemed like a good thing to believe in right now. To be able to just magically wash away all the pain like waves over the sand, what he wouldn't give for that to be so simple.
He heard voices from outside. For a moment he thought Charlotte had returned to offer up her services once more, but no. The voices he was hearing was undoubtedly those of Guts and Casca. Harry heard them too. "I'll let you rest for now," Harry said moving to hop out the back of the wagon. "Guts might come in at some point. There are some things he has to talk to you about."
How Harry would know that Griffith could only guess, but he turned his ear to listen to the conversation unfolding outside. Casca was the one speaking right now. "Do you still plan on leaving again? Now that we've got Griffith, what will you do?"
"Maybe not," said Guts. "I left before to look for a dream that I never had. Now, I don't know. Gaston came up to me earlier; he said he'd leave his dream of wanting to become a tailor behind, so did almost all that's left of the Raiders."
"And does that mean you'll stop looking for yours for Griffith's sake?" Casca asked. "Is that what you really mean?"
"If you're asking me to make that choice now, then yes; I would stay."
That sounds so different from how he once was. What changed in him?
"You mean that?" Casca asked again.
"Why wouldn't I? What do I get from lying to you? You'd know if I were anyways."
"I don't want you to stay if feel that you have to out of some guilt of what happened," she told him. "Stay because you want to. Stay because you'll do everything you can to help Griffith when he needs it."
From the way she was speaking to Guts right now, he could tell that they had grown closer during his imprisonment. "You're crying," Guts said. There was a sight, Casca crying. Maybe that elf dust was starting to work; he was able to push his body up just enough to look over the back of the wagon. Casca stood with her forehead resting on Guts' chest and one of his arms wrapped around her. Yes, they had grown closer.
She wiped away a tear. "Why wouldn't I be? You saw the state that he's in." Her voice was low, but not low enough that he couldn't hear her. "I worry. I worry that the strong confident man he used to be might never come back to us."
He was a burden. She said it best, no longer the strong confident leader. Just a burden, one that would weight them down. He could not walk on his own, he could no longer hold a sword, and what good was he? His arms gave out, and he fell down on his side. Worthless.
The sound of armor creaking made him look back to the exit of the covered wagon, expecting to see either Guts or Casca standing there, not himself. It was how he once looked, standing tall and proud as his long white hair glowed in the warm sun. The hawk helm was held under his arm, not a mock one to remind him of how far he had fallen. When he spoke, it sounded just like him too. "What are you doing, lying here pathetic and weak?"
His prime self-drew his sword and impaled it in front of his face. The light reflected off the blade was not the sun, but a white castle in the distance. The prime pointed to it in the distance. "Have you lost sight of it?" The sword looked so real that he could actually touch it. He could.
Using it as a prop, Griffith managed to pull himself up. The castle was on a hill, so close; if only he had the strength to move his legs on his own. A child's voice cried out next to him. "Let's go! There's still time to play!" His eyes widened when he saw the boy. His voice was high like every child his age, but his long white hair set him apart from any other child. It was him.
His child self-yelled back to him, still running toward that castle. "The sun isn't gone yet!" The child was running, running to an ever blinding white light that seemed to consume everything around them except for that castle, which still stood as the only sturdy thing in sight.
Guts knew that Casca was right. If he was going to stay, it had to be because he wanted it, truly wanted it. The choice to stay or leave was his to make, and if he was going to choose it would be because he wanted to, not because he felt that he had to. Originally, he planned to rescue Griffith, make amends with his friend and then part ways once more on much friendlier terms.
Funny how things had changed. Griffith was in a state that required someone to assist him with near everything, and things between him and Casca were-they were, they made him want to stay. And maybe that made all the difference.
"We've returned!" The surprisingly cheery voice of Charlotte called to them. Both her and Anna came back with pals full of water. "This was my first time fetching water, did I do well?"
Casca nodded. "It's a start." Charlotte beamed.
"May I see Lord Griffith now?" She asked. "I was told that I could before."
Guts managed to suppress a roll of his eyes at the princess' little fantasy. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll give him a heads up that you're coming in." He never got that chance.
The wagon that Griffith was residing in was moving, the horses were being ushered to go by the driver, who much to Guts' surprise was Griffith himself. The reigns were wrapped around his forearm seeing as his wrists were incapable of moving how he would like. Somehow, he had managed to crawl to the front and take control. What could have possibly come over him?
"What's going on?" Charlotte asked nervously as the wagon pulled away from their camp. "Have the horses been spooked?"
Guts quickly ran and saddled his horse. "Princess, you stay here! Harry, make sure she and her handmaiden don't follow. Everyone else, after that wagon!"
"But I can want to come too!" Harry protested. "I can help!"
"Help by making sure the princess doesn't do anything stupid," Guts ordered. "Hiya!" He spurred his horse in hot pursuit of Griffith's wagon. Griffith had a few seconds head start and two horses pulling his wagon, but Guts pushed his horse to its limits.
The others he heard were gaining on them as well and if he couldn't catch up to Griffith, one of them would. One of the faster riders like Corkus, Judeau or Gaston. But why were they even chasing him, to begin with?
He didn't know what was going through Griffith's head right now, but it wasn't good. Just like what was happening up above. The light of the sun was fading; a dark shadow was slowly creeping its way to snuff out the light. Guts didn't like it, not one bit.
With his battered body, Griffith could barely keep the wagon steady, the horses threatened to pull the reigns from his faux grasp. But to him, it was so close. The castle, it was so close, so, so close. He just had to reach out a hand and the castle and its kingdom would be in the palm of his hand.
The wagon hit a rock, and the jolt was enough to throw him from the wagon. Griffith soared like the bird he had taken as his sigil, his arms spread like wings. But his wings had been clipped, the ground came closer.
Splash!
He landed not on grass, but in the cool, clear water of a shallow lake. The water soaked his gauze and breeches and he shivered. Much to his own surprise, he was able to stumble into a kneeling position; it wasn't easy as one of his elbows had bent inward from his fall. Yet another injury to be added.
He was pathetic. He wasn't some proud leader, not anymore. Now, he was just larva, the lowest of the low. In a mundane way, it was like he had never really grown up from his life of poverty. In the end, he was just a burden on those who would follow him. They had Casca, they had Guts, and they did not need him. A jagged root of a fallen tree lay right next to him. They did not need him.
Griffith let his body fall forward toward the jagged wood, looking to end it all. The wood missed his jugular but managed to cut above his shoulder, a single stream of blood trailed down his arm from his attempt. And then he laughed.
Perhaps laugh was the wrong word; it was more the only sound that came out of his throat at the time. "Huhuhuhuaaahuu!" He couldn't even kill himself right for crying out loud.
There was nothing left but to gave down into the ankle high water below. Perhaps he could drown himself, it was deep enough-what was that? Among the rocks of the lake bed, a red bauble on a string stood out. He recognized it; it was something that had fallen down a drain pipe when he was first captured. His old Crimson Behelit. He had thought it lost forever. He snagged it with his finger by the string and held it up in front of him. Blood dripped from his arm and onto the bauble. A sudden cry of, "Griffith!" rang throughout the air.
Harry didn't like it; he didn't like it at all. It was less the fact that Guts had told him to stay behind with the princess, but more with what was happening in the sky above. A large, round, dark shadow was making its way to block the light of the sun. It was almost like an eye looking down, smiling with cruel amusement at events yet to come.
Charlotte noticed it too. "An eclipse. I didn't know one was supposed to happen today."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his eyes flashing to and from the soon-to-be eclipse. His vision was bad enough as it was, there was no need to ruin them any further. He couldn't help it though; he was a curious person by nature, and this impending eclipse just did not sit right with him for some reason. Harry wanted nothing more than to chase after everyone else and warn them of… something.
The moon climbed closer and closer toward the sun, and the feeling of dread grew with it. Something bad was about to happen. To who, he did not know; all he knew was that it was coming, and soon. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and made ready to depart after the rest of the band.
"Where are you going?" Charlotte asked. "We were told to stay here."
"I know that," said Harry, his voice frantic. "I just need to check on them. I'll be right back, I promise."
Anna looked frightened as well, but for different reasons. "But, what if a group of bandits comes by when you're gone? We have no ways of defending ourselves." Harry took out his dagger and tossed it to the handmaiden. "What's this about?"
"To defend yourselves," Harry said. "If any trouble comes up, try and scare it off or just run to find us." The girls looked uncertain. "Look, I'll be gone five minutes at most, I'll come back and I won't be alone. Just stay here for now."
His horse made haste as it rushed off in the direction that everyone else had headed. Guts or Casca could yell at him later, all that mattered now was reaching them as soon as possible. All the while the moon moved closer and closer to eclipsing the sun.
"Griffith!" Guts shouted as he jumped from his horse and into the water where Griffith kneeled. He bent down to hoist one of Griffith's arms over his shoulder. "What came over you, huh?" If Griffith heard him, he made no indication. His attention was focused on the red bauble dangling from his finger. Guts' eyes widened as well; Griffith had no had that Behelit on him before.
The sound of horses approaching alerted Guts that the rest of the Hawks were quickly approaching them. "C'mon, Griffith. Let's get you patched up again. Casca'll have a fit if she sees that cut on your-," he stopped talking. The Behelit was jiggling. The assorted facial features were moving, rearranging themselves to form a non-abstract face.
The eyes slowly opened to reveal blue orbs, and tears of blood flowed from them as the Behlit appeared to weep. Then the mouth opened and it cried the most blood-chilling sound Guts had ever heard. "BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"What is that?" Casca and the others pointed across the lake to where humanoid figures now stood. To Guts, they looked rather sinister standing across the water just staring at all of them. The Behelit continued to scream.
"Everyone!" A new rider was fast approaching. From the voice, Guts could tell that it was Harry. What was he doing here? He should be supervising the princess to make sure she doesn't do something stupid. And the Behelit kept on screaming right up until the moon reached its peak in front of the sun. Then everything changed.
The sky, the lake, the grass; all of it was gone, replaced with a ceaseless pattern of red faces spanning as far as the eye could see. Their eye sockets were either closed or hollow, but the mouths seemed to move, seeking to release screams that would go unheard. The only thing that remained a constant was the sun up above-or rather the eclipsed sun. Indeed, it was high above them like a giant black eye looking down on them like insects.
Some of the Hawks began to lose their nerve. "The hell are we?" "What's going on?" "Commander, get us out of here!" Corkus was having it the worst though. "Look around! We're in hell! This is what hell looks like!"
"Quiet!" Casca scolded him. "You all need to calm down!"
"You're telling us to calm down?! Take a look around, we're in hell surrounded by freaks!" The demonic looking individuals seemed to have grown in numbers and watched them but made no sudden move yet.
"We can't afford to show weakness in front of this enemy!" Casca rallied. "Panicking won't give us a way out of here." Despite it all, Guts smiled. She really was something else.
The demonic looking people began to chant. "The time is now. It is time. Time for our four angels to come."
From the ground, one of the faces began to rise up. It turned from red to a lively alabaster tone and it became more and more clear that it belonged to a woman, for a body was rising up with it. Breasts laid bare, but she didn't seem to mind, if anything she seemed to revel in her attractive appearance, even sending a seductive look at some of the men. As she rose hair fell from her head, an uncommon turquoise color that reminded Guts of snakes. Two large leathery wings sprouted from her back and closed around her feminine form.
Above them, the faces seemed to swirl together like a brewing storm and a pale, chubby face with blacked out glasses and a sickening grin came spiraling down, cackling a sick laugh. It was small, lacking any legs but rather a few short tentacles like appendages that helped it to float around the Hawks. It circled and laughed at Corkus, and then Harry before floating over to the woman.
The ground shuttered once again, and a cornucopia of the faces mashed up into a wide rounded shape. Emerging from that mass was a fleshy ham colored face even chubbier than the last. Its eyes were closed, but its mouth was gaping open. Taking its place next to the two other great beings, it appeared hunched over with its hands intertwining its fingers.
Then, it was as if darkness leaked down from the eclipse above like a giant dark waterfall that took the shape of a tall figure covered in a long leathery black robe with a high popping collar. As the darkness retreated back up to the eclipse, the figure standing had six digits on his hands, skin the color of a corpse with some of it pulled away from his mouth, leaving his teeth exposed. His eyes appeared to be sewn completely shut, but what stood out the most was his brain. It was much larger than any brain had the right to be and it was on full display like it had grown so large it had simply burst forth from his head. Out of all four, Guts felt the most power from this one.
The brain man did not move his mouth, but his voice seemed to speak to all of them within their minds. His voice like a mysterious, vast expanse. "The time has come for the blessing. In this, our final chapter, the final destination. The final days draw near for our sacred children. Enjoy this hallow feast in all its glory." He pointed one of his six fingers towards Griffith. "And you, our disciple, you are chosen. Here and now appointed by God's own hand. We are your brothers, and you, our new blessed kin."
Griffith stared up at them, shock written on the parts of his face that Guts could see. Many of the Hawks looked just as nervous, Harry was transfixed by the four. "That voice," Guts heard him mutter. Getting angry, Guts drew a dagger and pointed it up at the four.
"This is bullshit!" He yelled. "You think you can drag us to this goddamn place and say whatever the hell you want?! Kinsman? Disciple? That's ridiculous! There isn't one shred in this man that makes him like you! How dare you compare yourselves to him!"
"Guts!" Casca yelled his name. Three of them laughed at him.
The woman appeared most pleased. "What a beautiful friendship. You will make a most welcome sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?"
She nodded. "He cannot become one of us without a proper sacrifice."
"Precisely," the hovering imp said. "From the instance, you crossed paths with the Crimson Behelit, it was your destiny to join us. The fact that you have it shows that you possess the traits necessary to become like us. To unite with us, The Godhand."
The demonic people gathered around, had begun to change. They changed much like Zodd had done in their first encounter; some sprouted horns and claws, some extra mouths and limbs. They changed into what they truly were, demons. "These gathered here today have used Behelits to achieve their own ends as well, although they will never be Godhand they are Apostils."
She continued speaking. "He will be reborn in exchange for all of you; but only of his own choosing."
"His fate was written long ago, and all of you were predestined to be his sacrifices," the brain elaborated. "Let us begin the rite of transformation."
"Bring forth the alter!" The one with the gaping mouth shouted, and the ground of faces began to rise, shooting up to the sky like a great mountain, Griffith and Guts were on a ride straight to the top.
"No, Guts! Griffith!" Casca shouted.
"We have to climb up after them!" Harry yelled, but their yells were drowned out as Guts tried his best to not fall off the rising tide of faces and to keep holding on to Griffith.
A tremor sent him falling back, but Griffith found the strength to reach a hand out for him to grab onto. But it was no use, not with the stare Griffith's body was in. A tendon in his arm snapped and Guts fell down while Griffith continued to be pulled up.
Guts wasn't about to give up easily. He plunged the dagger into the side of the rising face mountain to slow his fall. Bits of flesh and blood flew into his face as he plunged it in deeper to keep his stay on the face mountain. No-not a mountain. As he looked up, the faces had arranged themselves into the shape of a giant right hand.
When the rising settled, Griffith found himself in the open palm of the hand. "We are four," the brain man's voice rang out. "Conrad," the one with the gaping mouth on the pinkie, "Ubik," the floating imp circled the ring finger, "Slan," the woman licked her lips from the middle, "and Void." He was on the thumb. "What is it you fear? Us? Who are infinitely more powerful than you? Or is it your future and its uncertainty?"
Ubik floated down toward him. "Why not take a look at your past, before taking the step to your glorious future?" His dark glasses glowed white and Griffith stared into their depths, transfixed by the sight of a young, child version of him running along a street.
It was the same streets he had memorized as a child too, right down to the exact layout, even the castle on the hill was how he had always pictured it. But… this wasn't right. He was the only one here. "Where did everybody go?" His child's voice asked no one. The streets should be full of the other kids this time of day. "I thought we were all going to see the castle." He looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone else to come running.
"Oh well, I guess I'm going on my own." He continued running down the streets. He ran and ran, but his memory of these streets seemed to be failing him. This street was completely unknown to him. But at least there was a person. An old woman with a bonnet over her head to partly obscure her old appearance. She spun a spinning wheel and was so wrapped up in it she didn't seem to notice him at first.
"Excuse me," he said, "do you know how to get to the castle from here?" She pointed a wrinkled finger to the left. "That way. Okay, thank you!" He took off once again.
"You're welcome," she called to him. "You're friends passed by not long ago, they said that they would meet you there." So that's where they had gone.
He ran some more, and it became dark out. How long had he been chasing after his friends? "Hey! Is anybody here?" His foot crunched down on something; it was a corpse. And it wasn't the only one. The entire street was paved with corpses, corpses everywhere. "Ah!" He cried and tried to escape the bodies.
"You're quite the noisy child," the old woman walked up to him as calm as a summer breeze.
"Ma'am, this is terrible! There are so many dead people!"
"I know," she sounded unconcerned.
"That's awful! You knew and you lied to me!" Griffith shouted at the old woman.
"I didn't lie to you," she denied. "This is the only path that leads to the castle. The only way to the castle is over those who have fallen before, they have done their job of paving the road just for you. Look." The castle was only a short distance away, glowing as bright as the sun. "Here comes one of your friends now."
A boy of around his age walked up to Griffith, a toy knight in his hands. "You're on your way to the castle to become king, aren't you? That's great! I want to be a knight someday. Will you take me with you? If you do you can have my toy."
Griffith was hesitant. "I don't know." Who was this boy? He was one of his friends, yes?
"Why not?"
"I can't. I can't because you're-," Griffith looked away from the arrow that pierced the boy's heart. Such a gruesome sight. "You're already dead!"
"Why not take us too?" Some of the corpses had risen, clad in armor and ready to do battle. Let us carry your flag!"
"No," Griffith shook his head. "You're all dead too! Please understand, please!" He sank to his knees on the corpse laded ground and cried. "I'm so sorry!"
The old woman tsked. "Now, now. What are we going to do with you? Don't you understand that they are all dead because of you?"
"What?"
"Don't play dumb with me!" She suddenly snapped. "They became what they are because they followed you! If you had not forced them, they would not be like this."
"But," he wiped a tear away, "I never forced anyone to follow me."
"Then how did they get to the way they are?" She asked. "These corpse cobblestones are the dead who have followed you, killed for you, died for you. All for that dream of yours." The corpses sank down and stretched forward to the castle, just missing it. "You only need a few more."
Griffith remained hesitant. "Having a change of heart? If you are you will become one of the cobblestones yourself." It was like the skin on his arms was peeling off, becoming just like the bodies below him.
"My hands!"
"Foolish child. You should have known this was the price. Why couldn't you be content to simply gaze at the castle from afar?"
"I didn't know, I swear I didn't know!"
"Shut up!" she snapped. "You knew all along what kind of place this was."
Apparitions slowly became visible among the corpses. "You're our leader, we'll follow you!" A young woman with short dark hair. "We're here to help, all of us." A boy with glasses and green eyes. And a swordsman.
"Where do you go from here? Isn't this the path to your dream? What's holding you back?" Guts.
"He's right," the woman said. "It is not too late to lay those stones." She split into Conrad and Ubik. "There is no other path!"
"There is no use in repenting is there?" Griffith walked to the young dead boy. "Where would that take me? My sins, I cannot take them back. There is nothing I have to give the dead who have followed me except for the completion of the goal in which they all fought." He carried the boy down the path of corpses.
"Now you see," Ubik cackled, ending the trance.
"They will forgive you," Slan spoke to him. "Each is a feather in your wing, helping to carry you down your path."
Void spoke next. "If that dream still lives, if that castle still gleams as bright as the sun, then it is your obligation to lay the stones around you now. Stand and face your future on the dark wings that will carry you there"
Griffith's lips seemed to move on their own like he had no control, but that was not true.
"Griffith!" Guts shouted as he finally managed to climb to the palm of the hand. He was panting, exhausted, but he was here. Just in time to see Griffith give the smallest, saddest smile he had ever seen. It was one filled with unfulfilled ambition and the tiniest hint of a promise that this was not the last.
The fingers of the giant hand closed in around Griffith, separating him from Guts. Void lifted his hand and a green emblem materialized. It looked like two diamonds stacked on top of each other with a line running through them. "Time to administer the brand." The green turned to red and split apart like a dozen angry hornets.
Guts felt a burning sensation on the right side of his neck where the brand struck. Below, the brand burned into Corkus' forehead, just below Casca's collarbone, on Pippin's arm and Judeau's hand.
When one approached Harry, it looked to almost striking his forehead where his lightning scar was but pulled away before striking the left side of his neck. It seemed to have a stronger effect on him as well; he cried in pain and fell off his horse, clutching at his head.
And the demon apostils descended on the Band of the Hawk.
A/N: So this was a pretty Griffith heavy chapter, and we all know what the next one is. Thank you for reading.