Reviews:

Pyromania101: The downfall of Griffith was inevitable indeed. I do have a scene in this that focus on Harry's experience during the Eclipse, but I kept most it close to the source material.

Greer 123: Thank you, I'm trying to add more detail to each chapter.

Dallas88: I was thinking of having that fight, but decided against it. But just because I didn't include it like it happened in the manga, there will be a fight with Wyald later on though. It is a good fight after all.

Lightningblade49: I have mentioned to what exactly is happening to Harry now that he has a brand as well in this chapter.

Guest: Thank you, this chapter is pretty close to the manga, but next chapter things will start to get diverge from canon a bit.

dragooner: I do have mention of what Harry is experiencing this chapter due to the brand and Horcrux scar.

Makatsu: Uh oh indeed.

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Princess Charlotte, please wait!" Anna shouted as Charlotte climbed on a horse.

"That boy-Harry has been gone much longer than he promised," Charlotte told her handmaiden. "They should have returned by now. Do you not see what is going on over there? It's happening right where they would be."

It was a rhetorical question. How could anyone not see it? A giant whirlwind had touched down just as the moon had eclipsed the sun. Even from where they waited the two girls could feel the wild gush of wind from the enormous twister. There was no telling how wide the tornado was, but the funnel extended for miles into the sky, seemingly touching the eclipsed sun in the heavens up above.

The sight of it frightened Charlotte to no end. Midland was not known for irregular weather patterns, and a twister of this magnitude was unheard of by any standards. To actually go riding towards something like that would be a foolhardy idea which Anna took the liberty of reminding her of. "The Hawks did not survive by reputation, they have the skills to handle themselves, your highness. Please, I insist we seek shelter from that storm."

"The storm is not moving," Charlotte observed. For as gigantic as it was, the mighty whirlwind remained rooted in a fixed position to resemble something akin to a mighty tree branch that had sprouted from the ground, seeking to connect the deepest region to the highest heaven.

"That does not make it any less dangerous!" Anna insisted.

"But we owe it to the Band of Hawk to at least try to aid them," Charlotte argued. "They rescued me from the king," she shuttered at the memory of what he had tried to do to her that one night, "and I agreed that I would do whatever I could to contribute. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I must make good on my word!"

Anna shook her head. "You've gained a fair amount of confidence, your majesty. I shudder to think what your manners will be like the longer you're exposed to some of these ruffians."

"Will you come with me then?" She hoped so. Riding toward that whirlwind was not something she wanted to do alone.

"As your handmaiden-it is my duty to follow in your wake. Especially when sound words of advice fall deaf to your ears." Anna managed to give a rather nervous smile to showcase the lack of good faith in Charlotte's decision. "Just know that-what in the heavens?!"

Charlotte followed Anna's gave to the sky, but her attention was not directed at the expansive twister, but instead a large dark shape flying toward it. Whatever it was, it was no bird. Birds did not have large leathery wings or goat legs, and especially no horns. Despite its size, the creature flew fast, unlike any animal she had ever seen before in her life. She might have hallucinated, but Charlotte almost felt like the great beast looked down towards them, but never breaking from its flight path.

The sight of it instilled a new fear in the girls, on par with the sound of hooves rapidly approaching them. "The king must have sent out mercenaries!" Anna shrieked. "We're done for!" Riding over the hill was a lone rider, tall and menacing in appearance, and much like the creature flying above he moved much too fast for something of his size.

The closer he got, the more Charlotte could distinguish the features of his horse and armor. His horse looked to be a skeleton, much like the armor he wore. A shield was fastened to his left arm with the design of a thorny rose embalmed on it. What stood out the most was his helm; it was a glowering skull-like helm with reddish-purplish eyes that seemed to glow from their sockets adding the only bit of life to his otherwise dead appearance.

He was gaining on them, faster and faster his horse trampled the ground, not showing any signs of slowing. In a few seconds, he was on them, passing them by as he continued to ride. But in the briefest of moments, Charlotte saw that skull-shaped helm tilt to look directly at her and an almost familiar sensation seemed to register in her mind. He never spoke, never made a sound, but his glowing eye sockets conveyed the unspoken message, "stay."

She obeyed the unspoken command, her body stiff as a board while the rider continued on his path straight toward the monolithic whirlwind of madness.

Elsewhere, Rickert was on his own path for the whirlwind. It couldn't be a coincidence that this twister touched down almost exactly where the Hawks planned on meeting up. He believed less and less in coincidence since that night when those two demonic creatures slaughtered all the wounded Hawks. Creatures like that, they had no right to exist in this world.

With no horse to ride, Rickert had managed to stumble upon an acting troupe, who was kind enough to give him a ride to the supposed rendezvous point. It might have been his imagination, But Rickert swore that those performers had an elf flying somewhere around in their wagon. The childish, impish giggle he had heard during the night followed by a faint blue glow only further cemented that belief.

Once they had dropped him off, that wind storm had begun. As Rickert rushed over a grassy hill, he was met with a strange sight just outside of the funnel. A demon, Nosferatu Zodd to be exact, stood ready to face off against a skeleton knight.

What was Zodd doing in a place like this? And that Skull Knight too? "What the hell is going on around us?" Rickert had to wonder. It was madness. The world was becoming madness.

Zodd grunted. "Hmph. So you did come. You, who have been our foe for a millennium, I figured you wouldn't let this chance slip past."

"And you were given the command to guard the gate, Immortal One," Skull Knight addressed.

Zodd almost seemed to smile. "Hardly. I have no interest in their indulgent spree. What I seek are strong. You should know that. Old rival."

They locked gazes. "Void would say that this too falls within causality's current." A tense moment of silence fell. "Very well…I wager myself upon my sword."

Zodd looked overjoyed. His lion-like face broke into a malicious toothy grin. His claws swiped toward the Skull Knight, and the battle began.

But as the two combatants squared off against one another outside, a much different battle was being fought on the inside of the great whirlwind. Perhaps fight was the wrong word; it was more of a slaughter than anything else.

From all sides, the demonic apostles descended upon the already overwhelmed Band of Hawk. Giant, gaping maws swallowed men whole. Talons sharper than any dagger cut through armor, completely eviscerating their victims. Horns impaled others straight through, letting the blood run down their bony extension; they drank the blood of men.

Shouting, everybody was shouting. Men shouted in fear, in sadness, in pure agony; and the demons shouted in excitement. To them, this hell was heaven. It was a chance to helplessly gorge them on human flesh, and revel in every fight, every kill, every minute of this torture.

Casca, the one who many looked to as a sister figure, found herself unable to react at first. An apostil had bitten three men in half right in front of her and all she could do was stare at the giant fist made of faces where Guts and Griffith were. She would have been bitten in half as well, if not for Pippin intervening and knocking the demonic jaws away with his war hammer.

"Run!" Pippin yelled, a contrast to his silent nature.

Casca felt an arm around her waist, and she was pulled up onto a horse was ridden by Judeau. Pippin stood his ground and faced off against the demons who would pursue them. "What are you doing?!" She yelled. "Pippin!"

Pippin elicited a war cry of his own, challenging any demon near him. He stood like a man who had just accepted his fate. "Go back, Judeau! We can't let him die!"

"It's no use!" Judeau yelled. Any trace of his usual laid back and calm demeanor was gone. She was surprised; this was a side to Judeau she had never seen in all the time she had known him. "You have to survive. You're our leader now. As long as our leader's alive, we aren't finished! You have to keep on living! You think I'm going to let it end here, like this?!"

The courage that Judeau felt was lost on Corkus. He and three other Hawks were faced with an apostle that looked to have an upside-down face. Two tusks sprawled from the sides of its maw which it used to gobble up the three men before any of them could even raise a sword to defend themselves.

Corkus' legs trembled, and he felt his breeches become soiled. The sight of his comrades face become twisted and contorted as the apostil chewed them to pieces would do that to just about any man; there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed for his reaction. The apostil used a clawed hand to wipe away the blood from its lips, and it set its sights on him.

"Wahaaaaa!" Corkus wailed as he did the one thing that registered in his head, he ran. He ran as fast and as far as his weak legs would carry him, but the apostle was faster, much faster. Large, curved claws raked against his back, cutting through the metal and underlining flesh. He fell to his knees.

Two other apostles had joined up with the one that had been chasing him. Panicking once again, Corkus let himself fall down the hill of faces, the momentum giving him a chance at the time to pick himself up and continue running.

But everywhere he ran, there were demons on all sides, and they were eating. Gorging themselves on his comrades, biting off heads and limbs, clawing them open to devour their entrails. There was no escaping it. From the sides, from behind, he felt their eyes on him. They were coming, he could feel their hot, putrid breath on the back of his neck, making his hair stand up and ready to fly out of his body.

Tears and mucus ran down his face and he continued to run. There was no way any of this was real. A world made of faces, demonic apostles; it was a nightmare, a fever dream. "That must be it, just a nightmare. My wound doesn't hurt a bit. Hehehe! Hey! Wake up, me! Fun's fun, but enough's enough! But how the hell did I dream all this up? Midland, the Band of the Hawk, it ain't all that farfetched to be a dream. When I think about it, it was all too good to be true. I'll just wake up and it'll be over. I'll…be a nobody again."

And he saw her. Standing there looking every bit an angel as he could dream up, with her shoulder length blonde hair, sultry eyes, and a clear feminine form. Her arms covered her breasts, but even at that Corkus knew she was beautiful.

"Heh. A woman, here in hell…? I knew that this was a dream." She moved her arms away from her chest, allowing him a full view of her naked form. Squaring her shoulder, she made her breasts all the more inviting, and Corkus approached. He laughed nervously. "Dammit." He cupped one her bountiful breasts. "Dammit. Why a guy like me? Dammit." He buried his face between her breasts, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around him.

He felt her soft, smooth skin get harder and much stronger. Her petite arms felt awfully sharp, and her breath a lot hotter, like a predator to prey. "Dammit." And Corkus knew no more.

Casca and Judeau continued to ride. An exit, a way out had to be present. He couldn't be where it ended for all of them, here in some godforsaken hellscape. Why? Casca wondered, feeling the tears ready to break loose at the endless stream of death that surrounded them. The Band of the Hawk was arguably the greatest group of soldiers in Midland, but against a demonic horde, had they even stood a chance?

Had they sinned that much? All the lives that they had taken, all those who had fallen in battle, has it all been leading to this? Or, an even more terrifying thought; Casca looked to the giant hand turned fist, the Godhand faintly outlined by the hellish lighting, was this really the nightmare that he wanted? Would she ever get an answer to that?

Griffith, the person who had saved her at a young age, trained her in the art of the sword, made her his second-in-command, he had been the crux in all of this. What was it they had done? They had rescued him, served him faithfully, so then why? Had Griffith felt that much of a broken shell that he reasoned that he was as good as dead? Whatever it was, could she hate him for it? He had been her hero for so long, his attention was all she had ever wanted, to know that she had helped get him to that once dream of his. And now, she almost felt the brand below her collarbone prickle, maybe she was closer to that than ever before.

Even on horseback, the demons were able to keep pace with the pair of them. To his credit, Judeau would use his sword to cut down any who got too close and would throw a knife at an advancing lizard-like demon who had been tailing them for some time. The knife struck its mark, and the demon lagged behind. But another was fast approaching. "Judeau, right side!" Casca alerted her friend, but it was too late.

A great lion-like demon bit down on Judeau's arm, armor and bone cracked from the strain. Reacting on instinct, Casca drew a dagger of her own and plunged it into the eye of the demon. It might not have killed it, but it was enough to get Judeau's arm free, or what was left of it. Now it looked more like a piece of raw meat than human flesh.

"Judeau, your-,"

"It's fine," he said weakly. "You saved me." He was losing a lot of blood.

"Let's turn around."

"No way…" he sounded woozy.

"It's the same if we do or don't!" Casca yelled. "They're going to keep following us no matter how far we go! We don't even know if there's an exit!" Her eyes felt very wet now. "At least, let's fight beside everyone else to the end."

"Shut up!" Judeau yelled at her, surprising her once again by his tone. "You'll bite your tongue off. Struggle. Keep struggling until the end's the end, and keep struggling some more. There's no fighting just to die. That's what I'd say if I were him." Judeau then smiled. He didn't have to say anything after that. She knew exactly who he meant.

The moment was ruined when a shape began to split between the face pattern that was the ground to this hell. It was the jaws of a demon, and before either of them knew it, their horse was being devoured. They were spared the same fate as they had managed to roll off the saddle before the steed was completely eaten. But the danger wasn't over.

An apostle had caught up to them, dark green in color with a rounded head with two whip-like tendrils and a rather slim build. One of the tendrils shot out and stabbed Judeau through a chink in his armor. He staggered from the blow, but he forced himself in front of her as the demon let forth an onslaught of whipping.

They fell down, with Judeau placing his body on top of hers, taking all of the hits himself. "Move, stupid!" Casca yelled blood was leaking from Judeau's body. "Stop, Judeau! You're killing yourself! At this rate-!"

Both of the tendrils had pierced straight through Judeau, shock evident on his face. Droplets of blood drizzled onto her face, and she reached out to touch his. He couldn't-

One of Judeau's eyes opened. He reached for his last throwing knife and twirled his body around to toss it straight into the demon's eye. While it was blinded, Casca drew her sword and cut it in its slim body. The demon fell.

"Judeau!" She ran back to him.

"D-did it… hit? My last…knife?"

"Y-yeah. It hit. You got it."

He tried to push himself up, only to fall. "Now…go."

She couldn't stop the tears this time. "What did you just say?! Weren't you just the one who said to keep on struggling?! Now, on your feet! No complaining! I'm taking you even if I have to drag you!" She draped his arm over her shoulder and began to carry him, to where even she didn't know.

"Okay. No need to shout. I'll come with you. I'll stay even if I gotta crawl."

"If you got time to shoot your mouth off, you can crawl," she tried to keep his mind focused away from his undeniable pain. She looked to see Judeau smiling up at her.

"You sure do…cry a lot, you know."

His body went limp and fell to the face covered floor. His last smile lay etched upon his face, undisturbed to the hell he was in.

"Judeau…" it was a lost cause, but she didn't want to believe it. No more did she want to believe the sound of the various apostles that were surrounding her, closing in on her. How many? A dozen, maybe more; she couldn't be exactly sure. But she was sure of her anger.

In a blind rage, she swung her sword, blinded by both her tears and rage, she hacked and slashed, cutting any apostles that dared get too close. They could kill her, hell they probably would. But she would be damned if she didn't die fighting like she had for years.

Her last swing was caught in the jaws of a hulking apostle, who crunched the blade to pieces with its powerful strength. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. They were closing in on her, chanting. "Sacrifice." "Sacrifice." "Sacrifice." "A woman sacrifice." "Eat now?"

"No."

"Before that."

"Before that."

They closed in even more and she could feel their hot breath filling her nostrils, it was enough to make her skin crawl. Many of them opened their mouths, letting their slimy, disgusting tongues hang free. They were so close to her now.

Guts. Casca thought of her lover as they grabbed for her.

I'm falling. Farther from the light. Where…where is this? Where's my body? I'm sinking…deeper. It was like being in an ocean. He could see the light above him, warm and comforting, and below him, where he was falling, that was just a deep endless pit of darkness seemingly as vast as Void's voice.

It should be cold, so why couldn't he feel it? He could see, he could think, so why couldn't he move of feel? But even sight soon failed him as he fell further and further into the abyss.

And then flashes.

He was watching scenes play out before him. There was a mass of people, and they were terrified. Fear was present on each and every one of their faces. Sweat, blood, and tears covered nearly all of these men he was seeing. And then they would die. Some would be decapitated, others split right up down the middle and waved around like a human flag, and others would just have their heads explode, sending bits of bone and brain flying in every direction.

What is this?

Death, death, and more death. Body parts were thrown around like a child would toss their toys during a temper tantrum. Jaws of serrated teeth would crush men into small chunks of meat for other demonic entities to feast off of. Everywhere, there was death, claiming the lives of every man that came across these monstrous beasts.

All their deaths and piercing through me. I wished for this. I killed them. It's strange…I don't feel anything. I'm sinking.

Why didn't he feel? These people dying, those were his men, his people. So why? It was almost like the deeper he went, the less he became. Who he was, what made him, him that was being broken off and scattered into an ever-swirling current that he had no chance of swimming free from. He saw something in the darkness of his submersion.

What is that? That shine?

A voice seemed to answer back. The manifestation of your last tear. When suffering so profound it makes you tear yourself apart, a heart is frozen. A very faint, Bthump could be heard.

Something's here, he realized with a start. And he saw them. They floated past him, up towards the light coming from the darkness. They were all different colors, but not one was crimson red like the one he once had. Behilits.

They are splashes, droplets of ideas that have spilled from the sea of eternity. Summons to the other world.

And he fell deeper. He was so deep in the never-ending abyss, which he could no longer see, not with his eyes. There was nothing around him now. He was alone, he had to be. Was this it? The sacrifice he had made led to this? To nothing? But-no. No, that was wrong. There was something here with him. Something so deep in this abyss, something so ancient that it could not exist anywhere else but here, the crux of darkness. He could hear a sound like a rhythmic beat, and a shape started to become visible to him. It was a shape shared by every living thing, every man, woman, and child.

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"…God?" It was the last word Griffith ever spoke.

Harry's head felt like it was going to explode. Once that brand had struck the left side of his neck, a terrible, burning agony had befallen him. It felt like a hot iron was being placed against his skin, but not where the brand had struck; instead from the scar on his forehead. It was like two forces clashing and raging a small war inside of him, each side trying their best to get the upper hand to a battle he didn't even know existed beforehand. The pain wasn't going away, but it seemed to lessen at the cost of his own strength.

The pain in his forehead seemed concentrated, rooted firm and not willing to budge an inch. And it seemed to speak to him. Almost like another voice inside of his head talking to him. Fight, kill them, and kill them like they killed your friends.

As the apostles would claw their way towards him, it was as if Harry was seeing double vision, one minute he would see the advancing demon, the other he saw a pale hand clutching a stick pointing it at a woman. A flash of green light and he couldn't tell if that was a memory from someone else, or if it was from the energy flying from his own sword.

Whenever he swung, it was like it was reacting to the apostles. Godo had crafted it from an elf mine, and now Harry was finally seeing why this could be considered a magic sword. When it touched the demons, it seemed to cut them easily, even sending out sparks of what he assumed to be raw magic at the antagonists. He didn't know what he was doing, or if his body was just reacting this way naturally, but it had kept the demons at bay so far, and for that, he had no complaint.

There was a downside, whenever he would wave his sword and send those bouts of magic forth, he would be blinded by another one of those double visions. He saw a forest, and a small form that was curled up in the nook of tree roots to survive before flashing back to this hell and he had to stab at another demon. The small figure in the woods held something up, a small dark egg shape, different from the one Griffith had had but he knew what it was. Harry wanted to shout at this figure to warn them of the danger, but they didn't seem to know what it was.

Another apostle, another bout of wild magic flaring from his elf sword, and he saw a rat faced looking man looking down over him, picking him up like some sort of baby. More magic sprayed from across his sword blade, and that cold voice seemed to take hold in the back of his head. Kill all of them. Avenge all who have fallen! You are weak, you can't keep this up!

"Stop it!" Harry yelled, clutching his head to try and force that voice away. "Stop talking to me!" Something large touched his shoulder. Harry rounded, ready to stab a demon, but much to his surprise, it was Pippin. "Pippin!"

The giant of a man had seen better days. A large cut ran along his head, most of his armor was completely torn off, and his weapon was broken. Another member of the Hawks was with him. With a badly mutilated arm and bloodstained hair, it was guts' second, Gaston of the Raiders.

"Are you two…alright?" Harry asked it felt like he was going to collapse at any second.

"Us?" Gaston asked he didn't look much better. "What about you? You look like you're on your last leg." Harry tried his best to give the most convincing nod he could.

"I'm fine, really."

"No…" Pippin sounded incredibly fatigued but was hiding it much better than either of them.

"I can still go on," Harry said as his vision started to blur. "Where's…everyone else? Corkus? Casca? Judeau? Guts?"

"I haven't seen Corkus," Gaston said. "I haven't seen anyone!"

"Casca and…Judeau, they got on a horse," Pippin heaved. "Don't know about Guts."

"Have you- look out!" Harry's sword sparked with energy as a molted green slug-like apostle came looming up behind Pippin. With a swing, a burst of power discharged itself from his blade and burned the demon's hide. The slug glowered down at him and moved to take a bite out of him, but Pippin stepped in front, forgoing a weapon and just punching the monster.

The slug growled and knocked Pippin aside, into Gaston, who fell backward. Harry himself felt one last cry escape his lips, "Pippin!" His strength left him and he fell down a hill of faces, the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was a flash of green light and hearing that voice in his head.

"Kill."

He fought like a maniac, no-a demon. A demon in human form. Guts' sword was broken, so he had to improvise. When a demon charged him with its spear-like tusks, Guts used the jagged broken blade to crack one of the tusks from the demon and plunged it into the creature's skull. Vaulting off of the dead apostle, Guts was met with dozens more to take its place. His chest armor was long gone; he fought covered in thick blood from slain apostils.

Narrowly avoiding the jaws of a demon that tried to bite his feet off, Guts drove the tusk through this one's eye. He jumped off of that one, rolled under the grotesque arm of another and stabbed it through the chest. A winged harpy swooped down and Guts ducked before her talons could claw his face off. With rage and adrenaline-fueling him, Guts leapt and impaled the harpy through her back as she flew back up.

Pulling the tusk from her back, he then impaled it in the side of the giant fist to slow his fall. It partially worked. He still fell, but much slower than he would have, had he not tried to slow his descent. When he landed, he found himself not on a pile of faces, but in something warm. Something that was warm and red, and left a lingering taste of iron in his mouth.

Blood. He was in a pool of blood. Various body parts lay scattered, floating in the pool like ducks on a pond. Bones, hands, and feet, torsos, even heads. "Uaghhhhhhhhh!" He yelled a mix of horror and anger.

"Is anyone still alive?! Judeau! Pippin! Corkus! Harry!" His face begins to fall. "Cas…ca."

"Captain!" The voice was incredibly weak, but standing there in the pool of blood with him was Gaston. Most of his arm was missing, and he was using his sword as a crutch, but he was here, he was alive.

"Gaston!" Guts rushed over to his second. "You're alive!"

"Heheh," Gaston laughed weakly. "I don't feel it very much." The raider choked a sob. "C-captain, why is this happening? I don't know where anybody else is. I got separated from Pippin and Harry. I just want to go back to the good ol' days."

"Stop talking, save your strength!" Guts ordered. He helped Gaston stand on his feet. "Now c'mon, we can't be the only ones who've made it."

It happened almost in an instant. Gaston's face began to contort, his jaw moved at a weird angle like he had gotten kicked by a mule. His right eye closed whilst his left bulged, looking to break free. Blood freely ran from his eyes, mouth, and nose. Then his whole head exploded.

Gaston's blood splattered over Guts' face, adding to the amount of carnage that coated him. Sliding out from Gaston's body was an impish demon that hopped into the blood pool and laughed a hideous cackle as it slithered away "Kekekekekekekek!"

Guts picked up Gaston's fallen sword and stabbed at the demon as it slithered away. It escaped his blade, but not Harry's as the boy came rolling down a hill of faces to stab the imp demon. "Harry!" Guts grabbed the boy by his arm and helped him stand. He might not be in as bad a state as Gaston had been, but he looked utterly, physically exhausted.

"I…got it…" Harry said, referring to the demon he had just stabbed.

"It's dead," Guts affirmed. "How are you still standing?"

"How're…you?" Harry asked. "Everyone…everyone I don't know…"

A large shape manifested to their left. Standing on the band of the horrid blood pool was Pippin. He stood with his back straight, motionless like a small mountain made man. He didn't greet them, or make any notion that he even acknowledged the both of them, and Guts could tell that something was off. It was like he was already dead on his feet, and the only thing supporting him were the two thick tendrils that seemed to stem from his rigid back like strings on a marionette. Slowly his upper and lower began to separate themselves and were tossed into the pool alongside the pair of them. A giant sluggish apostle had been behind Pippin, working him, moving him like a puppet which had now been disposed of.

Then came the laughing. "Kuhuhuhuhu!" All around them, apostles surrounded them, brandishing various parts of former Hawks. Corkus' head was between the jaws of a succubus, Judeau resembled a human pincushion, and the sight of severed heads impaled upon teeth and claws looked down on them, the fear forever etched onto the faces of the dead.

"They all…" Harry looked ready to pass out.

Guts grinded his teeth and snarled. "Damn you all!" And they both spotted it. Near the base of the towering fist, a group of apostles were gathered. Suspended above them, completely naked, was Casca. Tendrils bound her arms and worked on moving her legs apart, lowering her closer and closer to a long, sharp point of an apostles horn. And they both snapped.

"RRAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" Guts yelled conveyed all of his frustration, his desperation, and an almighty unyielding rage, his blinding fury taking complete control over all of his senses. He cared not what happened to him, all that mattered was reaching her, reaching Casca.

He brandished Gaston's sword that would make even Zodd proud, as he hacked and slashed, cutting his way through any and all apostles that dared stand in his way. He was completely covered in blood by this point, but he kept pushing through. Miraculously, Harry seemed to find a renewed vigor as well for he was right on Guts' heels the entire time. His elf sword seemed to glow a bright fiery blue, to symbolize a fire burning inside of him. They were close now.

Guts found himself unable to move. He moved his feet, but something had got a hold of him. His left forearm was caught between the mighty jaws of an apostle. Harry noticed this and made a move to come and help him. "Guts-,"

"Get her!" Guts yelled at him, he began to stab his sword repeatedly against the strong steel-like jaws of the monster holding him in place. As long as he could get Casca, that was all that mattered.

Harry quickly picked up his pace, he was just a few feet away. He swung that sword of his, and a light seemed to ripple off the blade, striking the demon that suspended Casca. Getting ready to simply cut the creature down, Harry was stopped short when a winged apostle swooped down and tackled him. It's dagger-like talons sinking into the boy's leg, pinning him down.

Whatever the apostles were going to do next, they stopped short of. It was like a resonating beat could be heard that drew all attention to the giant clenched fist, which now had rivers of blood running up its length to resemble veins. Slowly, the fingers began to open to reveal a dark form crouched in the palm of the hand.

The demons instantly bowed their heads and began to chant as one. "Our prince. Our fifth blessed prince. Void, Slan, Ubik, Conrad, and now, the Wings of Darkness. Femto." Bat-like wings were spread, and it flew down from the palm, straight down to where the three of them were trapped. The wings made no noise as they beat against the air, silent as the dead of night.

Talon feet landed just in front of Guts and Harry and the new figure raised its head. It looked just as Griffith's hawk helm had, but now totally black along with the rest of its body. The leathery wings folded themselves to now act as a cape, but their attention was what lat behind that helmed head. Through the mouth and eyeholes, the pale flesh was visible, even paled than Griffith's had been. But where there should have been striking blue eyes-there was malicious looking red ones with slits for pupils.

Femto regarded the both of them for a moment and he moved his arm out to the side, an unspoken command for the apostle holding Casca to lower her right there. When she was within his reach, he cupped her chin. Then, his hand began to roam her body, trailing up her thigh to squeeze at her breast. His red eyes were focused solely on Guts.

Casca's eyes began to flutter open. "…Gri-ffith?" She got a look at the one touching her, and she seemed to know that this was not the Griffith she had known. His hand moved down, straight to between her legs. "…no."

Harry found the strength to swing his sword at what was transpiring before their eyes, and a jet of light seemed to spring from his blade like instinct. It was on a straight path for Femto, but all the demon prince had to do was turn his head and the light seemed to fizzle out and die. "Stop it!" Harry yelled at him. "Stop it!"

Guts continued to jab the sword against the jaws of the demon holding him in place until it broke, leaving only a bit of rough, jagged metal as his only means of escape. Casca continued to writhe before him, and Guts knew what he had to do. Taking the bit of the jagged sword, Guts stabbed it down onto his own arm, just below the elbow.

The Godhand watched from above. Slan seemed amused by Guts' efforts. Again and again, Guts stabbed into his own flesh, cutting through his skin, muscle, and bone. Intense pain like never before overloaded his senses, but he kept telling himself to block it out. Just block all of the pain out. His body tore away from the ruined remains of his left forearm.

Guts' face contorted, resembling a snarling, rabid dog with a thirst for blood. "GRIFFFFFIITTHHHH!" Guts roared as he rushed the new Godhand with a bleeding stump and a broken, jagged sword.

He didn't get far. Two winged harpies, similar to the one pinning Harry, swooped down and tackled him. A clawed hand grabbed a hold of his head, forcing it into a position where it could witness this event. Casca began to cry. "Don't look!" She pleaded.

Harry continued to struggle as well, the light flying from his sword was becoming less and less. "Stop… you were… our… friend. Stop…"

Guts cried as well, his tears a mixture of the feeling of helplessness, and pure unadulterated hatred for this man that he had once held in such high regard. How could he ever have wanted to be compared to a man-no, a monster like that? He began to see red in his right field of vision and realized that the demon's claw had pierced his eye.

"GHAAAHHHHHHH!" Guts let out one more yell, and the strength began to leave him. Casca's eyes were rolling to the back of her head, and she fell to the face covered ground, just out of his reach.

The apostles laughed at the sight of it all. "Hehekuheku!" And then they stopped. All eyes were now on the blackened sun above them. It was beginning to crack.

From it burst the Skull Knight. His horse jumped from the shattering eclipse and made a beeline straight for Void. Skull Knight stabbed at the Godhand, but a portal materialized in front of Void, and another behind Skull Knight, where his sword point exited. He blocked his own strike with his shield and fixed Void's sewed eyes with his glowing sockets.

Skull Knight made no other move to attack that Godhand member, but his glare conveyed the entire message that needed to be sent. He turned his attention below where the newly born Femto was.

As soon as his horse touched the ground, Femto clenched his fingers and a multitude of demons collided where he had landed. They began to congregate into a single formation, but he cut them all down, his sword practically a blur the way it moved.

Hurriedly, he cut the apostles holding Guts and Harry and picked them up on his horse, along with Casca. The eyes of Femto were on them, and his horse carried them back up, up to the shattered eclipse, and back to the land of the living. The Age of Darkness was about to begin.

Rickert watched as the whirlwind began to die down. Soon it would be gone completely. Zodd stood by, picking up his severed arm and reattaching it with ease. He was a true monster, but to think that the Skull Knight had been able to wound him like that-what did that say about his skills?

Speaking of which, emerging from the whirlwind, was the Skull Knight. Three other bodies were thrown across his saddle, and he handed them down to Rickert. "Their wounds are in need of attending. Hurry!"

Rickert nodded his head. "Y-yes sir!" Zodd approached them.

He snarled down at them. "Don't think that battle settled anything."

"Of course not," Skull Knight replied, "Immortal One. But perhaps consider delaying our next battle."

Zodd, surprisingly nodded. He caught sight of the three that had been rescued. "They survived? And that boy with the scar, I thought him already claimed."

"Perhaps this is a sign that that proves causality wrong then," Skull Knight retorted. And Zodd laughed.

"You should leave. Once this gate vanishes, they'll all be pouring out."

Skull Knight picked up Rickert and the three unconscious bodies and rode off. Zodd's eyes never left their retreating forms. "They survived. How interesting. Now show me; show me how you will all struggle. You are the branded."

The whirlwind had finally vanished, and Charlotte insisted that they ride for where it touched down. Anna, still as hesitant as ever, reluctantly agreed. The danger was past, but a growing sense of unease lingered within both of their senses.

"We're almost there!" Charlotte shouted to Anna, who was lagging behind a bit. "It's just over this hill!" the sight that greeted them was not a pleasant one. It was instead one that would haunt both girls dreams for years to come. It was a lake, a lake of blood.

Charlotte fell from her horse, and Anna loudly retched from the sight of it. The Band of the Hawk, how could this have happened? The result of this was by no twister, something had torn them apart, ripped and clawed to eviscerate them. But what? What had become of that boy Harry, of the sole woman Casca, of the swordsman Guts, of Griffith?

Horses were approaching. "Your Highness!" Anna yelled as the riders came over the hill. They held the banner of a chain design, the banner of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, and their leader looked to be a young teenage girl with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes. They noticed her and Anna.

"Vice commander Azan, please help the princess back up onto her horse." The girl ordered a squat man with a rather unique facial hair. Charlotte made no protest, her attention, much like the new girl's was focused on the lake of blood.

A young blonde man approached the leader of these knights. "A lake of blood, just as the scriptures from the Holy See predicted."

"We'll inform them of this no doubt," she replied. "For now, we'll see the princess back to safety at Windham. Her father has been most worried."

It was as if the world had come crashing down around her. It was all over. The Band of the Hawk, her freedom, everything.

There was light. It was faint, and he could only see out of his left eye. He opened it with a jolt, sitting upright in the cot that had been constructed for him. He faintly recognized this place, he was in a mine of sorts. "Guts!" A child's voice called his name. He turned his head to see Rickert and Erica, the daughter of Godo the smith. They each held a bucket of water.

He was in Godo's mine.

Rickert heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you're awake. It's been five days and we didn't know if you-," Guts gripped him by the shoulder.

"Casca. Where is Casca?"

Rickert's face fell. "Harry's watching her."

"He made it too?"

"Yeah, his leg is…you should lie down. Let us tend to you." Guts ignored the advice and headed to the sound of an underground waterfall. Harry was sitting in a chair, his leg in a cast as he looked out at the woman who was letting the water fall over her. She was wearing a shirt, but she would catch a cold if she stayed in there any longer.

"Harry?" Guts asked.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound fine. "You shouldn't go in after her."

"What are you talking about?" Guts asked as he waded his way through the shallow pool towards Casca. She had made it. She was safe. He reached out a hand to touch her. "Casca…"

She saw him, and she recoiled from his touch and retreated further into the pool. "Casca…what're you-?" He reached out again, and she nearly bit his thumb off. There was a feral look in her eyes, one that only a frightened animal could possess.

Casca began eliciting noises that sound like things a baby would make. "Ghaa! Nghh!" Guts stared at her in shock. Erica hopped in and got close to Casca, who seemed to calm in the young girls presence.

"Shame on you, Guts!" Erica lightly scolded. "Scaring poor Casca like that wasn't nice."

"She doesn't remember, Guts," Rickert joined them. "Everything that happened, you, me, Harry; she just doesn't remember. She's been acting like that since she woke up three days ago."

"No." Guts shook his head. "That's wrong." A look at Casca smiling as she splashed around with Erica only drove that nail further into him. "It can't be."

"Bwhaa! Bwhaaa!" Casca laughed like a baby when Erica let her out of the pool to dry her hair off.

He left. He walked up the path to the outside world, threw the door opened and began to sprint. It was over. It was all over. They were all dead, all of them. The only one's remaining were himself, Harry and Rickert, and Casca.

Casca.

Their faces all seemed to flash before his eye. Judeau, smiling that knowing smile off his. Pippin standing tall and strong. Even Corkus, with a sneer plastered on his face.

The farther and farther he ran, the more pain he felt, the more the anger built up inside of him, the more longing festered. He ran and ran; he would run until he could run no more. It had taken him so long, but he finally realized what his dream had been.

Back inside the cave, Harry watched as Casca got finished being dried by Erica. With his leg the way it was now, he could not move on his own without the use of a cane or walking stick. It was the price he had paid for trying to save her, and he would gladly cut his leg off it meant being able to go back in time to stop it all from happening.

Even with his magic acting up like it did back in the Eclipse, it still had not been enough. He had been useless, to Guts, to Casca, to everyone. Erica led Casca over to where he sat. "Do you want to entertain Casca?" She asked. "She's calmed down enough now."

Harry nodded, and the young girl left the two of them alone. "Casca?" Harry asked. She was too busy gnawing on her towel. He snatched it away from her, and she pouted, just like a child. "You really don't remember, so you?" She made no response. He hung his head in disappointment.

And he felt a hand be placed on top of his head, slowly rubbing circles in his hair in a calming sort of gesture. It reminded him of something the old Casca would do. He lifted his head to see her staring at his face, almost like she recognized him. "Casca?"

She smiled, and flicked him on his nose and then began to laugh like a child. "Huhuhuha!"

Harry hung his head once more and felt the tears mark their path down his face. It was all because of him. He had done this to her. A good person can do a bad thing, and still be a good person. As long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, then they're still a good person.

Those words, Judeau had said that to him when they had first met, right after he had killed his first man. Had it been easy for Griffith to sacrifice them like he had done? Maybe not, the Hawks had helped him along the way for so long; it couldn't have been an easy decision to make. But he had made it all the same. And Harry hated him for it.

The moon was full, Guts lay on his back, staring up at it as it cast its light down on him. Even through the rain, the moonlight was bright. "You have run a long way." He recognized that voice. He sat up to see the Skull Knight looking down from his horse at him. He tossed a sword at Guts' feet, Harry's sword. "Tell your friend not to drop that. But for now, you'll need it."

Before Guts could ask what he meant, a prickling in his neck occurred. He brought a finger up to where he had been branded to discover that it was bleeding. From the ground the fallen rain began to take shapes of ghosts, almost transparent because they were made of water, but their glowing eyes let him know that they held malicious intent.

"You have been branded, an offering to the damned. Your body exists in this physical plain, and the astral world. Your brand acts like a beacon for lost souls. They will try and possess you, kill you and take your body. Will you fight them?"

Guts snarled. "Shut the fuck up, you bonehead!" He used Harry's sword to strike a spirit. It cut through like butter. "If I get hit, I will hit back!" He slashed at more and more spirits. "That is my declaration of war!" A spirit burst from his strike. "This is my new dream!"

He readied himself for another one to charge at him, but the spirits froze, their attention was directed somewhere else, and they took off flying through the night. "They sense others with the same brand."

Guts' blood ran cold. "Harry…Casca… Take me back! I've got to go back!"

Skull Knight looked down at him, and with little effort pulled him up onto the saddle. "This is the second time I've carried you, Struggler." They rode off through the night.

A/N: That's the end of this chapter. It seemed fitting to upload this on Halloween, and I know that this sticks mainly to the manga material, but next chapter will start to differ. And if anyone was curious, I did use the name Femto after the birth instead of Griffith, becasue I believe them to be two different characters. Femto just being the incarnation of all the negative emotions of Griffith. Thank you for reading.