Reviews:
Necrogod: No problem, thank you for reading.
Greer123: He's on his way to being a badass this chapter. I will continue drawing parallels between the both of them. Glad to see you are enjoying.
Pyromania101: You're right, Guts and Harry will meet up once again, I have that moment planned out.
Devilboy101: Thank you, I'm happy to see that you enjoy.
Guest: Thank you, glad you think so.
Raikaguken: I didn't enjoy that moment, and I tried to make it much tamer than in the manga.
Albatross079: Thanks, here it is.
Energy-the-hedgehog: Harry will be back in the HP-verse at one point that I have planned out, but that's not for a while yet. And I have a few ideas planned for Draco too.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
He was being followed, that much was certain. The sounds of an extra pair of boots squashing their way through the muddy path were discernible enough, even with the falling rain. This had been going on for about the last five minutes or so. If it was a fight that they were looking for he wasn't going to object. Last night had been a fight for survival against possessed corpses, this would be no different. It was just another enemy to defeat.
He stopped walking, and the one following stopped as well. With his hood covering his head, he craned his neck just enough to get a look at the one who had been tailing him. It was a squat man; bald and wearing only a pair of breeches that were unbefitting of the current weather. The man didn't seem to mind however as he had an ever-present grin on his face.
The man pointed a knobby finger at him. "Put your hood down. I want to see it with my own eyes."
Reaching up, he humored the request and rain now pattered on his black hair. The brand on the side of his neck was trailing a thin line of blood as if it had reacted to this man's presence being near. "Any other requests, stranger?"
The man shook his head. "Only to express regret." His eyes began to shine with a yellowish light and his voice seemed to be getting lower with every spoken syllable. "Regret of having missed the Great Eclipse!"
His appearance began to change. Where once there stood a short man, there was now a hulking behemoth that stood over seven feet in height. The man's grinning face was still present but was now at the top of his head. Sprouting where his face had been was a second pair of jaws with a pair of boar-like tusks, and the lips pulled into a maniacal grin even more unsettling than he had on before. An apostle.
"Ah. This is so much better. My legs are so stumpy in my human form." He now pointed at him with a large meaty finger. "It seems fate is on my side. For me to stumble across someone bearing a brand… my angels are truly smiling down at me!"
"I take it you're planning on eating me?" his voice betrayed no hint of emotion.
"That's the idea. Human flesh is scrumptious after all." The apostle tore up the muddy earth on a beeline straight for where he stood. He didn't move; this was exactly what he wanted. The sight of one of those freaks so soon after the Eclipse, it added fuel to the fire that had been burning in him ever since that fateful day, and that anger pushed him forward as well.
As the two combatants neared one another, the apostle clawed his hands, ready to grab hold of him. But the larger blade in Guts' grasp gave him the advantage. Dragonslayer. The sword had performed exceptionally well last night as it tore through multiple corpses at once. The sheer size, length, and width of the blade were unlike any other of its make. Godo could call it a waste all he wanted, but this sword was made to kill dragons. But there were no dragons in Midland, so demonic apostles would make for a good substitute.
Guts let out a roar to rival the sound of thunder brewing above, his face contorted into a fierce snarl, and his one remaining eye shown with the ferocity of a mad animal. He burrowed Dragonslayer into the shoulder of the apostle, whose arms and hands were unable to reach Guts with his sword keeping it at bay. "Ahhhooooo!" the apostle howled in pain caused by Dragonslayer.
Pulling the blade free, Guts quickly changed his stance and brought Dragonslayer down to sever one of the apostle's arms. Thick, hot, dark red blood spurted out to turn the small puddles of rainwater into something much fouler. "You bastard! Do you know how long that will take to heal?!"
"No." Guts said, uncaringly. "But I know how long it'll take to kill you. Want me to count?"
Dragonslayer was a blur as it cut through the air and the apostle's stomach. A twisted mass of pink intestines fell clumped together with the mud. "One. Two." A horizontal swing saw a leg being lopped off just above the knee. "Three." He jammed Dragonslayer back into the already wounded shoulder, pinning the apostle to the ground. "Four. Five."
The twisted smile the apostle had once worn was now gone, replaced by an expression that he clearly had forgotten about for some time; fear. "Don't-!" Whatever pleas the apostle had been going to utter, had been completely cut off by the massive blade that was Dragonslayer being driven straight through his mouth, splitting his head in half. The apostle lay there, dead. The first of many that would fall victim to the Black Swordsman.
Guts pulled Dragonslayer free and put the blade back on his back. "Six."
The rain had finally relented after a night of heavy downpour. The tree branches still dripped with water down on the corpse-laden ground. It had been a night of exhaustion for Harry once the sun had set. It began with the brand on the left side of his neck prickled and bled. Not long after, several possessed corpses had risen to antagonize him. There must have been a battle site or grave pile nearby for the spirits to have reanimated them from. Whatever the case, he wasn't about to stay in the same place for much longer.
The sky above seemed to mirror what he was feeling, an overall gloomy and cloudy day with a bit of a chill in the fresh morning air. Even the woods in which he found himself seemed less open and inviting than they had been when he and Guts parted ways. In about an hour's time, he would be clear of these woods and back on the path heading towards Windham. His destination lied north of the capital, near a mountainous path.
The metal brace was hidden by his pant leg creaking a bit as he slowly picked himself up. After defeating the reanimated corpses, Harry had tried to get as much sleep as he could, which wasn't a lot, three or four hours at most. It was hard to sleep, for whenever he closed his eyes he just saw giant, benevolent faces sneering down at him; a pool of blood scattered with eviscerated bodies, all under a black sun.
His stomach rumbled, his body tired from last night's fight. Passing by a nearby bush, he picked himself a handful of blueberries to break his fast. It wasn't much, but it would hold him over until he came to the nearest town or village. He could try to get some proper food there before moving on before night fell once more. But until that happened, he continued to pick berries from nearby bushes.
But as he picked from the last bush, little alarms seemed to go off inside of his head. He ducked down, just low enough to see beyond the bush. The smoldering remains of a campfire were stomped out by a slim individual. Through the shrubbery, Harry could discern that the man wore very light clothes that would befit someone who lived in a very hot environment, completely different from the weather in Midland today. Two more pairs of feet became visible to him; these ones were much bulkier.
They took a knee before the slim one. "Master Silat, the search for Rakshas was a failure."
Silat? It hit him. That was the name of the Kushan who had raided their camp before they set out to rescue Griffith. What was he still doing in Midland? Why hadn't he gone back home to the east?
Although Harry couldn't see Silat's face, he could tell by the tone of voice he was less than pleased. "Of course. He's a slippery one, always has been. Emperor Ganiska would have recognized us greatly if we had presented him with Rakshas' head on a platter. Tell me, what of our pursuit of the rest of the Band of Hawk?" Harry tensed.
"We've heard reports, master. They say that Princess Charlotte was abducted by a few of their members and then later found by a lake of blood. By all accounts, they seem to have been wiped out."
Not all of us.
Silat's tone did not seem convinced. "Perhaps; but I doubt it. I had the liberty of exchanging blows with some of them during our brief encounter. They were strong, that one swordsman was strong."
"Master Silat, forgive me, but you often boast of your prowess in battle. Comparing yourself to them is hardly a fitting-," Harry saw Silat's leg move as fast as the wind, coming up and then down on the head of the man who spoke.
"Forgive me," Silat sneered, "but last I checked I was the one in charge of the Bakiraka. And this foolish King of Midland still believes there to be survivors out there. If we were to present that fool with the head of just one of their members, then he might be persuaded o grant us legal doctrine here in this country." They were exiles.
The man who Silat had struck was quick to beg for forgiveness and kiss his masters' feet. "I apologize for my outburst. I will never let it happen again." Silat did not strike him again.
"I know that you won't. There are too few of us left to bicker amongst ourselves."
"Except for Rakshas?"
Silat nodded. "He is the exception. Come. Pack up our gear and continue on along the road." The small pack of Kushans quickly worked to deconstruct their temporary campsite and follow after Silat, and for a minute they passed so close to the bush where Harry observed that he feared that he would be exposed. Thankfully he wasn't, and the Bakiraka continued along their path.
He waited, and waited until the soft footsteps of Silat and his gang became less and less audible before he came out of his hiding spot. He hadn't given Silat much thought after their brief encounter, more so out of everything else that had happened after than anything else. The Kushan mercenary still seemed to carry himself with an aura of superiority, boasting about his skills in battle. Harry had gotten more than adept at swordplay, but if he had been discovered, would he have been a match for the Kushan? He had a hidden blade in his walking stick that could give him the advantage, but that probably wouldn't have been enough.
Wait-what was he doing, thinking about stuff like that? It didn't matter. All that mattered to him right now was getting to his destination. If he got there, he could properly learn magic, and after that-Casca might be able to be saved.
He continued along his way through the forest until it gave way to the open road. The tree line now kept to the side instead of encircling the entire area. If Harry kept to this main road he could reach his destination possibly within a few days. And that was without the supernatural attacks that would undoubtedly happen at night.
Walking, he passed by another sign pointing in Windham's direction. Doing so, Harry couldn't help but think of what became of Princess Charlotte. Odds are that she had been apprehended after the Eclipse and returned back to the castle. He considered making the capital a pit stop to possibly bust her out but then thought better of it. With him being branded, he would have to fight to protect her life as well as his own.
A rolling cloud let loose the last minute rain, and Harry pulled his hood up; his hair was messy enough as it was. But a little rain and bad hair were looking to be the least of his troubles. The road ahead was crowded with knights.
They were in a circular formation, surrounding a few individuals. Keeping his hood up, Harry kept walking to the side of the road; these knights didn't need to be fought. As he walked he was able to see the knights were captained by three men, two of which Harry had encountered before. There was the blonde Sir Owen and the well-trimmed beard of Sir Laban. The third man, however, was a complete unknown. His face was long like a horse or a monkey, with lips too small to cover his large teeth. Instead of armor like many knights wore, he dressed more in tribal furs with a black wolf pelt that covered the top of his head.
Altogether the knights numbered close to thirty. Thirty surrounding three persons who Harry had just observed in the forest. Silat and his two muscle covered henchmen had not gotten far, and they looked none too happy about it. "Is there a problem, Noble Knights of Midland?" Silat asked his voice full of sarcasm.
Sir Laban trotted his horse forward and presented the Kushan with a sealed document. "A warrant for the arrest of any and all Bakiraka clan members."
Silat didn't bother to open it. "And what of our deal with your king to capture all remaining Hawk members?"
"His Majesty was displeased with your first failed attempt. He now has Midland's royal army pursuing that objective." Laban did not sound too enthused by the prospect.
"Then we hunt the same prize," Silat told him. "If you allow me and my subordinates to walk away free we would be most grateful. Our Emperor Ganishka might even extend his regards."
"I don't much care for your insinuations," Laban narrowed. "There doesn't need to be any trouble so long as you comply peacefully."
The man wearing the pelt let loose a chuckle that fully exposed his large animal like teeth. "Where's the fun in that, Laban? The men I brought with me haven't seen a battle in such a long time. Why not slaughter these guys?" Harry saw that the few men that he had compared to the larger formation of knights were eyeing their leader rather nervously.
Laban and Owen turned their attention to their third captain. "And there is a good reason for that, Wyald."
"We've both heard the rumors," Owen said to this Wyald. "What you and your men did to that unfortunate town; to those women."
Wyald seemed to brush their concerns away. "I suspected they were harboring Chuder spies. We were at war, remember?"
"They were still citizens of Midland," Laban's voice was laced with a dangerous undertone. Silat and his two cronies started edging away, but Laban spotted them. "Stay where you are!"
Smirking, Wyald said, "You see? Give them the opportunity and they'll escape causing who knows what sort of danger." The knights looked at him regarding the hypocrisy. "If the king really wants them alive, then he's more senile than I thought."
Laban and Owen unsheathed a bit of steel. "Careful. He is still our king, and your words are sounding treasonous." It was clear they were looking for any excuse to apprehend Wyald as well. Harry quickened his pace past the lot of them. And the brand on his neck began to prickle. Wyald, who had been smirking a second ago, now seemed on high alert; his eyes drifting to Harry's wandering from. Eyes that had slits for pupils.
He hopped down from his horse, brandishing not a sword, but a wooden club. "Hey, you!" Wyald called after him. Harry kept walking. He heard Wyald growl at being blatantly ignored. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"
The scar on his forehead began to prickle in pain as well, and a voice seemed to say, He is one of them. He needs to die. He walked a few more paces.
"Are you deaf and stupid?!" Wyald shouted. "When the leader of the Black Dog Knights talks to you, you stop and listen." Black dog Knights. The name was distantly familiar; he had heard it spoken once in a conversation between two sentries the night he snuck into the Hawk's camp. "Why don't you take off that hood? Let me see where you got branded."
Owen looked at Wyald with disdain. "Wyald, get back on your horse. Let the traveler be-,"
"-Shut up." Wyald snapped. "You and your men want to keep those filthy Kushan alive, fine. But don't you deny me this bit of fun." He finished with a scowl that seemed more animalistic than most animals could make. "Show me it. Show me your brand." His yellow slit eyes seemed to glow like a miniature inferno.
"Enough, Wyald!" Laban commanded. "We have a task before us, and that does not include harassing travelers." The Kushan tried slipping away once more. "Stay where you are!"
"Wyald!" Owen shouted.
"Show me your brand!"
"Men, keep the Kushan from escaping. Wyald! Get back on your horse!"
"Show me the brand!" His teeth were becoming longer, sharper. "I missed the Eclipse, too caught up in my own little fun."
"Wyald!"
"Wahhhhhhaahhhaahhh!"
Before all of their eyes, Wyald had begun to change. His torso was cut off midway, and now a part of a giant apish body. Snowy white fur covered his revealed apostle form, and a giant mouth was present on his apostle form's chest and an eye was situated just above that. On his shoulders, there was an eye each as well. Harry drew his sword, Sirs Laban and Owen nearly fell off their horses like some of their men had as well. Silat and his Kushan looked ready to bolt but were too paralyzed by fear to move. The few men that Wyald had brought with him seemed extremely apprehensive about this like they knew all along he was capable of becoming this.
Now fully transformed, Wyald flexed some of his giant, meaty fingers to get a feel for them. "S'been such a long time since I transformed, feels weird. But who cares? This is bound to be fun."
With little warning, Wyald slammed one of his massive ape fists down onto the ground where Harry had been, who had barely managed to roll out of the way in time. Wyald reached to grab him instead, but Harry was more prepared this time around and landed a cut across the apostles' palm. Thick, dark droplets of blood fell from the cut and instead of sneering or cursing; Wyald brought his hand up to the mouth on his torso to lick at his wound. He smiled on both his human face located where the head would have been and in the torso mouth.
Turning to address his own men, Wyald gave them a command. "You boys do what you want with those knights. I have my own little bit of fun right here. Anyone asks any questions-blame it on the Kushan." With that, the Black Dog Knights charged both Owen and Laban's group of knights; their fear of their leader greater than that of dying in battle.
With the knights otherwise preoccupied, Wyald turned his attention once again to Harry. The apostle brought both his meaty hands together in a clap motion, which would have flattened him like a pancake had he not let his legs fall and roll under the attack. With his position now lower to the ground, Harry managed to stab Wyald in his kneecap. The apostle smiled at him before kicking him back.
It was like being hit by a truck. Harry felt himself bite his own tongue as he was sent rolling back, he dropped his sword but managed to hold onto his walking stick; mud covering his cloak and clothes and by the time he stopped, the sky was a swirling mass above him. What he was able to feel was the large hand of Wyald grab him by his leg and hoist him up to level with the mouth on his torso.
"What? Is that it?" He sounded disappointed. "I thought this was going to so much more fun. Oh well. Better to have a little fun, than no fun at all." Harry saw the mouth draw closer and felt the hot, rancid breath emanate from Wyald's gaping maw. He was without his sword, but not without his walking stick. Pulling it in half, Harry unsheathed the hidden blade and jabbed it into the eye above Wyald's maw. "Yeaoooww!"
Wyald dropped him as both his hands moved to cover his danged eye. Harry took the opportunity to pick up his fallen sword, roll between Wyald's legs and cut the tendon of his left leg. His elven sword glowed a deep blue when Wyald's blood touched the blade. "You slippery little sonuva whore!" Before Wyald could turn around to grab at him once more, a metal disk came flying through the air, cutting across one of the eyes on Wyald's shoulders. The disk flew back to Silat, who caught it around his finger. Wyald scowled at him next. "Fucking Kushan!"
A spear was thrown and stuck in the back of Wald's leg. Both Harry and Wyald turned to see that Sir Laban and Sir Owen's knights had completely overwhelmed Wyald's forces, and now set their sights on the apostle. "Kill it!" Sir Laban ordered. More spears were tossed and crossbow's fired.
The assault only seemed to further enrage Wyald. The apostle picked up a knight and tore him completely in half, letting the entrails fall to the ground. He then grabbed two men and used them to beat the ground like a drummer. Their mangled corpses were tossed aside as he stomped another man underfoot, before biting another in two. At the rate he was going, all the knights would be wiped out completely.
"Hey!" Harry yelled at him. "You wanted to fight me, remember?! Come on! I'll show you the most fun you'll ever have!" He took off for the tree line to the side of the road. Fighting something like Wyald in the open would just get everyone killed.
A dark shadow passed over Harry, who almost didn't duck to the side as the projectile came crashing down. The horse that had been thrown let out a dying neigh before going limp. "Come back here!" Wyald yelled as he tossed another horse at Harry, who continued to run to the woods. With his one tendon cut and the other playing host to a spear, Wyald charged forth on his fists like an angry gorilla. Harry worked to pick up his pace, running as fast as the brace on his leg would allow him.
Spotting a nook between some exposed tree roots, Harry nosed dived for it and took shelter. The color of his cloak and the mud covering it from his fall helped him blend it into the surrounding. Why hide? The voice seemed to speak, and his forehead burned. He is wounded. Fight him. Fight him or he will kill all of them back on the road. It will be like before during the Eclipse.
The sound of wood snapping brought Harry back to reality, and he felt a gush of wind and the feeling of wood rake its way across his back, drawing blood. Wyald had arrived brandishing a tree branch fit for an apostle of his size and was swinging it around; he hadn't discovered Harry yet. "Come out, you little bastard. You promised me fun, are you really going to hide?" Wyald began to patrol the area, his back was to Harry.
How does he beat this guy? His apostle from is huge, not as big as Zodd's but still big. Stabbing at his apostle body had done little lasting damage to Wyald, with the exception of his eyes. The one part of his body that hadn't been damaged was-Harry's eyes traveled to the human torso that was in place of where the head would have been on that body. But how to reach it? Wyald swung his branch around some more, yelling profanities as he did. Watching him gave Harry an idea; a stupid idea that only Guts would follow through with.
Silently, Harry removed himself from his hiding spot and began to climb up the nearest tree. He had to be extra cautious because his metal brace creaked with each movement of his leg. When he reached a high enough branch, he shimmied along until he was above Wyald, who was growing increasingly more frustrated below.
"Come out already! This isn't fun, this is just annoying! Maybe I should go back and finish off those knights; at least they'll have the balls to die on their feet."
"Not fun enough?" Harry asked from above. As expected, Wyald looked up to where he was; and Harry let himself fall down. With his sword held in front of him, and gravity working with him, Harry drove the sword point straight through the human torso of Wyald. The apostles' face began to twitch and he coughed up blood straight into Harry's face. But he wasn't dead yet.
Wyald found the strength to buck around like a bull, trying to shake Harry and the sword free. Harry's legs tried to regain their footing on the apostle body, but with Wyald's wild jerking, that became increasingly more difficult and he was forced to hold on with his hands as tight as possible.
"Get off already!" Wyald bellowed, finally grabbing Harry and tossing him off after giving the boy a squeeze that probably broke one of his ribs. Both of them fell to the ground, injured, but still both alive.
Harry was able to get to his feet first, using his walking stick; he limped over to Wyald, who still struggled to rise. The blow Harry dealt with his exposed human half must have done more damage than he anticipated. Wyald tried to push himself back up as Harry climbed onto his back, moving up to get at his human torso once more.
"Wait. Angel…Ubik, save me…help me…" Wyald pleaded for the Godhand to appear. "There's still so much fun I haven't enjoyed."
"I know who you're talking about," Harry said, sword raised above him. "And they won't help you. That's not what they do." He stabbed his sword through the human head of Wyald, and the giant apostle went limp beneath him. Now, he was dead.
"They went through this way!" one of the knights shouted as Sir Laban and Sir Owen followed after. In all the excitement that had transpired, the knights of Midland had been slow to react to Wyald turning into…whatever monster he had become. He and that traveler had run off somewhere into the woods, and they were following the large tracks Wyald had made through the forest.
All of them had their weapons out and ready; they didn't need that thing to massacre them. "Up ahead!" Sir Owen shouted. What they discovered was not the corpse of the traveler, but the body of an old man, naked and with a sword wound through the back of his head. Upon closer look, the old man shared many of the same facial features Wyald had. Was this what Wyald looked like all along? And what of that traveler?
"Search the area!" Laban ordered. "If you find that traveler, bring him back alive for questioning." The knights affirmed his command and spread out in the search. Sir Owen was kneeling by the corpse of the old man. "What do you make of that, Owen?"
"It looks like Wyald, but far older." So, he sees the resemblance too. "The traveler did this?"
"The only one else it could have been was the Kushan, but they escaped during the chaos. Something about what Silat had said about Emperor Ganishka granting them his favor didn't sit right with him. Perhaps an envoy should be sent to Kushan lands to instill better relations. " It was hard to admit, but it very well could have been that traveler. And something about him made Laban feel he had encountered that individual somewhere before, he just couldn't put a finger on it. "When we return to the capital, we'll have to take any remaining Black Dog Knights into custody for questioning."
Owen nodded. "Yes, the men Wyald brought with him today seemed to know he could turn into that…thing. The king should be alerted at once."
"He should, but with his obsession over the Band of the Hawk, it is unlikely anything will be done about it, and this raises some very serious questions."
"Like how he was able to turn into that monster?" Owen supplied.
"Yes, that. But remember back to the war with Chuder. The Band of the Hawk encountered Nosferatu Zodd and claimed he had transformed into some kind of great demon."
Sir Owen's eyes widened. "You mean-?"
"-There might be others in Midland who can do the same."
They called her The Angel, or at least the bartender had. And with her blonde hair and pale skin, she fit the image. She would frequent the tavern on occasion, arriving by herself but always leaving with a man as an escort. She sat alone at a table, drinking not alcohol, but water. Many men clamored over each other to sit next to her or offering to buy her a drink.
One man made little effort to hide his intentions and resorted to making rather lewd comments to her. She had the decency to look abolished by his remarks, and that was when he found his face being slammed down on the table. The one who had done the smashing looked down at him with a fierce glare in his single brown eye.
"Ow! I dink you broke muh nothse!" he said with a few teeth missing. The woman looked up at her apparent rescuer.
"Thank you." She told him, he nodded.
"This place is getting a bit crowded," he observed. "Want to leave?"
She looked at the man writhing in pain on the floor. "Yes."
They left the tavern behind and walked out to the setting sun. "You know, I don't think a simple thank you can convey my gratitude."
"What did you have in mind?" he kept his voice as even as he could.
"Well… my profession. I'm a-,"
"-Whore." She nodded. "Alright, I get what you're implying."
"It wouldn't cost you," she told him. "You did save me back there. Are you staying at the inn?"
"No. I set up camp in the woods outside the town. We can go there. Is that a problem?"
She smiled. "No, no problem."
He started a fire to warm them, and she began to undress. She had been eying Dragonslayer ever since the bar, so he took that and the rest of his gear off and rested them against a tree. It wouldn't do to frighten her and get her worried. She might take off because of it. "Is that a tattoo on your neck?" she observed. "Where did you get it?"
Wouldn't you like to know? "Doesn't matter," he took off the rest of his clothes, and she spread her legs for him. He initially made no move, so she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
Her smile grew wide and then sharp as she began to change shape before Guts' eye. She had a gaping maw of razor-sharp teeth, long clawed arms which lightly pierced his back, and her legs became longer and covered with hard scales like a lizard.
"Ha! Now you're trapped!" she said in victory. Which was why her smile faltered when Guts smiled back at her, equally as cruel and malevolent.
"You're the one who's trapped, bitch!" he moved his prosthetic hand in front of her gaping mouth. Using his teeth, he pulled on a string attached to the replacement arm, the metal hand folded down and then-KABOOOOM!
Firing with such force, the built-in canon tore through her face, leaving it a more disgusting mess than what she had transformed into when becoming an apostle. It was also great enough to almost knock his shoulder out of the socket, had Guts not prepared himself for it.
With the apostle slain, Guts donned his armor and weapon once more, setting off into the night as the demonic spirits would come for him once again. They would fall just as that apostle had done, more victims for the Black Swordsman.
A/N: So the fight with Wyald happened this chapter instead of before the Eclipse, I just wanted to change the circumstances regarding the fight as oposed to just leaving it out. Thank you for reading.