Reviews:

Necrogod: No problem. As for bashing the magical world, some actions taken by certain characters will be called into question when the time comes, but I wouldn't exactly call it bashing. And when it comes to Voldemort, I would probably just have his body restored instead of additional powers like you said.

PrometheusDark: I'm happy that you enjoyed the read so far. As for any ship regarding Harry, I had a few ideas and Schierke is definitely one of them, if not the lead.

3elizabeth: There is definitely going to be drama when Harry returns. As for when it happens, there is still a ways to go, and I have put in hints of how it will happen in previous chapters.

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

As it turned out, Puck did not have to fly far to find where Guts was. He fluttered above the courtyard as he watched a fresh battalion of guards come rushing into the castle. "Intruder!" one of them yelled, no doubt referring to Guts. The Black Swordsman had probably already snuck in but made no attempt to hide his presence once inside. Making sure to take more precaution than Guts, Puck stealthily followed after them.

Following the guards took him through the front entrance of the castle, this time entering it as a helper as opposed to being a caged pet. "Agh!" a cry of pain sounded from further inside. Puck flew up to the ceiling as a severed limb flew through the air, landing just in front of the group of guards that he had been tailing.

"He's made it further in the castle!"

"He must be trying to get to the Lord Count! We must hurry!" they ascended a flight of stairs to where a door had been all but blown right off the hinges. Before they could even draw steel, a massive blade cut through the four of them with such mastery that their steel plate armor could do nothing more but to fold like paper. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in Puck's mind who that could be. He quickly flew into the next room to discover that it had already become a bloodbath.

Corpses laid strewn about like ragdolls in a child's bedroom, some of them not even fully intact. Heads, arms, legs, there were enough lying around to build an entire person. And in the middle of the chaos and gore stood the Black Swordsman; his expression like an immovable mountain and lone eye fixated on a door that lay beyond another squad of castle guards. The brand on his neck seemed to bleed more the longer he stared at the door that lied beyond.

"Crossbowmen, ready!" a line of guards kneeled and took aim at Guts. "Fire!" as the volley neared, Guts raised Dragonslayer in front of him, the blunt side poised in position. The arrows shattered helplessly against the steel blade. The captain of the guard began to panic. "Reload! Spearmen, skewer him!"

As the crossbowmen loaded a fresh batch of arrows, another group of soldiers charged forth towards Guts. With the spears closing in, Guts waited before ducking underneath the attack. Dragonslayer moved, cutting off six pairs of legs before coming up and cutting the men across their chests. More blood was spilled.

"Hurry! Kill that man!" the captain yelled. A large guard with a mace and heavy shield approached. He swung the mace, missing just short of Guts' face. Before the guard could swing again, Guts had already brought Dragonslayer down to split the shield in two, even going so far as to shatter a few bones in the man's arm in the process. Guts brought Dragonslayer up again, this time splitting steel metal in half as opposed to a wooden shield. The guard was cut in half from shoulder to hip, dropping dead and adding, even more, blood to the stained stone tiles.

Guts then charged the line of crossbowmen, which dropped their ranged weapons in favor of close quarter's swords. They made no difference anyway, not up against a blade like Dragonslayer. Their swords could have been made from balsa wood compared to the slab of iron crafted by Godo. Their corpses only added to the twisted entanglement of bodies lay strewn across the castle floor.

The captain of the guard was all that remained, but the stonewall look on Guts' face told the story that there was no escape. Dragonslayer impaled the captain straight through, even shattering the wooden door which he had been standing guard over. And through the shattered remains of the door laid a chamber of immense size. It was as long as a training yard and lined with stone pillars running the length to where a throne was set atop a few carved steps. That was where the Count sat, looking un-amused and uncaring at the devastation Guts had wrecked on his property and soldiers. "So you have come for me, Black Swordsman."

Guts flicked some off the blood that stained Dragonslayer. "You're a hard man to reach, Count." He more or less spat out the last part.

The Count gave a coy smile and spread his heavyset arms. "Well, I would hate to have kept you waiting. Come, do the deed that you set out to accomplish." Guts stared him down as he took a step toward the Count, who made no move to try and escape or call for more help. He took another step, and then another, eventually, he was nearly within spitting distance of the throne. The Count had a content smile spread along his pudgy face. Not liking the sight of it, Guts readied Dragonslayer and thrust it down to the tiled floor, splitting some of the stone and striking a tendril mass of slimy flesh.

"Hmm," the Count grinned. "You sensed where part of my form was concealed. I'll admit, I wanted to see how honed your skills were in such a field. You'll be pleased to know that they are quite exceptional." The Count tossed aside his lavished robes to reveal a putrid mass of molted green and brown flesh that extended through his throne and into the floor where Guts had stabbed. Standing from the throne, the Count began to change. All of his skin began to turn the same sickly shade of green and brown, with an additional layer of slime. Two stalks protruded from the side of the Count's head which opened to reveal a second pair of eyes. From under his second chin, a large lipless and toothy maw came into being, with the Count's actual face resting just above it. He wormed his way free of the confines of the stone floor to reveal the rest of his true apostle form; something akin to a large slug.

Two large paws of sorts un-tucked themselves from the side of his slug-like body and helped the Count to move more freely. "It feels like it's been so long since I've been able to move around like this. But you, Black Swordsman, you are one who merits my true might be unleashed." With his fleshy paws moving him along, the Count made a straightforward charge towards Guts.

He leveled the point of Dragonslayer with the floor, waiting until the Count approached before taking his swing. The strike was on point, slicing through one of the Count's fleshy paws as if it were cheese. But the Count had picked up enough momentum that he did not come to a halt until he neared the door Guts had entered in. Thick, dark blood oozed from the open wound Guts had dealt. The face above the gaping maw formed into a grin.

"You handle your sword well – not that I'm surprised. But, did you know that your one hit means nothing to me?" from his wound, slime began to secrete seeming to cauterize it. Soon enough, the paw had grown back in place. The apostle Count gave a deep chuckle. "My powers of regeneration are second only to that of Nosferatu Zodd!" a fleshy flap opened on the Count's back, and two tendrils came wriggling into existence. "Now allow me to take the offensive."

The tendrils scraped their way across the ceiling, raining debris and dust down on the two combatants. Guts rolled out of the way of the first and cut the second off at the head before turning his body around to cut the other. Both fell, writhing to the floor, looking to reattach themselves to their host body – a body which was barreling straight towards Guts. The Count had planned to distract him with the tendrils while he made the advance.

Poising Dragonslayer at his side, Guts narrowly made the jump to avoid the charge, and just barely succeeded in slicing the Count in what must be considered to be his stomach area. Much like the first time, an oozing layer of slime secreted from the apostle body to seal off the wound Guts had dealt. "Fufufu! Have you learned nothing?" the Count twisted his body to mimic the slithering of a snake, striking a blow to Guts and knocking him to the side. Two fresh tendrils sprouted from the back of the apostle. One wrapped around Guts' leg and tossed him into one of the pillars lining the chamber. Needing to take time to improve his strategy, Guts quickly ducked behind one of the pillars before the other tendril could come whipping down on him. "Running away to hide?" the Count tauntingly asked. "I expected so much more from you."

Guts did reemerge, with Dragonslayer on his back and crossbow mounted on his arm. Bolts fired as fast as he could crank the lever, some of which the Count was able to swat out of the air like flies, and some managed to hit their mark like the one that struck one of the eyestalks growing from the side of his head. The Count gave a cry of agony, his tendrils wildly whipping about. Seeing a moment of opportunity, Guts charged the Count. He had been paying attention how long it took for the Count to regenerate – he was fast, but not as fast as he liked to think he was. With the time allotted to him, Guts jumped onto the back of the giant slug and drove Dragonslayer into the apostle's back.

"Raaaaggghhhh! You vermin!" the Count yelled. "Get off of me!" Guts withdrew Dragonslayer, ready to impale the Count through the back of his head, but he was stopped short when one of the tendrils wrapped around his leg once more. Guts was torn off of the Count and slammed into the floor repeatedly. The constant tossing around caused the behelit Guts had stored on his person to come flying free. "You truly thought that you could defeat me?! I feed on the flesh of degenerates like you, what chance does a mere man have against the powers granted by the forces of destiny?!" a second tendril came whipping down on Guts as he attempted to rise to his feet. "You're just like a heretic. No matter how much you are beaten, you still find a way to get under my skin!" before the tendril could whip down, a blue blur flew at incredible speeds – straight into one of the Count's eye stalks. "Yeow! Now what?"

Hovering in front of the Count was a very cross looking Puck. "Just what's the big idea, huh?! At the rate you're going, the both of you are going to wind up destroying this whole castle! You have a daughter living in one of the towers; have you thought what might be going on with her?"

"She let you out, I assume? A shame. I hoped for you to be her companion, she is much too lonely. But she has nothing to fear from me. Once I rid the world of this Black Swordsman all will be right again. No one will ever again threaten the safety of my land."

"Good luck with that," Puck scoffed. "This one's much too stubborn to just die. And you're wrong. Whatever it is you hope to go back to, it isn't going to happen. Your daughter is terrified of you because of what you've done. Killing more people is only going to make things worse in your case."

The Count gave a condescending smile. "Silly little elf with your honey words. What does an insignificant creature like you know about the act of killing?"

Puck shrugged. "Not much. But I do know people. And I know with all the noise and ruckus you two have been causing is enough to attract the attention of a curious child."

A shriek of terror sounded from the threshold of the chamber. Standing there terrified out of her mind at the monstrous form before her was the Count's daughter – Theresa. The Count's demeanor changed almost instantly. "Theresa, sweetheart. I-I understand that this is your first time seeing me like this, but it is still I, your father." His apostle form lumbered toward her causing the girl to squeal in terror once more. He stopped, seeing that shock had taken hold of her. In her eyes, he was as much a monster as he looked; and that hurt more than any damage Guts could have dealt with his sword.

"F-father…?" she looked at him as if to see him once again as she had always known him, not the monstrous form that towered above. Her presence could have been a hindrance, but Guts recognized an area of opportunity when one was presented to him. His left arm was poised upward, and with a pull of the string, the hidden canon fired its hidden shot.

Babooom!

"Neagghh!" the Count screamed as a portion of his neck and face was blown off by the force of the canon. Hefting Dragonslayer once more, Guts swung down right where his canon shot had struck the Count. No amount of regeneration could heal the apostle in time before the massive blade sliced through the slimy remains of his neck. A large portion of his head fell to the floor – eyes still blinking; alive, but barely.

"Ooohh…" Theresa looked like she was about to faint. Puck looked at her with concern, knowing full well why she appeared so distressed. It was as she had said to him, her father may be a horrible person, but he was still her father. And what daughter would want to see their father suffer at the hands of a strange man. They all knew that the Count was little in deserving of mercy, but based on what Puck had seen the apostle truly did care for his daughter – perhaps that was his one redeemable quality.

"That was a bit excessive, don't you think?" Puck tried to sway Guts' attention from the sentient part of the Count's head. "I could have tried to take her out of here so she wouldn't have had to see that."

The Black Swordsman spat out some blood. "You could have tried all you wanted, that doesn't mean that she was going to listen." A tendril sprouted from the back of the Count's head, pulling what remained of his head along the floor. "All that bravado you were sprouting a minute ago about your regeneration seems to have gone." Guts mocked. "So much for the mighty Count." He raised Dragonslayer. "Unless you want to-?" the Count had reached his destination – the behelit that had fallen from Guts during the fight.

The tendril wrapped around the egg-shaped object and pulled it close to the Count's mouth. "I… summon…"

All around the four, the walls seemed to crumble – only to be replaced with a disarray of white staircases that covered the ceiling and three walls. The floor on which they stood remained, but where the fourth wall should have been seemed to have vanished entirely, the edge of the floor stopping before dropping into darkness. Puck and Theresa were the two most uncomfortable with the shift of scenery.

"W-what's all this about?" the elf nervously asked. "A second ago we were in some castle chambers, now we're in some kind of abstract world!"

"Father!" Theresa cried out. "What is this place?! What have you done?!"

A new voice answered her. "Your father has summoned us in a desperate hour, child." Standing on one of the staircases was the only female member of the Godhand, Slan. "We are simply answering his summons." Four more beings began to come into existence; two of them were more round and impish – Conrad and Ubik. The tallest had a leathery cloak covering his body, and a brain that was largely exposed and a face that looked like it had been tortured – Void. And the last one, the sight of his former friend standing at the top of a few stairs sent him into a blind bout of rage.

"Grifffiiiiithh!" he yelled, charging up the steps to the newest of the Godhand. The pale flesh behind the raven black helm seemed entirely indifferent to this development. Guts let his anger drive home his attack at the man whom he at one point admired, who had sacrificed all of their lives to be reborn, who corrupted his and Casca's child leading it to be that grotesque creature that would torment his dreams at night.

The distance between the Godhand and Dragonslayer was decreasing, and before the blade could strike a swipe of his hand, and it was sent off its intended path. Griffith lowered his hand and it was like an invisible force was pressing down on Guts, forcing him to take a knee on the stairs. "You're still thinking with your sword first. How incredibly shortsighted." Griffith's taunt only added fuel to the fire.

Despite the pressure he was feeling pushing down on him, Guts used Dragonslayer as a crutch, using it to stand himself back up. He saw Slan look on in admiration. "I truly love watching this boy. His naivety added to his passion makes for the perfect struggle. Don't you all agree?"

"The ability to struggle to survive has always been a part of this one." The sewed gaze of Void shifted to him now. "I have seen that spark in another once before, it will kill him sure enough."

"The lot of you can shut up already," Guts seethed. He readied Dragonslayer once more, but before he could lift the blade into the air, Griffith opened the palm of his hand and Guts was knocked back by another invisible force, knocking him down the stairs and back to the floor.

"Attitude expected from a struggler, but a distraction of why we are here," Conrad spoke next. "Our apostle has summoned us in a moment of extreme need."

With nobody to nod with, the Count had to blink in recognition. "Indeed I have, my angels. The apostle form that you have granted me has been devastated by this man." His eye stalk pointed at Guts, who attempted to rise once more. "In exchange for a new body, I offer you this man as a sacrifice."

Any hope the Count had vanished with Void's response. "That cannot be done. That man is already a branded sacrifice to Femto. His body, his blood, his soul has been claimed by one of our own."

"What you sacrifice must be close to your heart." Griffith/Femto informed. "Otherwise a deal cannot be made."

"Shut it, you bastard!" Guts rose, but when he tried to walk it was like his legs were filled with lead.

Ubik came floating down to where the Count's head was. "All is not lost yet, however. You still have something to sacrifice." He floated over to Theresa, who ducked under the impish Godhand. A look of horror was plaster over the Count's face at the thought.

"She is my daughter… I cannot pay a price like that."

"Of course you can," Ubik insisted. "You did so before with your wife." Theresa's eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"No…," she said. "No, my mother was killed by heretics. They kidnapped her and killed her. My father would never-,"

"And how do you suppose he gained the form you saw moments before, child?" Slan questioned. "All power comes with a price, the first time it was your mother's life."

"Kidnapped by heretics, she joined with them," Ubik continued. "She held an orgy in your own castle and was unfortunate enough to be discovered by your father. He killed them all and sacrificed your mother. If you do not believe me, ask him yourself."

Her pleading eyes turned to look at the Count. "Is it true, father?"

His downcast expression told the whole story. "I am sorry, Theresa." From where the missing wall was, a source of light could now be seen, green and black flames began to rise from the darkness below, swirling around in a vortex that seemed to have a pull of its own.

Void pointed one of his six fingers toward the unnatural flames. "You have been granted the gift of rebirth once before, you know the price of what it entails. Refuse and that will be your fate, that hell which every apostle dreads. Choose."

Guts wanted to ignore what the Godhand was telling what remained of the Count. What mattered was Griffith, or Femto, or whatever the fuck he was calling himself now. He was here now. He stopped trying to walk and loaded the crossbow onto his arm. Cranking the level, Guts fired a barrage of bolts at his former friend. Void cast his sewed gaze to this new development and a portal opened in front of Griffith to engulf the bolts. Another portal opened above Guts to deposit the bolts and forced him to raise Dragonslayer above his head to act as a shield.

All the while the Count gained a solemn look on his face. He began to speak. "I… cannot. I cannot sacrifice my daughter."

"…Father…" Theresa said weakly before the flames grew in size. From the fire an entanglement of corpses began to take shape, crawling towards the Count. Each body that was aflame seemed bound together by melted flesh, and at the end of the line of bodies was one with a distinct deformity that Puck recognized it to be Vargas. Their twisted hands grabbed the Count's head and the spiral of flame and bodies began to draw back into the fiery inferno where they had emerged.

Ubik gained a thoughtful expression. "It would seem that some human weakness remained inside of him. Perhaps he had learned nothing after accepting apostlehood; you leave your humanity behind you."

"The deed has been done," Void announced to his fellow Godhand members. "Our presence is no longer needed. I bit you all a farewell." His twisted form began to fade into shadow along with the other members of the Godhand.

"Hey!" Guts yelled. "Where are you going?! I'm not finished with you!"

Griffith addressed him one last time before fading like the others. "Maybe not, but we are finished with you. This dream of killing us is futile. After all, you of all people should know just how dangerous dreams can be." He faded back into shadow. The walls made of staircases began to disappear as well. It came to a point where Guts, Puck, and Theresa were standing alone back in the castle chambers as if they had never even left.

They weren't the only ones. Lying on the floor looking as if it had never been activated was the behelit. "Fuck," Guts cursed under his breath, and picking up the egg-shaped nuisance. So close, he had been so close. But Griffith's power had proven to be stronger, he had the backing of supernatural powers on his side, and as much as Guts was loathed to admit it; he was still a long ways before he actually accomplished his goal of killing Griffith. But when the time did come, he knew how to get a hold of the Godhand; Guts put the behelit in his satchel.

"Good riddance," he said in disgust, referring to the Count. Puck flew after him in his wake.

"What were those things?! They weren't like anything we've encountered so far, and what's your connection to that raven-looking one?"

"Drop it," Guts all but ordered. "Point is I'm done here, no need to waste my time any more than necessary." He made to head out, but the girl – Theresa called out.

"Wait!"

Guts turned around, disinterested in what the girl had to say. "What is it?"

"My father is he actually…?"

"Dead?" Guts filled in. "Yeah, I thought that was pretty apparent. Don't feel too bad about it though."

She wiped away a tear. "Huh?"

"You saw what he was, that monster. No use crying over that."

Puck shook his head disapprovingly. "Why'd you have to go and say that? It's still her dad, y'know?"

Theresa began to shake in indignation. "And so are you! You killed so many people too! You, my father, you're no different! You're just the same on the inside."

Guts brushed her accusation aside. "Maybe. But do you know the difference between your father and me? I'm still alive." He turned and made his exit, listening to Theresa curse his existence. Puck flew in front of him, ready to tell Guts off, but stopped short when he that Guts actually looked a bit sad.

Harry held still whilst Flora dipped her finger into a dish of oily black substance. She began to trace a symbol around his scar, "This will help for now," she told him. "The symbol is designed to keep any negative magic from spreading. But keep in mind, this is just regular ink, it can be washed off as easily as it was drawn on, so the need to reapply it is necessary."

"Thank you," said Harry. "But, do you at least have any idea what kind of magic it is that makes my scar so dangerous?" he had a right to know after all. If something happened and he somehow ended up possessed, Harry didn't want to be responsible for any evil acts he might commit. It would remind him too much of Griff – no, Femto.

Flora pursed her wrinkled lips. "As much as I know about magic, even I do not understand everything. I have very rarely delved into the realm of soul-based magic; normally it is not a very pleasant affair."

"That's a comforting thought," Harry mumbled.

"But," she continued, "it is still magic; anything is possible – the bad and the good both. Has there been any instance you can think of that comes to mind if this could take a turn for the worst?"

"Er…" Was there? For as long as Harry could remember there was none, but then the Eclipse happened, the brand had struck his neck – but it had gone for his forehead before. All through the Eclipse Harry had felt like his head was going to be split in half, almost like the evil that came with the brand was clashing with something that had been inside of him, unnoticed until that point. Then it was like hearing a voice talking to him, telling him to kill as many apostles as he could. He had heard it when he had fought Wyald as well; two evils acting with one another.

"Are you going to answer the question?" Schierke came over. While she had been initially suspicious of Harry when he first arrived, she gradually began to drop her guard once she was sure he wasn't going to run off and tell outsiders where their spirit-tree was located. Now, with the revelation of his scar being a source of evil, she seemed to be reverting back to her initial skepticism.

"Uh, well… there were a few times when I thought… I thought that I heard a second voice in my head," confessed Harry. "I didn't think it was anything doing with magic though, both times I was feeling really strong emotions."

Flora contemplated his words. "I see." She took a moment of silence, seemingly mulling over any and all possibilities that could be associated with what he had described. "It seems I have some reading up to do, I might even have to get in contact with an old acquaintance of mine."

"The same one who told you that Harry would be coming before, mistress?" Schierke asked, her curiosity peaked about the identity of Flora's mysterious contact – a contact that Harry had a strong suspicion as to who it is.

"The very same," Flora confirmed. "But if you'll excuse me," she made for the exit, "I believe it's time that we all turned in. A good night's sleep can do wonders for the mind. Don't stay up too late." She lightly shut the door behind her, leaving just Harry, Schierke, and Ivalera.

Harry made to get up to go as well. "She's probably right, as always. Goodnight then." Before he could get to the door, the spiraled end of Schierke's staff tapped him on his shoulder. Ivalera flew up to his line of sight wearing a demanding look on her tiny pink face.

"Going somewhere?" the elf tried to ask as intimidating as possible. Harry looked at the elf and then to Schierke, who kept a rather neutral expression.

"Well, I was. And then you saw fit to try and stop me," Harry said to ease whatever tension had been brought on. "Is there a reason why? It's not like you to go and defy Flora's wishes."

"Not when it's a matter of precaution," Schierke said, lowering her staff. "You were incredibly vague with your answer back there."

Harry could see where this was going. "And you want to know more."

"I want to know everything."

"Everything?" Harry deadpanned.

"Everything," Schierke repeated herself. "What you remember about getting your scar, what you were feeling when you heard that voice, why you decided to come here – all of it."

"You're asking a bit much," Harry shook his head.

"With all the questions you've asked since you got here, I think this evens it out." Schierke cocked a brow as if daring him to deny it.

Harry scratched at his already messy raven hair. "Everything, huh?" he watched Schierke slowly nods her head. "…You really want to know?"

Ivalera was getting impatient. "Quit beating around the bush already! If you're going to spill, just do it already."

"You're not exactly helping out by raising your voice, Ivalera." Schierke tried to get her elf friend under control. "But his stalling isn't exactly a show of confidence."

Harry just nodded, a plan coming together in his mind. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but just the essentials, got it?" Schierke nodded her head, accepting the offer. As mature as she was for her age, and however gifted at magic, Harry knew that the answer to some of her questions would not hold a pleasant answer; but he understood her curious nature. He had asked questions since he had gotten here, he had been curious about the Band of the Hawk, and Schierke was just trying to make sure that his being here did not pose a danger to her or Flora, a feeling he could relate to. Which was why he would spare her details of what happened during the Eclipse – if he would even tell her about that.

"You asked what I remember about getting my scar first, right?" once again, Schierke nodded. "I really don't remember it happening."

Ivalera rolled her eyes. "Well, that sure is convenient."

"What I mean is I was only a baby when it happened."

"Oh," Ivalera had the decency to look ashamed.

"The night I got it was the night my parents died, or so I was told by my mother's sister and her husband. They told me they died in a freak accident – which looking back on it, I was stupid enough to believe them." He kept detail about the Durlsey's very brief, and Schierke thankfully didn't ask more about them. "I later met a mercenary band that I ended up staying with for some time."

"You were a mercenary?" Schierke asked unbelievingly.

"For a time, yes. Then… the King of Midland turned on us because of an action our leader did. We were hunted and lost a lot of our numbers. Shortly after that we… encountered apostles. Do you know what those-?"

"Mistress Flora briefly taught me about them," Schierke cut him off before he could finish asking his question. "She told me that they were all human at one point before making a sacrifice to greater beings. I believe the one she told me about was a ferocious warrior named Zodd." It seemed like Zodd's prowess earned him infamy even among witches.

"Yeah… that's about right. We encountered some of them, and that was pretty much it for all but four of us. Fighting them was when I first started hearing that voice in my head. And, no, I haven't heard it since I got here." He saw that she was about to ask. "It only ever acted up when I was around those things."

"And you actually fought them – the apostles?" Schierke asked. "How did you escape?"

"I had to kill a few," he said without remorse. The young witch looked shocked as if she didn't believe he was capable of such an act.

"You actually killed some? And you don't feel regret?"

"No," Harry said. "You said it yourself, they used to be human – they aren't anymore. There isn't any use feeling bad about them; they made their choice."

"Now that sounds like something a mercenary would say," Ivalera noted.

"As for why I came here, it's like I once said, I wanted to learn more about magic once I learned I could talk to snakes. And to maybe help a good friend of mine." He looked Schierke in her eyes. "Does that about answer your questions?" He allowed her a moment to mull it all over.

"Yes," she answered. "I believe so."

"Really? You haven't even asked about the acquaintance Flora has." Harry waited for her to react to his implication. He was met with skepticism but intrigued as well.

"And you do?"

"I have a strong inkling." It was more than just a strong inkling, he was just missing a few pieces of information was more like it. "What do you know about Emperor Gaiseric?"

Schierke blinked a few times in confusion. "Gaiseric? I know the basic history about him, same as just about everyone."

"Well, during a rescue mission a few good friends and I went with the Princess of Midland who gave us some more insight. Her family is supposedly descended from him, and he used to wear a skull helm into battle."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Think about the set of armor Flora has stored at the base of this tree," Harry urged. "What did that helm look like to you?" recognition began to take hold of her.

"Alright, suppose that it is Gaiseric's old armor; the only known owner died whilst bleeding out inside of it. Gaiseric would still be dead."

"He should be, yes," Harry continued explaining his train of thought. "But Flora just said that she does have some knowledge in dealing with soul magic. When my friends and I encountered those apostles, we were only able to escape because of a knight wearing a skeletal suit of armor. Just one look at him is enough to let you know that he isn't human – nor is he dead, not fully anyway."

Schierke was shaking her head, but some sign of resonation was filling her eyes. "But Gaiseric lived nearly a thousand years ago."

Now it was time to hammer in the final nail. "Flora said that she knew the founder of the Holy See. That was founded nearly the same time as Gaiseric." She had gone silent; her hands held tightly to her staff, and her eyes seemed to be staring off into space as his words set in. "Believe me now?"

"I… if that's true… then why would she even consider him an acquaintance?"

"Well if she knew him when he was alive-,"

"-No, what I mean is that the founder of the Holy See was against magic and any teaching that went against their god. He was responsible for the start of witch hunting and the extermination of many magical beasts that are no longer around in this layer of the astral world today. If Gaiseric was the founder, why would he help you, and why would Mistress Flora consider him to be trustworthy?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but soon shut it when he realized he did not have an answer to her question. Either he was wrong, or there were more pieces to the puzzle that was the Skull Knight that was missing. If it was the latter, the history of Gaiseric was just like learning about magic; there was more to it than what appeared on the surface.

A/N: So it's the first official day of winter, and I got this chapter done early. The next one should be up by Christmas. Thank you for reading.