Reviews:
Greer123: Thanks. Madam Pomfrey would be in a complete fuss over Guts to be sure.
Necrogod: Thanks. I hope you enjoy this one too.
Greyjedi449t: Here's the next one, I hope you like it.
Energy-the-hedgehog: I'm glad you're looking forward to it. And yeah, how they would react is one of the aspects I'm looking forward to writing.
Prometheusdark: I'm happy that you enjoy the story so far, and the overall tone.
Guest: Thank you, I''m glad you think so.
demonic hellfire: I actually did have a certain horse briefly appear a few chapter back, but only for a brief moment.
Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.
Malfoy Manor
To say that things at Hogwarts had been hectic as of late would be a gross understatement. Draco was glad to have been getting a letter from home expressing how his presence was requested back at the manor during this Hogsmeade Weekend. Let it never be said that Draco Malfoy didn't enjoy watching the drama unfold, but even he had his limits, although he would certainly never admit it to anyone not of Slytherin House, of course.
The Triwizard Tournament was a large part of it to be sure, but not for the obvious reasons. Ever since the drawing of the champions and Rita Skeeter's following article, all talk had been about Potter. Potter this and Potter that, where is Potter? Other champions, who are they? We want answers, and we want Potter. Honestly, what do they expect? A few idiotic Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were entirely convinced Potter had snuck into the school in the middle of the night, put his name in the goblet, and then disappeared just to cause a scene.
Morons, Draco thought disdainfully. There's no point in slandering a person if they aren't there to hear it. If Potter was present, that would be a different story. Would Draco praise Potter, or call him a cheat like a small portion of the school? Hard to say, that would depend on what house Potter would be sorted in.
Then there was the teaching situation. Professor Moody, or, the "real" Moody was found locked in his own trunk, his imposter long gone. While Moody was being treated at St. Mungo's, a temporary replacement had been called back; the werewolf, Remus Lupin.
The old fool was really starting to slip, calling a half-breed back after he got sacked. The place really is going to the dogs. And that, of course, led to the action every student of every house, and even some of the visiting students seemed to hate. Minister Fudge saw fit to appoint his undersecretary to Hogwarts.
She monitored every class, took note of everything, and Fudge had even managed to convince (bribe) Ludo Bagman into letting her become a judge for the tournament. Umbridge was a Ministry lackie through and through, and given Draco's father's standing within the Ministry, she was civil towards Draco and most other Slytherins, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed her presence. So, yes, visiting the manor for a weekend would be a good way to get away from the toad of a woman.
Dobby the House Elf greeted him in the main foyer upon his arrival. "Young Master Draco, may Dobby take your luggage?" his large green eyes stared up at Draco.
"Bring them to my room," Draco ordered. "I'll be up there shortly."
"Mistress Cissa asked Dobby to tell young Master Draco that she would like to talk to you in the dining room." The elf fidgeted on his feet, rocking back and forth on the ball of his heels.
"What for?" Draco asked. "She can talk to me in the study or my room. It isn't time for dinner yet."
"She did not say, Master Draco. She just told Dobby that it was urgent. Master Lucius is with her as well."
Father too? I thought he'd still be at the Ministry. "Bring my luggage up, Dobby," Draco reaffirmed his order. "I'll be up after I see what this about."
Dobby bowed his head, his large floppy ears bent with his head. He grabbed Draco's bags and disapparated with a pop! He was fidgety today, Dobby usually walked when carrying out an order, something had seriously spooked the elf.
Draco made his way through the manor, spotting his mother, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, outside of the dining room, the doors closed behind her. For some reason she seemed a bit off as well, not looking as comfortable in her own home as she should.
"Mother," Draco greeted, lacking the usual drawl and superior tone that he carried while attending Hogwarts.
"Draco." She seemed rather eager to pull him into an embrace.
"What's this all about?" Draco asked, prying himself away from his mother's grasp. "You look… anxious. Has your cousin decided to step down as the head of House Black?" if that were the case, Draco could claim inheritance through his mother to take up lordship of House Black.
"No, Draco, he has not." She fiddled with one of the rings on her fingers. "We have some rather important guests."
"Guests?" Draco parroted.
"She nodded slowly. "Your father is waiting inside. He didn't want to begin without you."
Father wanted him to attend? He would occasionally take Draco to Gringotts to learn how to deal with the filthy goblins and how to handle finance, but he wouldn't postpone meetings on Draco's behalf. The owl Draco had gotten from home had been very vague as to what was going on, and this only added to the suspense of it all.
"Then it's best not to keep father waiting." He made a move to enter but felt his mother place her hand on his shoulder. She had a rather surprisingly strong grip.
"Draco," she sounded… almost pleading, "just watch what you say."
He eyed her suspiciously. "Of course."
Pushing open the doors, Draco stepped inside, he instantly recognized a few faces in attendance, he went to Hogwarts with some of their children. There was Nott Sr. Crabbe and Goyle Sr. Avery, a bunch of his father's old acquaintances from over the years. His father was not seated at the head of the table like a proper host, however. Lucius Malfoy sat at the edge of the head, to the left of a handsome, dark-haired man. He was a man whom Draco had never seen before, but as he made eye contact with the man, he saw a pair of red eyes looking back at him; red eyes with slit pupils.
Draco instantly froze in his tracks. It, it can't be. All these people in attendance, the sense of unease that had been filling the manor, it was all because of this man. He looks nothing like how father and the stories described. Apart from the unnerving slit pupils and red eyes, no part of this man resembled a snake. If anything, he looked the epitome of how a pure-blood lord should look.
When he spoke, his voice was powerful and cold like sharpened ice. "Ah, this is your son Draco, Lucius. He looks very much like you."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"That was an observation, not a compliment, Lucius." The Dark Lord drew his wand, pulling a seat out next to Draco's father. "Come, Draco, we've saved you a seat."
Draco's legs seemed to move on their own accord, walking toward the drawn chair and sitting down. He's actually back. I'm meeting with the Dark Lord. For all of Draco's boasting within Slytherin House about how his father was an invaluable Death Eater during the war, Draco had never thought that he would be meeting the Dark Lord. Father would deny it now, but he was always unsure if the Dark Lord was dead or not. No one except for the Dark Lord knew what happened that night at the Potter's cottage, so it was impossible to say for sure.
"You're speechless, I see." The Dark Lord's lips curled up into a half-smile.
A pang of fear brought Draco back to reality. "Er, thank you… my Lord." I'm calling him Lord already.
"You need not speak much, Draco, just listen and answer honestly. I will know if you lie." The Dark Lord laced his long fingers together. "Tell me, has your father ever told you how he first became a supporter of mine?"
Draco eyed his father from his peripheral vision, waiting to see a discreet nod of the head to indicate he could answer. "He, he told me about your vision for our society – a pure-blood one, as it should be. If muggle-borns keep flooding in they would destroy our society and culture. My father," he eyed his father before continuing, "he believed what you stood for, plucking weeds from the field." Why is my throat going dry already?
The Dark Lord eyed him calculatingly. "Plucking weeds from the field? A fitting metaphor, Draco, you're quite the wordsmith." It was impossible to tell if he was sarcastic or not. "Yes, Lucius was quick to grasp the correct philosophy of this world when I started speaking it. But has he ever told you of his involvement at school? At Hogwarts? You see, your father was quite useful, always ready to pass along any valuable recruits for initiation. You admire your father, Draco?"
"I- of course, my Lord."
"That is good to hear, Draco, very good indeed. As it stands, I believe you can be very much like your father, influential amongst your peers. Would you do it, Draco? Would you help your classmates, the more reputable one's of course, like your father once did for so many of his?"
So that's what this was; an introduction of sorts. He had just walked into the meeting that would turn him into a Death Eater in the making. It was a career that he had considered once or twice based on the stories father had told him, but to actually have the opportunity presented to him, that was something else. Ask any student in Hogwarts and they would say that he was the most staunch supporter of pure-blood rights and privilege in the entire school, he should be well suited this task. But if I fail? If he is displeased with my performance, what will he do? The Dark Lord was powerful, Draco could practically feel another level of energy radiate off of him, and he had heard the stories of what happened to those who disappointed him. The Dark Lord hadn't said it out loud, but the threat was still present in his tone; a gift a true Slytherin could utilize.
"I-I know some of my classmates feel the same," Draco cautioned himself. "I'm sure if I talked to them, they'd be willing to support you."
Much to his relief, the Dark Lord smiled a calculated smile, not a malevolent one. "Excellent. See that, Lucius? Your son is already working on fixing the wrongs on your end." The Dark Lord is displeased with Father? "Let them know, Draco, let them know that their Lord awaits them when they are ready. But the issue of my most devoted followers takes priority at the moment. Once they are free, they will get their reward."
Back at the Tower of Conviction and the surrounding town of St. Albion, things were in complete disarray. The presence of three people bearing the Brand of Sacrifice had unleashed a wave of utter turbulence and chaos. Creatures taking the form of bloodied blobs banded together like a red sea of bloody madness. As they spread from inside the tower and town of St. Albion to the camp outside, they gained in number and size with each person that they consumed. The fire proved to be the most effective way of repelling the bloody blobs, but once a torch died out, so did the one holding it.
With his magic, Harry was able to cast a ring of fire around Guts and his party, the flames working on repelling the dark entities as they pushed forward to the wall surrounding the tower and St. Albion. That was where Inquisitor Mozgus stood with his disciples; Casca was tied to a pole as dry wood was placed at her feet. Harry didn't have thought transference with Guts like he did with Schierke, but the swordsman's anguish and frustration were palpable enough for them all to feel it.
A desperate cry of, "Hey!" made Harry temporarily pause, spotting Luca running up to the protective circle of flames. Harry dispelled the ring of fire temporarily, allowing Luca to join them before casting the spell again.
"Where were you?!" Isidro hounded once she was safe. "I thought that you fell and died!"
"Well, I did meet Death," Luca told him. "He's the reason I'm still here."
Skull Knight, Harry instantly realized. What's he doing here? If he was here, then there was the chance that he might help them out, he had done so before in order to rescue them during the Eclipse.
"You Westerners have such a strange set of metaphors," voiced Silat. He seemed more on edge than before with the appearance of these accursed spirits, both of his blades were drawn, but looking unsure if they would be of any use against these nightmarish things.
The nearer they got to the wall, the thicker the crowd and congestion of the sea of blood became. It was as if all the fear, desperation, sickness, ugliness, and negativity had all gotten together to make this thing as strong as it was; a monument to all of peoples sins.
From atop the wall, Mozgus rambled on, sprouting the glory of God. "This time of sorrow is nearly at an end! The witch responsible for this monstrosity has been caught and she will burn for her sins!" Mozgus spread his arms, looking like he was ready to receive some divine blessing from Gog above.
As it turned out – he did.
A large pair of angelic wings sprouted from his back. 'Harry, he's a pseudo-apostle!' Schierke's mental voice was frantic.
Just like that goat-man. Mozgus' pale eyes spotted Harry's group within the traveling ring of fire. "There! Further proof of the sorcery that plagues this land! They seek to stop the execution of this witch!"
Some Holy Iron Chain Knights led by Sir Azan tried pushing their way toward the group, but Harry increased the intensity of the flames encircling them. It doesn't look like Farnese or Serpico are with them. After his brief scuffle with Serpico, Harry wasn't too eager to see what other slippery tricks the blonde attendant could pull.
The gate leading into the town of St. Albion was visible now. Like the rest of the place, the gate was a congested mess of those bloody blobs. "Please, allow us to deal with this, Father Mozgus." Mozgus' disciples sprouted the same angelic wings as their teacher and master. "You have taught us well, you took us in when no one else would, allow us to repay your kindness. We will exterminate these pests for you."
Mozgus smiled fondly at his one disciple. "Committing yourselves fully in the name of our one true God… may he aid you in your coming struggle. Whatever the result may be, you may all rest knowing that you have a seat in the divine heaven above." Mozgus dismissed his fellow pseudo-apostles, and down they flew – straight down for Harry and the rest.
Acting fast, Harry dispersed of the fire ring surrounding them, lifting the restrictions of movement. "Go!" Harry yelled to Guts. "Get Casca! Silat and I will handle them!"
Guts didn't need telling, he was basically sprinting forward the moment the fire disappeared. Dragonslayer worked wonders as it cut through the cluster of accursed beings, allowing Guts to continue on unperturbed.
"What about us?" Isidro asked, referring to him and Luca.
"Go with him," Harry instructed. "If Mozgus puts up a fight, you get Casca out of there."
Isidro and Puck gave a salute. "Consider it done, man!" they, as well as Luca ran after Guts, following the path he was carving with Dragonslayer.
"You must have a lot of confidence," Silat told him as the disciple pseudo-apostles landed in front of them.
"Guts'll come through, believe me," Harry said with certainty.
"I meant in you and me," Silat corrected. "Those… things are clearly beyond human."
There were six of them in total. A disfigured set of twins each held a long, curved blade of a modified wood saw if they were to put or trap someone between the two… it made for an effective weapon for a set of twins like them. There was an imp, wielding two sets of pliers; they were just the right size to pluck people's eyes from their sockets. Next was a tall and gangly one with a large underbite and a dead look in his eyes; he held some iron hooks attached to some rusty chains. After him was a behemoth of a man, covered in rippling muscle and hefting a large wagon wheel with him, the spokes of which were covered in deep red stains from previous tortured victims. Leading them was a slim figure covered completely in a red leather outfit and wearing a mask of a birds face; he carried a long spiked choker, and even with his feet now resembling talons as a result of his pseudo-apostle transformation, he seemed the most normal out of the bunch.
The avian-looking one was also the one to speak for the assembled disciples. "You seek to stop the burning of your fellow witch." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah, that's about right," Harry didn't try to keep a civil tone. "You could be helpful and step aside, birdbrain."
"I help only God, Father Mozgus, and the true followers of the Holy See doctrine." He twirled his choker around. "You will go no further."
"With these creatures closing in, no one is going to be going anywhere," Harry readied himself, as did Silat. "If your god is willing to let these people die, what does that say about you and your precious faith?"
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," the disciple replied, his wings reared back. "But one thing is for sure; once that witch burns, this mess will be over."
The pair of stunted twins were the first to make their move, each holding their own part of the split bladed saw, they looked to trap Harry and Silat between them. Silat reacted by tossing one of his chakrams at one of the twins' wings. The bladed disk struck true, cutting one of the tendons of the wing, limiting the flight both the twins were trying to maintain. Harry followed that up by sending a concentrated blast of lightning at the other twin, shocking him, causing the pair of them to drop like flies.
Before either could hit the ground, the rest of the disciples were already making their advance, their wings carrying them faster towards Harry and Silat.
The twisted little imp gunned straight for Harry and was soon right in front of his face. Having already avoided a second blast of lightning sent out by Harry and ducking under the swing of his sword, the imp was ready to make his attack. "Geeheehee!" the imp cackled as he flew up to Harry's face, his pliers ready to pluck Harry's eyes fright from out of his sockets.
'Gah!' Schierke yelped as Harry barely craned his neck out of the way in time, the pliers struck his glasses instead, cracking the lens.
As Harry worked on fending off the imp, Silat was battling with the tall and lanky one. The whip-like blades of Silat's urumi were crashing against the chains of the disciple he was facing. He focused on using one urumi to keep the chain at bay, while the other worked at cutting away at the wing to guarantee that flight was not an option.
"Such a sloppy technique," Silat mocked the disciple. "Are you truly the best your master could send?"
"Raaghh!" the big, rippling behemoth came charging with his wagon wheel held in front of him. Silat didn't have enough time to evade the charge from the giant-like man and the Kushan found himself pressed against the wheel. But the behemoth of a man didn't stop there; he kept running until he slammed into Harry as well.
Harry let out a near comical, "Oof!" as both Silat and the wheel slammed into him, knocking them both down and knocking the air from their lungs.
'Get up! Please, get up!'
Working on it. Harry saw the behemoth lift the wheel high above his head, ready to bring it down and crush the both of them.
"You shall not disgrace the name of Father Mozgus or God any longer!"
Harry raised his staff, pointing it directly into the face of his and Silat's assailant. "Lumos Maxima!" a blinding flash of light emanated from his staff, catching the disciple off guard and blinding him.
"Aagh!" the disciple dropped the wheel, both Harry and Silat rolled out of the way before it fell right where they would have been.
"Try not to piss these guys off any more than they are," Harry told Silat. "They already hate us enough as it is."
Silat drew his katars. "Very well. I'll make short work of this one then." With the behemoth still stunned and blinded, Silat began slicing away at the man's vital areas and tendons. By cutting both Achilles' tendons, the behemoth fell, giving Silat the opportunity to slit his throat.
Harry was about to resume his battle with the imp – when he felt cold, sharp steel sink into his forearm. The tall, gangly disciple had blindsided him. With a tug, Harry was once again pulled off of his feet. The disciple pulled him forward before knocking him back with a powerful kick to the midsection.
With the steel of the chain still sinking into Harry's arm, the disciple pulled him back just to toss him around some more. He seemed keen on living up to the reputation of the torturer's mask he wore. 'Please tell me that you have a plan.'
I have a plan; it's just a bit rushed.
Feeling like his arm was about to ripped right out of its socket, Harry tossed his sword at the disciple who held him at bay. As expected, the disciple was able to sidestep the projectile, the sword landed behind him. The steel sank deeper into Harry's arm as he cried out, "Accio sword!"
The discarded blade came flying back to meet Harry, but encountered an obstacle directly in its path; the body of the disciple Harry was fighting. The disciple simply looked down at the blade protruding from his chest; blood began to trickle from the corners of his mouth as he released a dying gurgle. Harry yanked the chain hook off of his forearm, seeing as most of it was now raw and bleeding, but still able to function. Puck has his work cut out for him after this is done.
Indeed, the fight appeared to be nearing its end, Silat had taken up fighting the imp. The disciple was evading Silat's chakrams easily due to his enhanced speed, but he could not get close to Silat with his urumi creating an almost hurricane-like barrier around him, occasionally nipping away and pieces of flesh if the imp got too close for comfort. That just left the-,
'Feathers!'
A sudden barrage of feathers shot toward Harry, who barely had enough time to cross his arms in front of his face to keep the projectiles from hitting his face. It was a good thing too – some of the feathers that struck him were sticking out of him like pins in a pincushion, they were like knives. Before Harry could even register what had even fully happened, a gust of wind shot past him and he felt two sets of talons wrap around his head, two of which pierced his cheeks.
The disciple in the red leather suit and bird mask was perched atop his head like a falcon ready to take flight. "You fight well," the disciple spoke down to him. "My brothers… they did not need to die, but… they reside with God in his kingdom now, that is more than most can ask for in their lifetime." Harry felt the talons tighten, sinking deeper into him. "I can take comfort in knowing that you and the rest of your heathen group will be consumed along with the rest of the sinners."
The bloody forms the accursed spirits had taken were closing in on the site of the battle, having been kept at bay by Harry's previous ring of fire, nothing was stopping their progress now. Do something! Harry mentally urged himself, trying to angle his staff arm up at the disciple on top of his head, but the moment he tried to do that the disciple twisted his body, forcing Harry to move as well or else wind up with a snapped neck.
"Your magic against the power bestowed by God is a cheap trick," the disciple analytically said. "Perhaps you can atone for that in your afterlife, pagan." His talons began to sink deeper, but a curved blade of a chakram cut across the disciples' bird-like feet, causing him to flinch and release Harry from his grasp.
The imp lay dead at Silat's feet, the body a twisted and mangled heap of meat that had been sliced many times over by his urumi. Silat twirled the other chakram with his finger. "Sorry, but I can't have you going and killing the one who I am indebted to. If that were to happen, I'd be forced to swear my allegiance to his next of kin."
He sounds so enthused.
'You realize you have to thank him for that.'
One thing at a time.
"And it seems like I, the one with the shortest life of my brothers is the last to stand," the disciple said mournfully. "Rest in peace, my brothers." His eyes glowered behind the glass lens of his bird-like mask. "I will fulfill Father Mozgus' request on your behalf."
He charged Harry full speed with his spiked choker held out in front of him like a knight with a lance. He has the length over my sword, Harry realized. But if I… the disciple closed the gap between them fast. Harry felt a cold stinging sensation poke at his throat, and he twirled his staff so the blade end was pointed forward, and thrust it straight toward the disciple.
Blood began to leak from the cut dealt to his throat, and the disciple fell to his knees, the grip on his choker starting to loosen and Harry let out a gasp, relief filling his lungs. He yanked the choker off of him, tossing it down next to the dying disciple beneath him.
"I'm sorry… Father… Mozgus… gak! I… I see… the sun…" even with the glass lens in the way, Harry could see the disciples' eyes go cold, his body now limp.
Silat crossed his arms, looking down at the dead disciples. "They died for their god, a shame. Since when have gods been known to accept failures?"
"You can save any talks about God," Harry told him, rubbing his throat where the cold metal of the choker had poked into him. "I'm about sick of hearing about him."
"I'm in agreement with you on that," Silat said. "This land is nothing but a slim hole for the corrupt and monstrosities."
Harry cast his gaze up to the wall where Father Mozgus was. "No argument there. Come on then. I'm sure you're anxious to be free of your debt." Feeling tired from the fight with the disciples, Harry was able to summon a fraction of the fire he had before, enough for him and Silat to carve a path through the closing accursed spirits, the goal of rescuing Casca was near complete.
Almost there! Almost there! Almost there! Those were the words Guts was repeating over and over again inside of his head, the drive to rescue Casca propelling him forward past these accursed spirits that were completely swarming the entire area of the Tower of Conviction and St. Albion. Dragonslayer worked as a substitute for fire, surprisingly, but more than once tiny pieces of the creatures would land on some of his exposed skin, causing a tiny burn to appear from where it touched the flesh. It stung, but it was bearable, it was similar to receiving the Brand of Sacrifice, but with less consequence involved.
He was vaguely aware of Isidro, Puck, and that Luca woman following behind him and the path he was carving up the stairs and to the top of the wall where Mozgus was with a bound Casca. He cleared the final step, now on level ground, and one last obstacle standing in his way; a wave of the bloody blobs was high enough to leer over the wall, and two Holy Iron Chain Knights tried fending it off. As he neared them, he saw it was their commander – Farnese de Vandimion and her one attendant.
Farnese spotted his approach, eyes wide, but she made no move to try and stop him, she just seemed concerned with surviving the bloody mass that was seeping its way up the wall. Once the "head" of the thing cleared the rampart, Guts cleaved the thing through with Dragonslayer, not bothering to look back at the stunned knights behind him, his goal was within literal sight.
Casca was still bound to the stake, looking around curiously like she had no idea what was going on, or aware of the danger that she was in. Inquisitor Mozgus held a flaming torch, ready to drop it on the dry wood that lined Casca's feet.
"And so ends the terror and witchcraft that plagues the land of St. Albion. God, let your flames burn the heathens and their practices, for we are the people of your grace." Mozgus recited a text from the Holy See Doctrine.
Dragonslayer closed the distance between Guts and Mozgus. "Don't you fucking dare!"
The angelic wings folded down, taking the brunt of Dragonslayer's force, and propelling Mozgus back a fair distance. "Aauuu!" Casca whined.
"It's alright," Guts tried to assure her, even though she was incapable of understanding what he was saying. He worked at getting her bonds undone. "You're getting out of here. You don't have to-,"
Something slammed into Guts, hard. It felt like a pillowcase filled with stones hit his side. Even with armor, Guts felt the impact of that blow. He groaned as he looked to see what had caused it. Father Mozgus was back on his feet, his angelic wings curled at the end to resemble fists, but they were now a much darker color, the color of stone. In fact, Mozgus' entire body was now covered in those stone-grey feathers.
"Thank you, Lord, for bestowing this gift upon one unworthy as myself. I swear to you, God, this man will pay the price of interference."
"More talk about God?" Guts spat at the feet of the full pseudo-apostle Mozgus. "Get over yourself."
The stone-like face of Mozgus twisted into one of pure fury. "You dare to make a mockery of God in this sacred land?!"
"So sacred that you have all these monsters running around?" Guts rhetorically asked. He scoffed, "Some God."
"Have at thee!" Mozgus yelled in fury, charging towards Guts, his wings acting like fists and swinging down at Guts. He raised Dragonslayer to act as a shield of sorts to block Mozgus' onslaught, but he felt his knees buckle after the first initial set of blows.
Damnit! He's actually pretty strong! Guts pushed back against the barrage of winged punches, breaking Mozgus' series of attacks. He's strong, but he doesn't know how to fight, he's left himself wide open. Guts swung Dragonslayer at the hip, looking to cleave Mozgus in two, but was surprised when the blade didn't sink all the way through.
"Thank you, God!" Mozgus praised. "Thanks to your gift, I can continue to fight this man and deliver onto him your judgment!"
"Will you shut up?!" Guts roared, ready to attack again, but Mozgus took advantage of Guts' distraction.
A wing hit him in the midsection, causing him to double over, and then brought both wings down on his back, slamming Guts to the stone battlement. With his regular arms, Mozgus grabbed Guts by the hair and directed his gaze over the side of the battlements.
"Look! Look at all the people down there! See their sadness and despair, see their lives end to this horrible fate! Would you sacrifice all of their lives, the lives of God's children, for the life of just one witch?!"
Guts reared his head back, slamming into Mozgus's face and breaking the hold. "Yeah. I really would."
"Heathen!" Mozgus yelled, his face contorting more than it had been previously. "Heretic! Pagan! Undesirable cur!"
"You're just repeating yourself now," Guts taunted. "And you should put your fire to some real use; you're not burning a witch today." They really came through. Isidro and Luca were finishing up undoing the bonds that tied Casca to the post, helping her down, Isidro even flashing him a quick thumbs up.
Harry and Silat were racing over to them as well, looking a little worse for wear, but still driven for their own reasons and desire to see this through to the end. Farnese and that Serpico guy were close behind them, standing a distance away, but not making any threatening move.
"Commander Farnese!" Mozgus shouted. "Your timing is impeccable, do your duty and slay these heathens!"
Farnese stared wide-eyed at Mozgus' new form. "F-father Mozgus… you…"
"You really need to shut your mouth!" Guts pointed his arm cannon right at Mozgus' gaping maw. KABOOM! The cannon blast filled Mozgus' mouth with smoke and fire, he began to undergo a series of intense coughs, his feathered chest rising and falling, creating a gap at his breastbone. Guts drove Dragonslayer into the gap, leading the impaled Mozgus over to the ramparts.
"G-God…"
"If you see God, tell him to leave me the hell alone!" Guts raised Dragonslayer and tossed Mozgus from the top of the battlements, the body of the inquisitor falling down into the red sea of blood below.
"Father Mozgus…" Farnese was left staring. "Were you really…?"
A tidal wave of blood, the largest one yet began slithering its way up the Tower of conviction, seeking to cover it completely. The backwash of the wave was seeping onto the ramparts of the wall they were all on now, even Dragonslayer wouldn't be enough to hold it all off.
Harry was quick to gather pieces of wood from the unused pyre and began lighting them as torches, passing them around to everyone, even to Farnese and Serpico – albeit reluctantly. Farnese seemed to be in the middle of praying.
"Hey," Guts addressed toward her. "Don't pray, you won't have any free hands."
She looked down at the torch in front of her, Serpico already holding his. "A light that I can grasp onto." She reached out and took the torch. For the next few hours, they stood as an impenetrable wall, something the one around St. Albion couldn't do.
"It hurts, it hurts so bad." The cuts the Skull Knight had made to the Egg of the Perfect World had yet to heal, his legs had not grown back, but he was alive. Or rather, he was alive for the moment. His time was near, he knew this to be a fact, so he had chosen to see the old world from the best vantage point that he knew – the top of the Tower of Conviction.
The sight was morbidly grandiose, fire and death were everywhere, a spectacle for the ages, and he would spend it like he had spent his life; alone. Was this what he wanted, to die alone? No one knew or cared who he had been in life, they certainly wouldn't miss him in his passing.
"Auu." The faint squeal caught Egg's attention. It was a baby, or rather what a baby should look like if it were still in the womb. It looked… weak. Dying, much like him in fact.
"Hello, little one, where did you come from?"
"Au."
"You're tired. Your flame is all but burned out. I can relate. My time is short as well, the price to pay to bring about the new beginning of a perfect world." He scooted closer to the demon baby. "Do you want to spend your final moments alone as well?"
"Auu."
"Neither do I." he scooped the demon baby into the crook of one of his legs. "Let us make the most of this occasion." He placed the demon infant in his mouth, and closed it, a content smile on his mouth as his facial features began to rearrange themselves to form a concrete face. He closed his eyes as he began to cry tears of blood. He would bring about the perfect world, it was coming soon, he could feel it, an almost soaring feeling deep inside of him; it was ready to take flight.
Hours passed until the sun finally rose, and with it, the disappearance of the bloody blobs, and the end of the Tower of Conviction. Having already been compromised, the structure of the tower finally gave way, and it collapsed, taking down a portion of the wall with it. Isidro was slumped against the battlements; Puck was running around as a medic for all of the injuries that they had all sustained, even for Farnese and Serpico.
"That's… it," Isidro huffed. "I've got no more fight left in me." Harry gave him an arm to lean on as Guts led the way back to the ground level, Casca by his side, having wrapped his cloak around her.
"Does that mean you're going back to your village?" Guts asked, not taking his eye off of Casca who was catching a snowflake on her tongue, the first snowfall of the season.
"As if!" Isidro exclaimed. "Trying to get rid of me that easy before you and Harry show me some of your moves, not a chance!"
"His perseverance prevails," Puck sat on top of Isidro's head, exhausted as well from using so much of his dust.
"Yeah, well just make sure that-," a rumbling sound put them all on edge again, thinking that perhaps some fragment of those bloody blobs had not disappeared with the rising sun and were about to come busting out of the ground at any moment. Instead, it came busting through the wall, but it was no blob.
It was a behemoth covered in black fur with a tail, goat's legs, the face of a lion, and singular large horn on the right side of the head, the left one was just a bony stump. "Suuuurraa!" Casca pointed in fear and wonderment at the appearance of the monster.
"W-what the hell is that?!" Isidro asked one last boost of energy kicking in.
"Zodd," Luca said, surprising both Guts and Harry.
"How'd you know?" Harry asked, not looking forward to confronting the apostle.
Luca pointed to the top of the battlements. "I met him with Death." The Skull Knight was indeed present, but he made no move to intercept Zodd, and Zodd made no move to fight with Guts or anyone else. Both of their attention was directed somewhere amide the smoke and rubble from the leveled Tower of Conviction.
Zodd lumbered forward and… bent his knee? Nosferatu Zodd, the supposed strongest of the apostles, was kneeling. Zodd's head was bowed as well, and a pale hand reached out to stroke the thick black fur.
No.
'Harry?'
It can't be…
The pale, flawless, and naked body stepped from the rubble. Long flowing white hair blew gently in the breeze and a set of startling blue eyes regarded Zodd and all in attendance; eyes that had slits for pupils.
Griffith had returned.
The reborn Griffith stepped into Zodd's paw and was lifted up onto his back. The familiar pair of wings sprouted from the apostle's back and Zodd kicked off from the ground, the beat of his wings were the only source of sound to be heard.
One look at Guts' face told the whole story; it was deep in disbelief, almost statuesque. His body seemed to move on its own, strapping the crossbow onto his arm and taking aim at the ascending Griffith and Zodd.
"Auuuuuu! Haaaaa! Waaaaa!" Casca let out a series of her wails as she watched Griffith depart on Zodd, drawing Guts' attention to her and not the apostle and Griffith. His face softened to some degree, picking up his fallen cloak and draping it over Casca once more.
"…Guts?" Harry asked after a pregnant pause.
Guts was silent for a moment, before saying, "Let's get the fuck out of here." No one was inclined to argue with him.
Back outside in what remained of the camp was where the survivors had all gathered. With the addition of Guts and Harry's part plus Farnese and Serpico, there had to be less than a hundred in total. Guts had taken Casca aside, almost inspecting her, checking for any injuries that might have been missed.
Silat approached Harry. "The woman is safe?"
"She is," Harry was less enthused than he should have been, like Guts, seeing the return of Griffith made this a bittersweet victory.
"Then I have your word that I am released from my debt?"
"You do," Harry affirmed. "I don't want anyone traveling with us who doesn't want to be there, and you clearly have other motives."
"Just the survival of my clan, and seeing what a true shit hole this country is, I doubt the Bakiraka will ever find sanctuary here. With Emperor Ganishka however…"
"You say you want the survival of your clan, but joining with the invading force isn't going to get you anywhere." Silat eyed him dangerously. "You saw what just happened; you saw what your emperor is up against. Can you really say that your clan is capable of fighting something like Zodd, something like… him?"
Harry thought that he had pushed the Kushan too far, that Silat might suddenly attack, but, "And what would you recommend? Sit back and be hunted by both forces after the dust settles?"
"Maybe just watch," Harry advised. "You're plenty cocky in a fight, you know that. When the emperor loses, and he will lose, see what kind of a winner… he will be like. Then maybe one day we can count on the Bakiraka to help us take him down."
Silat stared at him, analyzing him. "My debt to you has been paid. I'll be taking my leave." As he was ready to set out, he paused, half turning his head to regard Harry. "I'll bring it up with my clan, but don't expect anything from us; we owe you nothing." And like a cat, he made his silent exit.
Harry walked back over to where Guts was with Casca, Luca had since joined them, and she pulled Casca in for a hug. "Goodbye, Elai-er, Casca. It won't be the same without you peaking your head in every now and again."
"Hey," Guts addressed Luca. "Thanks, for looking after her."
"Don't thank me for that," Luca told him. "Just make sure she's taken care of, but even I'm not worried about that." She watched Casca play with the hem of Guts' cloak. "Something tells me she's in good hands."
"Luuuccccaaaa!" a young woman's cries caught her attention.
"What is it, Pepe?"
"We were searching the tower for any survivors, and we found all of this!" Pepe showed Luca a handful of gold and other jewel pieces. "The tower was full of it! There's enough to pass around to everyone! We even have enough to open our own inn in a city!"
"The treasury room was full of donations to the faith," Farnese spoke for the first time, approaching the group, Serpico not far behind her.
Harry became wary. "Are you planning on arresting them?" he asked. "After all that happened, are you actually about to-?"
'Did she just…?'
Even Serpico was staring wide-eyed as Farnese cut her blonde hair to fall just to her chin. "I saw. I saw that you were right, I served the Holy See blindly, only clinging to it because it was the only light I could see clearly in the dark. But you and the Black Swordsman, you defied odds, you made your own path when people like me were content to just follow orders blindly." Farnese took a knee. "I want for the both of you to show me the light, show me the true path."
Guts regarded her. "The true path is the one you make for yourself. If you plan on following, you're going to see more of what happened last night, no guarantee you'll live."
Farnese took a minute to steel her nerves and resolve. "I- I know this, and I accept. I want to see what path I can make for myself." She looked to her attendant. "Will you follow as well?"
"I follow you, Lady Farnese," Serpico overcame his shock of her cutting her hair. "If you willingly choose to follow these two, then I will let bygones be bygones." Serpico walked over to Harry, extending his hand. "I'm willing to set aside any grievances of you are."
Harry eyed his hand before shaking it. "Yeah, sure. Just please don't go sprouting anything about God; I've heard enough of that."
"Oh! Of course," Farnese was quick to agree. She reached into her satchel. "I suppose I should dispose of this then." It was a small, but older leather-bound text. "Father Mozgus gave this to me, it's supposedly written by the founder of the Holy See, but if I'm to leave my old identify behind-,"
"-Actually, can I see that?" Harry asked, retracting his previous statement.
"If you wish," Farnese handed him the text. "I've yet to read it myself."
'A text actually was written by the founder,' he had Schierke's full attention. Curiosity getting the better of both of them, Harry opened the text. The first three pages were blank and were made of rather brittle pieces of paper. The following pages contained neat handwriting detailing the set of morals and rules the Holy See would conduct, but the name Holy See was never mentioned, the name must have come after.
This just seems like a first edition copy or something. Harry speed-read through the rest of the pages, finding nothing of significance, until the very end. A few pages seemed to have been tucked away with care as to preserve them from the sand s of time, and they were written on much fancier pieces of paper. It was a letter.
To Supreme Emperor Gaiseric,
I bid you greetings, my travels, and exploits in the southernmost region have been of great benefit to the empire that you have built. While I am aware that you have neglected to hear my counsel, I do not blame you for your march on the Vanhal River. What I and many others do not condone is your taking of slaves. They dig the ditches, fight in your arena, and work continuous hours in the sun, dying from exposure. I recognize the necessity for such a practice, and I know that you offer many of them their freedom, but it still a rather uncomfortable topic of discussion, and not the predominant source of which I write.
This empire is yours, but not without its flaws. I realize that my voicing of this opinion was seen negatively by you in the last war room conference, which is strange considering the continent is all but united. Perhaps that was the first time a rift was created between you and your advisors.
However, despite how I might feel on the matter and your decisions of late, I do truly wish your sons, Huneric and Gento, good fortune; they are not to blame for the sins of their father.
But back to the matter at hand, I am feeling conflicted as of late. Perhaps it started when this whole campaign began. While in war, morals are fleeting, lives even more so. All that death, all that suffering; is that why you insist on wearing that mask of yours into battle? To feel that you are amongst the dead so that you may come out victorious? Mine is not the mind of a warrior.
No, my talent lies in exploring and maintaining a balanced empire while you seek more territory to conquer to suit a primal need of bloodlust. You are talented at many things, but understanding how a complex series of people all living under one united banner is not one of them.
Given our last face-to-face interaction, before you set off, I know that my time in your court is short. My life, I will spend the remainder of it locked up and tortured in the Tower of Conviction, a monument I helped to build. My life ended in the place where I dedicated my life.
I am sure that you will continue to consult with that witch of yours while I am incarcerated. Despite how I feel regarding that witch and her primitive ways, perhaps she can talk some sense into you as I ponder how things could have gotten like this between the two of us. That question will plague my mind alongside another since I happened across that red bauble from the old soothsayer, and its one I believe you should consider as well.
You have never been a religious man, but please, consider it as I have. All of us in this world, we look for someone to blame our problems on when things go astray, and whose name is it we curse out when that happens? Yours? Mine? No, the name of God.
People believe in God because they do not know their own fate and seek to explain their existence to him. If that is true, did God create man, or did man create God?
And within this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true, that man has no control, even over his own will.
You can send your men after me; they won't find a fight waiting for them. No, instead they will find a tired man, tired of living in an empire whose emperor threw away his morals for more battles to fight. They will find a man ready to serve whatever punishment you see fit. I regret it had to come to this, my brother.
Sincerely,
The sign of a six-fingered hand preluded his name.
High Advisor Gunderic
A/N: So that's it for this chapter, I hope the build up to the Holy See founder was worth it, and while it probably isn't canon, and might not ever be fully revealed, it was something I got to thinking on. And because I'm a history major, the name Gunderic and Gaiseric were actual historical figures who were brothers and a key to the downfall of Rome, and if Kentaro based his character off the real Gaiseric, could a Gunderic be out of the question? But the Gunderic here is the brother to Gaiseric and is quite the brainiac. Thanks for reading.