Berserk: Father's Day

The old farmer was digging a hole when he received the bad news.

"Mr...Wyatt, I presume? I regret to inform you that your son perished at the Battle of-"

He wasn't surprised when he heard that his son had died. Hell, the boy had ran off to join the army years ago at the tender age of sixteen. Decades had passed. His father, now an old man, simply nodded as this news was delivered to him.

It was on a sunny day, on a farmstead surrounded by rocky hills and wooden fences. Down a hill, one could see an idle looking town. The farm was simple, one barn and a small house not far from it.

His family had worked on this farm for generations, and he had inherited it from his father, as did his father from his grandfather. The farmer had lived and worked on the farm for years, only going to town every now and then for supplies and ale. The farm and the village next to it was located deep in Midland itself, thankfully far from the border and the raids that naturally came with the war.

The old farmer was not a very notable person. He was head shorter than the armored Midland soldier delivering the news to him, and he remained focused on his digging, his small head of white hair barely protecting him from the sun.

XXX

His life was a simple one: He worked on the farm, sold what he grew, then used that money to get supplies to do it all again. It was not very exciting, but it was simple and routine. Wild animal attacks and the like were very rare, and he was too old to be conscripted into the army ever since that war broke out with Chuder a few years ago. He occasionally went to town and had a drink, but that was the gist of his interactions with those in the village. The only one he really ever connected to was his wife, a woman who was as plain and apathetic as he was.

Indeed they had met in a pub, gotten drunk, and did what drunken young people usually do together.

Four weeks later, she came to him, confessing that she felt sick.

Another week passed, and they were married.

His parents passed away not long after, and he and his wife worked at the farm. Nothing much changed, really. Like his mother and father before him, he and his wife worked, sold, worked, and sold. It was a life that didn't sound all that grand, but it was peaceful for what it was worth.

Than she had their child. A boy, he was nearly the complete opposite of his parents. Where they preferred peace and quiet, he seemed to enjoy running and making noise. Where they didn't speak much except when they were doing business, he really liked to talk, often asking about the world. Of course, having lived most of their lives on the farm (Apart from the occasional bit of news at the pub), they rarely had anything much to say that didn't involve farming.

While they were content with a simple life of farming, the boy wasn't. While he never said it out loud, one just had to take one look at the son's frustrated face to know that he did not enjoy the work, that he wanted something more.

On the exact day that he turned sixteen, he finally ran out, yelling something about how "The army will actually be exciting!". He and his wife watched, shrugged, and got back to work.

He never wrote back to them, so they assumed he was busy or dead. When the farmer's wife took ill years later, he still remained in the army. They understood, he had a job to do.

When his wife finally passed away, he still had a faint hope that his son would come home.

When five years passed without any word from the front, the old man simply picked up a rake and went back to work, apathetic as usual.

XXX

The soldier delivering the news wore shining steel plate-he was clearly of high status-as he delivered the information. If the man was bothered by the old man's nonchalance, he didn't show it.

"With his dying words, your son has bequeathed his surviving progeny to you-"

This made the old man pause. Wait, was that what he thought it meant-

From behind the soldier, a young boy with long black hair stepped forwards. He looked up at the farmer, eyes wide. "Grandpa?"

Son of a bitch.

XXX

Wild.

That's the best way the boy could be described, as the old man thought. He loved to run, to dash around the farm, laughing to himself, even more so than his father.

Which made it all the more surprising was the fact that the boy enjoyed the work. He did not complain like his father did, actively seeming to love being near the animals.

Soon, he and his grandfather were working side by side in the field. After these years, despite his usual apathy, it was nice to have some extra help once more.

When he decided to ask the boy if he knew the identity of his mother, he shyly responded that he "didn't really know".

The old man decided to leave that train of thought alone for now.

So, peaceful days came and went as usual, the old man still doing his job mechanically, only slightly stirred by the world around him.

Then came the day the boy broke the wall down.

XXX

Five years passed, and the boy was now a healthy preteen, still excitable as ever.

It was night. The farmer was starting to nod off in a creaky wooden chair, while the kid was walking around upstairs, apparently having fun with sliding up and down the stairs.

That's when he heard a crash and a yelp of surprise from above. Sighing, he got to his feet, somewhat sluggishly due to his age. Wandering upstairs, he wondered what mess the boy had gotten himself into now-

He found him sitting dazed next to a part of the wall that had been broken open. A stream of dust poured out, and as he sighed, a book fell out from the hole. Picking it up, he looked into the hole.

He paused at what he saw.

Inside the hole, multiple books lay in a circle. In the middle of the circle lied the skeleton of a small animal. Reaching in, despite the bizarre sight, he picked it up for closer inspection. The boy shivered and hid behind his grandfather, rightfully finding it bizarre.

While it had the body of a rat, it had been largely modified.

Three snake skulls, with part of the necks, had been tied with rope to the socket where it's head used to be, as if to replace the head of the rat. On it's back, four bony bat wings had been strung across the spine, with the wings spread open like the creature was bout to take flight. He told the boy to go fetch a lantern, and he immediately dashed downstairs, not wanting to be near the skeleton any longer. The old man continued his inspection.

All the limbs had been removed from the rats sockets, and there the space was filled by what appeared to be human finger bones, which loosely hung from the where they had been crudely fitted on to replace the limbs. In the back, at the spot where the rats tail would be, the skull of a small crow had been fitted, with he beak opened like it was in mid screech.

It was clearly an abomination, this barely held together forgery. Some would have dropped it. Other would have burned it. But to the old man, it was….interesting.

Why would someone make this? Who made this? How did it get into his walls?

For the first time in awhile, the corners of the old man's mouth began to twitch. For the first time in a while, he felt excitement.

And then the thing crumbled to dust in his hands just after he committed it's design to memory.

He sighed, disappointed, as the boy walked back up the stairs with the lantern.

Peering into the smashed wall, he the light illuminated the insides.

Scratches lined the inside of the wall, like something was in there. On the ground where he had found the messed up skeleton, the some words had been carved into the ground.

VANA LIVES

He had no idea what that meant. Was it a name? Perhaps, for the skeleton thing. He decided to check out the books. All of them were old and worn, and when he opened them he was immediately confronted by an obstacle.

None of them were written in a language he understood. These book's really were old.

After flipping around the pages., he saw that some books would feature drawings.

One showed a knight in black armor and cape, with a helmet resembling that of a skull, wielding a sword, one with a grip covered in thorns from the look of it. The knight was charging into battle against what looked to be a mass of giant, spike covered worms. Another drawing featured what appeared to be a young girl in robes fleeing on horseback from a group of burning, flying skulls.

If there were more drawings, they were probably lost, for the book itself had many torn, ripped pages. The years had not been kind.

The final notable drawing in this book showed the Black Knight and the young girl from earlier, standing side by side. He held out his sword, and she held out a staff wreathed in fire.

In front of them lay a giant red colored hand. In its palm, a black wreathed figure began to rise up, concealed in a black cloak. On a closer look, one could notice that the cloaked figures head was swollen near the top, as though it had expanded.

Then, the book ended. Being late at night, he decided to go to bed. The boy went to his own, bed finally tired himself.

The next day, instead of immediately working on the harvest, he read the books he pulled out.

One book had a drawing of a heart, for 50 pages.

Another consisted of 30 pages of giant, deformed humans eating smaller humans.

Another had the image of man ins silver armor and a skull-like helm charging into battle with an army of knights at his back, battling against another army of knights. The inside of that book was heavily defaced, with scratches, crudely made insults, and drawings of a rude hand-made gesture dotting every page. Whoever found this book before him clearly had no love for it's subject.

Another book contained pages upon pages of drawings of monsters. One image showed what looked like a cross between a lion and a bull, hunched over a river and drinking from it.

Said river was red, with a human limb or two sticking out of it.

Most of the pages contained images of other inhuman beasts partaking in slaughter, either of each other, or of human beings.

Looking back at his book pile, he also opened one book and found it to be hollowed out. Inside of it was a brown, egg shaped thing that appeared to have mismatched facial features sculpted across its surface. Weird. Still, it's not like some random idol would help him decipher the books. Casually, he tossed it behind his back. It banged off the wall before rolling under the bed.

The rest of the books were like that, containing incomprehensible passages of writing and the occasional drawing of a monster.

After all these years of mediocrity, there was just something….fascinating about it. He was actually feeling..excited. Of course, all good things come to an end.

XXX

One week later

Things turned back to normal soon enough. The old man would read the books at night, and the boy would play. The kid notably did not mention anything from that night, likely not interested in it.

On an ordinary afternoon, the boy was grabbing sticks across the farmland. Fall had begun, and they would need the firewood for the coming winter.

The farmer, his mind off of the bizarre discovery from not too long, mulled over whether or not any of the animals on his farm would have to be slaughtered for meat as he dug a new hole.

That's when he felt it.

His heart felt heavy, and then he felt suddenly lightheaded.

At his age, it wasn't that surprising.

With a grunt, the man coughed up a splotch of blood and fell to the ground. He heard a faint noise, someone shouting, then something running towards him.

Grandpa!

He had to give the kid credit.

Dragging him from the fields to the bed was quite the task.

XXX

When two months passed without any sign of him recovering, it was clear to both the boy and the man that it wouldn't be long now, but they never said it out loud. There was no need to.

He just ate and drank what his grandson brought him, knowing that it would be futile in the end. In fact, where most would have given up on him, the boy still did his best to ease the old man's passing.

In fact, he kept a close eye on the boy himself. Despite the situation, the kid was still as quick as ever, running up and down to do the chores of the house by himself.

Seeing the boy so alive, so full of youthful energy, the old man remember his earlier thoughts on the boy.

Wild.

In that moment, he envied the one decades younger than him.

The books provided slight entertainment for him. He may have even enjoyed trying to figure out what was happening from the drawings, even though he only had black and white colored drawings to plot his ideas out. To him, there was a sense of awe at seeing how the figures in the drawings seemed so strong, so powerful.

He wished he could've been like that.

XXX

Inside a bedroom, an old man coughed.

It was his last day.

"...Grandpa?"

"Say the words, and we shall grant you a body that will know true power. You shall know no sickness, and the toils of time will not harm you. You will be stronger, faster, just say it!"

I...

I SACRIFICE

XXX

Just as he desired, he felt stronger. Like he could take on the world.

It was in the dead of night when the farmhouse exploded in a burst of steam. A primal roar broke the night as something massive, pale-furred and hunched like a bear, strolled out of the ruins.

The first thing it felt was hunger. An intense hunger.

On its stomach, a giant mouth opened up, mist briefly puffing out as it brought a massive fist down onto the side of a barn.

Panicked squeals and grunts were ignored as it reached in and grabbed a good-sized pig, the creature struggling in it's grip as it brought the animal into it's maw.

There was an echoing crunch as it's teeth slammed down.

Then, the sound of animals screaming in terror as something sticky and red rained on them.

The creatures lower mouth gulped down the meat, the pig's other half soon following.

Then, the large maw curled up into a smile.

More.

A few lucky animals managed to run between his legs, scattering off as it forced itself into the barn, crushing a few underfoot as more unlucky animals were scooped into his maw. The barn collapsed around him, a severed leg or in between his teeth. A cow tried to run around him-

Almost on instinct, something long and spiky snapped out of his mouth like a whip, scooping the terrified animal up into his mouth.

He walked out of the devastated remains, blood staining his fur. This entire massacre had only gone on for less than five minutes.

Still, it's belly was not full.

It walked forwards, now on two legs, drool seeping from both's of it's smiling mouths.

Five eyes looked down on the town below the farm.

Charging forwards, it ran, before leaping from the top of the hill into the town below.

His wild stomp brought him directly onto a small house, killing the inhabitants within nearly instantly.

They were the lucky ones.

XXX

No one was spared. Steam trailed behind him as he stood at the entrance of the village, much shorter now, but his now ape-like face and the blood around him made his role in the carnage clear.

Looking back, he saw the village in ruins. Blood lined the streets. Bodies, some half-eaten, some broken and brutalized like they had been struck by a cannon.

Like many apostles, he finally had a truly coherent thought about what he had just done. About the blood he had spilled and drank. About what he did to get this power.

He wanted to do it again.

No more being a stupid farmer.

No more being sick.

No more being weak.

From now on, there would only be two things for him to strive for.

Enjoyment and Excitement.

Disappearing into the forest, Wyald laughed as he left his old life behind.

XXX

For decades, rumors would persist of a beast wandering the massive, deepest forests on the borders of Midland. Of some kind of ape-like thing assaulting all living things who came in it's path.

Those who crossed it would be devoured or cruelly torn limb from limb, they said.

And if you were a woman? God help you, they said.

But the war with Chuder was raging on. Some said that it would last a hundred, maybe even a thousands years. With all this going on, few had the manpower or interest in chasing after a myth.

Then, one day, in a place were the worst scum of Midland were gathered, the myth became reality.

"Your Highness. On top of that tower I'm giving you a new sculpture."

XXX

"The Black Dog Motto!"

"Enjoyment and Excitement!"

XXX

"It's Nosferatu Zodd!"

In front of the battle weary Band of the Hawk, a gigantic beast slammed to the ground behind Wyald. It's great wings blocked out the sun as it towered over the bleeding, half blinded ape man.

Compared to the massiver Feline-esque minotaur behind him, Wyald was like a child.

Hefting him up, Zodd was eerily quiet as he impaled Wyald's back onto his horns.

Wyald screamed in agony, holding up Griffith in a shaking hand.

"Griffith is going to die! They were wrong he won't be the fifth one-"

"THEN YOU'll DIE FIRST!"

With a roar, Zodd grabbed onto the impaled apostle and pulled-

XXX

With an agonized shriek, Wyald burst open as he was ripped in two. Griffith slipped out of his hands, onto the ground. Without hesitation, Guts ran forwards to drag his commander to safety. Staring down at the Griffith, Zodd's gaze was pitiless.

"It will return to you. That's is it's nature." Than with a flap of his wings, the apostle was in the air. Steam began to leak from Wyald's shrinking body, creating a smoke like effect as Zodd's wings stirred up the dust and wind in the clearing.

"What is the Eclipse? Does it have something to do with that monkey?"

Zodd glared down at one of the few swordsman to have fought him and live.

His fiery gaze matched Guts expression of rage.

"You'll know soon. Very soon."

Just like that, Zodd was gone in a blast of wind.

"Casca..look!" One young Hawk shakily pointed at Wyald's decaying body.

From between the two torn halves of Wyald's body, twisted, almost snakelike figures rose.

They were all severely decayed, and with a start, Guts recognized one of the twisted figures as one of the many victims Wyald had impaled during his beginning charge.

Among one of the decayed ghost's, there was one with a fleshless head, a lone eyeball hanging out of its socket, and a few long black hairs jutting from it's scalp. This eye turned and stared down at Wyald.

Welcome home, Grandfather.

Then, they dragged him down to Hell.

-END

XXX

For eagle eyed viewers, I've left a few surprises.

Some of this stuff mentioned in this chapter will become important later on.

And with school over, I have more time to write.

Happy Father's Day!