The Immaterium, also referred to as the Empyrean, the Sea of Souls, the Realm of Chaos, the Astral Realm, or most commonly, "The Warp." Within this dark and twisted psychic realm were five gods. Khorne, Nurgle, Tzeentch, Slaanesh, and a final God, the most powerful and malicious of them all, the God of Chaos Undivided, referring to itself only as "The Idea of Evil". Each of them were highly malevolent and corrupted entities spawned from the darkest emotions of all life in the Galaxy, or in the Idea of Evil's case the collective unconscious desire of all life.

Opposing them was a single man named 'Revelation', a psyker and perpetual with unparalleled power. Revelation possessed a completely pure soul untainted by the chaos and malevolence of the Warp, as it was born from the merged souls of Humanity's ancient Shamans.

Upon its birth, the Idea of Evil began manipulating causality to bring about the births and ascension of the five mortals that would be its greatest "Daemon Princes", its God Hand. The Anathema was decidedly not one of the beings the Idea of Evil had brought about the creation of but upon learning of his existence, the Idea of Evil wanted him as a member of the God Hand. Originally it had intended for there to only be five members, five being its holy number, but it was willing to start another hand for the anathema. A "Left Hand" to the "Right Hand" it intended to build.

The other Gods wanted him as their servants as well and thus they warred over him, at least at first. However, eventually the anathema stood before them and declared his enmity towards them and his intention to destroy them all. This quelled the interest in him from the other four gods who now wanted to destroy him. However it did not quell the interest of the Idea of Evil, who manipulated causality to ensure the anathema received a crimson behelit.

If he were to submit and make the required sacrifice, the Anathema could ascend to Godhood, being anathema to the Idea of Evil no more. The Idea of Evil had attempted to warp fate and causality such that the Anathema would reach his absolute lowest point during either the Age of Strife or the Terran Unification Wars, thus activating the crimson behelit and allowing him to ascend to start the Left Hand… However it never happened, much to the Idea of Evil's confusion. The Anathema seemed practically immune to the Idea of Evil's machinations. Almost as if he had no fate for the Idea of Evil to manipulate to begin with…

Near the end of the Unification Wars, the Emperor of Mankind, as he was now calling himself, made twenty superhuman sons. Each a demigod in their own right as the Emperor had taken twenty minor gods from the Warp and placed them within each of his sons along with different aspects of his own power and personality. Each intended to be his weapon to conquer the stars under his banner and combat the five Chaos Gods.

Fortunately, as thoroughly corrupted the Warp may have been, there were still pockets within it that were untainted and contained uncorrupted spirits. Though it was becoming increasingly difficult for psykers below the likes of him or Malcadore to access these realms within the Warp, to the point it was becoming effectively impossible. At least as far as they were aware.

The first beings he approached for the Primarch Project were, of course, the four Elemental Kings as they were the most benevolent beings in the Warp that were the closest in power to the Chaos Gods. However, they did not wish to comply as being bound in flesh would limit the aid they could deliver to mortals. They had also lost any faith or trust in him over the incident with "The Angel", the Emperor's proto-primarch, and what the Angel had done before being sealed away. Finally they cited the fact that the Emperor had a crimson behelit, marking him as one chosen by the Idea of Evil to become a member of the God Hand. So even despite the fact that being bound to the bodies of primarchs would limit them, they were reluctant to help him regardless.

The Emperor implored them to reconsider, citing the fact that it had become effectively impossible for mortals to call upon them or the lesser elementals for assistance and even he had to use the sheer brute force of his psychic might to reach them. Thus, he claimed, they would do far more good as primarchs helping him to unite Humanity. However, they claimed he was wrong and that it was not impossible for mortals to call upon them for assistance. When questioned as to how they could be called upon they refused to elaborate on how it was still possible, again likely reluctant to share such information with him due to their loss of trust in him over "the Angel" and the fact he had a crimson behelit in his possession. So in the end they refused to assist him instead continuing to battle Chaos in their own way and the Emperor was forced to relent.

While that was disappointing, Malcadore had warned the Emperor of the likelihood of their refusal so it was not unexpected. Nor was it truly even a real issue. While having the Four Elemental Kings as Primarchs would have been highly beneficial, there were, after all, plenty of other gods within the Warp that the Emperor could use. They were simply not as powerful as the elemental kings. Thus these other gods were found and bartered with. Eventually deals were struck and the Emperor had his primarchs.

Then he was betrayed. Erda, the woman with whom he made the physical bodies of the primarchs, opened a warp portal in the Emperor's genelabs and the Chaos Gods stole them and scattered them across the galaxy.

The Emperor had never before been so close to fully activating his Crimson Behelit then the day his sons were stolen and scattered across the stars. Never before had he been brought so low. So close to causing an Eclipse. So close to becoming the very first of the Left Hand. The warp itself seemed to seethe and boil from the sheer intensity of his fury and despair. Then he took one look at the crimson behelit, just one singular look, and… it simply ended. The eclipse never happened, at least not in the way it was supposed to, no sacrifice was made, and the Anathema never ascended. He even spared Erda and allowed her to leave his palace and live in peace upon Terra.

As for the primarchs, the Chaos Gods had plans for them. Thus they were scattered to specific planets across the galaxy to fulfill the plans the Chaos Gods had made for them. All of them except for one. One Primarch they could not figure out. One Primarch immune to their touch. One primarch immune to their machinations. One primarch shorn of fate, much like his father. That primarch was taken by the currents of the Warp and ended up on a completely random planet.

Though… Simply because the planet was random did not mean it was just any planet. In fact, through pure random chance, he had ended up on a very specific planet. One that was of great importance to the Idea of Evil. The planet where the fifth member of the Right Hand was to be born. The likelihood of him ending up on that specific planet should have been astronomically low, almost impossible. However, despite its immense improbability, that's exactly where he ended up.

And by pure chance a group of travelers came across his gestation pod. Curiosity winning out over caution, they looked inside and found the infant primarch, no larger than a two year old child, within. The group debated what to do with him at first before one of the women decided to adopt him as her own.

Not even two days later would the group be chased down by traveling Inquisitors of the Holy See, who found the young primarch's gestation pod and suspected witchcraft.

Encircling the group with his retinue on horseback the Inquisitor shouted, "Halt, in the name of the Lord!"

The young primarch, clad in no more than a simple blanket as the group had no clothes that fit him, looked around nervously. His adoptive mother held him tightly in her arms.

The man at the head of the group raised his hands in a sign of surrender. "Alright, we're doing what ya say… Er… Excuse my insolence m'lord, but is there something wrong?"

"Indeed there is, child. We found a suspicious heretical artifact in a crater a few leagues back. It seems to have been a container of some sort. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" The inquisitor demanded.

The man shook his head. "No, m'lord. We don't know nothing. I swear on m' life."

The Inquisitor didn't seem impressed by this. "Hmph… Then I don't suppose you'll mind if we search your belongings for any heretical idols or symbols. After all, if you know nothing then you must have nothing to hide."

"We don't mind at all, m'lord… Everyone, set everything on the ground for the holy Inquisitor and his men." The man ordered, taking off his own backpack and setting it on the ground and backing away from it..

The others, including the young primarch's adoptive mother all followed suit, setting their belongings on the ground and backing away.

Several of the inquisitor's men got off their horses and began dumping the contents of the bags on the ground. Clothes, cooking materials, and dried or preserved foods all littered the ground. The inquisitor's men meticulously sifted through the items on the ground and thoroughly searched the bags' interiors.

When the men found nothing they searched the travelers themselves, patting them down and looking at their arms, necks, and backs for heretical tattoos or symbols. Their search included examining the Primarch for similar symbols, much to the boy's displeasure.

Still finding nothing one of the men looked at the Inquisitor and said, "There is nothing, your holiness. We can find no traces of heresy or witchcraft in their possession or on any of their persons."

The inquisitor raised a hand to his chin in thought. "Hm… And yet the tracks from the witch casket led us straight to them…" He looked over the group with a scrutinizing eye before his gaze landed on the primarch in the woman's arms. The primarch returned the gaze, staring him directly in the eyes.

He hadn't noticed it previously, but now that he was really looking at the boy the Inquisitor could sense something… off about him. His features were a bit too perfect. He had an aura about him. An aura of strength and power that did not befit a child so small as him. His eyes were far too fierce and intelligent for someone his age. Furthermore, he looked nothing like the woman holding him. Nor did he look like any of the other members of the group.

The Inquisitor climbed off his horse and approached the woman holding the boy, putting on his friendliest smile to put her at ease. "I sincerely apologize to you all for the inconvenience. It is merely my duty as an inquisitor of the Holy See. I'm sure you understand… That is an adorable little boy, ma'am. Might I ask his name?"

"I…" The woman started nervously before hesitating.

"Come now. You aren't in any trouble. I realize how intimidating this situation must be for you considering the circumstances, but I merely wish to know the boy's name." He reached out and patted the boy on the head.

The boy tried pulling his head away, not wanting the inquisitor to touch him. The boy would recoil from the touch of God's holy servants? The evidence continued to pile up.

"I… I…"

The Inquisitor raised a hand. "Well, it's fine. I need not know his name… Though, I just have one more question, who might his father be?"

"That would be me, m'lord. She's my wife and the boy's my son." The man leading the travelers stated.

The inquisitor raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? How fascinating… It's especially curious considering how little resemblance the boy shares to any of you. Would you care to explain?"

The man swallowed nervously and said, "My wife is barren, m'lord. We adopted the boy."

"Adopted, you say. How so very noble of you, to care for a poor forsaken orphan such as this… Which parish did you adopt him from?" The Inquisitor asked, not dropping his friendly smile even for a moment.

"We found him in the last town we stopped at… He was an urchin living on the streets, m'lord." The man responded.

"An urchin, you say. Funny. I know the closest town in the direction you were walking from has a church. I am good friends with the Priest who manages it. He's a kindly old man who has sadly suffered much in his life. I'm sure you must have met him at least once during your stay. I also know that, considering his past, he would absolutely take in any urchins who lived there before sending them off with an escort to a proper orphanage with clothes on their backs and food in their belly… Which brings me to another point." The Inquisitor raised a finger and started pacing, with his other hand behind his back

"I observed my men searching the boy for any heretical symbols on his skin. So, if you found him on the street, where are his clothes? I would imagine that even if my friend had been unable to find him, the people of the village would have at the very least given him some rags to cover himself with. The fact he doesn't have them suggests either you had taken them from him, or he never had any to begin with. We found no heretical symbols or objects in your possession, so I doubt you are members of a hedonist cult. That suggests to me that he never had clothes to begin with. Now how would that be possible? I think I know the answer. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you found him inside a strange metal and glass casket in the middle of a crater. I think you opened the casket and saw the child inside. Then, seeing he appeared to be a simple healthy baby boy you decided to adopt him. Now, look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong."

The inquisitor stopped in front of the leader of the group and looked him dead in the eyes, with both hands held behind his back.

The man tried to stare the inquisitor in the eyes for a moment before his will faltered and he looked away. "He's just a boy…" He said weakly.

The Inquisitor's smile widened and he patted the man on the shoulder. "I can forgive you for your ignorance. I am even willing to let you and the rest of your group go free. However, you must turn the witch child over to me."

"NO!" Screeched the woman holding the child, clinging tighter to him.

The boy, sensing the woman's distress, began to grow visibly distressed himself.

"PLEASE! YOU CAN'T! YOU CAN'T TAKE MY CHILD FROM ME!" The woman pleaded, clinging desperately to him.

Suddenly a blade emerged from her stomach. She coughed up blood and looked down in shock.

Everyone was frozen in shock, stunned by what had just happened.

"NO, AMELYN!" Cried the woman's husband, breaking the silence.

The blade wiggled left and right slicing her stomach open further before it was finally wrenched out and she collapsed to the ground with the boy in her arms, pinning him to the ground.

He struggled to escape only for someone to grab his arm and drag him out from under her, causing him to lose his blanket in the process.

Looking, the young primarch saw it was the inquisitor who was now staring down at him with complete and utter malice. His grip would have been painfully hard for a normal child, but to the young primarch it was simply uncomfortably tight.

The Inquisitor opened his mouth to speak but the leader of the travelers smashed him in the face with a large rock and ripped the young primarch from his iron grasp. With his arm now free of the inquisitor, the man all but threw the young primarch away from the group and the Inquisitor's men. "RUN!"

The Primarch stared up at the man uncomprehendingly, not fully certain what was happening or why.

"GO ON! GET OUT OF HERE, DAMN YOU!" He shouted, waving his arms to shoo the child away before swinging the large rock in his hands at one of the Inquisitor's men that tried to attack him.

The young primarch didn't understand the words but he managed to get the gist of what the man wanted. Still he hesitated for a moment, not wanting to run. However, as the two groups began to fight and he saw the inquisitor getting up off the ground he reluctantly turned and ran off, moving far faster than a child his size should have been able to. Being able to out pace a fully grown man with ease.

The inquisitor watched the little boy dash off with supernatural speed, his suspicions confirmed. The child was indeed a witch. He had to be if he could move that fast.

It didn't matter. He could see the tracks the boy had left in his wake. He and his men would be able to track him down after these heretics were dealt with.

The Inquisitor and his men made quick work of the heretics. When it was over one of his men approached him and asked, "What should be done with the bodies, your holiness?"

"We're under a perfectly good tree. Hang them. Let these sinners serve as a warning to all who pass." The Inquisitor declared.

And so his men gathered the corpses and strung them all up by their necks, leaving them to rot.

This took maybe two hours. When they were finished, they immediately set off on their horses to chase down the witch child.

They followed the child's tracks until they suddenly came to an abrupt end.

"What happened? Why do the tracks end here?" One of his men asked.

"Mm…" The inquisitor hummed in thought before looking up into the trees. However, the child was not hiding in the branches which was his first thought. Or if he was, he was moving from tree to tree rather than just staying in one tree.

"Spread out and search." The Inquisitor ordered.

The Inquisitor and his men spent the next several hours searching the entire area for any sign of the boy but were unable to find anything. Eventually night fell and they had to set up camp. During the night they took shifts looking out for any sign of the child, with two people on watch at all times.

The next morning they resumed their search. This continued for several days until the Inquisitor finally called an end to the search.

"At this point it is clear we will not find him. I assume he has somehow managed to slip past us and escape. He is likely long gone by now, especially considering how fast he can move." The Inquisitor said, disappointment clear in his tone.

"We're sorry, your holiness… We have failed you."

"No, my child, this failure is mine. I should have pursued the witch when he first ran off. That I didn't is a most egregious mistake… For my failure I will be submitting myself to a confessional and later self flagellation. Now come, let's be off." The Inquisitor said before climbing on his horse and riding off. His subordinates followed suit.

The young primarch, who had been hiding the entire time watched the men leave but thinking it was a trick he remained hidden. He waited several more days before finally venturing out.

After making sure the men were truly gone, he headed back to the last place he had seen the travelers who had cared for him. There he found their rotting corpses hung by their necks in a tree.

Stunned, he approached the tree and saw the woman who had held and cared for him. Her guts were spilling out of her stomach and he only recognized her because of her clothes.

He fell to his knees in front of her body before collapsing entirely and landing in the putrid organs laying on the ground. He hadn't eaten or slept once since the men began hunting him, and that combined with the stress of seeing these nice people dead took his toll on him. He passed out.

Later, a band of mercenaries passed by the tree of hung corpses.

"Hey… look!" One of the mercenaries declared pointing out the tree.

"Whoa… Pretty grisly." Gambino, the leader of the mercenaries commented.

Seeing the young child laying in the guts beneath one of the corpses, Shisu, Gambino's wife, suddenly rushed towards the tree.

"Shisu, wait!" Gambino called after her, but she didn't listen.

She knelt down and scooped the child up off the ground, cradling him in her arms. "Oooh…"

Gambino said nothing as he observed this whereas another member of the band said, "Poor girl. She's been acting funny ever since her miscarriage three days ago." He then looked at Gambino and asked, "That would have been your kid, right, Gambino?"

"How the hell should I know?!" Gambino grumbled. He then had his horse trot over to Shisu and the infant. "Hey Shisu, how long are you going to stay like that?"

"Hush… Hush…" Shisu murmured to the infant.

"Hey, snap out of it! That metal thing's probably some fucked up torture contraption! That kid's dead already!" Gambino half shouted, grabbing Shisu by the arm and yanking her thus causing her to drop the child.

The boy moved and looked up at them, tears welling in his eyes. He made a noise but didn't quite start crying.

"Huh?" Said one of Gambino's men, surprised by this.

"Hey! That kid's still alive!" Cried another in shock.

Shisu pulled away from Gambino and rushed to pick up the now blood and mud covered infant. Again she cradled him in her arms.

Gambino staired for a moment before saying, "Hey, Shisu…"

She ran away from him before climbing into the back of a cart, cradling the baby protectively in her arms.

Gambino looked for a moment longer before turning his horse and continuing down the road.

"You gonna allow that, Gambino?" One of his men asked.

"Hell if I care. She can do what she wants!" Gambino responded.

"I don't know about that…" One of his mercenaries said, looking at another.

"Yeah." Said the other.

"What is it?" Gambino asked, looking back at the men.

"It's a bad omen isn't it? Picking up a kid in a place like this…"

"Ha! Are you guys scared?"

"Why, no."

"You've gotta be kidding."

Gambino rolled his eyes and looked back forwards. "Sheesh… It'll die anyway if we just leave 'em alone! Until then, let it be Shisu's little toy to console her!"

"Come on! Let's get out of here and stop jabbering about this crap!" Gambino ordered as he had his horse start trotting forwards again. The rest of his band followed after him.


Three years later, the boy was growing fast for a normal child. He was about the size of a six or seven year old rather than a mere three year old. Currently he was standing inside a sick tent while nurses tended to his mother, unable to do anything to help.

"Hold on, Shisu." The lead nurse said to her. She then looked over her shoulder and shouted, "Guts! Get out of here! She's got the plague! If you get infected, it'll be the end of you too!"

Guts looked at his dying mother who reached out towards him. "Guts!" She called out desperately.

"Where's Gambino?!" The head nurse demanded, looking at her assistant.

"He won't come. He's in the middle of a siege." The assistant responded.

As they were talking, Guts started approaching his mother.

"Shameful! You'd think a man would be with his wife in her dying moments! Okay… Let's stuff something between her teeth!"

Guts pushed past them. "Hey, what are you doing?!" The head nurse asked in confusion.

"Guts…" His mother moaned in pain, reaching out to him. "Guts…"

Trembling, he gently took her by the hand and held on. "Guts…" He did not let go as she slowly passed away.

When she finally went limp, the nurses checked her pulse. Confirming she was dead, they made Guts let go of her hand and ushered him out of the tent.


Three years after that, Guts was with the men as they were holding a defensive position outside of a castle.

"Yo, Guts! A spear! Gimme a spear!" Gambino ordered.

Guts grabbed a spear and held it out to Gambino.

"C'mon! Don't just sit there!" Gambino growled as he snatched the weapon aggressively from Guts' hands. He then thrust the weapon forward and impaled a soldier that had been riding on horseback towards them.

The corpse fell off the horse and landed on top of Guts, knocking the boy to the ground. Guts looked the corpse in the eyes and screamed in fear. He was then knocked back away from the corpse as Gambino smacked him across the face with the butt of the spear.

"Don't just stand there! You trying to get me killed?!" Gambino shouted at Guts. "God damn it! Who the hell do you think feeds you?! If I die, you'll end up a corpse on the side of the road!"

"They're coming! Attack!" Shouted one of Gambino's men as more soldiers came charging towards them from the castle.

Guts wiped the blood from his mouth and stared at Gambino from the corner of his eye.

"What are you lookin' at?" Gambino demanded as he loaded a crossbow. "You got a problem, I'll throw you out right now! Right in the battlefield! Feh! That bitch Shisu sure picked up a pesky little bastard…"

Guts said nothing as he continued to wipe the blood from his mouth.

Later Gambino made Guts grab a sword meant to be wielded in two hands by an adult, which was far too large for his relatively small frame and made him practice with it. Guts was more than strong enough to lift the weapon, being about as strong as an average adult man if not stronger. However the sword's sheer size combined with being balanced towards the tip on top of being a bit thicker and heavier than an average sword due to a lack of a proper distal taper made the weapon highly unwieldy for the boy.

"Let's go!" Gambino demanded as he easily blocked a strike to his legs. "Come on! Come on! Is that all you got?!" He mocked as he continued to toy with Guts before driving his knee into the boy's stomach hard.

As Guts collapsed to the ground clutching his stomach Gambino said, "C'mon! We're not dancing here!"

"Gambino, you're going too far. Guts may be big and really strong for his size, but you can't expect to teach swordsmanship to a six year old kid." One of the mercenaries called out.

"He can't expect to keep eating free meals forever! We're mercenaries after all… Mercenaries! He's gotta earn his own bread around here." Gambino responded.

"That's fine, but Guts, why don't you use a sword more your size?" The other mercenary asked.

"No!" Guts practically shouted in defiance before getting back up and raising his sword to continue fighting.

"Oh! He's a pigheaded little guy!" The mercenary commented.

"We don't keep children's weapons around here anyway." Gambino said, casually readying himself before Guts rushed forward with his weapon raised.

Gambino easily blocked and deflected Guts' attacks. "No good! No good! Not enough projection!" He scolded.

"Use your hips more! Your hips!"

"Go! Go!"

"Go get 'im, kid!"

"Don't hold back!"

The mercenaries gathered around to watch called out as Guts futily assaulted Gambino with the oversized and clumsy sword.

Eventually Gambino started fighting back and cut Guts several times.

Gritting his teeth, Guts lunged forward with the sword and stabbed towards Gambino's head, slicing open a gash in his jaw.

"You… YOU RUNT!" Gambino shouted before swinging his sword again, making a deep cut across Guts' nose.

Guts stumbled back but stood strong. However, before he could retaliate in kind several of the mercenaries stood up and intervened.

"Hey!"

"You're going too far! He's just a kid!"

Gambino said nothing in response as he raised a hand and put a bit of pressure on the cut on his jaw.

A couple of the mercenaries surrounded Guts and started ushering him away into a tent. "Come on, Guts. You need to get that looked at."

"That's an awful cut! All the way down to the bone!"

"That was a bit childish, wasn't it? Gambino, sir?" One of the mercenaries leading Guts away asked.

"I guess I pushed 'im a little too hard." Gambino said. Though he had a small smile on his face.

Later, Guts was lying down in his tent after his wounds had been treated.

'Hot… So hot… My face feels like it's on fire… My nose… clogged with blood… I can't breathe…' Guts thought to himself as he laid there in the tent. Whereas the other cuts Guts had received had already stopped hurting, his nose was still in a lot of pain. For some reason he could tell it would leave a scar, despite how fast and how well he usually healed.

"So how long does he plan to keep the kid anyway?" Guts heard someone ask outside his tent. He opened one eye and stared out the crack in the entrance flap.

"Did you hear where the kid came from?"

"Yeah… Heard they found him next to a tree of corpses."

"For people in our line of work who put our lives at risk, he's a bad omen! He'll bring us bad luck!"

"I bet it's his fault Shisu died of the plague."

Distressed by the words of the mercenaries, Guts saw the sword he had been training with nearby. Reaching out he grabbed the sword and pulled it towards him. Finding some measure of comfort in the smooth cold steel of the blade, he slept with the sword cradled in his arms.

The next day he was up again. Taking the sword with him he went to a nearby river and began doing a series of practice swings with the weapon, trying to strengthen his already freakishly strong muscles and get them used to using the incredibly awkward and unwieldy weapon.

"Nine hundred ninety seven, nine hundred ninety eight, nine hundred ninety nine, one thousand!" Guts counted out. He had originally expected to only go until he reached one hundred, but he surprised himself when his muscles felt little fatigue from that so he kept going until his muscles did eventually start to feel tired. It took a thousand swings with the heavy and awkwardly balanced sword for him to finally reach that point.

Sitting down on a log he thought to himself, 'When I'm swinging this sword, I don't have to think about anything.'

He then looked down at his hands before closing them into fists.

"You sure are taking a long time to draw water." Said a familiar voice.

"Gambino!" Guts said, looking over his shoulder towards the source of the voice.

They stared at each other for a moment before Gambino glanced at Gut's sword.

"Hmph…" Gambino tossed Guts a small container of something. "Here."

Guts caught it and examined the container curiously.

"It's medicine. Rub it on your wounds." Gambino told him.

"Eh?" Guts couldn't help but be surprised by the gesture.

"Bah!" Gambino scoffed before turning to start walking away.

Standing up, Guts called after him. "G… Gambino!"

Gambino paused and looked back over his shoulder.

"Uh… Th… Thank you…" Guts said hesitantly.

"Hurry up and get the food ready!" Gambino ordered before continuing to walk away.

Guts sat back down and rubbed some of the medicine in his wounds. "Ow!" He hissed as the medicine stung his nose.


Three years later, Guts was only nine years old and was practically indistinguishable from a fourteen year old. He was also freakishly strong to the point he had to have solid led weights added to his sword just so he could wield it properly as he had become too used to wielding swords that were far too large, heavy, and poorly balanced. Along with his freakish strength he was also freakishly fast. Nobody else in the camp could keep up with him, to the point he had to actively hold back in sparring matches or he would beat pretty much everyone.

Gambino had wanted to bring him into battle sooner due to his physical abilities but the other mercenaries were against it due to how young he was at the time regardless of his physical appearance. Though as he turned nine, Gambino insisted he go into battle and would not tolerate any complaints.

Thus Guts was given very basic armor and was brought into the battle alongside the rest of the soldiers.

Cannons fired and blasted open the gates of the castle ahead.

"Phew… All right, guys! Let's go to work! First one there takes all! Let's make some money!" Gambino shouted.

"Don't overexert yourself, kid. Just do what's needed. 'Cause if you die, you lose everything." One of the mercenaries told him.

Guts considered the man's words.

Gambino looked back over his shoulder and called out, "Hey, Guts! It's your first battle, work hard."

Guts steeled himself for what was to come.

"CHARGE!" Gambino ordered, raising his sword.

Guts charged along with the rest of the men, running faster than any of them. As a result he was the first one into battle. And he was an absolute monster, terrifying both friend and foe alike as he moved faster than any human should have been able to. He tore through the enemy knights like a whirlwind of blood and death. Wherever he went blood, gore, and body parts went flying.

That was until one enemy knight with a twin headed flail managed to catch him off guard and hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground and knocking his capless helmet off his head. The knight raised his flail to finish him off when suddenly a sword stabbed through the back of his neck and out the front of his throat.

Looking, Guts saw it was Gambino who saved him. "Gambino!" He called out in surprise.

"Watch your back! This isn't sword practice! Don't get fucking cocky just because you killed a few! After you kill them, move on!" Gambino chastised. "Come on, hurry up! Work! Work!"

Getting up, Guts quickly put his helmet back on and rejoined the battle.

After the battle he waited in line and eventually received his payment for his part in the fight.

Taking it, he rushed through the camp to Gambino. "Gambino!" He called out.

"Whaddya want?" Gambino asked.

Reaching to his side, Guts took the coin purse off his belt and held it out to him. "Here…"

Gambino took the coin purse. Looking through it for a moment, he took out a coin and tossed it to Guts. "Here ya go."

Guts caught the coin, surprised.

"Well… Keep it up!" Gambino said, tossing the coin purse up into the air and catching it a few times.

"I… I will!" Guts responded.

Gambino looked at him for a moment before smiling a bit. "Ha!" He then turned and walked away.

Looking at his coin happily, Guts flipped it and caught it before going on his way.

Unbeknownst to Guts, Gambino took the coin purse and headed outside of the camp where he met with a being in a hooded robe that obscured their features. Around their neck hung an ornate amulet with a symbol depicting a circle connected to two crescent moons facing away from each other.

"So you're the one that left that letter in my tent?" He asked.

"I am…" The being said, its voice oddly seductive.

Gambino couldn't tell if the person was male or female. Its voice could have belonged to either a man or a woman and its features were obscured by the robe it wore. Either way, this person gave him the creeps. There was just something so uncanny and unsettling about them, though he couldn't put his finger on what. He kept his hand on the pommel of his sword in case he needed it. He was glad he had decided to wear his armor for this meeting, and he regretted not bringing his helmet.

"So who are you and what the fuck do you want? Your letter didn't explain anything. Are you looking to hire us for a job?" He demanded.

"Not quite… Though, I do wish to conduct business with you… You see, my master has taken an interest in one of your soldiers. Guts, I believe you call him…" The being tilted its head but its hood continued to obscure its features.

"You want Guts?" Gambino said incredulously.

"Yes, indeed. Of course, we saw him in that last battle and are well aware of his capabilities. So we are willing to pay no small sum for him… How does fifty gold sound to you?" The being offered.

Gambino's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. Fifty gold was damn near enough to pay his entire mercenary band for a few months. Though he recovered quickly and stared at the being in suspicion. "Fifty gold? Do you take me for a damned idiot?"

The being retracted its hands from its baggy sleeves and withdrew a sack of coins. Holding it out to him it said, "Go on, feel free to count the coins and check they are real. We have plenty of time."

Gambino hesitated before taking the sack. He spent the next few minutes counting the coins and checking each of them to make sure they were all real gold. When he was done he put all of the coins back in the sack and stood up. "Not that I really care, but what do you plan to do with him? Do you want him to fight for ya, or…?"

"My master sees something in him. He's special in ways you can't possibly comprehend. More than that my master has taken a more personal liking to him, if you catch my meaning."

Gambino nodded. He could easily guess what this person was hinting at. "Alright… I doubt he'll go willingly though."

"We don't expect him to." The being reached into a pouch tied to the belt of its robe and withdrew a flask filled with an eerie purple liquid. "Pour the contents of this vial into his drink or dinner tonight. We will come for him when your men have all gone to sleep."

Gambino took the vial and looked at it for a moment before looking back at the hooded figure. "Alright. You got yourself a deal. Though don't come crying to me if this bites you in the ass. I'm givin' ya fair warning, the boy's a goddamn demon. If something goes wrong he might just get free and kill you all. If he does, you're on your own. This meeting never happened."

The hooded figure chuckled ominously. "A demon, you say…? Hahaha! Don't worry about that. We'll be sure to take all the necessary precautions… Now, I'll be off. I must report back to my master." They then turned and walked off into the woods.

Gambino watched them leave for a moment before turning and heading back to camp with his gold in hand.

That night, Guts was laying in his tent wide awake.

'I feel horrible… Was there something wrong with my dinner?' He thought to himself, he felt extremely weak and lethargic. His dinner had tasted weird earlier, so he assumed his food must have gone bad or something. He had eaten it anyway as he didn't want to complain but he was starting to think that had been a mistake.

A few moments later the flap of Guts' tent opened.

"Who's there?" Guts asked, sitting up. Looking he saw several ominous hooded figures entering his tent.

Sensing he was in danger he tried to lunge for his sword but was just a moment too slow as the hooded figures grabbed him and held him down before he could grab it.

"Wha—"

They forcibly gagged him with a strip of cloth before tying up his hands and legs so he couldn't move.

"How can he still move? That poison should have been more than enough to kill this entire camp twice over." One demanded.

"The master was right about him. He is special… Well, no worries. The master said the poison would only weaken him enough for him to be manageable. That he can move is still well within expectations. Now, grab him." Another with a peculiar amulet ordered.

One of the robed figures grabbed him and threw him over their shoulder. Guts struggled in an attempt to resist, but it was futile. The poison they mentioned had made him too weak to fight back or get free.

The one with an amulet turned and looked at his sword. "Hm… What a crude, clumsy thing… No finesse or elegance whatsoever." They grabbed it. "Still the master wants your weapon too. After all, once we've broken you, you'll need it to fight in the name of the Dark Prince."

With that, the hooded figures carried Guts out of his tent and away from the camp, avoiding any patrols so as to not be seen. They took him into the woods. As they got deeper into the woods Guts started hearing things. Screams of agony, moans of pleasure, laughter, and more. He smelled the smoke of camp fires, cooking foods, sex, blood, other bodily fluids, burning flesh, and more. To his enhanced senses it was nauseating even from a distance.

Then, finally they reached the camp. There he saw people fucking. People gorging themselves on meat. People ingesting alcohol and narcotic substances. Men, women, and even children being violated in ways too horrific to describe around a stone effigy of some twisted monster with four arms, two crab-like claws, two hands with sharp dagger-like fingernails, six tits, two goat-like hooves in place of feet, and a warped inhuman face.

He was carried to a man sitting on a luxurious throne. He wore pink and purple robes with shiny gold embroidery and a shawl made of what appeared to be flayed human faces stitched together. Around his neck was an amulet much like the one worn by the hooded figure that was carrying Guts' sword. His eyes were an unnatural shade of purple and his features were uncannily perfect, but otherwise he appeared human.

"Oh, I see you brought me a present. Let me look at him." The man ordered.

The robed person holding Guts set him down on his feet. Guts barely had the strength to stand up straight, so the robed figure had to hold him by the shoulder to keep him from falling over.

The man on the throne stood up and took a couple steps closer. Leaning down he stroked Gut's cheek as he examined the boy.

Guts used what little strength he had left to wrench his head away from the man's hand, glaring at him in pure hatred and fury.

The man smiled malevolently. "Hahahaha! He still has some fight in him, it seems! Very good! I absolutely love it when they struggle… Don't worry, Guts. I'll be sure to break that delightful fighting spirit of yours before molding you into the perfect servant of Slaanesh. Oh, you look surprised. Are you wondering how I know your name, perhaps? An angel whispering in my ear told me, of course! Lady Zarakynel, the angel of despair, the greatest of the dark prince's servants. You saw that statue over there, yes? That is Lady Zarakynel. Ah, but you'll learn all of this in due time… For now, I paid Gambino a hefty sum for you and I intend to get my money's worth."

That caught Guts' attention. "Hm?" He hummed weakly through his gag.

The man's smile grew wider and more sadistic. "Oh yes. Your adoptive father, Gambino, sold you to me for exactly fifty gold. He traded you like cattle! Hahaha! So much for family right Guts?"

Tears streamed from Guts' eyes. 'A lie! That's a lie!' Guts thought to himself desperately.

The man seemed to revel in Guts' suffering before looking back at the hooded figures. "Bring him to my tent, strip him, and tie him to my bed."

The hooded people bowed before dragging Guts away towards the tent where they proceeded to strip him of all his clothing before tying him to the bed, as they had been ordered.

A few minutes later the man in the purple robes entered the tent.

The violation that Guts suffered was far worse than what even his worst nightmares could dare to conjure. It scarred not just his body, or his mind, but his very soul.

It lasted for hours until guts finally felt the poison that had rendered him helpless starting to wear off.

"Hm…? You're moving more than you were before… Is the elixir wearing off already? That shouldn't be. She told me it would last a whole week… Lady Zarakynel, what's happening?" The man muttered to himself. He then tilted his head as if he were listening to someone whisper in his ear and after a moment his eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and fear.

"No… Nonono!" He rushed away and began rummaging through a chest.

Guts, feeling his strength return felt a faint glimmer of hope return to him and began struggling against the ropes binding his limbs with all the strength he could muster. He pulled hard on the ropes and he could feel them straining. Just a bit more and they would break! Just a bit more!

"Aha! Thank goodness…" The man started walking back with a bottle of purple liquid in his hand. Uncorking it he said, "It seems Lady Zarakynel underestimated your physiology. That rage boiling in you is making you burn the poison away faster than expected. Well, no matter. That just means I'll have to give you a larger dose. Now open wide…"

He grabbed Guts' jaw and tried to force his mouth open, lifting the bottle towards his mouth.

There was a loud SNAP and suddenly the bottle was knocked away from Gut's mouth and was sent hurtling across the room where it smashed into a rack of torture implements and shattered. The cultist's eyes widened in horror once more before Guts smashed a fist into his face as hard as he could. There was a sickening crack and a squelch as the cultist's nose was shattered, his teeth were knocked out.

Guts then proceeded to grab the rope holding his other arm before ripping himself free of it with both hands. He did the same for his legs and got up. He was hurt, horrified, permanently scarred on a spiritual level, and was still in shock but above all right now he was angry.

Climbing off the bed he saw his sword hung up on a display like a trophy and grabbed it. He then marched over to the cultist who was spitting out blood and teeth while trying to get up. Kicking him in the side to force him to roll over onto his back, Guts pointed his sword in the cultist's face. "Say it… SAY IT AGAIN! WHO WAS IT THAT SOLD ME?! SAY IT!"

"…Gam…"

"I DARE YOU TO SAY IT!" Guts roared before plunging the blade of his sword down into the Cultist's mouth, killing him.

Guts then backed away and took a moment to recover from the truly hellish experience he just went through. He wanted to break down and start crying right then and there from the pure horror of it all, but he knew he couldn't afford to let himself do that. He didn't have time. He couldn't let himself get caught again.

Finding his clothes tossed off to the side, he grabbed them and quickly put his pants and shirt back on.

Right as he finished putting his shirt back on he heard the tent flaps rustle. "Master, we heard shouting. Is everything…" The nude female cultist, covered in tattoos, piercings, and jewelry, trailed off as she saw their leader laying dead on the ground with Guts now wielding his sword once more.

She barely had time to react before Guts charged towards her and impaled her through the chest with his sword. Not wasting any time he ripped the sword right back out before shoulder checking the woman to knock her out of his way.

Bursting out of the tent he saw the camp again. Cultists were everywhere still committing much the same atrocities as before.

The next few minutes were a complete blur of blood and gore as Guts single handedly slaughtered every living thing in that camp. Any of the other victims of the cultists were either already dead or dying from the horrors inflicted on them. So killing the few that remained was more of a mercy than anything else he could have done for them.

When everything in the camp was finally dead, Guts stood there for a moment panting from the adrenaline and exertion.

As he stood there he felt his eyes drawn towards the twisted statue in the middle of the camp. For some reason it felt as if it was staring down at him, mocking him and everything he had just gone through.

Snarling in rage he dropped his sword, grabbed a boulder off the ground, and hurled it at the statue as hard as he could. The boulder flew towards the statue like a cannonball and completely shattered it into pieces.

Still not feeling any better, Guts picked his sword up off the ground, grabbed a burning stick out of a campfire and began burning the entire camp to the ground.

Once he was sure that everything that was flammable was burning, he turned and began walking back the way the hooded cultists had brought him.

He marched through the woods until he came across a river. Looking at it, he hesitated for a moment before stripping and stepping in, though he didn't let go of his sword even for a moment. In the river he began scrubbing himself as if he were trying to wash away the horrors he had just been through.

He continued this until his skin was raw and red, almost to the point of bleeding. It didn't help. He still felt horrible. Filthy. As if his very essence was tainted, permanently stained. Finally the tears he hadn't let himself shed in the cultist camp began to well up in his eyes. He managed to stop himself from all out sobbing but try as he might he couldn't stop the tears.

Climbing out of the river he put his pants and shirt back on before continuing to make his way back out of the woods in the dark.

By the time he found his way back to Gambino's camp the sun had risen and the rest of the men were already out and going about their business.

Walking back into the camp, Guts found Gambino shaving. Apparently he cut himself as he hissed in pain and muttered complaints to himself about it. Then he noticed Guts standing behind him.

"Guts?" He asked. "Go on and make breakfast. Feed the horses while you're at it."

He then turned to face Guts, who was giving him a cold dead-eyed stare.

"What? You want to sword practice this early? Sorry but I got a hangover. Do it someplace else."

Guts flinched in surprise. 'You mean… Gambino doesn't know about last night?'

Gambino turned and walked away. "Get a move on."

"Ga… Gambino…" Guts started.

"Yeah?" Gambino asked.

Guts started to say something but hesitated. Looking down and away he said, "Never mind…"

As Gambino continued to walk away, Guts raised his sword and used it to destroy a nearby barrel in his frustration and rage.

Later Guts was with the rest of the mercenaries, preparing to ambush a caravan of enemy soldiers.

"Sure are a lot of 'em" One mercenary commented.

"Don't let it scare you! They just got beaten. Morale's down low."

"Now listen up! Our sponsor's orders are to hit them so hard they'll never even think of forming another army!" Gambino shouted.

"Of course, we agreed that the plunder becomes ours. As always the first one there takes all."

Gambino ordered a charge. Guts followed the order and slaughtered his way through the enemies, venting the unholy rage he still felt from being kidnapped and violated.

The battle went on for some time before Gambino shouted, "Charge! Just one more push!" His eyes then widened as he saw a cannon aimed almost straight at him.

The cannon fired and the cannonball impacted the ground near Gambino in a violent explosion.

Seeing this, Guts rushed to his aid not wanting to believe the Cultist's claims were true. "Gambino!"

Arriving he saw Gambino laying face first on the ground, missing a leg.


Two years later, Guts was now the size of a fully grown man despite his young age. He was regarded as being essentially a demigod of war among his mercenary band for his superhuman feats. He actually had to save up the portion of his money he was allowed to keep to have an even larger and heavier sword made for him because he had gotten so strong the led weights he had put on his old Zweihander were no longer sufficient. His current sword was still a bit light for him but it was sufficiently poorly balanced for him to be able to use it properly. It was also effectively impossible for a normal human to wield. At the very least it was impossible for a normal human to wield it like an actual sword. After all, it weighed even more than a maul.

One day he was sent to the front lines, as per usual and he carved a bloody swath through the enemy army, unrivaled by anyone on the battlefield. He dodged, ducked, and weaved past arrows, crossbow bolts, and cannonballs with almost contemptuous ease as he cleaved men completely in half at speeds that invoked a primal sense of existential dread within everyone around him, friend or foe. At some point the enemy army attempted to flee but he did not allow them to do so, chasing after them faster than their horses could run. He cleaved through them with his sword at impossible speeds or shot them with his crossbow as they attempted to run in terror. He didn't stop until every last one of them was dead, as per the request of the person who hired them.

Later after the battle, he ran up to Gambino who was sitting in a comfortable chair on a hill petting his dog. After Gambino

"Gambino!" Guts called out to him.

"Good dog." Gambino muttered, stroking the head of his pet dog.

"Gambino! Look at this! I killed the enemy general! I won the reward for it! This should get you plenty of wine and women…"

"Meat?"

"Huh?" Guts asked in confusion.

"You know, meat. For the dog." Gambino elaborated.

"…Oh…" Guts muttered.

"What's wrong? Hurry and get it… HURRY AND GET IT!" Gambino roared, hitting Guts in the face with his cane.

The other members of the mercenary band observed this in disapproval.

Guts wiped the blood from his mouth and looked down in resignation. "…I'll… I'll go get some…" He muttered as he turned and started walking away dejectedly.

Later that day Guts was in his tent and threw his coin purse to the ground in rage.

He would have hit the central log holding up his tent with his sword but he knew better from the last time he had done it and had cleaved straight through the tent pole. Instead he smashed his fist into the large boulder he had carried into his tent, causing a large chunk of it to break off from the force of the strike. Any normal human would have completely pulped their hand from that strike but if there was one thing that was clear by now, it was that Guts most assuredly wasn't a normal human. Not that that seemed to matter to Gambino.

After reducing the boulder almost entirely to rubble with nothing but his bare fists, Guts laid down on his bed roll staring up at the roof of his tent.

Eventually he rolled over onto his side and tried to relax.

'I should stop thinking about it. Right now all I need to think about is surviving tomorrow… Tomorrow I'll kill lots of enemies again… I'll earn lots of money…'

There was a loud crack of lightning and Guts heard someone enter his tent. Looking he saw Gambino wielding a sword. Gambino swung the weapon at him and Guts dodged out of the way. Thus the only thing Gambino ended up cutting was Guts' bed roll.

"Gambino?! Wha… What are you…?!" Guts paused as he looked at Gambino's face and realized he was drunk. "Gambino?" Guts asked hesitantly.

"It was so careless of me…" Gambino said, clutching his sword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Pointing the sword at Guts he continued, "Things are all like this because I let you stay here… I had figured you'd just die before long… Puny little runt like you shouldn't have even been alive anyway… But what happened? Shisu, the one who picked you up, died…"

Guts said nothing in response, only listening to Gambino rant.

"…Then I lost a leg and had to quit as leader. Too stupid even for a joke!"

He looked back at Guts with complete and utter despair in his face. "…What the hell have you got against me? Given' me evil for good… WHAT HAVE YOU GOT AGAINST ME. HUH?!"

"Gambino, I…!" Guts started.

Gambino cut him off and said, "You're a devil's child. Guts… A cursed kid who's nothing but bad luck. You should have died on that day eleven years ago, beneath your mother's corpse."

Gambino's words resounded in Guts' head. 'You should have died!' He dodged as Gambino swung his sword again. Reaching for his own sword he grabbed it just in time to use it to block as gambino struck at him again.

He let himself be pushed back by the strike, not actually wanting to fight Gambino. He stumbled into a table breaking it in half as he landed on top of it.

"I'll let you in on something." Gambino said menacingly. "You remember the night of your first battle…? Those creepy hooded fuckers bought you for fifty gold. I'M THE ONE THEY PAID!"

'No…' Guts thought to himself, distraught. "…Why…?" He asked, looking up at the man he used to consider his father figure. The man whose love and respect he had worked so hard to earn for pretty much his entire life.

"Why? Because I was sick of you, that's why! You killed Shisu. And then you followed me around like some lost puppy!" Gambino yelled at him.

Guts looked down. 'Why…?' He thought to himself. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he looked up at Gambino in despair. 'Why?!'

He stabbed Gambino in the throat, severing both the jugular and carotid artery in the left side of his neck as Gambino attempted to stab him. Gambino choked on his own blood and said, "Y… You… You killed… Shisu…" With that he collapsed dead on top of Guts, knocking over a lantern in the process and setting the tent on fire.

Guts sat there for a moment, stunned by what had just occurred. "Ga… Gambino…?" He muttered looking down at the corpse. "Gam—!" He cut himself off as realization started to set in.

"A tent's on fire!" Guts heard someone yell outside.

"Night raid?!"

"It's Guts' tent!"

Several men burst inside the burning tent and saw Guts covered in blood, kneeling next to Gambino's corpse.

"Guts… You…"

"Whoa!"

"What the hell's going on here…?! Did you kill him, Guts?!" One of the mercenaries demanded, marching up to Guts with his sword at the ready.

Guts didn't respond, continuing to stare down at Gambino's corpse.

"Damn you… ANSWER ME!" The mercenary demanded, swinging his sword for Guts' throat.

Out of pure reflex Guts responded by cleaving the man's arm off with his own sword.

"You little creep!" Shouted another mercenary as the other two rushed to the aid of the first. Their fear of Guts as a warrior forgotten in the heat of the moment.

"Wait a sec! I didn't…!" But Guts never got to finish what he was saying before he had to block a strike from one of the mercenaries.

Not wanting to hurt any of them he bowled his way past them and out the tent.

"Get back here!" One of them shouted before the tent collapsed on top of them.

'Why…?' Guts asked himself as he rushed towards the horses. 'Why's this happening?!'

Guts rode away from the camp on the horse he had stolen. After a minute or so he looked back and saw maybe five or ten men chasing after him on horseback. Far fewer than he would have expected considering what they were accusing him of. He would have thought at least half the camp would have been chasing him. As it was though, he only had a handful of men after him. Likely only the bravest or dumbest in the entire camp due to his terrifying reputation amongst the mercenaries. Regardless he kept riding without looking back. He practically thought of them all as his brothers, so he didn't want to kill any more of them if he didn't have to. Especially over a misunderstanding like this. So his best option as far as he was concerned was to just keep running.

Several crossbow bolts lanced through the air past him until one eventually stabbed him in the back. Gritting his teeth he ignored the pain and kept riding as more and more bolts slammed into his back. Eventually his back resembled a pincushion. Then he had an idea that he hoped would let him avoid killing them. As another few bolts stabbed into his back he went limp and let himself fall off his horse, tumbling down the cliff next to the road. Bolts broke and lodged themselves deeper into his flesh causing them to pierce some vital areas as he tumbled down the cliff bashing his head into rocks several times on the way down.

Coming to a stop at the bottom of the cliff he just let himself lay there on the ground for a while, playing dead. However, no one came down to finish him off or even check if he was actually dead. Whether they were confident no one could have survived that many bolts in the back on top of that far of a drop or if they were just too scared to risk getting near him on the off chance he was alive, he had no idea. In the end it didn't really matter. He was still alive and no one else in the mercenary band died.

'Everything hurts… I don't want to move…' Guts thought to himself.

Opening his eyes he stared up at the moon in the night sky for a while before eventually working up the strength to push himself up. He gritted his teeth as he did, pained by his wounds. Grabbing his sword he started marching wounded, barefoot, lost, and with nowhere to go through the night. His way was lit only by the stars and full moon.

'Back's covered in bolts… broadheads… I can feel 'em slicing me every time I move my muscles… Gonna have to pull or cut them out…' He thought to himself as he walked aimlessly. 'Where'm I goin' anyway…? Would've probably been easier just to lie there and die like that… There'd be nothing anymore… Here there's only bad stuff. So, where…?' He paused and looked up at the night sky.

It was strange. He could have almost sworn he felt a sort of pull. Something drawing him to the stars above. Something important. Almost as if something or someone was calling out to him. However, he had no way of ascending to the stars and he had no way of responding to the call.

He was drawn out of his stupor as he noticed a pack of wolves on a nearby hill, staring directly at him.

'Huh… I guess it's over… This is it…' He thought to himself as the wolves rushed towards him. He was certain he was going to die here. He closed his eyes, mentally consigning himself to allow himself to be devoured as one of the wolves lunged for his throat.

His hand moved almost on its own as Guts raised his sword letting the wolf's momentum impale itself on his weapon.

'Huh…?' He was almost confused by what just happened.

Slinging the corpse off his sword he proceeded to slaughter the rest of the pack. At first his body was almost moving on its own as he tore the wolves to pieces but that changed quickly as he started fighting in earnest.

After he killed several wolves, the rest finally fled in fear not wanting to die like their packmates had. Guts let them flee, using his sword almost like a walking stick to hold himself up. After a few moments, however, a combination of stress and pure emotional exhaustion caught up with him and he just collapsed. His transhuman physiology would have allowed him to keep going, but he wanted to rest and he no longer cared where he did so. To him, laying in a field surrounded by the corpses of the wolves he had just killed was as good a place as any.

"Gambino…" He muttered before he finally passed out. His unconscious body would later be found by another group of mercenaries. The mercenaries helped him and he served with them for some time to repay them before going his own way.


Had this idea for awhile and I just wanted to get it out there. Feel free to let me know what you think. Criticisms are more than welcome. Personally I'm not sure about the part with the Slaaneshi cult. That sort of needed to happen for Guts' character development but the way he escaped felt like a bit of a copout. To be fair, it can be justified by the primarchs having such a close connection with the warp and so their emotions should have some effect on their physiology, or the cultists or Zarakynel underestimating his physiology from the beginning. Even so I don't particularly like it.

I did have an idea of making Griffith a primarch as well but I don't think I'm going to go that route as if he were a primarch the whole torture thing would never happen which means he wouldn't become Femto. Or it would have to wait for the Horus Heresy and would happen under very different circumstances, in which case it would ruin Guts' character development. So, yeah that's most likely not gonna be a thing.

Anyway, I'm not going to be rewriting every single chapter and arc of Berserk because I want to at least have a chance of finishing this story in my lifetime and I want to get to the part where Guts is inevitably found by the Imperium. Though I will try to cover all of the most major changes to the story and plot.