Chapter 9: In Shadows and Thunder

Castle Hargrim, Midland

There was a storm coming on. The sky was dark, the shade intermittently chased away by flashes of lightning before it returned with the rumbling thunder. Even still, the battle carried on. Midland was continuing a push toward one of the more vital castles that served as a second-line outpost to the borders of the Tudors, and the castle was almost in their hands.

Griffith surveyed the scene from atop the hill, surrounded by his guards and some of the command staff. In his hand, he idly clutched at the strange, crimson pendant that hung around his neck. He wondered somewhat if that old fortune-teller that he'd bought it from was still around, or if she even realized who its holder had become.

Then, he blinked as he saw a runner riding up to him, clad in his band's armor and with weapon sheathed, make his way up the hill and dismount before bowing before them, raising the faceplate of his helm to reveal a man with dark skin, a rarity in Midland, but not uncommon in his well-traveled band. "My lord, I have a report!"

Griffith nodded for the man to continue. "We've captured the majority of the fortress, sir. The Tudor regulars have just started their retreat, and it looks like they're following after their mercenaries."

Griffith arched a brow. "And what of the enemy's commander? Has he capitulated or fled as well?"

"No report there as of yet, sir. The Raiders seem to have holed him up in the inner citadel. However… there's one enemy that hasn't fled yet. He seems to be holding them off all on his own."

The man shook his head in wonderment, the command staff looking at each other with nearly the same. "One man holding back 150…" Casca mused.

Corkus, who rode beside her, scoffed as he shrugged. "That's pretty pathetic if just one man can do that."

As Casca looked over to begin reprimanding him, they both heard Judeau say something, almost too quietly to hear. "Zodd…"

The rest of the command staff turned to look at him with varying levels of incredulity. "Zodd?" Rickert said, his eyes wide with shock. "You mean you think that one man is Zodd himself?"

Judeau nodded. "I heard a rumor going around before the battle. That Zodd had decided to pitch in with the Tudors because…" he shook his head slightly. "There's always more to kill when you're on the losing side."

The words sent a shudder through almost all present. "If this Zodd is so scary," Corkus said with a roll of his eyes that couldn't fully mask his anxiety, "then how come I hadn't heard of him before you went and said his name like it's some curse?"

Before Judeau could reply, Rickert beat him to the punch. "You haven't heard of Nosferatu Zodd? He's a legendary swordsman. They say he's killed hundreds, maybe even thousands of soldiers in his time. But the crazy part is people have been telling war stories about him for almost a hundred years! Every time someone says he's dead, or that they killed him, he shows up again a year or two later, doing things no pretender could do. It's part of why he's called Nosferatu. You can't kill him forever."

Griffith listened on silently as Corkus chuckled. "Come on, Rickert. Just because Judeau likes tall tales and fairy tales doesn't mean you should always believe everything that he says. It could be anyone there. Zodd could even just be a title."

"You don't understand, Corkus!" Rickert said insistently. "Zodd's almost like a god of the battlefield. I think I even saw a few shrines to him in a few of the other camps."

"Either way," Judeau interjected, "if Guts runs into this man, whether he's Zodd or not… there's a better than good chance he'll throw himself in harm's way."

It was silent for a moment. They all knew Judeau wasn't wrong. "Man," Corkus said after a moment, "I just hope that Daniel or Anna manages to keep him from doing something that stupid…"

. . .

At the ruined entrance to the citadel, more than a few men struggled to hold their commander back as he tried to burst through to the threat that lay beyond. And the men that tried to face it. "Let me go! You idiots, get off me!"

"Guts, wait!" Gaston was foremost among the half-dozen men that struggled to keep his commanding officer at bay, looking amongst the gathered soldiers that were free from clearing the rest of the castle. "Someone help us stop him!"

He looked, not for the first time, at Daniel and Anna, standing to the side, and wondered why they hadn't stepped in yet. This was suicide if it was what he thought it was, and they should have known it. So why didn't they help him?

"Come on, Guts," he continued as he looked back at his leader, quailing from the righteous indignation that burned in the young man's eyes, "Wait just a little longer! I can't let you go in there alone. Not until-"

"I'm not letting them just go in there and die!" Guts said as he threw off the hands that held him. "It's been an hour already, Gaston! I'm not just letting 50 men go in and not come back out!"

His men stepped back, and he shot a glance at Daniel and Anna, who began to step forward now that he'd freed himself. "One man. One man has all of us Raiders stuck here like nails on a wall…"

He looked around, the people surrounding him stepping back a little more so as to not get smacked by the hilt of his massive sword, strapped to his back. "Have any of you heard of something so humiliating?" he shouted. "And you want to wait around for Griff-"

He was interrupted by the haunted shout of a man that was coming out from the darkness of the shattered doorway. The sight that greeted them all shocked all who still murmured into silence.

The man that walked out was nearly cut in half lengthwise, his entire right side gone as torn bits of flesh and innards shook slightly at his stumbling. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow as he stared forward. He regained a little focus as his eyes landed on Guts, reaching out for him. "C… Captain…" he muttered before he tripped.

"Dillos!" Guts said, catching the man that had been one of his braver, some would say more foolhardy, lieutenants. "Dillos." Guts grew quiet as he saw how impossible saving this man was.

"It's Zodd…" Dillos said, growing quieter and quieter. "Nosferatu… Zodd…"

Then, with a final ragged breath, Dillos stilled, the light leaving his eyes fully.

Guts closed the man's eyes, then stood, silent as his face regained its determination amidst the shocked, frightened murmurs of his men. Free of his bonds, without the frantic urgency of his former protesting, he slowly walked toward the entrance.

"Captain, wait!" Gaston said from behind him. He heard the men beginning to approach him again as he was sure they'd try to stop him now.

"Stay back!" he looked behind him to see the others hesitating at his order. "I'm going in alone. I'll kill this bastard myself."

He walked forward again, unsheathing his massive, mighty sword from his back and stepping into the bloodied hallway. "Captain…" he heard Gaston say behind him, but the word was an uncertain, afraid thing.

He listened for a moment to the echoing of his footsteps as he went down the dimly lit hallway, seeing the body of one of his soldiers splayed across the left wall. Then, as his eyes began to adjust, he slowed to a stop as he beheld the charnel scene.

Men were scattered across the floor like broken dolls, their blood painting even the ceiling as the torches guttered from the wind outside. The place reeked of blood and entrails, the scent hitting him like a bar of copper dipped in a pigsty and swung at his head.

Then, he blinked as he realized that the echoing of footsteps had continued after he'd stopped. 'Whatever damn fool doesn't listen to what I'm saying…' he began to think as he turned, ready to haul whoever approached back outside.

He stopped himself short from beginning to berate Daniel, who stopped a little ways away from him with his sword spear held near its blade, the haft extending behind his back. "What the hell are you doing?" he managed to say, the words low so as to not alert whoever was back there. "I thought you heard me when I ordered everyone to stay out of this."

"To hell with your orders right now, Guts." Daniel shot back, his voice harsh. "I'm not here as your subordinate. I'm here as your father. So you're going to damn well put up with me while we bring this monster down."

Guts opened his mouth, words failing him after a moment looking at Daniel's almost withering glare as he shook his head and chuckled darkly. "You're a stubborn old bastard, aren't you?"

"Look who's talking. Anna's keeping the others from coming after you until reinforcements arrive. We have until then." Daniel said with a slight grin as he stepped to Guts' side. The grin disappeared as he looked on at the grisly scene before putting his helmet back on. "Let's not waste anymore time, shall we?"

Guts nodded and lowered the visor of his own helmet, handled his sword to ensure that they could still fight together in this cramped space if it came to it, and took a deep breath as they advanced together.

They made their way through the hallway slowly, weapons at the ready as they stepped over and between corpses, almost slipping in the pools of blood that stretched between them from time to time. Soon enough, they made their way into a large room, the space filled with pillars. Between two such pillars, the sight that met them made their eyes go wide.

Stacked like bundles of firewood, many of, if not the majority of, the men that had been sent in after their foe had been piled up nearly to the middle of two of the pillars' height, the one responsible for this facing them with an almost relaxed posture.

He was a massive man, easily head and shoulders above Guts, broad of chest and arms, one holding up an equally massive sword that had two men in full armor impaled upon its length like they were nothing, the other with the man's free hand, a claw almost, buried into the face of another soldier, his fingers going through the man's eyeline and into his skull.

He looked at them with utterly red eyes, and what looked like fangs peeked out from his mouth as it twitched with what could have been a grin. Guts couldn't make out any sort of expression in those eyes, but the man must have been supremely confident to face them, and all the soldiers that came before, with only a loincloth to cover him.

His men were dead, and this man was the cause. There was no other emotion for Guts than rage as he ran toward the man shouting, sword ready to swing as he barely perceived Daniel dashing to the side, staying clear of his sword.

That had little effect on the man before them as he threw the men on his sword at Guts with a chop of his massive, slightly curved blade, the bodies slamming into Guts and sending him to the floor as he swept his sword out to meet Daniel's blade, clashing once, then three more times before Guts could rise and continue his charge, the strikes throwing up sparks as he shouted at the man, the monster, before him.

He turned his head to look fully at Guts, and swiped at him with an almost gentle swipe, the impact of it on his blade tossing him back into a pillar. Then, he, it, released a deep breath, and Guts, snapped out of his rage by the blow, got a good look at him.

The seeming aura of power about him, the near bestial look of his features, the almost completely red eyes… was this Wyald?

'No…' he knew what Wyald looked like, what he acted like. That one encounter had seared that much into his brain. 'Then… what the hell are you?'

The man stepped forward, and Guts was sure now that he was grinning. "You both parried my strikes well. I actually had to put some effort into breaking you, boy." he said in a voice that was like the distant thunder outside, deep and dangerous.

Guts stood, raising his guard, but that fear, that terror that he'd only ever felt so long ago, returned to him. 'Damn it… move…'

Then, the man before him forced the issue, charging at him with a vicious downward chop. He finally moved, the guard of his blade barely blocking the strike that nearly forced him to his knees. Then, the pressure lifted, Guts watching the sword whip back and begin to slice at him and dodging as it cleaved through the pillar behind him, sending chunks of rock and dust flying into the dimly lit room.

It was at that moment that Guts saw Daniel charge at the man's side, their foe turning with seemingly impossible speed, batting Daniel's strike away and swinging out at him. Daniel ducked under a blow that would have taken his head off by the barest of margins, aiming his swordspear at a forward leg the man seemed to be putting his weight on.

The man's hand darted down, and Guts could almost see Daniel's eyes go wide as the man caught the haft, the blade stopped as it just lightly pierced his skin, causing a rivulet of blood to drip down it. They were locked together for the briefest moment before the man aimed a powerful kick at Daniel's chest, sending him flying back into another pillar as he lost his grip on his weapon, and slumped to the floor under a rain of dust.

The man… chuckled, a deep thing that sounded like stones grinding together. "Not one, but two foes to match my skills with. I haven't seen a single man stand against my blade like this for fifty years, at least."

He studied Daniel's swordspear for a moment, then tossed it to the man as he stirred, falling forward on hands and knees as it clattered to a stop in front of him. "Pick it up." the man nearly barked. Daniel only moved slowly, reaching out for the haft and laying a hand on it. "Come on. Pick. It. Up."

As Daniel grasped his weapon and struggled to his feet, Guts took a step forward, looking down at the thick blade, hooked at the end like a gutting knife. 'I don't think either of us can stay toe to toe with this guy for long. I don't think Daniel can even parry him more than a few times without a greatsword like mine.'

He took a deep breath, the action drawing the man's attention back to him as he settled into a stout, solid stance, his sword held behind him and readied for a powerful slash.

The man, upon seeing this, guffawed. "I see! You're going to bet everything on a single strike!"

He started to walk away from Daniel as he steadied himself on his feet, readying his own sword as he continued. "You're betting on the length of your sword to win out, but if you lose, your brains will join your comrades' on the floor. What a wager! I accept."

In the second that the man before him, the man he knew for sure could only be Zodd, tensed up to strike, he readied himself. 'I've got one shot at this! Come on!' he seemed to nearly shout at himself.

Then, the blade went up, and with a shout that mingled their two voices, the blades swept through the air to meet each other with a deafening clash.

Guts felt his blade hitch for a moment as it bit into Zodd's blade, and he saw the shock in the man's eyes as his blade, from the force of their conjoined strikes, shear through the top third of Zodd's sword, sending it flying away behind him. His own blade flowed to behind his head, the years of training and instinct leaving his conscious mind in the dust as he prepared for a devastating chop.

"Boy!" was all Guts managed to hear before he swept his blade down, throwing everything that he thought he had left into this one surely deadly strike.

Then, Zodd crossed his arms against the blow, the action seemingly fruitless as the blade bit deep into his chest along with it. 'I got you!' Guts thought triumphantly. 'Now die, damn it!'

It was still for a moment, and Guts glanced over at Daniel, now slowly approaching with his swordspear leveled. Then, Zodd did the entirely unexpected, and began to chuckle. Softly, at first, as he lowered arms that poured out blood for a moment, then steam, his laughter growing louder as he gripped the blade of Guts' sword.

"What amazing surprises this generation holds. Two men who can match me in combat. One who has the strength to break my sword. And you…"

As he spoke, the steam began to grow thicker and thicker, Guts unsure if he was seeing the cuts in the man's arms disappearing into the steam or, somehow, healing entirely. Within the steam, his form began to warp and distort, the grin on his face becoming bestial alongside the rest of his form as his teeth sharpened. Larger and larger he grew, soon towering over either man before him. And… were those horns?

"You are the first to drive a blade so deeply into my flesh in the last three hundred years of carnage and slaughter!"

Guts found that his legs were shaking. Even with those tremors, with the sweat that dripped down his face and the deep, fast breaths he was taking, he was frozen in shock. 'How? This isn't anything like Wyald… this is a monster! This can't be possible.'

And yet, there he was, seemingly terror itself, as he continued. "This is wonderful! I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to have my blood racing, spilling on the ground in the struggle! Perhaps this is why I've persisted these past centuries."

It was silent for a moment as they stared at each other, the… thing that had been Zodd finally growling softly. "Come on! Fight! Don't disappoint me now!"

With that, a hand that seemed to be about the width of his chest high came swiping toward him. In his shock, Guts didn't even move to dodge the hit, the force of the blow making him lose his grip on his sword as he went flying into a pillar, bouncing off of it as the impact of his armor sent splinters of stone flying around him.

Guts felt that the world was spinning, and he barely heard the clatter of what was likely his sword landing in front of him. What cut through the fuzz and the ringing, however, was the near earth-shattering roar that Zodd bellowed. The shock of it snapped him out of his daze, and he picked up his sword as he looked up at Zodd, looming over him with his arms wide and his eyes, glowing bright as blood in the midday sun, seeming to try and pin him down again.

He rolled aside, narrowly dodging the bull rush that sent Zodd through the pillar. His attempt to stand was stymied by the explosion of debris that hit him in the neck and back, sending him once again to the ground.

"Is that all you can really muster now?" the beast growled as he felt it approach through his cheek pressed to the floor. Then, before Zodd could continue, he smelled something odd in the air. It was as if something was burning, but he could not place what.

Then, a bright flash from behind Zodd and a harsh, nearly booming buzz sent the beast stumbling forward with a roar as it turned. Guts stumbled to his feet to see Daniel, holding out his swordspear in a one-handed thrust. The blade rippled with… was that lightning?

"What kind of sorcery is this?" Zodd bellowed. "Do you not care for your strength?"

"It is a weapon to slay dragons, Zodd." Daniel replied levelly as he adjusted his grip, taking the haft in two hands and holding it angled up like a boar-hunting spear. "And I earned this with my own work. My own strength of arms. So come on! Test me!"

Zodd roared as he charged at Daniel, Daniel standing his ground as he batted the first strike Zodd made aside, slicing and stabbing at the beast's chest and arms as his blade buzzed with seemingly barely constrained power. Daniel may have been small compared to Zodd's bulk, but he was far more consistently nimble, dancing away from slamming fists and goring horns.

Finally, though, he was caught by a backhand, the blow sending him flying through the pile of corpses that Zodd had constructed and into the darkness behind them. Guts readied his sword to strike from behind as Daniel bounded over the scattered corpses and clashed again with Zodd.

Before he could move, however, he finally heard the clatter of armor, and the twang of crossbow strings before a dozen or more bolts slammed into Zodd's back. Looking back, he saw more than a few Falcons, accompanied by Griffith and most of his command staff, arrayed in the doorway. He could see quite clearly the shock and fear on all of their faces as Zodd turned to face them.

"No hesitation!" Griffith said over all of them. "Get a second volley ready!"

"Screw that!" Guts shouted as he heard the buzzing, almost growling sound of Daniel striking Zodd's back. "Get out of here! He's going to kill you if you're not careful!"

Regardless, the crossbows came back up, and another swarm of bolts slammed into Zodd's back.

"This mustn't be." Zodd muttered as he turned around, walking intently as he ignored for a moment Daniel's attack. "I will not have it! None shall defile my battle here!"

Guts saw the men begin to stumble back, then panic as Zodd roared and charged. "I will not have it!"

Finally, they began to listen to Guts and run, but it was too late. The monster laid about himself, goring and crushing and slashing through plate and bone like it was barely even there, the blood of the men who died adding to the Raiders' on the floor.

Guts set his jaw as he raised his sword, and charged in to protect those that hadn't been killed, chopping down and scoring a hit that sliced down Zodd's arm from the shoulder to the elbow.

Zodd roared, and Guts did his best to guard against the inevitable reprisal as a dark, furry fist arced toward him, the weight of the blow still sending him tumbling to the ground as he saw stars, the world spinning for an almost terrifying moment.

"Go, now!" he heard Griffith say to those who remained alive, and a moment later Griffith stood over him, gently lifting him to his feet. "Are you alright? Can you walk?"

"You dumb bastard," Guts muttered. "I could have gotten out of here myself if you guys hadn't decided to butt in."

"Somehow I doubt that." Griffith said, and Guts glanced to see Griffith's saber bared as he quickly raised it. Dread at what he tried to defend against, even with the knowledge of who it was, crept into his gut as he looked up to see Zodd looming over him, Daniel gripped in one hand while another rested against a wall. Daniel's sword spear was pinned to his chest, and it seemed the lightning that had arced across its blade was gone.

"And where are you going?" he asked, and Guts could swear he was grinning. "I can still feel your heartbeat."

He could hear the others behind them. "No, Casca!" Judeau shouted. "Griffith! Guts!" Casca shouted.

"I'll free him." Guts said, gripping his sword as he steadied himself. "You take the right."

"Fight me!" Zodd interjected. "Fight until you lay at my feet in pieces!"

Whatever those left behind them might have said was drowned out by a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the place, then the beast bowed his head and charged at them.

They waited for the briefest of moments, then Griffith let go as he dashed toward his side, Guts focusing as he brought his sword up toward the underside of Zodd's left arm. He couldn't afford to miss, or worse, end up somehow hitting Daniel. But his blade struck true, tearing into the bicep and making blood flow freely from the wound. As he'd hoped, Zodd's hand spasmed, and Daniel crashed to the ground, either hurt or unconscious as he laid still. 'He's not dead.' he thought as he tried to push the fear of such a thing away. 'Focus!'

He glanced to the side to check on Griffith, and his eyes went wide as he saw Zodd's entire right arm fall to the floor, blood gushing out from the stump left behind painting the walls and pillars that remained standing as he howled in pain.

Then, they were behind him, and Guts turned to go and get Daniel. "Leave him!" Griffith shouted. "We'll come back for them, I promise!"

"No!" Guts shot back. "I'm not leaving-"

"Griffith! Behind you!" Casca interjected, and they both looked to see a massive tail whipping toward Griffith, catching him in the chest and sending him flying into a pillar, the impact knocking him out.

Guts ran over to check on his commander, a man he'd come to esteem as something of a friend, leaning on his sword for balance before pausing, turning back to see Zodd looming over him, his severed arm in his hand.

"What a glorious day…" Zodd rumbled as Guts began to try and put up a guard. "That there are so many in this generation that could stand against me, wound me so deeply as this…"

Before Guts could even begin to strike, the severed limb swung in from the side, bowling him over and throwing his sword just out of his grasp again. The pain of the battle was getting to him now, and he struggled to get up as he watched Zodd. He was nearly spent. He couldn't fight. He likely couldn't even run, now.

"Such a shame, then, that they would be lost to me this day."

Guts' eyes went wide as he saw Zodd place his severed arm back on its stump, the wound sealing with a burst of steam as he continued to approach Griffith, reaching out toward him. "I think I will start with you…"

Then, Zodd paused, his eyes going wide as he saw… something. Something that apparently shocked him as a deep gasp filled the space for a moment. "What's this? The Egg of the King?"

Guts looked from Zodd to the other commanders to Daniel, gauging what his next move might be as the monster continued. "The Egg of the King! A cub like him with the Crimson Beherit?"

Guts had no idea what was going on, keeping his focus on Griffith now as he saw Daniel slowly getting up behind Zodd, not wanting to call attention to the fact. "The Godhand…" Zod muttered.

Then, he began to chuckle. "So, then… this is how they'll fill the space…"

The chuckling became full-bodied laughter as he turned away from Griffith to face Guts and the other Falcons. "Our battle is on hold for now, boy."

He punctuated the statement by striking the ceiling with a close fist, the dust cloaking him in shadows. "Though we will meet again, boy. Be sure of that."

Through the dust, Guts could swear that Zodd was grinning. "I offer you, all of you, a word of warning. No, a prophecy. If you esteem this man as a true friend, then take heed. When his ambition collapses…"

He paused dramatically, and the dust was blown away from around Zodd as he unfurled bat-like wings, nearly blowing Guts and Daniel over with the gale. "Death will come to you! A death none can escape!"

Then, with a flap of his massive wings, he lifted into the air, crashing through ceiling after ceiling until he finally seemed to make it into the open air. Then, he was gone, and after the last clatterings of debris fell to the floor, all was silent again.

Guts found himself staring up at that hole, his mind reeling. "A death I can't escape… because of Griffith?'

"Griffith!" Casca rushed over to Griffith's side, examining him with harried speed as Daniel limped over to them.

Guts remembered his words long ago. 'They wait for your darkest, most desperate moment, and then tempt you with the power to save yourself… at the cost of sacrificing something, or someone, that you hold dear.'

His thoughts were interrupted as Gaston and another Falcon hurried over to his side. "You alright, Captain?"

"I'll be fine. Griffith needs help more than me." he brushed off the hands that tried to support him, then tried to approach Griffith.

Before he could get far, Casca's hand darted out toward him, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't you touch him." she said, her voice low and dangerous.

She looked back at him, and he saw tears in her eyes. "None of this would have happened if it weren't for you charging off on your own!"

"No."

All eyes turned to Daniel, his helmet off now as he leaned on his swordspear like a walking stick, shuffling forward as he locked eyes with Casca. "No, it wouldn't be like this. It would be far worse. More men sent in after this monster, and for what? Only Guts and Griffith had a chance of stopping him."

Casca looked around finally seeming to take in all of the bodies that they stood amongst. So many of Guts' Raiders, dead and gone. The anger seemed to drain from her eyes, and she stood and stepped back as a few men gently lifted Griffith, carrying him away from the scene.

Finally, Guts' strength left him, and collapsed to his knees, Gaston and the other soldier unhindered as they lifted him to his feet, his arms over their shoulders. As they began to carry him away, he looked back to see Casca staring down Daniel.

"You don't seem shaken by any of this. Why? How are you so calm in the face of a monster?" Casca's words echoed through the now silent halls, causing Gaston and his companion to pause as they listened.

Daniel simply sighed. "That's a story that is far too long to tell. But its most recent chapter starts with a man, a thing, called Wyald."

Wyald… he could feel Gaston shudder, his own only slightly smaller at the mention of the man.

"But right now," Daniel said soberly, "that story isn't important. We have the rest of the grounds to secure, and bodies to bury."

He straightened to attention as best he could. "What are your orders, ma'am?"

Gaston and Guts turned away, slowly making their way up the hall. Guts was… exhausted. It was a struggle to keep his head up and his eyes open.

"Daniel will take care of things, sir," Gaston said as they emerged into the open air, Guts looking up to see a clearing sky.

He always was willing to do that, didn't he? But even with that knowledge, as he laid down in the medical tent, the words almost acted like permission for his eyes to close, Guts slowly slipping into a deep sleep.