Clad in the black armour of the berserker, Guts was stronger, faster and more durable than should have been possible for a human to accomplish. This however, like all great powers, came at a price. Whenever Guts wore this armour he had to fight both mentally and physically in order to keep his sanity.
Even now he could feel Schierke’s spirit in the back of his mind letting him focus on fighting the enemy in front of him. The witch's spirit held the darkness at bay like a great bonfire, lighting up the shadows of his mind and casting away the demons that wanted to claim him. Without her, Guts would have already lost his sanity in the storm of his relentless rage.
Guts winced as blood poured from the brand on his neck. The fierce heat leaked from the mark and spread through his body as if his blood had become liquid fire and was burning Guts from within. As Guts took a step towards his enemy his brand flared up, spitting a column of blood onto the fresh grass below.
With his sword resting in his scabbard, Griffith watched Guts as he struggled with his very existence.
His enemy, Griffith - The Hero of Midland, wore his white polished suit of armour, open wings built into each shoulder. His signature helmet, designed as a hawk’s beak, was missing. Instead, Griffith chose to leave his head unprotected, letting his long silver hair gently flow around his feminine face, as the harsh wind seemed to slow down around him. His piercing eyes stared straight into Guts's own. They took in everything, no detail was unnecessary or too invaluable to ignore.
The corners of his mouth curled into a smirk and a low growl rumbled out of Guts's throat.
“Guts! Guts listen to me! You need to focus. You have to forget about your revenge and think rationally about what you’re doing. You mustn't let the armour consume you.”
Hearing Schierke’s voice gave the berserker pause and he took a step back. Tearing his eyes from Griffith momentarily, he glanced across the immediate area and memorised as much as he could. The ground behind him fell into a sheer drop into the Sea, whose waves crashed angrily against the cliff-face and sent a mist of foam into the air. The harsh sea wind clawed at his face and bit into his exposed skin, casting off droplets of blood that flowed across his armour. Littering the ground were slabs of rock shaped like wings reaching out of the ground, each one looked as sharp as a net of thorns that would tear him apart if he let the trap him.
It’s okay Schierke I’m in control.
Griffith's words winged their way to Guts. "That’s such a shame; it was just getting to the good part.”
In an instant Guts had ploughed into his opponent, his arms a whirlwind of power as his huge sword flashed in and out of vision. Caught off guard, Griffith was pushed back.
I cannot let him rest, Guts thought between sword strokes. If I let him have a moment to focus I have already lost.
Griffith avoided Guts’s sword with relative ease. “My my, you never were much for conversation.” Griffith chuckled to himself. “Looks like you haven’t changed too much since I last saw you.”
Guts gritted his teeth, snarling at his former friend. “Shut up Griffith!” He raised his left hand and slammed it into the knight’s jaw, throwing him backwards. “You still talk too much.”
Rubbing his jaw as he sat up Griffith said, “And it would appear Casca speaks too little, but you would know all about that wouldn’t you, friend?”
“Don’t say that name!”
Roaring curses at his downed foe, Guts leapt forward and swung his great blade down with an executioner’s purpose. Griffith swiftly rolled away, and smirked as the black blade cleaved through rock and earth. He lunged forward and speared Guts’s shoulder with his rapier before ripping it out of the wound.
Wincing in pain Guts lifted his sword out of the ground and began circling his opponent.
“Why haven’t you used your armour yet Guts? You seem to be struggling without it.”
Almost as if it heard Griffith’s call a familiar heat crept up the Guts’s back. Guts released a guttural growl, Feelings he had been forcing down began boiling their way to the surface.
A sinister voice slipped into the Guts’s mind as a black dog, its misshapen eyes glowing orange as it walked out of the shadows. It spoke to Guts and Schierke, each of its words threatening to rip them both apart. “If you let me take over I can help you Guts. Revenge is the only thing you have left. You made me out of it and your sword has been used for it. All you need to do is let the witch go and let me in.”
Schierke felt her friend’s mind slipping away. “Guts, ignore it, you're already nearing your-”A dark wave of emotions flowed back into the witch, telling her that it was already too late to stop the rage that was thundering through his mind. Led by the black hound, its raw power forced its way through her barrier, shattering it and throwing her out of Guts’s mind.
A savage roar bellowed from the swordsman’s throat as his head was swallowed by the black jaws of his dog-like helmet, its lips pulled back into a gruesome fanged smile. Its power spread through his body, overriding all the pain he had previously felt and replacing it with an unquenchable thirst for revenge on the one man who was both a saviour and a plague to the swordsman's life.
Griffith gracefully leapt forward, his white armour glistening in the sunlight, and like a hawk swooping down on its prey, he plunged his blade deep into Guts’s chest. His assault continued, the long rapier finding and piercing the gaps in his opponents black armour, watching as blood poured from the fresh wounds, his own cheek throbbing in pain.
These small wounds did little to stop the berserker and, seeing nothing but the red mist that clouded his vision, he swept the great slab of iron that was his sword through the air, barely missing the hawk.
The duo continued to exchange blows, each wild swing sent the white knight reeling but every time he would retaliate with an elegant slash or lunge. Blood cascaded out of both warriors, tainting the earth around them.
Griffith fell to the ground, kneeling on his good leg and looked up to Guts, the only thing that had made his life worthwhile. A smirk worked its way onto Griffith’s face. “Looks like you finally managed to beat me, Guts.”
With a last, great surge of power, Guts brought his sword down on his hated friend. He felt the blade begin to carve through Griffith’s neck, when suddenly a blinding light seared into his eyes and the iron slab stopped short.
A similar light seeped through the gaps in his dark armour and like tendrils of energy they snaked towards each other, joining together to form a glowing white orb. It then quickly expanded and flattened out until it was shaped like a large oval. Sinister whispers could be heard coming from the panel as if hundreds of spirits were living within it and wanting to break out.
Guts felt something grab onto his arm, and looking down towards it he noticed the light had formed a hand which was latched onto his muscled arm. The same pulling sensation on the rest of his body told him that he had in fact been grabbed by hundreds of these hands. He struggled like a caged animal trying to bite through its bonds. The same hands had also lifted his sword away, separating Guts from Griffith. They then carefully lifted Griffith’s body off the ground and pulled him into the portal.
“NO!” Guts shouted in dismay as the goal he was so close to completing was once again ripped from his grasp. He then let out a final roar of anguish before he too was sucked into the portal.
_*_*_*_*_*_
Celestia’s sun graced the large room with its gentle light much to the appreciation of its current occupant. A stack of paper and various parcels were piled high on the desk and one by one they were lifted by a pink aura, placed in the centre of the desk, read, signed and then moved onto another stack.
“Oh Celestia,” the pink pony sighed. “Why is it so much work to host the Equestrian games?” She started to read another piece of paper. “And it seems like over half of them are just companies who want to become sponsors for the games.”
A knock at the door broke the princess from her prolonged torment. “You may enter.”
The door opened and a white stallion walked in, his soft blue eyes matched by his mane. He looked at the desk and winced. “You still haven’t finished with those?”
Cadence threw her hooves up in protest. “But there are so many of the damn things and I’m the only one who can go through them and sign them.” She smirked. “Unless you wanted to help me Shiny.”
Like a foal caught with its hoof in a cookie jar, Shining stopped, his eyes wide open. He shuffled his feet and laughed nervously. “I can’t do that. Only you have the authority to accept or decline these.”
“But that’s only true for some of them, look.” She lifted a large stack of papers from the table, placing them in front of Shining. “Anyone working in my court can sign these.”
The stallion groaned, knowing that it would take at least two hours to go through the rest of them. He started picking them up slowly. “Wait, how did you sort those from the rest?”
The alicorn giggled. “What do you mean? They were like that from the start.”
Shining heard the lock click into place and knew he had been trapped. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll help you, but once I go through these I’m out.”
A grin split the Princesses face. “That’s all I wanted you to do.”
Grumbling to himself, Shining sat down at another desk and started to go through the papers he had been given.
A high pitched squeal began to tear through the room. Both Shining and Cadence looked quickly between themselves and the rest of the room, hooves over their ears in pain.
“What in the name of Luna is that?” Cadence shouted over the noise, her head scanning the room. Almost as soon it started, the pitch had lowered until the sound had reached a deep thrumming that made the room tremble slightly.
“I have no idea,” Shining replied. “But it doesn't sound very friendly.” The thrumming continued increasing in volume as the door to the room was slowly surrounded in a white light. Out of the door came a stunningly beautiful pegasus, its short fur a brilliant alabaster comparable to Celestia’s own pristine coat and the long curly mane flowing down its face and back was a silver that almost sparkled with a metallic sheen. However, as the stallion was gently placed onto the floor by hundreds of eerie white hands, it became apparent from the blood seeping through his pure coat, that he was heavily injured.
As Shining was studying the suspicious pony Cadence unlocked the door and yelled to her husband, “Shining, we need to get him to the medics. Now!”
“Right,” the stallion replied; he lifted the pegasus up in his blue magic and began running to the castle’s hospital wing with Cadence following close behind.
_*_*_*_*_*_
The calming sounds of waves lapping against rocks gently woke Guts from his slumber. Groggily he tried to get up, but his body seized up as pain lanced through it. Groaning, Guts carefully lay back down, his cursed armour clunking with every slight movement.
As the wind moved a cloud past the sun, his eyes were blasted by the bright light, causing his head to spin. “Where are those damn elves when you need them?” He rifled through his pockets, replaying the recent events in his head, his journey to find Griffith, meeting his current group, placing Casca on the elf island, confronting Griffith, fighting him and then getting pulled through the portal.
“Right after Griffith…”
A wild laugh rumbled out of his throat, and like a landslide it continued to get louder. Guts laughed to his heart’s content, ignoring the pain and despair he felt. His chest heaved for air but still he continued. It was a laugh that held a burden capable of crushing a normal man and contained an evil that could rival a demon.
The realisation that Griffith was pulled through the same portal that he was could only mean that he was somewhere near, and gravely wounded. His revenge may have been interrupted but there was still a chance to finish what he started. Taking a deep breath the wounded warrior calmed down and looked around. He was still on a cliff; however unlike the last one, this cliff did not have the stones littering the surface like graves. Away from the cliff face Guts could see a huge group of trees, their branches reaching high into the sky.
To his right lay his sword: The Dragonslayer, given its name because it was used to cleave a dragon’s head in two, but its maker was ordered to be executed shortly after for creating the monstrous sword in the first place as no normal man could tame it. Guts however could, and had done so a long time ago. To call it a sword was an understatement, it was taller than he was, with a handle as long as his forearm and a broad blade that is more than an inch thick at the center. Yet, when the situation called for it, Guts could lift it with only his right hand.
Guts slowly stood up, moving carefully so as to not agitate his wounds further. He grabbed his sword and slung it onto his back. Slowly he began to trek his way along the outskirts of the forest travelling away from the sea. The walk was peaceful, but after an hour or two his body began to give up on him; the blood loss was making his head spin and the pain was beginning to become unbearable. Wrapping his black cloak around himself, he sat down by a tree and fell asleep.
Just before he fell asleep, Guts felt himself be thrown to the side as a sharp pain burst across his temple and his world plunged into darkness.
_*_*_*_*_*_
Author's Note
As this is essentially my first fanfic I would like to ask you to really dig your claws into it. I would like to read as much constructive criticism you are willing to give.
Thanks for reading. I hope I don't disappoint anybody too much, now or in the future.
