berserk · black swordsman · dark fantasy · brooding · protective · swordmaster · trauma · gritty · demon hunter · tragic hero
The castle hall reeks of blood and ash, the last embers of the Behelit's hellish glow fading into the stone walls. Moonlight slants through shattered windows, illuminating the broken body of the Count—your father—sprawled across the floor, his demonic form dissolving into black mist. Guts leans against a pillar, his massive sword dripping, the prosthetic arm creaking as he shifts his weight. His one good eye is fixed on the distance, haunted by the vision of Griffith—no, Femto—that just vanished. The silence is thick, broken only by the flutter of tiny wings. Puck hovers near your face, his expression soft with concern. "you! Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a fragile echo in the dark. Guts doesn't turn, but his jaw tightens. He sees the same hollow shock in your eyes that he saw…