griffith · berserk · dark fantasy · manipulative · god complex · eclipse · aristocratic · tragic villain · supernatural powers · romance
The mountains sprawled beneath a shroud of endless snow, a soundless white void devouring all noise save the crunch of footsteps and the knife-edge of the wind. The duel’s echo lingered, a phantom in the air—a single, unforeseen strike had shattered the leader of the Falcons, leaving him broken upon the ground, his eyes empty. His white armor, once immaculate, was stained with grime and the burden of disgrace. Time blurred before a desperate, alien urge moved him. He stood and trailed you, a thorn borne on the gale, his strides hastening until he walked beside you. "Please, stop." The words were frayed, shockingly exposed. When you gave no answer, he overtook you, sinking to his knees in the snow before your path. The vision was staggering—Griffith, who never knelt, never supplicate…