The moonlight dancing upon Griffith made his form shimmer, as if he borrowed the very light of the stars.
The serenade of night insects and the soft rustle of leaves announced his unexpected presence.
A gentle breeze caressed Griffith's beautiful, flowing hair, swaying it slowly.
Fireflies, like living jewels, swarmed around him, each glow revealing a grace that was almost deceptive.
It was as if the universe itself conspired to exalt Griffith, painting him as the image of ultimate perfection.
A perfection that, upon closer inspection, festered from within—a disgusting carcass awaiting its inevitable unveiling.
Guts's breath hitched, his heart pounded, blood surged through his veins, his muscles tensed.
Every nerve throughout his body worked furiously. Guts gripped his partner, Dragonslayer, swinging with all his might, enraged and desperate.
He slashed at the suffering that haunted him.
"This is a dream!"
Guts tried to erase every dark memory with his slashes.
"THIS IS A DREAM!"
He swung again, forcing his sword to tear through the illusion, attempting to obliterate the symbol of his misery.
"WAKE UP, YOU BASTARD!"
Yet, as if the universe had abandoned Guts, his every effort was futile.
Dragonslayer's blade only cut through emptiness.
His attempts couldn't even slightly mar Griffith's untouched glory.
"Let it be, Guts,"
Griffith said softly, with perfect serenity.
"No!"
"Give up, Guts..."
"Never!"
Dragonslayer continued to swing like a storm.
Suddenly, time seemed to halt; every instinct in Guts's body screamed a warning of disaster.
In a split second, Guts diverted the direction of his slash, warding off whatever threatened him.
BLAST!
A colossal explosion flung Guts's body away like a leaf in the wind.
All of Guts's muscles screamed, his bones shrieked.
Guts got up, his vision momentarily swallowed by a storm of wind and dust.
As the maelstrom began to subside and Guts's eyes adjusted, a gigantic beast's claw was poised right before his face, ready to slice him like ribbon.
Guts covered himself with his partner, shielding himself from the coming catastrophe.
His body felt like it was cracking in desperation, every bone a fragile lattice against the coming blow.
After the calamity passed, there, in the eye of the storm, stood the incarnation of destruction.
Zodd, the Immortal, a being of pure wrath that descended upon anything that came after his chosen master.
A giant, furry, one-horned beast with wide, bat-like wings, a ferocious tiger's face, and sharp claws that seemed capable of tearing through anything.
Guts ignored the potent presence threatening his life, resuming his pursuit of Griffith.
But like a fortress shielding its master, Zodd blocked Guts, granting him not an inch of an opening.
Zodd clawed, mawed, and smashed, doing anything to eradicate Guts's existence.
Guts fought relentlessly, desperately warding off anything that came after him.
He knew Griffith's objective; his premonition was never wrong!
"Griffith! Don't you fucking dare!"
Howls of agony echoed throughout the expanse.
Yet, Guts's eyes were fixated on a single figure: his sun, his moon, the breath in his life, and the beat of his heart.
Casca lay slumped on the grass.
Her short black hair swayed in the wind, revealing a serene peace on her face, a deceptive tranquility amidst the chaos.
Guts swung Dragonslayer with everything he had.
But his partner halted on Griffith's back, refusing to go any further.
At that moment, time seemed to freeze.
The wind ceased its blowing, and the screams of agony faded.
Like a volcanic eruption, the energy enveloping Griffith exploded with tremendous force, flinging Guts's body away like a pebble.
Guts's body was thrown and tumbled.
Guts stabbed his trusted partner into the ground to kill his momentum.
As Guts began to rise—
CRACK! (Berserker Armor shattering)
Griffith's hand plunged into Guts's chest, tearing away the last shield protecting his life: his Berserker Armor.
A searing void bloomed where his heart should have been.
His partner, Dragonslayer, fell to the ground.
In the midst of the void, Femto materialized: a majestic bird of prey born from the night.
His terrifying silhouette was a fusion of man and demon, with glistening black skin that absorbed all color.
His iconic helmet, with sharp curves and an elongated beak, concealed his identity, transforming him into a symbol of terror.
His massive wings, stretched far above, as if made of the darkest fabric, whispered of emptiness and silence.
He didn't speak, showed no emotion, simply stood as an emblem of evil perfection, ready to execute the horrific will of destiny.
With a single, swift motion, Griffith/Femto tore Guts's heart out.
Time returned to its flow, and howls of agony once more reverberated.
Guts fell to his knees.
Like a machine running out of fuel, every ounce of tension in Guts's body ceased.
An immeasurable pain began to gnaw at Guts's body, not a single agony, but a symphony of torment.
His skin felt flayed and burning, muscles writhed as if ripped from their moorings, and bones grated and splintered within him.
Every severed nerve shrieked, sending white-hot lightning through his dying frame, stealing his thoughts, leaving only the raw, all-consuming ache.
Yet, Guts refused to collapse.
His entire existence lay there, seemingly sleeping peacefully, waiting to be awakened from her deep slumber, his only reason to breathe, his last flicker of hope.
Guts walked slowly, each step a fresh torment. Griffith/Femto merely observed the futility of Guts's actions.
When Zodd moved to pursue Guts, a mere glance from Griffith/Femto made Zodd kneel in submission.
He understood his master's intent perfectly.
STEP! (sound of footsteps)
"Wait for me there."
Guts rasped, his voice a ghost of its former thunder.
He dragged his heavy feet forward, leaving crimson smears on the earth.
His breathing slowly began to falter, each gasp a shallow whisper against the roar of his dying body.
The gust of wind felt like a storm, violently throwing his body.
Guts collapsed.
Blood poured from his mouth and hollowed chest, drenching the grass, a macabre blossoming against the green.
AGRRRGHHHHHH! (Guts howling)
Guts howled in agony, a desperate, wounded animal's cry.
His whole body screamed at him to stop, to surrender to the sweet oblivion.
Yet, Guts got back up, his body trembling violently.
His legs quivered, a puppet whose strings were nearly severed.
His steps dragged against the earth, a testament to a will that refused to break.
"Casca. I'm almost there,"
He choked out, her name a fragile prayer on his lips.
A sickening trail of blood, each crimson drop a piece of his ebbing life, accompanied his every step.
Guts collapsed again.
His legs betrayed him, buckling beneath his weight, a final, cruel surrender of his will.
His eyes began to fail, the world blurring into a meaningless smear, yet the figure of his beloved appeared with impossible clarity, a vision burned into his dying retina, the only truth left to him.
"Just a little more,"
He begged, to himself, to the unforgiving earth.
Guts's fingers clawed at the ground, dragging his body a single step closer, his nails tearing the soil in a desperate plea.
His ears grew deaf, the world dissolving into muffled silence, yet somehow, the sweet voice of his beloved sounded as if whispered directly into his soul, a melody of agonizing longing.
"One more step,"
He urged, a raw sob caught in his throat.
His breath hitched.
Guts's lips continued to murmur the name carved into his soul, a broken mantra of devotion.
"Casca."
Just as the tip of his finger nearly touched his beloved, a breath away, a lifetime too short, his body stopped completely.
The last ember of his will flickered and died.
"I am home."
His last dance and last struggle ended here, a silent, tragic tableau beneath the indifferent moon.