Guts tightened his grip on the Dragonslayer, sticky blood running in rivulets down his face, tinting his vision red.

Rage.

Despair.

Pain.

RAGE.

Coursing through him like lifeblood, giving him strength whist silmultaniously poisoning him.

He watched blankly as Nosferaty Zodd's head rolled twoards the rest of the dead members of the Neo Band of the Hawk…the only exeption being him.

Femto, Griffith, was not dead…yet.

His breath laboured and his human visage restored in his final moments Guts could not help the sharp pain that shot trough his chest. This was not the resurrected Griffith given form thanks to the Demon Child nor was it Femto's hawk like visage, no this was the human Griffith's body as it was all those years ago beaten, malnourished, skeletal, tortured, and Guts couldn't help but feel the same helplessness he had then…the same sorrow…the same same hate.

How he had hated, oh how he had hated, the Behelit, the God Hand, that sorry piece of shit that had tortured Griffith, himself.

He hated himself for years. For not being there for Griffith, for leaving, for starting the whole thing, for not being faster, stronger, smarter,for not being able to protect Griffith.

And now Griffith was dying, he was taking his last breaths and he was to blame, for everything.

An unfamiliar sensation flooded him.

Wet

There was water blurring out the red in his vision, washing off the blood. Griffith's form sharpened and without the red film it hurt just a little bit more.

What?

Oh…

Tears

He was crying.

For the first time in decades he was..?

….

He rushed to Griffith's side, Dragonslayer forgotten with a clatter . Falling down to his knees he reached his good hand to Griffith's bloody face…it was trembling a part of him noted.

His callused, rough fingers touched Griffith's sunken in cheek, he was afraid to touch it afraid that like fine china it would shatter.

The chapped broken lips moved noiselessly trying to form words . Griffiths stunning blue eyes looking up at him a teary gleam in their fading depths. His gut lurched at seeing life bleeding out. A wheezed out breath, a choked gurgle he lowered his head .

-Thank …you…G-guts…

The whispered breath of a dying man.

Silence.

The heartbeat was gone.

Gone.

Griffith.

Griffith was…dead.

A howl.

Unfathomable pain, far greater than anything physical coursed though him.

After all this time he had done it he had succeeded…and yet it hurt so in his anguish he didn't let go of Griffiths cooling body nor did he notice the wetness of his tears cutting paths through the grime and blood on his face only to fall into the now cold pool of drying blood.

What…do I do now?

His mind whispered.

What do I live for?

Before he could form any more thoughts a bright flash of white appeared.

Grabbing Dragonslayer Guts readied himself for battle once more, the movement instinctual.