Forests are a strange place in Midland, full of rumor and magic, sometimes worse. Now was one such time. Guts had yet another sleepless night thanks to his mark, bleeding profusely on the back of his neck, and was standing with drawn sword in the middle of a moonlit clearing. Demons could be heard howling from the shadows, and a grin was firmly stuck on his face.

"You won't be laughing when you get the balls to stop hiding," he taunted quietly, bloodlust filling his head. "Quit making noise, come and get me." He didn't have to wait much longer for them to listen. With inhuman screeches, they charged the Black Swordsman, unable to resist the call of his hellish mark. Griffith may be the king of bastards, but Guts enjoyed slaying these demons every night.

Armor creaking slightly as he moved, Guts dashed between his targets with supernatural speed, seemingly unhindered by his impossibly massive sword. The demons couldn't keep up, and they fell in groups of twos and threes. Soon the whole horde lay dead under Guts metal boots, blood dripping from his sword and misting his hair, visible mostly on the shock of white at the front of his scalp. His eyes were wild and full of hate during the fight but slowly calmed down with his breathing as the sun rose. He inhaled deeply and held it for a moment, expelling it and the last vestiges of his anger towards the demons as he finally calmed down.

Guts looked around at the carnage, pleased with his work. He started walking along the road he'd been using to walk to the next city, hoping to find a nice tree to rest under that wasn't in the forest and sheathed his sword on his back as he moved. He was grateful to not have to worry about his friends this time around, as well as coming to closure with his own personal demons. That last thought reminded him of his talk with Casca after her sanity had been restored, and the emotional dam that had broken afterward.

That was the first time he'd cried since Gambino, and would probably be the last. That conversation had given him peace with his past, but he still craved demon blood, combat, and Griffith's head. He'd set out again after making sure everyone would be safe and well cared for, and gotten a few last minute gifts from the wizards and witches in the fairy place. His armor and weapon were given enchantments to never rust, and a few seals were permanently tattooed onto his back so that he could control his berserker armor, which would now heal damage as well as keep him held together.

"It won't kill you or drive you mad anymore, but the healing is slow, and there's a price," Shrieke had told him. "It relies on souls and blood, be it human, demon, or something else, to function. It can store energy if you go for a long period without battles, but it takes a lot to heal you, and I couldn't find a way to remove its original power." It was enough, more than enough for him, and he left happy. His lack of directions to Griffith was pissing him off, however, and that happiness was quickly burning away to be replaced by his anger.

Days of travel and nights of fighting passed, finding Guts standing at the gates of yet another city. He sighed, trying to dredge up some hope of finding answers before he entered. He decided to find a tavern first, for both questions and supplies. It was about as generic a rough tavern as you could get: old, full of questionable patrons, and staffed by tough and grizzled men. It seemed clean at the very least, more than you could ask for with similar places, so he got food and drink before asking around. His appearance and the rumors about him didn't help much, but he seemed to have finally found something.

"Griffith? Yeah, I know about him," said a tired worker in worn clothing, nursing a tall mug of alcohol. "Known as the White Hawk now. Supposedly he's got his own country somewhere north, people don't go hungry, and it's pretty much paradise."

"Sounds like somewhere you'd like to be," Guts stated, suspicious. "Why don't you go?"

"I'd be there already if I could get enough money for the trip. The roads there are too dangerous for anyone that doesn't know how to use a weapon though, so I'm trying to buy safe passage. Plus, with everyone leaving for that place, jobs have opened up a little bit, and I'm doing okay here." He eyed Guts' sword and caught a glimpse of his armor. "You look like you know how to fight… say, if I were to show you how to get there, would you take me with you?"

"You might not like that," Guts chuckled. "But yeah, I would."

"Then we have a deal. I'm Crishum," he said, shaking Guts' hand. The two set off later that day, mostly silent while they walked. When the sun started to go down, Guts told his companion to stay a quarter mile back on the road until he came back for him, and began walking away for his own safety, drawing his sword at the same time.

"Dear God, that sword!" Crishum thought. "I hadn't realized how big it was! A sword like that… is this the Black Swordsman? What have I gotten myself into?" The second the light truly vanished, strange cries faintly echoed in the distance from where Guts had gone, along with a roaring battle cry and the sounds of a clanging sword. He waited fearfully for a few minutes, but exhaustion won out, and he set up his bedroll to sleep.

Crishum woke up the next morning to the sound of footsteps, and clanking armor falling to the ground. He looked over to a returned Guts, covered head to boot in varying shades of blood, exhausted as the sun came up. He noticed Crishum was awake but said nothing as he fell asleep in the weak morning light. Hopefully, he would explain what had happened later.

In the meantime, he thought to make breakfast and set some aside for Guts when he finished. Guts only slept for about an hour and a half before he woke up again, quickly eating the breakfast Crishum had made after thanking him. They got on the road again, and Crishum decided to get some answers.

"What happened last night, Guts?" He chuckled at the question, looking over his shoulder with a grin at Crishum.

"The thing I said you probably wouldn't like. It'll happen again tonight, and the next night, and so on. You're only ever going to hear what happens if you're lucky, and it's best if you don't know more. Let's just leave it at something you shouldn't poke your nose in, hnn?" Crishum nodded, and they descended into silence again. Sure enough, that night Guts told Crishum to stay behind as he went off, the sounds returned, Crishum went to sleep, and woke up to a filthy Guts taking his own turn at rest. It was a strange thing, but it seemed alright for the moment, and Guts at least wasn't rude when they talked. A few weeks of this routine passed, stopping every once in a while to get more food when they finally ran into trouble.

"This forest is…" Crishum said, not knowing how to describe what he felt.

"Cursed." Guts had said it. The forest was dark ahead of them, unnaturally so. No animals could be heard, and the wind didn't seem to do anything to the foliage. "Pray that we get through here in one day, you won't be able to stay behind this time." The only way to tell it wasn't night yet was by the scraps of sunlight piercing the tree leaves above them, scarce as that was, and quickly it became apparent that they wouldn't make it.

"So, what happens now?" Crishum asked, nervous as they stood in the failing day.

"You stay out of the way, and try to not get killed," Guts answered, drawing his sword. Crishum noticed that a mark on Guts' neck was bleeding. "Don't run away, and don't help me." A strange feeling came over Crishum, and cackling could be heard in the underbrush, mixed among sounds he couldn't place. Suddenly creatures that belong in nightmares charged forwards to Guts', and he let out a cry of rage that drowned out their cacophony as he ran to meet them head-on.

Crishum had never been so terrified in his life. He couldn't make sense of the scene before him. Guts' instructions echoed dimly through his head, and he tried to find a safe place to hide. Hours passed, Crishum hiding in a tree a short distance from the battle unable to sleep, and Guts shouting and hacking away at the flood of demons that came from every direction. Dawn broke, and the fight almost instantly stopped. Both Guts and Crishum slept where they were for as long as they could but eventually had to get back on the road.

A few miles of walking later they were still in the forest, and Crishum guessed it was time to break the silence.

"So… demons?" Guts hummed a confirmation. "I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself. Why do they do that every night?"

"This piece of shit," Guts said, pointing to his brand. "Put there by Griffith himself, along with a few friends, some years ago. Same day I lost these." He knocked on his metal hand and gestured to his right eye. "You might say I have some unfinished business with the prick."

"Damn," Crishum said quietly, wondering how that battle went. "Is it alright if I ask how it all happened?"

"No." His tone brooked no argument, and it was immediately dropped. The silence went on until they exited the forest, and Guts left Crishum behind to fight demons again. Crishum never really got used to it, but he was at least able to sleep at night and make breakfast for them both as they traveled, trying to make it somewhat easier on Guts. It wasn't quite as safe a passage as he would have liked, but it was safer than going alone. One week after they left the forest, they found Griffith's city.

"I don't think I want to go in there now, what with your story," Crishum said, squinting at the white walls in the distance. "Though I might try to find a job somewhere nearby."

"Good choice," Guts said. They shook hands before they parted ways, and Guts marched the last few miles to the city. He did his best to not draw attention when he got close, hitching a ride in the back of a wagon to get in without alarms being raised. Stealth went out the window when he got close to the palace, however.

"State your business," a guard ordered, standing in front of the gate.

"I'm an old friend of Griffith's," Guts' said, slowly drawing his sword and grinning. "You're in my way." The guard drew breath to shout but was cut down before he could. Bloodlust lit his veins like fire, and the berserker armor sealed guts in a shell of rage. He sprinted through the palace, slaughtering guards and anything that set off his mark in his search for Griffith.

Griffith was standing in the hall of the dead when news reached him about the intruder, and he left to deal with Guts.

"So, you've finally come," he muttered to himself, an emotionless mask settling his features. "I've missed you, Guts." He summoned a witch to accompany him to the hall where he would meet Guts. They entered from opposite sides, one dark and soaked in blood, the other bright and almost angelic. Griffith drew his sword, and Guts drew breath for one word, shouting with every ounce of hate he had.

"GRIFFITH!" He charged as fast as lightning, shattering the stone tiles beneath him by sheer force alone. Their blades met in a flurry of sparks, screeching light deflecting clanging dark. Their dance was the epitome of opposites: wolf against hawk, grace versus power, god battling man. Unnoticed in the corner, the witch prepared a spell, weaving magic between her fingers like a spider. Griffith sensed when it was ready and dodged back suddenly after parrying Guts.

Thrown off balance, Guts was unable to dodge the ball of light that struck his chest, engulfing his body in rings upon rings of green magic. He was stuck, not able to so much as move his eyes. The witch revealed herself and quickly set about using chalk to draw a large pentagram around Guts, filling it with lines and symbols that he couldn't read. Special items were placed at the corners of the star, along with three drops of blood on each. The pentagram ignited with dark red flames, and the witch crouched at the corner directly ahead of Guts with her staff at the ready. Griffith walked up to guts, uncaring of the flames, and said farewell.

"You could have been so great at my side, Guts," he said, sounding almost genuine with regret. "I would have pulled out from hell with my bare hands if necessary, and you could have helped me build up my empire. But now I see, you would never have done it, not after the eclipse. So, this is goodbye, Guts, forever." He walked out of the circle and signaled the witch to begin. She jabbed her staff into the point she was closest to and said an incantation in a language that sounded almost backward.

Smoke billowed up from the lines beneath Guts and a loud whooshing deafened him. He smelled sulfur and burning flesh, gunpowder, metal. Screeching and growling came into focus as the rings faded away, and he charged from the smoke. Immediately he stopped dead and swiveled his head back and forth in his new surroundings. It was almost a worse version of the hell he'd seen during the eclipse, with more stone and fire than flesh and darkness.

The sound of explosions drew his attention to a nearby passage, out of which ran a green armored man carrying some kind of metal weapon that growled and spat out smoke. The stranger stopped dead at the sight of Guts, tilting his head in confusion. Guts pointed his sword at the stranger, drawing back his wolf-like helmet.

"Where the hell am I?" he growled, causing the stranger to chuckle. "And what the fuck are you?" The stranger tapped a spot on the side of his helmet.

"I'm known as the Doom Slayer," he said, his voice gravelly from disuse. "Welcome to hell."