Tipping the Balance
Chapter 3: Sharpened to a keen edge
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Irvine, the eyeless commander of Griffith's demonic archers, tried to pin down the mysterious creature that continued to slaughter his troops wholesale.
His ground forces, consisting of possessed human cavalry and infantry soldiers, were mowed down like wheat being harvested.
As his archery unit approached the disturbance, its members passed mangled demonic corpses and slaughtered mounts.
Their viciously spilt entrails stained the ground Irvine and his remaining command continued to tread.
The few flying units under his command reported the enemy to be extremely swift dark red creature, possibly an elite Kushan apostle.
He sent them out again and they did not return.
At the center of a whirlwind of death and destruction, the mysterious demon stopped briefly, its dark red carapace the same hue as the lifeblood it spilled. The strangeness of the creature's alien and insect-like appearance was far overshadowed by the power and swiftness contained within its compact humanoid form.
To Irvine, the assailant was entirely unfamiliar but the weapon it wielded was unmistakable.
It was the massive sword of the branded swordsman. The same swordsman Griffith's forces were supposed to have assassinated just hours before.
Irvine commanded his archers to aim and fire on his signal. Irvine brought his own monstrous bow to bear and aimed its demonic red eye at the abomination.
He would not miss.
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Guts marveled at his new physical capabilities. Having spent all his life on the battlefield he was used to slaughter, but not as effortless as this.
The possessed humans moved as if mired in mud. Any stray weapons that happened to have glanced past his guard were turned away by his impossibly tough, chitinous armor.
When the flyers circling overhead dove down to attack, they were surprised when the bloody creature met them mid-air.
Guts jumped on the back of one such creature and decapitated and it only to launch off its back and split another in half vertically. He leapt again to tear a wing off the last flying apostle.
Bloody viscera rained down on the surviving ground forces.
When the one-winged creature spiraled to the ground, Guts speared it though the heart, pinning it to the ground, and tore off its head with his bare hands.
He threw the massive head like a cannonball, bowling some soldiers over, and killing a few of them.
He retrieved the Dragonslayer and continued his butchery.
Guts was not even winded.
As the vengeful soldier decimated the last of the ground forces, he sensed arrows incoming and pressed himself to dodge and block with his sword.
A stray arrow made it passed his impromptu shield to spear him between the armor plating of his left shoulder and chest.
Guts ripped it out forcefully, and were amazed to find it healing already.
"It was even faster than Puck's magic." thought the black swordsman with a hint of regret.
As Guts prepared to charge, the lead archer shot another impossibly fast arrow at his head. The other archers scrambled to follow his lead.
Before even dodging, a beam of green energy lanced from Guts' forehead incinerating the projectile, and continuing on to destroy part of Irvine's helm revealing sightless eyes.
The armor attacked of it own accord, to protect its user.
Guts knew that there were too many unknown factors when it came to his new body.
He would just have experiment.
Guts found that he could use the small blasts with pinpoint accuracy.
He destroyed their demonic bows, leaving the two-dozen or so archers weaponless, and in many cases handless, but alive.
Some started to panic, and to turn heel and run.
Others pulled out short swords, axes and maces.
Guts plunged his sword into the ground.
He wanted to do this by hand.
Grabbing one armored archer by the leg, Guts used him as a crude bludgeon until the leg ripped apart at the knee joint.
Irvine died screaming as the bloody creature tore open his ribcage and ripped out his heart, before pulping his head with its clenched fists.
There would be no survivors.
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Guts made his way to the Elfheim to meet King Hanafubuku. Passing a lush green forest, he came to a solitary, peaceful mountain.
He had long since dispelled the crimson armor, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself.
Shouldering his pack consisting of Serpico's weapons and his previous ones, he heard a familiar voice.
It was the joyful cry of a tearful Schierke, followed by a bandaged Isidro.
Along with them was a glowing mass of elves, one of which was an injured Puck with a torn wing.
Guts allowed himself a small, rare smile.
All was not lost.
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End Chapter 3
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C&C are welcome.