A/N: WHAT

WHAT THE FUCK

I'm in "college", as they say. Updates will never come, ever. Sorry. Ever. Never.

Next month, hopefully.

also I took liberties with Zodd's age knowingly.

Otherwise, anything else that seems incorrect is accidental.

A full, white moon cascaded a sterile light to the peak of the world.

A party lay, slaughtered.

Eight figures stood, four bathed in the blood of monsters and men.

Four stood watch, arranged in a heightened semicircle above the four below.

One stood shakily, clutching her aching mark in agony.

One tensed his legs, his arms shivering as his mark pulsed with horrid magic.

One, with his sword drawn, looked on at the others with indifference, a monstrous head in his gloved hand.

The last held his head up firm, his eyes boring into the souls of his former comrades.

'No… Not comrades. Stones. The pavement of my path to Glory.' Femto thought, his stance strong and domineering.

The Strugglers before him were nothing more than prey, sacrifices – the Already Dead.

The Knight threw down the severed head, its tongue lolling out of his monstrous mouth.

"Even as a human, Zodd was never my equal. To think he considered himself my rival is nothing short of laughable." The Skull Knight taunted, his voice hollow and stoic.

"I remember a time when you considered him your right hand man, Gaiseric." Countered the skeletal humanoid.

"A right hand man, he was. But nothing more. As the body, as the Commander, I thought none could be my equal. I was as foolish as this "King" you have brought before me." Said the Knight, looking to Femto, then to Void again.

"Though I suppose I have you and Zodd to thank for my downfall."

Guts violently coughed up a small blot of blood, and shakily wiped his lips clean. He and Casca shared a pained look of strength, both gritting away the pain of their Marks. The Black Swordsman then turned his attention to the Skull Knight.

"Why aren't you finishing this!? You have the power! YOU CAN END ALL OF THIS!" The Struggler yelled, forcing his lungs to burn through his final breaths.

The man once known as Gaiseric shifted his empty gaze to Guts.

Ubik then chuckled, his dead timbre ringing throughout the bloodied Hill of Swords.

"King Gaiseric stands before us because he knows he can do nothing. Five Eclipses have dawned since his reign, and even so, he has managed to stop none." The pudgy looking God Hand taunted, his lips curved into a sickly smile.

"Believe his words if you wish, Struggler. I stand here today not as your ally." The Skull Knight informed Guts.

His gaze widened in shock, and he could feel Griffith's unconcerned gaze bore into him.

'Fucking monster… TEAR HIM TO PIECES! I… Will… END HIS LIFE! SNUFF OUT HIS CURSED EXISTENCE!' The Beast yelled through Gut's mind.

With no Witch left standing, It was crawling over him, creeping in and out through his body. Only through the debilitating pain was It kept in wraps, rendering the man disabled.

"So, this world has come and borne a new cycle. Come then, Gunderic. If you wish, recreate it once more, and stand forever outside the lengths of Causality. Maintain your own slavery to the Idea of Evil." The Knight taunted, freely strolling through Femto's line of sight to Guts and Casca.

His words struck a chord with Slan, who darted a quick glance to Void.

"Fool your lackeys into thinking that you're doing this for their interests." He continued, his tone becoming more and more aloof and distant as he went on.

"And for my sake, fool yourself into thinking you have any form of freedom." Casca couldn't tell properly, but through her pain, she might've seen the Skull Knight's "face" contort into a smile, of all things.

"What does he speak of, Void?" Conrad asked, in a hushed manner.

"Enough. I have foreseen the end of your existence, Gaiseric. You have to have known it would all crumble, didn't you?" The leader of the God Hand cut the former King off.

"That's not what we were talking about, brother. Under what banner does the God Hand unite?" The Skull Knight proposed his question to all five members, who stared back in confusion.

At such words, Guts and Casca let out pained breaths, their marks no longer burning with their previous intensity.

"Wh-wh-what the hell…" Casca exclaimed, steeling herself as she was able to get her breath back.

"I serve no-one, dear." Slan made her words clear, but even she couldn't believe the saying.

It was as if some mental tug had prevented her from doing so. The Succubus-like being stared back at her fellow God Hand.

"None can control me!" Ubik cried jauntily, his smile unwavering.

"…" Conrad remained silent, his stare now levelled at Void.

And finally, Gaiseric awaited Griffith's response.

"Have you lost your voice, Falcon? Are you starting to realise that your benefactors have been controlling you, this entire time?" The Knight forwarded, strolling calmly towards the demonic visage of Femto.

"Answer me." He implored, his voice resolute.

He could see the demon's lip quiver, ever so slightly.

"I answer to Falconia, for I am its rightful King." Griffith replied, rearing a hand back to force the King away.

Gaiseric didn't flinch, if a living suit of armour could do so.

And Griffith's arm had stayed, snapping his gaze back to the alien-like Void.

"What the hell!?"

"Calm yourself, Femto. Gaiseric is mocking you with words of nothingness." Void demanded of the man, who struggled against the non-existent grip on his armoured hand.

"If such words hold no value, then you won't mind if I continue "mocking" him, brother."

"It will solve nothing, Gaiseric. Your end is inevitable. The cycle will repeat itself, this time, without you." Void assured him.

"Good. Then if my words can do nothing, I will continue unabated." Gaiseric spoke with a chuckle.

"King Griffith, you and I are very much alike. For I was once King of all Midland." The Skull Knight could see the demon of a man visibly shake against his inhuman grip.

Try hard as he could've, the White Falcon couldn't block out the Skull Knight's ethereal words.

"Void, stop this nonsense. Allow me these final moments with Guts, and let us end this!" Slan demanded sultrily, sending her sickly sweet desires to the slowly steadying man.

"I am willing to entertain Gaiseric, Slan. To have "lived" over one thousand years, to have been endlessly tormented with the vision of his Kingdom, destroyed… I will give him these words before he fades away." Void assuaged the fellow God Hand member.

Below them, Gaiseric continued, unabated.

"Your pestilent pustule of a city stood at the centre of my Kingdom. I ruled it with Zodd as my blade, and Void, or Gunderic, as my advisor. I was unconcerned with the likes of the lesser, or the struggling subjects beneath my rule." The Skull Knight darted a quick glance back to Guts, who stood, staring on at the unholy Pantheon before him.

The Struggler's armour seemed to visibly warp with righteous anger.

"Gunderic did not fully share my apathy, it seemed. He grew to hate me, yet remained in public as my faithful advisor." He noted, with a dry chuckle.

"I caught word of his treacherous ways, and sentenced him to an eternity of hell, at the lowest point of the Tower of Rebirth…"

"We are both victims to the machinations of others. As Void orchestrated your downfall, as Evil itself granted you the fifth Crimson Behelit, Gunderic led an army of "Angels" against me."

"Gunderic sundered the link between the Abyss and our realm. Gunderic summoned the first onslaught of demons to this dimension, and it is through his intervention that the collection of the God Hand, and all its Apostles were sired." Gaiseric continued.

Griffith had ceased all movement.

"In his attempt to "show me the error of my ways", he'd managed to turn Zodd against me, and had destroyed my men, my rule, and my history." The Skull Knight dragged the former human's head to his, so that Griffith could look him in the eye.

Or lack thereof.

"Make no mistake – I was a monster in life as much as I am in death. To spite this, my brother abandoned his humanity, betrayed his King, and cast this world unto an endless cycle of misery and pain. "Void" knows that he is a slave to the Idea of Evil…" Gaiseric stepped away from Griffith, and looked back to Guts and Casca, who looked ready to fight again.

"Yet "Void" lies to himself, manipulating his pathetic party of demons, betrayers, and whores."

"I am in control, Gaiseric. I have always been in control." Void defended himself, his voice losing no tone of neutrality.

His brother simply held a hand out to him, his gaze kept firmly on the angrily shivering demon before him.

"Do you see? Void has been controlling you, your Highness." Gaiseric spat at Griffith, who growled at him.

"Ignore these words, Femto." Void assured him.

"In a few hours, your Falconia will fall, and along with it, your adolescent conquest, Charlotte." The Skull Knight taunted further.

"No…" Griffith breathed. He struggled against Void's grip once more, and stumbled forward.

He'd been released.

"Silence him, Femto." Void commanded.

And so Griffith held a hand out towards the armoured Knight, only to be blindsided by two blades, aimed at his midsection.

A flurry of swords clashing against unholy armour followed, Griffith's mind clouded with horrible thoughts. His powers of spatial manipulation, force, what have you, failed as Guts and Casca's combined assault distracted him thoroughly.

One would be pushed back, giving the God Hand member just enough time to raise his hand and nothing more, before he was attacked from behind again.

Gut's armour had consumed him, bleeding a dangerous aura of sickness and hatred around him. Griffith had to avoid every strike of the man's tempered blade, even as a "God".

And Casca wasn't making it easy to avoid such assaults.

Her enchanted silver blades sung in the Hill of Swords, ringing throughout Griffith's human ears as she struck against his armour.

"You are a slave, and nothing more, "King" Griffith. You will fall tonight." The Knight's words were final.

"If you can't muster your powers, then draw your sword, you pathetic oaf!" Ubik slandered the White Falcon, who materialised a blade of darkness from nothingness, focussing instead on combating both swordsmen before him fairly.

"YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE, YOU TRAITOR!" Roared Guts.

"I'll finish what I've started, Guts! You and Casca will beg for death after my subjects are done with you!" Griffith claimed, his teeth gritting harder and harder as the battle continued, this time with arcs of ungodly magic sparking as blades clashed.

'Why can't I just kill them!?' He thought to himself, his movements becoming sloppier and sloppier as the battle went on.

'I AM A GOD! HOW CAN TWO SACRIFICES DEFILE MY EXISTENCE LIKE THIS!?' Griffith continued, desperately suppressing the memory of his finest conquest leaving him.

"Your so called "subjects" are dead, King Griffith. As we speak, Charlotte herself is most likely being devoured and defiled by the leagues of the Interstices."

"NO!" Griffith yelled back, his eyes brimming with tears as Casca landed a successful, deep cut through the armour on his back.

"AGH! You… WORTHLESS WHORE!" He cursed out, gasping when Guts was able to send a knee into his stomach, likely shattering pieces of Griffith's armour, and Gut's kneecap. The Black Swordsman swallowed the lump of pain as spikes stabbed back into the patella, realigning his leg.

Even through Casca and Gut's fears, horrors, and shattered memories of the past, their mental resistances were refined to the point of perfection.

Broken once, and never again, Casca stood firm in her assault, her mind cleared of anything but the battle in front of her.

And struggling, as ever, Guts' mind was fuelled by nothing but righteous rage.

"Everything you worked for, everything you held dear, has been reduced to a monument of ashes. A new Cycle will take its place, and your Kingdom shall be built upon by another." Gaiseric finished, flooding Griffith's mind with visions of his ultimate failure.

Guts shifted behind the God Hand member as Casca sliced the empty spaces of dark armour on the back of Griffith's knee, bringing him down.

Ignoring the fresh bout of pain from his bleeding Mark, Guts ripped the bird-like helmet from the White Falcon, and tossed it aside.

As he made a move to stand up, Casca positioned her twin blades around the back of the former human's neck, with the Dragonslayer supporting it from beneath.

"WHY, VOID!?" Griffith roared, fresh tears streaking down his face as his mind was filled with horrifying images.

Through shrill cries of torment, Void remained silent for some time.

"…The birth of the new world demands unspoiled sacrifices, Femto. The citizens of Falconia know not of the horrors outside their walls." Void explained.

"You have been betrayed thrice now, Griffith." Gaiseric pitied him, standing proudly in front of the unmasked horror of a man.

"Your brother and your right hand sword have decided your fate, just as mine did. Before you die, I wanted you to realise this; a failure as grand as my own. Now…" The Skull Knight said, motioning to Guts and Casca.

"Die with dignity." And so he did, holding his head down low.

The Dragonslayer took his head, and when his body reformed into a foetal abomination, Casca's blades destroyed their child.

Human blood pooled at their feet.

The blood of the Betrayed, and the Betrayer.

A moment of silence followed, and Guts and Casca's Marks of Sacrifice burned with a new hatred, rendering both back to their knees amidst their victims. Void's voice cut through the groans of pain as Gut's aura faded away from him.

"Are you happy, Gaiseric? You've solved nothing. You have resolidified the God Hand's will." Void taunted the Skull Knight.

"I'm happier than I've been in 1000 years, Gunderic. You, out of all, would know not to patronise me as such." Gaiseric bit back.

"You are still, so very wrong, brother. I have control of Evil's machinations. I, the wielder of the First Crimson Behelit, have complete control over all others."

Gaiseric's eyes widened, if such a feat were possible for a being with non-existent eyes.

"…So, Evil has chosen you as its avatar, is that it?"

Void cracked a smile to the Skull Knight.

"Astute as ever, Gaiseric. And thanks to the onslaughts of Behelits you still consume, I now have control over your cursed form!"

Not by his own actions, the Skull Knight began to move.

"Kill the two remaining Sacrificed."

It was as if all life and whatever personality that was stored in the armour before had vanished in a split second. All pain washed away from the Marked two, and they knelt in horror.

With a roar, Guts rose and charged at the Skull Knight with the Dragonslayer drawn, hoping to fake out the spectral entity like many of his foes prior. In mid-swing, the massive blade stopped, and the Skull Knight's empty visage stared the man down.

With his free hand-cannon, Guts fired.

"GUTS, NO!" Casca yelled as the Skull Knight pressed his blade into the Struggler's stomach, his form not even fazed by the cannon's mighty blast.

"For… Give… Me…" The metal-man mumbled to the dying Swordsman.

Depositing the man's body, the Skull Knight didn't bother to defend Casca's strikes.

Gaiseric stared on through the slowly congealing blood on the ground.

That of the Brother, Sacrificed, mingled with the Betrayer's.

Tears in her eyes, her voice hoarse with anger, Casca struck, and pierced the Knight's armour, her own blades shattering in the process. With a precise, controlled slash, Casca ceased to be.

The blood of the Right Hand, Sacrificed, mingled with the other's, as the two Strugglers attempted to hold each other in their final moments.

The assembled God Hand smirked.

The world was theirs now, with one final sacrifice in place.

"Disembowel yourself, Gaiseric, so that I may reuse the essence of those remaining Behelits…" Void sounded out as his final command.

The Skull Knight's eye sockets lit up.

"As you wish, Gunderic." As his blade pierced his armoured hide, Gaiseric laughed, and laughed.

Molten Behelits, liquid faces melting into one another, spilled over the four bodies and blood, as the Skull Knight took a knee.

The God Hand crumbled.

Ubik fell to the ground unceremoniously. Slan and Conrad writhed in pure pain, their screeches echoing throughout the Hill of Swords.

"WHAT!?" Void yelled, his tone betraying himself.

"You may issue control over these godforsaken artefacts, but I am their final master, Gunderic! With the blood of Sacrificed, Betrayed, and Betrayer, this Last Interstice, I shall create a universe without you, or this grand hatred!" Gaiseric yelled.

Truly, if he had a face to call his own, he'd be smiling.

Void scrambled around, truly feeling fear for the first time in over one thousand years.

His comrades simply ceased to be.

All of his planning, and all of the cycles he witnessed, coordinated, tinkered with…

For naught.

"NO! YOU VILE, DESTRUCTIVE BASTARD!"

Gaiseric threw his head towards the clear skies above, and thought of his one true love as the world around him faded away.

"Flora… For this grand sacrifice, I hope you can forgive me."

And then, for a while, nothing really happened.

(…)

"Hawk Strike Team, you are good to go." Radio chatter spoke. Soft clicks could be heard a few levels down from where said Team were set up. A few quiet murmurs and some loud clanging noises popped through silenced communicators.

"Follow my lead." A hushed, synthetic voice commanded.

With fluid entries, 6 agents breached inwards to a dank skyscraper.

In a gust of wind, the Hawks came soaring in, firing deadly precise shots at any who dare raise weapons against them. Their Raiders controlled the terror below, diverting their target's attention with wild, chaotic strikes.

The corridors were darkened considerably, and special care was taken as to not harm any innocents in the crossfire. As criminals and scum scurried and fled out of the floorboards, a small gift of silence was granted unto the group.

This was the Hawk's first target in a few days – the elusive slavery ring known as the "Black Dogs".

"G-Uh… Falcon, we've got the lower floors covered, right?" A second synthesised voice asked. It came from a tall, lean figure, with a patch on their left breast that read "Eagle".

Falcon turned their head, and lowered their rifle.

"Listen, Potato."

In a blur, Eagle had landed their fist in Falcon's stomach.

'Even through body armour, she packs a hell of a punch! …Worth it, though…' Falcon thought, trying not to laugh through their pain.

Before Potato could speak, however, a large rumble sounded out from beneath their feet.

"The hell? Was tha- Oh, god damn it…"A tiny figure titled "Chick" mumbled through their comms.

(Below…)

As ten men scurried down the rotting stairs of their hideout, they were met with the sight of a weapon.

A fascinating, yet brutish weapon, to say the least.

Though one would be better off calling it a giant lump of something.

A certain metal, maybe.

"OH, FUCK!" The front three members of the criminal clique roared, attempting to run their way back up the battered stairs.

Two managed to raise their firearms in response, and nothing more.

With a click, clang, and "boom", the ten men cramped on the stairway were reduced to nothing more than chunks of viscera. Another click, and a sigh followed the ringing silence of the shot.

"That thing is loud." Said Gaston, reflexing his jaw in an attempt to "pop" his ears back into normal hearing range. Failing that, the skinny man opted instead to stretch out his limbs, swapping the grip of his massive riot shield to his left hand.

"Sure is." Guts cut back with a smile, wiping the spray of blood from his brow.

"Hey… Oh, wow, my ears are still ringing… Y'ever wonder why Griffith keeps all the body armour to her squad only?" The man inquired.

"I try not to think about it. I figure the less you're weighed down, the better." The shotgun-wielding man reasoned.

"Ah yes, of course, too much weight. Now how much does that Demonslayer thing weigh?"

"…I'll have you know, it's called the "Dragonslayer". And I'm used to this thing's weight." Guts defended himself, shrugging off Gaston's laughter.

The duo were stationed at a tight bottleneck; an intersecting hallway, where they had access to any more scrambling or more daring targets their Raider squad managed to scare out. Hearing a small rustling, the Black Gunner peaked his head over his weedy companion.

"Guy behind you, by the way." And with that warning, Gaston whipped his head around and reared his shield to block a shotgun blast.

"Oh, no." The Black Dog mumbled dejectedly, noticing the emblazoned Hawk insignia on the shield.

Guts rushed out from behind the impromptu cover, and countered the attack with a devastating butt, which left the criminal's head caved in.

"I'm being serious, Guts. How do you not break your damn arm with that thing?" Gaston asked, eyeing up the sheer size of the gun.

Guts simply shrugged him off.

"No idea. I used to have a lot of trouble with it, before I joined you guys."

"What, did Corkus make you wanna refine your aim?" Gaston joked in good spirits, keeping his eyes and healing ears peeled for any more ruffians running about.

Guts let out a hearty guffaw, and resumed his position at the soldier's back, covering him properly.

"Something like that, yeah." He replied, with a little, tiny, unnoticeable smirk.

It was these moments he now lived for, as a member of the Hawks – as their Raider Commander. The sense of camaraderie one had with brothers-in-arms was something that no other mercenary group could've offered.

'To think, all it took was 3 years and a broken arm.' The Black Gunner thought happily, cocking his shotgun.

(Above…)

"…Clear." A Hawk's member, named "Warbler" confirmed, pocketing the remaining throwing knives they had equipped.

A soft wind blew through the building, carrying the stench of the freshly dead upwards.

The setting sun illuminated the skyscraper, the power having been cut off before their assault truly began.

With an air of regality, Falcon strode past some flown open doors, which led to dank rooms filled with stacks of cash, some small pieces of gold and jewellery, and more than a few low-key records of human trafficking.

The Hawks on the floor systematically burnt all paraphernalia of the Black Dog gang, and assembled their goods and usable wealth. As the Hawk came swooping in, they ripped out the eyes out of the rabid Dog, and would soon leave it do die in the wild.

'Any cocksuckers caught up with this shit are gonna be prime targets for any would-be vigilantes…' Eagle thought with a prideful smile, lumping more symbols, uniforms and pricing sheets onto a pile inside one of the rooms.

As they worked, Falcon came across a locked room.

Curiously, the leader took a shot at the lock with a sidearm, and opened the door.

It was darker than the rest of the building, and had probably been even before the power was cut to the building. A stray jolt of electricity lit up the room for a brief second, and with it, Falcon was grateful for their mask.

Corpses, piled lazily and thrown on one another, were being "stored" in the room, for God knew what purposes.

The pile to the right as Falcon entered had most of their identifying features removed – nails plucked, hair shaved, and teeth taken. Only DNA tests could prove who they once were, but the majority of them were left here to be forgotten, it seemed.

Flies buzzed around the corpses, and Falcon turned on their hell to walk off, before a noise reverberated through the room.

It was small, but too big to be a vermin. Was there someone alive amidst this pile of corpses?

'It could be a trap…' Falcon thought, raising their sidearm once more, trigger finger calm and steady.

"H… Hell…" A small, weak voice cried out.

"Do you have anything strapped on you?" Falcon asked. She wouldn't put it past the Black Dogs to turn broken children into suicide-bombers.

"…I don't have anything…" It replied. Falcon darted their gaze around, trying to discern where the voice was coming from.

"Are you under one of these piles? What is your name?"

The voice remained silent.

"My name is Griffith." Falcon introduced themselves, their helmet's speech disruption betraying their true charisma.

Some more stirring followed the inquiry.

"My… I don't have a name…" Pinpointing the source of the voice, Griffith followed in, and cleared through the sea of bodies, finding a shrivelled, malnourished boy on the other side. As they approached, he slunk back quickly, and pressed his back against the wall of the room.

He was clad in tatters, and looked like he'd fall apart if pushed over.

"Don't come near me! I'm… I'm a monster. People hate me... That's why I was thrown in here!" It appeared to be a boy, Griffith surmised.

The leader of Hawk Strike Team crouched down to the boy's level, levelling his gaze with a faceless, helmeted visor panel.

"That's funny. Bad people say the same thing about me." Griffith chuckled, holding a hand out to the boy.

He didn't take it, and the mercenary just sighed.

With a click and a hiss, the helmet Griffith wore was removed, and the boy gasped.

A vale of luscious white hair fell from the helmet's confines, framing what had to be the prettiest woman's face the boy had ever seen.

"You're as much as a monster as I am, child. Here…" She unzipped a small pouch on her back and retrieved a bag of low-calorie rations, handing out the bag to the boy.

"What… What is…" As the child slowly took the bag away from the woman, he kept his gaze on her, only to steal darting glances at the small bag.

"So… If you don't have a name, I think I might grant you one. Would you like that?" Through the quiet crunches and mumbling, the boy nodded feverishly.

"If you were no one before, then I think a fitting name for you would be No-ah. Come with us."

From the door, Eagle smiled to Falcon.

"Never let it be said that you're good with puns, Falcon." At that, Griffith chuckled, and brought Noah with her into the light of the afternoon sun.

"Raiders, report in." Falcon commanded, her smile slowly fading as silence followed her request.

"Crk… Yup, we're good now! Everything's fine, we're fine. How are you?" Guts' nervous voice replied.

"Guts… What's wrong?"

"Ah, nothing, it's nothing, I swear to God! Just had a… Slight… Weapons malfunction." Guts' grunting followed message, and Eagle's face lit up in confusion.

"Motherfucker tried to shoot me!" Another male voice rang out indignantly.

"You looked like one of them!"

"Bulllllshit I did! Y-" As their argument continued, Griffith got lost in thought for a brief moment.

'To think, all this took was 3 years and breaking an arm… You're still mine Guts, battle or not…' The petty arguments over "who almost killed who" were an everyday occurrence with the Hawks; one of the many arguments that Griffith enjoyed listening to as much as she enjoyed ending them.

The power to do both felt good.

"That's enough. Raiders, assemble at the top floor. We're leaving." Griffith called as her final command, keeping her hand clasped around the boy's.

As Guts led the Raiders up the flights of bloodied stairs, the weak, pathetic looking child that held the Angel's hand soon came into sight. He didn't know why he stopped moving when he did, but it didn't go unnoticed.

Corkus and Gaston simply led the Raiders to their rappels, leaving Guts staring on at Griffith.

Eagle took notice, and cut through the silence with the removal of her helmet.

"You okay?" She asked.

"…Yeah, I'm good." He answered, still not really within his own reality.

Casca took a look at the boy, who recoiled against Gut's stare.

"We're saving him, Guts. He's gonna find a good home, either with us, or that nice old gal." The woman reasoned with him.

"Y-Yeah. He is." He cracked a smile, disarming smile at the boy, right before Griffith took him in her arms.

With a quick peck on the cheek, Casca led her man through the threshold of the afternoon.

Yes, "her man"...

"Come on. Let's go home."

(Some time later…)

With the sun bathing Windham City in an orange glow, and the reports of the Hawk's latest bust going viral, said Band returned to their "hideout", of sorts.

Whilst it was tactically disadvantageous to keep your mercenary group in one spot for most of their down time, Griffith had found that the lush apartment block they'd requisitioned worked out very well for their needs.

It was neatly tucked away in the crook of a city where no one dared step. It used to be filled with all kinds of vagabonds and thieves, who would prey upon anyone dumb enough to stumble in.

"Used to be" Is key, here.

When Griffith laid her first claim of the city of Windham, her then-small group of followers had taken the block by storm.

Any small outfit was dominated, assimilated, or outright annihilated.

Don't get the wrong idea – the dank, dark alley that smelt like piss and blood was still the dank, dark alley that smelt like piss and blood. But what lied within its heart changed, so very deeply.

"It" became a work of passion, first. And after completing several busts and handing in some high-priced bounties, the Hawks had turned their work of passion into their home.

As they travelled amidst the city crowds, each holding their own duffle bag of blood soaked armours, they found their ways into the block.

The Strike Team and the Raiders mingled with another and scattered themselves as to keep attention away from their block.

Rickert, or "Chick" travelled with Pippin, resting on the giant's shoulders as the crowd parted for them.

They stopped for ice-cream at their favourite spot, to treat a job well done.

Dante, Errol, and Corkus lazily strode their way home, soaking in as much of Windham's sun as they could before they found their way back.

Gaston and Judeau stopped for a quick coffee on their way home.

Gaston continued to point out "the" spot he'd set up his clothing shop when he raised enough money, and despite the fiftieth time it being brought up, Judeau smiled and nodded to the man, praising his dream.

Casca took a calm walk by herself, visiting the local gunsmith for some quick tune-ups before she turned in for the night.

Griffith had taken a moment like her trusted Raiders, to soak in the sights of the city that would soon be hers.

And the staple of the Hawks himself, Guts struggled with "bitch duty" for the week.

As he found his way home – marked by a luscious ring of buildings surrounding a peaceful garden, he mumbled his shopping list off.

"Laundry detergent, sheets, beef, pork, potatoes, carrots, sugar… Fuck it; I'll pick the rest up later…"

"Evenin', Guts." A tiny thief greeted, creeping behind the tall gunner.

"Evening, Isidro. It's getting late-" The man spoke, before being barged into by another person.

"He forgot his key again." Casca chided, playfully.

"Naw, nothin' like that, I swear! Puck stole it!"

Guts chuckled, and dragged his head upwards to see Puck smiling, laughing, and being a general nuisance out his window.

"Shouldn't let him bully you around, Isidro. He's what, half your size?" Casca teased the little boy, ruffling his hair.

"He's a shifty runt is all!" Isidro piped up indignantly, batting away the woman's deceptively strong arm.

"This, coming from the master sneakthief?" Guts teased further, keeping his pace steady as he reached the entrance to the foyer.

"D'ah, screw you guys!" The boy charged ahead, coming to Griffith's side as she strode ahead of Guts and Casca.

"You're in a hurry." Said the Black Gunner, as he shifted his bag's weight across his shoulders.

"And you two are very, very slow. Come. We have much to discuss."

True to Griffith's words, Guts and Casca were among the last to arrive at the "hideout".

"Evening Griffith, Captain, Casca…" A soldier greeted the trio as they strode past the brilliantly marbled entrance, to their own quarters.

Each nodded back to the man, who was busy counting bullets.

In front of the trio laid a concierge's desk, now unused - except for when the children would play with it.

To their left and right were the typical commodities one would expect from an apartment block. Everything was painted to a sheen of pure white or black, with blue highlights. Team colours flew very well in the Hawk's hideout.

Beyond the desk, to its flanks, were archways that led to the grand staircase, its design befitting more of nobles than mercenaries. Gut's eyes still wandered to the luscious fountain in the centre of the circling staircase.

He was home.

Home was safe.

Safe meant he could be idle.

The Gunner and the Eagle followed their Falcon up several flights of stairs, passing by a still angry Corkus on their way upwards.

"Griffith, Casca, Cocksucker." The man greeted, with a knowing smile.

"Corkus." Guts greeted with a mirthful chuckle.

And soon afterwards they arrived to the head of their headquarters.

If the front entrance was grand, then Griffith's private room was luminous.

As one entered, they were hit with the sun's golden light, or the moon's chilling glow. At the back of the room was a desk, neatly laid with maps, targets, and stratagems. Griffith's seat could've easily turned around to see the top of the block, and over it, to the rest of the city.

"Shut the door, Guts." She commanded, and he obeyed.

Griffith was a strong woman, beautiful, and determined beyond reason. Her very presence inspired bravery and diligence like no others before her. It was her dream to carve a kingdom from Windham City's corrupt depths, and her Hawks were there to ensure it.

Guts cracked a small smile as the woman undressed methodically, and followed her lead still. He stripped himself down to a pair of boxers, and walked up behind the Falcon.

"So, are we "discussing" pleasuring each other, or actually…" Griffith shot Casca a silencing, sly look.

"Guts…" At her words, the man had wrapped his arms around her full, strong frame.

"I'm going to make love to you both." The White Falcon stated simply, as if nothing could shake her claim to them.

A/N: to the Bezrek fanboys – Yes, I did this intentionally, no, I'm not crazy, I do this because it's fun and I wanted to destroy the foundation of Berserk, your criticism is well noted, haha, funny joke, thanks

Part 1 of 2198371928379123

next part coming out June 2020