The men stand side by side with the creatues, united by their savior. They wait behind their white haired, pure of heart lord, ready to face the cruel being in front of them. They've all heard the stories of his anger, how he cuts down any who stand in his way, be it a poor conscripted farmer or a type of creature that are now their comrades.

Nosferatu Zodd waits beside his master, no longer eager for the encounter. Locus and Gurunbeld are dead by the struggler's hand, and although he is stronger than them, it would still be best to avoid a fight.

Griffith stares at his sacrifice and the forces he has mustered. Where he gathered the army doesn't matter; they are just men, and men fall far too easily to gods. That berserker armor, on the other hand, has heightened his foe to power beyond any of his subordinates.

He is still confident. A god cannot be killed by a mortal, no matter his strength.

In front is Griffith, looking tall, powerful, majestic even. That indifferent look of his infuriates him– or rather, it only adds to the insanity, as how can a man have more rage and hate to fuel his strength than Gutts? The hound on his cloak itches.

He takes a fast glance backwards. The holy knights and mercenaries are ready, the Tudor army he commandeered is prepared.

The slab of iron on his back is wielded; it seems eager, the countless apostles its slain leading to this, to whether such a now cursed blade could make a god bleed.

"Wait!" Schierke screams from behind. Sure took her long enough to see what he was planning. "Don't do it Gutts, I won't be able to bring you back this time!". He glances behind him. There she is, worried but loyal. Serpico is watching, his eyes showing some grief. He realizes this is likely their final journey together, no matter the outcome.

Gutts is glad Farnese and the annoying brat are still with Casca at the inn. It makes it so much easier to not having to see her face.

The hound has almost fully enveloped him.

More thoughts of Casca abruptly flood him. The first time he dueled her, on that knoll in front of the early band of the hawk. Serving together and fighting alongside one another against Doldrey, against Midland. Protecting her from those allured to the brands after her mind was broken. The hound of his dream tearing her apart, him unable to stop it. That supposed miracle healer elf king, who couldn't do a damn thing for her.

And that is when he realized, he really simply no longer cared. Casca was gone. There was no bringing her back. He had lost her that day of the Eclipse. His life had devolved into one purpose those many years ago. He no longer needed the hound to fight his battles; he was the hound, and Griffith would be hunted until the day his existence was snuffed.

With a roar of a predator, reason left him and he charged straight towards Griffith. The sadistic part of him found it humorous when the men cowered, terrified, and a few apostles cringed.

The horned beast quickly shifted out of his way, realizing its current impotence; Zodd could no longer stop him. And as an undead horse and rider plunged from above through some rift, behelit-born sword drawn, it smiled, sensing the mighty yet familiar presence erupting. Gutts finally understood humanity was but a bridle for exterminators like them.

I've always felt Berserk would have an open ended, dark, yet somewhat revenge fulfilling ending. I mean, how can Gutts get a happy ending at this point? It seems like the world will begin viewing Griffith as a hero and Gutts as the villain too. Just have to hope Miura continues soon. January was so long ago :'(

Also thinking about doing a Berserk story based upon Slan starting to support Gutts right after they meet in the troll cave, desiring to singularly possess the power of a god without Void and the others around. Haven't seen any Slan/Gutts stories! Although I struggle with word length so it would awhile : Let me know if it sounds interesting at all.