Author's Notes: I have to admit, I hope no one from my other stories is reading this. Sorry for the wait, this year is complicated and will continue to be complicated, but I'm trying to write here and there.
Now, as for the few of you that may read this, I figured there are enough parallels between Game of Thrones and Berserk to make a good fic work (just need to make sure the execution is right). An important note is that for the Game of Thrones world, the story will be between the shows (GoT) and the books (ASOIAF). The show ending was mediocre at best, so I can't and won't faithfully stick to it, and the books have been on hiatus for about nine years now. Similarly, Berserk is based entirely on the manga. That being said, I took a good amount of time to think up some fancasting as to who could play who, since it's being brought to the 'real world' of GoT, where the show visuals take precedent.
The idea for the story came to mind after two things: I only just started reading Berserk and read all 360 chapters in the span of two weeks, and somewhat enjoyed the thought of Guts in the ASOIAF world in a way another author wrote it (granted, the story will take a far different approach). I think there's plenty of potential in this that hasn't been exploited (hell, there's too much potential in Berserk that isn't being recognized), and this should be a relatively long fic. Without spoiling too much, it'll be through Guts's new childhood into teenage years and finally into adulthood, which will be the time where the show actually begins. All I can say is, don't expect too much from this chapter because it's the prologue. The next one should be longer, and you'll have a better idea of how it'll work.
A Change of Authors
The world was cold, and it only grew colder. A black storm of a life flashed through Guts mind, each clap of lighting bringing a tell-tale cut and scar of a time full of misery. There was a frostiness that infected his memories, a weakened eye with which to view all he had lived through without hate and fury to bring him warmth. Shisu's broken body, Donovan's depravity, Gambino's betrayal, the Eclipse… he remembered hearing from Schierke that just as the body could be inflicted wounds, the soul could also be maimed. In that case, he was bleeding out in body and mind. It had been a moment of weakness, one damn time he'd let his guard down in Elfhelm. He'd taken off the armor for Casca's sake, to try a third and final time to see if she could handle the sight of him. Maybe it's the armor that reminds her of the Eclipse, you should try going without it, echoed Schierke in his mind. He'd been unwilling, but for Casca… he'd gone through hell and back for, he could survive without his armor.
Then the Apostles came, as they always did. It was a complex fight. The attack force sent by Femto would have been formidable enough to level a whole army. But then, in Elfhelm, all the creatures and mages and elves fought formidably against the band of demons. They were spared from the God Hand itself, but Nosferatu Zodd led them in the place of Griffith. He had been healthy by then, but being away from his dangerous fetish while simultaneously protecting an unstable Casca had proved impossible. He supposed it was his own fault. It was ironic, in fact. Having dreamt of Chitch a few days prior, of times where he asked himself why he kept going, he realized that Casca's horror had brought him to his knees in a way a thousand living nightmares couldn't. The agony had been exploited by Zodd, who used his one good horn to impale him through the abdomen.
Dying had been painful work, a gruesome due. Fate had finally demanded his body, his Brand of Sacrifice glowing at finally fulfilling its purpose. The Skull Knight stopped Zodd from giving the finishing blow, and the elf queen managed to trap them all in an area protected by the Four. Zodd left with fearsome burns, and the rest had been annihilated by the light of the entities. Not that it mattered, not to Guts anyways. He'd failed. He turned on Griffith, which led him into the metamorphosis to become the abomination that was Femto. He failed Casca, who was violated in front of him, only for him to abandon her for two years to sate his fury and run from his pain. He failed her again, after a long, painful journey to Elfhelm proved the Skull Knight's words to be true. There's no guarantee for your wish to be her wish.
He was surrounded, many with tears in their eyes, the others only slightly more composed. It was more than he had expected, at least. Serpico held Farnese, who buried her face in his chest. Roderick had his hands on his abdomen, trying to keep the blood from spurting out while Jill did her best to help him. Schierke tried to speak, a spell, no doubt, but failed to keep her words from becoming sobs. Isidro was silent for once, biting his bottom lip hard enough to let out two red currents to match the ones leaking from his eyes. Puck and Ivalera were buzzing frantically, bodies soaked in his gore, trying to use all of their dust to save him. Farther away, Azan was covering Isma's eyes, presumably to spare her from the gruesome sight. The elf queen flew above them, face sad and resigned. In the distance, he could see the shadow of his foreboding companion by Fate. Only Casca was nowhere to be seen. That hurt the most.
"Guts, GUTS. Can you hear me?! Please tell me you can hear me." When he opened his eyes again, he realized he wasn't seeing too much out of the physical world anymore. He was floating now, but still bleeding in his astral form. Schierke floated over to him to hug him.
He grimaced. Even his soul had a hard time finding the strength to speak. "…Hear ya loud and clear Schierke. Don't worry, everything's gonna be fine."
"No, NO! It's NOT fine! It's not FAIR! I've already lost Mistress, to lose you too after everything we've been through… I can't, please." Her tears were warm in the iciness of his spirit. He placed his hand on her head, caressing it softly.
He looked in front of him to find the Beast glaring at him. It was the largest and most hateful he'd seen it, and yet, he felt nothing. You failed. You're weak. You're disgusting. You're worthless. Its words were brief, but carried more venom than they had with every one of his possessions. Guts watched it turn around and walk away, head down in defeat. For all its size, it looked malnourished, nothing more than fur on bones. That too, he supposed was fitting.
He shook his head. The beast didn't matter, not right now. "Schierke… I don't have much left, not until all the damned come to drag me to hell. Life isn't fair, and this was a long time coming. Hell, if anything, I'm surprised I've made it this far. I trust you, all of you. I know you can keep moving without me. Just… please take care of Casca. It's all I ask."
She looked up at him. The pain was unmistakable, but there was anger that latched onto her expression as opposed to the purity of mourning. "How can you SAY that, Guts?! You deserve so much better than this, than what you've had! I… we'll take care of Casca, I promise. And I don't know how well she's doing it, but Queen Danan is working on your Brand. She can't erase it, not completely, but she may be able to hinder it enough for your soul to find someplace it can rest. It's… it's the best we could do. I'm sorry."
"Schierke, it's fine. I'm fine. You need to quit worryin' so damn much. Like I said, this is more than I deserve, so if I don't go to hell, that's fine by me. If I do… well, the day Griffith dies, at least I'll be there to drag him down with me, so I'll still get something either ways. I… thank you, all of you. I didn't think I could live like this again." Schierke sobbed loudly into him, holding on as tight as she could. Guts smiled. Griffith… I can't get you, not anymore. But they can, and they will. Just you wait. He felt something pull him from Schierke, from himself. His body was starting to soar, and only Schierke and the elves turned upwards to see him. Well, this is it. My days of murdering are done, then. Pippin, Judeau… I'm coming. He kept getting lighter and lighter, all senses leaving him. It was then he heard the galloping, high up in the skies. He heard the single swipe of a sword, and his soul was sent away strangely, unnaturally. In his mind, he laughed. I came into this world unnaturally, of course I'd leave it the same way.
Author's Notes: The only thing I'm not so confident about is Guts's death, considering the long list of impossible events he's survived. The only real reason I would think this is possible is because I made it so Guts would lose the will to live. His rage carried him for most his life, and finally it was replaced by the determination to save Casca, only for him to visualize her as 'unsaveable' and for him to see himself as the root of her pain. In other words, the Apostle army (and Zodd) caught Guts without his armor and, more importantly, without his will to live (which kept him going past every trauma since his childhood). Some of you may call bullshit on me, and that may be the case, but hey, this is the only way I could see the story happening. All of that said and done, I hope you enjoyed this preview, and you'll follow on in the next chapter. (Bonus points to whomever can guess why this chapter is named the way it is.)
The Almighty Afroduck,