Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 73 A Soaring Dream

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

What had been going on?

That was the elusive question that had been on his mind for a cosmic second. Before he had been... he didn't fully know. Just where had he been? Yet another question that he did not hold the answer to.

Except that he did. He just didn't remember.

'Gnnh,' he grimaced, bringing a hand up to his chest. The once stabbing pain seemed but a faint memory by now. Had he actually been stabbed, had his heart suddenly stopped its rhythm of beating? Was that why he was down on the ground now?

His legs stretched out, shorter than he remembered and helped him stand once again. Had he been this short before? He was only... how old was he?

"There you are!" a voice called out of the open space he found himself in.

He quickly turned his head in the direction of the sound, expecting to see a female shape running toward him although he wasn't sure as to why. 'Huh?'

The boy that nearly tackled into him was not the boy he had been expecting either. "What are you doing down here all by yourself?" the taller boy asked, giving him a strong slap on the back of the shoulder, nearly making him slump from the impact.

'I... I don't actually know.' Did he know? 'Why are you here? Are you lost too?'

He was met with a near incredulous look that was complimented by a toothy half-smile. "Don't go losing your head on me now. I can't have you going and losing your best feature. Who else would I have to talk to?" He wrapped an arm around him and began walking through the grassy plain. Ah, yes! the grasslands. That's where they were. Just plain... plains, with an empty grey sky hanging above them.

There was substance in that nothingness that they found themselves in now.

So why was it all wrong?

"Hey, you listening to me?"

'Oh, what? Sorry. I was... thinking about something.'

"I'd be worried if you weren't. I was thinking too." His good-natured smile faltered near the edges. "Did he talk to you too, is that why you're out here?"

'Who?' he asked innocently, yet it sounded like he already knew the answer to his own question.

"Father. Who else?" the taller boy asked with a flick to his ear. "Brush your hair back, I think it's messing with your head. Anyway, father talked to me too."

'Nobody talked to me.' It was the truth, as far as he was concerned. But was it his truth?

"You don't have to hide it," his brother assured him. "I know how he talks to you, I've seen him when he starts yelling."

'And he yelled at you, then?' why was he asking that?

To that, his brother seemed to scoff. "Father doesn't yell at me. Well, not like he does you. But you go and say I have it easier than you do." His strikingly violet eyes seemed to darken a shade as his brows furrowed to give him a look that was far beyond the look of a mere child. He could only nod his head and signal for the other to continue on. "He told me that he won't always be in charge and that one day, it'll be up to us."

'To you,' he corrected.

"To us," he insisted harder, maybe even believing it himself. "Father might not always be rational, but the things he says about our blood being special, that we were born to rule it all one day... that isn't his future, it's ours."

'You mean a future that he dreamed up for us,' he felt the need to correct once again. 'Being born to rule something, is that a future we make or is it just... causality?'

Ba-

"I guess that it's just... what we make it," his brother finally settled on after a contemplative pause. "What we make, the sacrifices we chose to make, the ideas that we want to see." His brother smiled again, more genuine than before. "I'll show you. When it's the two of us, I'll show you where our future's going. Well, what do you say to that?"

'That... I'll have to see it with my own eyes. You can talk all you want, but it'll take more than heart and belief to get there.'

"I said that with such certainty then. Did I even begin to grasp just how right I was? Even with all of my ignorance, I was able to spot the ray of truth that poked through those clouds."

"Then let's do it," his brother further insisted. "The only way to be sure is if we do it ourselves. Forget what he says about us be chosen blood. My skill and you being you, we'll grasp it." He held out his hand and made a fist, a vain attempt to capture some of those forgotten rays of light. "What do you say to that? And give me a straight answer this time."

'You say it all like it's going to happen for sure. I...' what did he want? 'I want to believe you when you say that. If you think that we can do it, I... I'll be there with you. I'll be there with you right up until the end.'

The end...

"Don't go making it sound like we're dead yet." He received a slap to the shoulder once more. "There's still so much that we have to do, and I'm not dying until I break my horse in. Maybe I'll let you ride him one of these days." He chuckled. "I'd be a subtle way of showing father just how wrong he is about you."

'I'll leave the stallion taming to you. But...' "You've burnt the food! And on our son's big day no less! Look what you've done, you little freak!" '...I'm going to decline.'

"All those harsh words, you felt them too. If you can, tell me, did you ever wish for something more than the life you were given?"

"You know, I might actually have proof that we're already on the right path. Care to wager a guess?"

'Would it matter?'

"That depends. But just so you know, parents are already naming their kids after us. This boy younger than the both of us, he's got the same name as me. I'm not one for predictions or anything, but just imagine, having kids hundreds of years down the line with the same name as us. But for now, the world is big enough for two Gaiseric's."

'That... doesn't strike me as strange in the slightest.' But why doesn't it?

-thum

'Release me from these shackles! You need to do it! Do it! He's right here, do it! Do it...'

Guts didn't know for how much longer he could keep denying that beast inside of him. He could feel his mind start to strain with every word the beast barked into his inner ear. Tuning it out completely or pushing the voice to the side was no longer an option he had. The mere sight of him was forcing a dying flame from the depths of his very being.

With Casca behind him and Sir Azan wounded, using his cudgel and ax to prop himself back up upon his stubby legs, they found themselves encased by a ring of snarling, drooling apostles with the untainted image of a knight in shining armor facing them directly. From outside their circle, Grunbeld worked on trying to topple the Tower of Rebirth while some of his underlings attempted to end the last of their defenses.

"Can you... stand... Azan?" Guts forced out, but not because of any pain, his armor made him immune to it. Instead, he was searching desperately for a solid thought to grasp onto; one that didn't involve the figure in white opposing him.

If he could just think of something else, one thing, just one...

*Koff! Koff!* Azan wheezed out. "Worry not... for me. I'll... do my duty as... you should do yours." He was probably sweating something fierce inside that helm of his, but the older knight had proven his undeniable tenacity. He still had more than a fair share of fight left in him.

"Casca..." her name parted the cloud in his mind. "You and Azan, go help the others. I'll clear the way for you."

If she wanted to argue him on that, if she would have refused him on it, insisted otherwise, Guts didn't and would never know. All he had to judge by was the single look etched onto her face as he aimed his cannon arm behind them and fired off a shot into the circle of demonic presences.

Boom!

Smoke obscured the various parts that had been completely blown off of their adversaries, leaving only specks of red to be added to that veil of concealment. "Charge, my fellow sister in arms!" Azan boldly declared as he forced his shorter legs to carry him forward into the fray; his cudgel lashing out and smashing some of the more stunted apostles or weakened ones over their heads as he ascended the steps leading to the tower.

Casca found herself by his side, driving her sword through the eye of a serpentine shape that tried to slither in from behind as she easily kept pace with the ever-advancing Azan. Blood splattered her hair as the Sword of Gryffindor cut through the arching neck of an apostle easier than a knife would with butter as the monster tried to take a chunk out of the stout knight.

"The flames of the unworthy pale to the light of Falconia!" Grunbeld bellowed with firey breath as he slammed his crystalline body into the structure of the tower once again sending debris raining down and shaking the foundation to its very core.

Guts would have tried to take out the dragon based apostle earlier, it would have been much easier than letting the two more vulnerable fighters take their shot at the firedrake. And given how the last outcome had been during the fight at Flora's tree, Guts knew he could topple that mountain as he was now.

But that would all have to wait.

He didn't know when he started to move - it could have easily been in just the blink of an eye, but it happened all the same.

In fact, Guts wasn't even sure which of them was the first to move toward each other. With how much he was fighting for control over his own mind right now, Guts easily could have slipped and just let his legs walk on their own. Yet he had been keeping him in his line of sight the whole time. The whole thing very easily could have been a trick, it would be far from the miracles that he usually performed for the people of this city and the way he had with people who no longer existed because of a choice. He was aware of when their blades finally met.

He had met Dragonslayer's strike before, and he had no problem meeting it once again. As Guts followed through with his swing, his blade going down, he skimmed his sword along Dragonslayer's length, scratching against the armor on his chest and almost reaching the neck had Guts not kicked away out of the blades' reach. Had he been any slower in his reaction, the sword would have found his flesh in the exposed maw of the helm.

No sooner had he backed up from his rival, Guts felt an additional weight befall him from behind. A tilt of his head revealed an apostle who was stacked with various layers of flesh to compose its body. From those folds protruded grey, decaying appendages that pawed and scratched at his armor, holding him in place as the white shadow made his approach.

"Greeegh!" Guts yelled as he stabbed Dragonslayer behind him and carried his strike through to the top, bisecting his captor and letting the innards stain the already worn hem of his cloak.

Not breaking pace, Guts moved Dragonslayer above his head and tossed the massive blade straight at his advancing foe. The blade cut cleanly through the air, almost self-cleaning itself from the various stains of red that dotted its surface. For any normal human or apostle, the strike would have been a clean hit. But he was dealing with one beyond either monster or man.

A casual sidestep was all it took. Casual for him, at least. Those icy blue eyes did not even bat a perfectly trimmed lash at the spiraling hunk of metal as it split the stones right at his feet.

Guts made a dash for his trusted blade, narrowly ducking an overhead swipe from his adversary. When his armor-clad fingers found the familiar grip on Dragonslayer's hilt, Guts was hefting his sword above his head once more and aimed to cut this imposter in half in a similar fashion he had done to the apostle from earlier.

The white armor bent at the knees, his untarnished and pure cape billowed faster than any summer breeze and nearly blinded an already poor-sighted Guts.

Dragonslayer hit the ground with such force that Guts himself was lifted off of his feet and found himself holding onto the hilt as his blade was buried near-vertically into the street.

Maneuvering his body to mirror the athleticism of a cat, Guts vaulted backward, pulling Dragonslayer free, and swung behind him where he last saw that white shadow disappear off to. And he almost hit his target. But once more, the slim saber failed to bend or break from the unbelievable force that Guts put behind Dragonslayer.

The two blades were held there in place as Guts gave small twists at his waist, seeking to add more force behind his halted strike. Srrrrreeeee. The sound of metal scraping against metal sounded as the saber moved across Dragonslayer as white approached black. And even with enhanced speed, Guts was hard-pressed to move his head to the side the enemy blade shot toward the eye socket of his armor.

As soon as Guts evaded the strike, he moved his armor-clad head back the other way, pining the saber between his chin and shoulder. Now, Dragonslayer was unimpeded on its journey to cut down the white knight. In a moment of grace, the Hawk jumped over Dragonslayer's strike, spiraling in the air and landing behind Guts, unharmed.

With inhuman precision, he yanked his saber free from how Guts had trapped it and lashed out yet again, aiming for where Guts' flesh was visible through the helm. Guts was able to follow his movements better this time - perhaps relying more on his own senses than just the enhanced speed he had, but he was able to knock the strike off its course and have the edge of the pristine blade scrape harmlessly across the wolf-shaped helm.

Instead of stepping back to keep the distance between Guts and Dragonslayer, he stepped closer, inside Guts' range of attack and slammed the hilt of his saber into the side of Guts' armored head. While Guts could not feel the pain of such a strike, he was aware of his body being sent down to the ground from a hit that had no right to be as strong as that.

"Kuuheehee! Gnhaaaa!" the demonic laughter from the surrounding War Demons sang out in joyous contempt at seeing their leader knock down one who had killed so many of their kind. "Kuuhee! Haaraaah! Haarraah! Haaraarrah!" their cries of laughter turned to bellow cheers as their leader stood proud and unspoiled. Their demonic voices carried the violent flame that was burning in their hearts.

'Unleash me upon him - upon all of them!'

For as lodas that inner beast was, Guts was almost unable to hear it speaking. The laughter, the sea of blood at his feet, the Hawk standing right before him - staring at him with those cold eyes that should not belong, and all with nothing said between either of them. It was all... images of a dark sun eclipsed his mind... just like that day. And just like that day, he could not kill the one before him.

Why did this seem so familiar?

The pant in his breathing, the salt near his eyes, the warmth on his body, it was...

vertigo.

"You will be alright. It was nothing too serious." The voice of the man said from behind him. "You can rise if you chose if you've nothing to prove to me, do it for yourself."

He was still for a pause as he felt the blood pumping in his confined veins. Releasing a shackled breath from his lungs, he stood up before the older man whose dark beard was stained with streaks of white. Seeing the ringed hand gesturing to a barrel inside of the wooden structure they were in. He obeyed the silent command and sat down, his head lowered and his eyes taking interest in the boots of the one sitting opposite him.

"It's never easy when it happens, you understand that, do you not?" his voice carried over evenly. "Do not make a habit of going off on your own."

'Yes...' he paused as he considered how to best address this man. 'Yes, my King.'

The man stared at him in perplexed simplicity. "That is awfully formal. Do you believe someone to be spying on us? Perhaps looking in on this conversation?"

He didn't meet the gaze as he shook his head. 'No.'

"Then you may dispense with the formalities. Dry your eyes. Your mother will worry if she sees you like such."

He did as was asked of him. 'Where is she now?'

"Not where you need concern yourself. She is with some of the other concubines and helping them to get ready. That isn't anything a boy like you need to worry yourself over."

He gave a small nod in understanding. 'I-,' the hesitation.

"You have something that you wish to ask of me," it was no question. "I will hear your voice if you chose to find it, but do not waste what is precious in this world while doing so."

This was the way it had been, even before he knew what all the official titles and status' meant. It was nothing new, he knew it all now. But there was one question he had that eluded his mind. He knew it was best to just keep quiet, but with his heart racing, it slipped out. 'Why don't you marry her?'

Feeling the gaze on him, he did all he could to avoid looking at the crowned head. "Hm. I believe that this is the first time you asked me this. With how you are, I thought that you had asked before. Strange. Your brother never askes me about such matters."

'He is curious as well. He just-,' he forced himself to stop, thinking of how best to put it to words. 'He just believes that it isn't our time to know yet. He thinks I'm taking too much for granted as is.'

"Is that the way of it?" he asked, his eyes growing heavy. "I do not believe your brother would lie like that. He has always been straightforward with what he wants and does. He has no reason to disguise his motives for answers. If you wish to know, lying will not yield you results."

His fingers dug into the side of the barrel he sat on. 'I apologize for lying. Will you please tell me, why do you not marry our mother?'

"You desire the truth, but that is often the hardest thing to grant. For someone such as yourself, the truth comes from what you see in the world." His eyes swirled with dark sanity. "What do you know of the truth for all that you claim to know? You are a boy, and normal boys need not corrupt their minds. Then again, normalcy has eluded you."

'I-I'll make a deal, then. I'll gladly take my brother's work, teachings, and scoldings for as long as it pleases you.'

"Desperation is not to be commended, I thought I let you understand that. But you know the importance of sacrifice, that I can acknowledge. You ask for the truth?" He nodded his head. "Very well. I do not marry your mother because I do not have to." He said it with even nonchalance. "A man and woman do not have to wed to produce a child. She carried your brother just fine and nearly died birthing you, both are natural. I took her as my concubine and chose her as the one to bear my children because she was the most unique and I thought she would give me strong sons to rule after I pass. And your brother progresses quite nicely. If I hadn't claimed her, one of the other men would have had her and left her to raise her bastard alone. Do you think my mercy to be cruel?"

That answer, you didn't know? You never guessed?

"It was something that had to be spoken. But what is one sacrifice for the truth?"

He knew he should have kept quiet. It was something that he had always feared, known for a long time that might be the case. 'If you claim you had mercy, did you ever love her?'

"Kings do not marry for love. Your mother is still young enough to carry more children. If she births a girl as beautiful as she is, I will marry your sister off to another king when she comes of age. Cruel as it may seem, we would have gained an alliance with another tribe. Do you understand?" he reached over and pried his hands from the side of the barrel to hold them in the palms of his own, tightly. "We are all born for one reason. I am meant to be king. Your mother is meant to give me children to as I see fit, your brother will lead my people in my name after I pass, any sister you have will marry another king and he will do the same as I. All the people who follow in my army and who forge the swords, the homes, the clothes, they were all born for their roles. And then there's you."

'I already know what my place is.'

"You do? I don't think so." His eyes closed before opening wearily. "For as long as I live, for as long as there are people, you have a place. Yours may seem tedious, that you have more of a burden, and it's because you do. But if not for those born like you, where would we be without those to serve us? ~ ooooo

Is that how you serve me breakfast? You've burnt the toast!~ ooooo

Continue to serve. Continue to work. Continue to dedicate your heart to your place in this world." His hands tightened on his own. "Why else would God have chosen to put you here?" he released his hands from his grasp, the king's eyes filled with sorrowful shame at the smaller hands and the addition that sprouted between middle and ring fingers on each. "You may go now."

His legs obeyed the spoken command as he left the big house, not turning to look back at the king silently watching him go with his head hung low, the straps of red dotted leather staining his clothes from where it rested on his lap.

"This day, is it? Not one I chose to remember often."

I... can understand why.

"...Yes. I do believe you can. Tell me, did you see anyone else there? When he was talking, did another man take his place very briefly? Mayhaps one that you would recall?"

I saw... someone. I don't know who.

"Oh. I see. Perhaps it is just someone long forgotten to you. I stopped thinking of the man who fathered me long ago. For all the resentment I held to him, I could never bring myself to hate him - not for what he did to me. Have you ever felt a mother's love?"

No. He didn't need to think about it, it was something he could just tell.

"Over there. Do you see her?"

Coming out of a longhouse that seemed private were various women but one easily stood out from the rest. She had ebony black hair, tan skin, and captivating violet eyes that seemed to glow. When she looked over in his direction, the rest of her face seemed to match that unearthly shade as the stress faded from her person. The longer he stared at her, the more she seemed to change. Her hair seemed lighter and her eyes changed but kept an enchanting feature that seemed too similar for him to even remember.

"Perhaps that is just two women who lived unfulfilled lives, taken before they could experience what they deserved. Perhaps I should feel envious for you to not know what that feels like. Your ignorance seems callously bliss right now."

I don't think that you mean that.

"Don't be presumptuous. For many years after, I stopped thinking about her. I stopped thinking about that man and what she was to him - what I was because of it. I had to forge my own beliefs, one to counter what I had always been told - that I refused. What you saw back there, that was something that I would have been better off forgetting about. A servant, he called me. That's what I was, in a gentle manner of speaking. You were a 'servant' to someone at one point as well."

I really don't know. What are you talking about?

"...Does it feel the wave of relief to not recall? I confess my envy. Hypothetically, then. If you did recall, how would you act, how would you live your life?"

I suppose... I wouldn't think about what wasn't important. These moments, these experiences, are they not as powerful as we believe them to be?

Eyes were on them. They blended in almost a specter while observing a play on stage. Large eyes on a small body - a child's body. Long, black hair hung down to partly obscure those eyes which saw everything. Why did he seem so familiar? And... was somebody with him? Tall and blonde, a woman?

Can it be believed?

"Ah, there it is. The crux for nature. A king believed he had a right to rule from God, a son believed he would be better than the one before him, and another son believed that he would one day no longer have to serve. All those beliefs, all those visions, who is to blame when they don't come to fruition? What force is at work to fuel those beliefs, what do we fuel with them? If that same king believed that God had chosen him and his bloodline for greatness, what does God believe? Was it his belief that created God, or was he guided into believing from God? And... if that same son believed he would be free of his old life; if the power granted to him was immense beyond comprehension, is his belief fulfilled or... what happens to the thing that bestowed it upon him? Is he still just-

Bathum

-a slave?"

The Berserker Armor was built to push past all of the human limits. And right now, Guts felt he was pushing the armor to its own limits - if it had any. By this point, he had probably torn some of the ligaments in his arms with how fast and hard he was swinging Dragonslayer around. The massive heap of metal cut through the air so fast that the swish sound in the air seemed to be delayed in its arrival. Even he was having difficulty keeping track of his own movements, the outline of his sword being the faintest of large blurs.

None of that seemed to be a problem for him, however.

As fast as Guts was swinging Dragonslayer around, that cursed saber was matching each and every one of his strikes with unparallel coordination and poise. He seemed much more adept at following Dragonslayer's motions than even Guts himself for he never missed a single parry.

Rolling back, Guts quickly strapped his repeating crossbow to his fake arm and opened fire at his adversary. He cranked the handle so fast that he thought that it might break off. Rickert could surely make him a new one that-

'But you haven't heard from your friends, have you?' the voice growled lowly. 'They have surely perished, and you will be unable to avenge them.'

Guts continued to fire bolt after bolt, some going astray and striking some of the surrounding apostles in their eyes, drowning the battlefield with their howls of pain.

'But it was never about avenging anyone for you, was it? All those you've slain since the black sun, you didn't do it for those lost. You did it all for yourself.'

"Gnnrrrraaaghh!" Guts kept turning the crank handle up to the point that he was fresh out of bolts to shoot out.

'You can never run from what you know to be true.'

And what he did know, he knew to be fruitless. For all the bolts that he had just fired. many seemed to have found their mark. At least, they would have. That untarnished white cape was drawn in front of his body to act as a pseudo shield. The bolts protruding from the cloth acted as the feathers as the cape flapped out, swishing them aside in the act of shedding to leave only faint holes that might have been considered moth bites.

Growling in aggravation, Guts bounded for the White Hawk. With a soaring leap, Guts pivoted his torso to allow Dragonslayer to travel in a lethal spin as he lashed out once again at his foe. Managing to avoid the attack with a spin of his own, he ended up behind Guts, his saber darting out and striking a cut through Guts' own tattered and worn black cloak.

Kicking one leg off the ground, Guts launched himself around to properly face the absolute of the world, bringing Dragonslayer straight down in front of him to crack the earth open. And he had moved once again. Perched amid the edge of Dragonslayer to appear as a true hawk would, he remained.

With perfect balance, the Hawk thrust his blade forward only for Guts to use the strength in his arms to push Dragonslayer forward, vaulting off the ground and dropping back down behind where he had thrown his opponent off. Metal cut across metal as he ducked under the strike and swung his blade which connected with Guts' prosthetic arm which he brought up to block the hit.

Guts stared into those unflinching blue eyes, the ones that looked so familiar that they could only be copies of the truth. How long would it be before he saw those blue roll over to their scarlet shade? Those were the eyes that were the truth, the ones that stared directly at him when Casca had been at his mercy. The color was different, for now, but they held the same quality now as back then; they kept looking beyond.

Gaining some distance, Guts followed that unearthly gaze and saw for himself.

Casca and Azan locked in combat with the giant form of Grunbeld. At least, as close to combat as they could come to a firedrake. Grunbeld was intent on bringing the tower tumbling down, leaving Casca and Azan opportunity to strike at his hind legs. The crystals covering Grunbeld did leave spaces between them in order for the massive drake to move and that was where the two knights were focusing the brunt of their attacks.

Casca was quick with her strikes, stabbing and darting away before Grunbeld could move his legs or tail to try and crush her. Azan was slower with his strikes, given his age and weight of his ax, but he seemed to be the one to annoy the apostle more. With the rune etched onto his weapon, he was able to do far more damage than he normally would have been able to do. Azan was more focused on hitting a continuous spot on the apostle, making small cracks and webbing fractures to one of Grunbeld's crystal scales.

Pulling the ax back, Azan seemed to put all of his weight into this one strike which resulted in a splitting crraakkk!

Azan's ax had shattered along with the crystal that protected Grunbeld's scaly flesh.

Seeing the opening presented to her, Casca rushed over to Azan's side and drove the Sword of Gryffindor into Grunbeld's leg, right at the knee.

"Brrrahhh!" the firedrake roared at perhaps the first real damage he had taken so far in this battle. He momentarily halted his assault upon the Tower of Rebirth to turn his burning gaze down to his two assailants.

Seeing their captain in distress, one of Grunbeld's titan apostles rushed over to his side, maw agape to swallow the humans whole. Casca's legs seemed to have given out from under her, but Guts realized Casca had intended to do that so she could bring her sword up and cut straight across the apostle's neck.

The fire burning from Grunbeld's maw became an inferno waiting to be unleashed in a final firey blast. The flames of hell spewed forth from the drake's maw in a blizzard of heat. Burning brighter than the sun, Guts lost sight of Azan and Casca through those flames and made ready to run to them. Before doing so, he grabbed a handful of miniature explosives, sparked them by rubbing them quickly over his armor and tossed them in the direction of the Hawk of Light.

BoBoom Boboom Boboom!

The sound of explosions filled the air as a large veil of smoke cloaked the space between the two combatants. Guts knew that it did next to nothing when it came to hurting the other. But if it could buy him enough time, just enough...

'Let go of your foolish hopes.'

Guts probably shattered the bones of his legs with how fast he sprinted up the steps leading to the tower, only faintly aware of the sounds of the sea of apostles trailing after him as he ascended those steps.

The heat of the fire was lost to him as he bounded through the wall of fire, his already tattered cloak becoming singed at the ends as he landed.

"The Black Swordsman once more," Grunbeld snarled down at him with fire dancing along his body. "You may fight and kill me now, but your life is already forfeit. My death may only pave the way to your grave."

Grunbeld turned and took a swipe at him with his tail with breakneck speed. Guts used Dragonslayer as his shield as he intercepted the strike before turning to the offense. He turned Dragonslayer and drove it through a chink between the crystals on Grunbeld's tail. Dark blood instantly spewed out from the wound as Guts put even more of his weight behind it before bringing the blade in full motion and driving it the rest of the way through.

"Arrrrghh!" Grunbeld yelled as the end of his tail was severed from his body. He stomped around furiously, but not just because of the damage Guts had dealt him. The shaft of Azan's ax was buried in the wound Casca had stabbed into his leg from before, the two having reemerged from the shelter of the fallen apostle Casca had slain.

Seeing the opening created for him, Guts scaled up the side of Grunbeld's leg and brought Dragonslayer down right at the drake's hips, giving a twist for good measure. He could feel the body start to slope as Grunbeld's lower half went slack.

"You disgrace me!" Grunbeld yelled as he started shaking his body to knock Guts off of him. But continuing to press his advance, Guts ran further along Grunbeld's back as the apostle tried to crane his neck far enough to breath his fire on the pest that eluded him. The firedrake came close as he spewed forth his latest batch of flames at the advancing Guts.

Bringing his arms up to cover the exposed flesh near the helm of his armor, Guts pushed forward to the point Grunbeld could no longer breathe his fire and quickly swung Dragonslayer at the side of the apostles' neck. The force of his blade shattered straight through Grunbeld's crystalline hide and Dragonslayer sunk its width into the mighty apostle.

"Grrrghhh!" Grunbeld roared out as his front legs began to give out as well. Guts yanked Dragonslayer free from Grunbeld's neck as his lifeblood began pooling out near the base of the tower.

Jumping off of the dying Grunbeld Guts could properly see that the flames had burned off the black feathers Azan used as decoration for his helm. His cloak and armor were singed as well and his flesh was likely raw from being cooked inside from the heat. Casca seemed in better shape; her armor seemed to glow from the heat, but it was reverting back to its shimmering state as expected from its goblin make.

"Arrrrrrhhh..." Grunbeld willed out as he attempted to rise once more. He briefly stood and rammed his head against the tower in a last attempt to get it to fall.

Azan, using his broken shaft as a crutch, waddled over to the fallen Grunbeld as the eye of the drake trailed him. "You were a fierce challenge for this old knight."

Pushing the broken end of the ax forward, Azan brought it through the firedrake's eye. Grunbeld's maw went slack as the fire that had been building up began to lessen to a mere spark that was extinguished with the passing wind.

Yanking his broken weapon free, Azan seemed to stand a head taller than he actually was, an illusion that came with the achievement of slaying a mighty beast. One more accomplishment to add alongside of allowing an old man to cross a bridge. Indeed, he stood as proud as a statue, right up to his topple.

Between the cut across his back, the burns he had sustained from Grunbeld, and the saber piercing him right under the arm, Azan fell in a standing position, fit for a knight.

Pulling his saber free in a clean sweep, the copy of their leader stared them down as the last remnants of Grunbeld's flames went up in smoke. "This is what it comes down to. The three of us." He was calm, unnaturally so. There was not a single trace of animosity in his voice, no hint of remorse or reluctance either. A line of apostles appeared behind their leader. "The fire burning bright within your hearts is strong. You have made it your own and sought your own path. Commendable. And it is why you have been misled."

A faint rattle caught Guts' attention and he realized that the metal of Casca's gauntlet was shaking against the hilt of her sword. Again, she had just watched another life of a comrade perish because of one person, a man-made monster, a dream. That was the cycle of things. The ones who were true would perish at the hands of those who would sacrifice anything.

With an unspoken command, one of the apostle escorts leapt with frogish agility straight for the tower. Not about to let it continue the work Grunbeldhad started, Guts tossed Dragonslayer straight into the air, intercepting the apostle and bisecting it right at the waist. As the innards rained down on them, that was when he made his move.

Not having Dragonslayer in his grasp, Guts made ready to fire a cannon shot at the disguised leader but was forced to hold as Casca intercepted the strike with Gryffindor's sword. Her arms shook as she helt the blade at bay and as those unearthly eyes stared right at her, holding her in place.

"You could have been so much more." Those were the words he spoke.

Breaking the hold between their two blades, his saber pulled back, ready to strike with his full might this time, and his blade was halted. Some invisible force seemed to be at play as the White Hawk seemed unable to carry through with his strike. His hand reaching up to his breastplate to feel at something unseen.

His hesitation proved to be Casca's opportunity as she found the courage to move her own sword forward to the mirror of the man they had once known.

Faster than expected, he snapped out of whatever funk had overcome him and brought his saber down to parry Casca's near-fatal strike. Up and around he moved the saber, the blade meeting with Casca's hilt and forcing it from her hands.

The events playing out around Guts began to crawl to a slow. The cheers and hissing from the surrounding apostles, the flow of blood from those who were slain, even the beating of his own heart became frozen to the unforgiving hands of time. But the wolfish growl sounding right next to his ear was all too real.

'You see? This is what happens when you lack the strength to act. Carry and swing that sword of yours for as long as you want, it is only a burden to you. You sought two different paths, to reminisce the past, and to make your own future by your own terms. See where that has led you? You were unable to let one go and now your most precious link to the past will end, as will your future.' The hot breath hit the back of his neck as the razor teeth snapped ner his ear. 'You hold the chain, release me. Release me and I will end it all for you. That is what you really want, for it all to end.'

Guts looked to see the rusted chain clutched tightly in his hand. I... do want it to end.

The control that he had over himself in this partial state began to dissipate as his grip loosened on the chain. His fingers began to slack as the chain dangled limply in his now open palm.

'Without so much of a fight on your end, lend me the fire within your core. I will end this for you.' The chain moved against his palm as the hound walked forward. 'You have my thanks.'

Faster and faster Guts felt the chain pull away from him. He felt lighter, all his anger and rage slipping past him to take control once again. With all he had stored up inside of him, Guts did not know for certain if that would make a lick of difference. He was up against a being who thrived off everything he knew and understood of this world, it was essentially now his.

"You fool."

Guts' hand grasped the chain once again. The snarling hound whipped its head around to snap right in his face; saliva dripping madly from its toothy jowls. He did not flinch. He gave no indication that the mad dog in front of him was even there at all. The helm of the Berserker Armor began changing from its partial state to the complete wolf head helm with its blazing red eye.

The saber came down toward its target and a black armored hand clasped itself around the wrist of the White Hawk, halting the blow. The unholy gaze was met with the blazing eye of human struggle in its most basic and advanced form.

The beast had been unleashed, but it was Guts who held the chain.

From the depths beneath the Tower of Rebirth, Serpico could tell that the battle above was nearing its climax. The great rumbling that they had felt moments before seemed to come to a crawling halt, for better or for worse. If the forces of Falconia were victorious or annihilated, his goal remained the same: protect Farnese.

Win or lose, he and Silat were still faced with the slippery foe known as Rakshas. The assassin was sent alone to extinguish the lives of the three mages present in the tower and he was proving to be quite the nuisance.

Faced with limited room at the bottom of the tower's prison, he and Silat were both at a disadvantage when it came to this fight. Silat was unable to use a variety of the weapons in his arsenal as he risked hitting any of the mages in the process, so he stuck with his tri-pointed katars. Serpico had the wind as his ally by means of his Slyph cloak and eagle feather sword. With the pit to Gaiseric's old kingdom right behind them and to the side, there was only so much he could work with and be creative while doing so. And then there was Rakshas.

The cloaked apostle seemed unlike any Serpico had seen before. His body was almost anamorphic, being able to stretch and compress itself to the confines of the cloak he wore. And just because he wore a mask did not mean that that was where his head was. He had two pointed daggers protruding from the sides of his cloak and Silat had a sinking suspicion that they were poisoned.

"Don't go disappointing me, you two. Ignore those blowhards up top. We're having such fun down here." The apostle laughed from his spot on the wall before launching off on a straight path toward Silat.

With their backs to the dropoff, Serpico stepped forward and cut the air with his sword. The wind followed his command and a strike of air blew toward the speeding Rakshas. Seeing the strike incoming, the apostle rolled in the air but not quick enough to escape unscathed.

"Yeegh!" Rakshas hissed as the strike took off a piece of his cloak. "Wait your turn! Don't be a spoilsport!"

"You really haven't changed at all," Silat sighed as he quickly pulled out a chakram and tossed the bladed disk straight toward the former Bakiraka. Rakshas caught the disk in the middle with his dagger and with a spin sent it back toward Silat. In turn, Silat stopped the deadly disk with his katar and pocketed the disk seeing how things would play out if he were to toss it again.

"I've changed in all the ways that really matter," Rakshas retorted as he slithered across the landing towards them.

Silat ducked to the side to stay close to the mages, and Serpico was left to take a step back before Rakshas could stab him. Feeling his feet touch nothing but open air, Serpico went down. His cloak billowed around him and he felt his fall begin to slow, an invisible updraft keeping him afloat. His feet touched the side of the pit and Serpico began to move them as he would when normally walking. He could spot the top of the ledge ahead of him and with an outstretched hand, vaulted himself right back up and behind Rakshas.

"Huh?" the apostle could only wonder as the next attack came his way.

The bone-white mask he wore fell right off his body as the airstrike split it into two halves right down the middle. His small moment of victory was short-lived as Rakshas picked up the two halves of the mask as a visible lump made itself visible from beneath the cloak.

"That really is such a shame," Rakshas lamented. "I really did like this one, too. Oh drat."

With hidden anger unleashed, Rakshas' cloak billowed out in dark tendrils as he shot off toward Serpico who began to rapidly cut at the air, calling the power of the Slyph's to his aid. While some of his cut did land, they seemed to only cut off pieces of Rakshas' cloak while his body remained protected from underneath the black veil.

Almost tripping, Serpico hazarded a look down to his feet to see that he was back against the steps leading back up the tower. Rakshas was driving him back ad away from those he swore to keep safe.

"Don't go losing your balance now," Rakshas jeered as he pressed forward, his knifes darting out to stab near Serpico's feet. "You're pretty nimble, I'd hate if I were the one to end that for you. Can't say the same for your person, however. Kuhehu!"

With his Slyph cloak acting up once again, Serpico jumped back up the steps, and with the additional height gained, vaulted himself over the crazed apostle and rushed back to Silat's side where he stood by the mages. His Kushan ally spared him a side glance. "How much of that did you plan in advance?" Serpico was unsure if he meant it to be sarcastic or not.

"We keep them from harm, that is all," Serpico simply put. "Dedication always yields the fruit of reward or so I hear."

Silat unrolled a new weapon from his catch of supplies. "Regardless, you've brought him to a perfect range." A small crack of thunder seemed to have sounded from the depth they found themselves as Silat gave a crack of the multi-flexible bladed urumi. The light from their fallen torches gave the stainless metal a golden shine in the dark as Silat lashed it out toward the cloaked assailant.

The sharpened blades cut through stone as well as parts of Rakshas cloak as he attempted to slither back to strike again. "Using the same tricks won't do you any favors, Silat," Rakshas snarked as he narrowly avoided a second lashing from Silat's onslaught. But by doing so, Serpico noticed something dark, something that wasn't part of Rakshas cloak. It looked... almost like a leg.

It was only visible for a split second or two before Rakshas cloak billowed over and obscured it completely, but it seemed harder to do with how much Serpico and Silat had cut off already.

Picking up one of their fallen torches, Serpico moved beside Silat and tossed the burning piece of wood toward the apostle. It landed just shy of the apostle who looked at it, with what was probably veiled amusement. "You should have practiced your throw instead of your acrobatics. Kuhehu!"

Bringing his blade up and whirling about it a complete spin, Serpico willed the air into a singular wave as it dispersed straight to his target. And it wasn't Rakshas.

The air fanned the flames of the torch, sparking them up and catching the end of Rakshas' cloak in the process.

"Gnnhaa!" Rakshas yelped as the flames licked their way up his cloak, experiencing the same terror Serpico himself had felt when he saw his mother meet her end at the stake. The apostle went to pat out the flames but let out another yelp of pain as Silat's chakram cut across when he knew his arm to be.

Serpico launched another wave of air toward the building inferno that was clawing its way up Rakshas; his wind adding further strength to the flames. Then Silat would step in with his urumi and further tear away at the diminishing cloak shielding the assassin. Serpico wondered why the apostle did not melt back into the shadows as he had done previously, but he suspected the fire was preventing him from doing so.

"Hurts!" Rakshas screamed. "It hurts!"

"Perhaps retribution for all the lives you have stolen," Serpico moved in tandem with his upcoming attack. "I hate to see one die by fire. If you want, be free of that drab and attempt to die as a man would."

The body beneath the burning and torn cloak twisted to an impossible angle as he tried in vain to snuff out the flames that were consuming him. "Die as a man?" Rakshas repeated. "By that you mean meaningless. Turn my face to a world that would never see their own faces? So quick to disguise their actions as what is right and others as wrong. Heeheheehe! Kuhheehaahuuuha! By all means, take a look yourself!"

Rakshas' cloak was discarded in a blazing glory as the true body was made visible. At first, Serpico did not know if what he was seeing even was a body. It was far too bent and twisted to ever be able to properly walk. There didn't seem to be any set joints for any of the limbs - or head for that matter. They all just seemed to rotate and twist at a randomly willing wheel. For where his head was, there was no face. The eyes were either hollow or closed so they would not have to see. A thin line was where the mouth should have been and the nose was just a flat nothing.

"Look familiar?" Rakshas spoke from his nonexistent mouth. "Every mask we wear, every face we paint, there is no escping the truth. This is what's right. This is what's wrong. There is only... absolute." His twisted and gnarled arms bent out to show that his stunted hands still had hold of his knives. "And how he will reward me when I have completed my task. Are you hearing this, Hawk of Light?! This victory is yours!"

It was impossible to tell if it was his leg or arm that kicked him off the ground, but his stunted shape went straight for the bodies of the three Serpico had promised to look after.

Stepping in front of Farnese, Serpico made several cuts to the air that went on their intended way to halt the advancing Rakshas. The cuts made to that twisted body drew dark blood forward, but the apostle was mad with obsession at this point. He was intent on making it to his goal, just as Serpico was set on impeding him on every step.

Rakshas extended his knife to the unresponsive Schierke, but Serpico cut with the wind with enough strength to take the hand of the apostle clean off with his attack. With one arm crippled, Rakshas moved his other toward Farnese.

If the previous attack Serpico dealt had been strong, this one made the latter pale in comparison. Rakshas' arm was severed at the elbow, his blade falling short of Farnese's peaceful form. Silat had brought out his regular katars again as he moved behind Raksahs, his eyes holding the importance of his impending strike. And Serpico saw why. In Rakshas' bent and twisted foot, he held the fallen knife from his severed hand.

Silat moved to strike, Rakshas moved as well in reverse shadow.

And the blade struck.

What is... this place now?

"Does it not seem familiar to you? I confess that I am in unfamiliar territory. However... I do get the slightest feeling of connectedness. Ah, this explains it. Right there. Someone you know of, no doubt."

He did not recognize the man in question at all. Nothing about him stood out as familiar in the slightest. His worn and tattered traveling robes could have belonged to anyone. His face, while covered with a long, white beard appeared deceptively youthful as expressed by his playful green eyes. Not even the very unusual staff he used as a walking stick struck any chord of remembrance.

I've never seen this man before. I have no idea who he is. He studied the man further. Should I?

"No, I suppose you shouldn't. I just presumed it is all. My apologies. If for nothing else but my own sake, I should at least know of the other."

Ah, the other man. His beard was white as well, but nowhere near as unique as the one with the staff. A golden crown hugged his brow tightly and gave him the appearance of a king who had passed his prime but still continued to hold onto the past.

"Your Majesty, I implore you, do not encourage the musings of this rapscallion!" a court attendant spoke to the aging king.

"Hmm." The king rested his chin on his fist as he looked down at the older man. "Late is the hour in which you have been summoned to my court. Do you know why that is?"

"Well, King Hilderic, I can only imagine that it pertains to the remedy I have concocted for your wife, the fair queen," the old man answered with honest concealment.

"You would be correct in that assessment, Emerys, as you call yourself. Your potion has worked wonders where all the physicians in the land have failed." King Hilderic held the gaze of a statue. "You have my utmost thanks in your endeavor."

The man called Emrys gave a surprisingly youthful bow. "I am pleased to hear that it was a success. I wish your queen the best in a speedy recovery." He was met with far less gratitude from those in attendance than would have been expected for saving the life of the queen.

"My beloved will be delighted to hear it. She has suggested to me that I appoint you to the title of Master of Medicine within my court." King Hilderic cast a slow glance over to a man in a brown tunic. "A high honor and improvement to be sure. Tell me, Emerys, where was it that you became so proficient in the healing arts?"

"A school from my land, Your Grace. The name is rather outlandish and it would be ill-fitting to make a mockery in your court. I will say I was part of the House of Slytherin as the school is comprised of four."

King Hilderic seemed to be a cliff in his unchanging expression. "Then they have taught you well."

"Sire!" an attendant spoke out. "I implore you not to listen to this man's poisoned words! You could be-,"

"I could have your tongue removed for speaking out of your turn," King Hilderic's gaze turned to cold stone. "Your position is on the line as is with your mediocre performance in your practice. Do you dare venture parts of your body as well?" the sound of a lump being swallowed was all the answer needed. "Forgive the ignorance of my supposed advisor. But seeing the unease in my court, I must call to attention the rumor you have surely heard circulating around Windham?" Emerys did not answer but locked his gaze with Hilderic. "Do you deny that you used magic to save my wife?"

The older man humbling himself before the king did not seem too surprised in the slightest at having been called out. The whole affair seemed amusingly droll to him if anything. "No, your Majesty. I do not deny it at all."

Nervous muttering erupted in hushed excitement from the assembled officials in attendance as they cast glances filled with pitiful dread and shocked distrust to the man before their king. And it was the king's gaze that mattered the most. His eyes were unclouded stone.

"I am unable to tell if you are exceptionally brave, or more foolish than my jester," he spoke, ending the whispering at once. "Even if you are from some foreign land, you must know that the Holy See deeply frowns upon your practice. I hazard to say that the crime of simply lying to me would be less severe than the truth you admitted to. Why?" he asked. "Why would a stranger under a false name heal my queen and then sign his own death warrant?"

Emrys stood up with prideful youth to properly answer the reigning king. "Stranger?" Emrys repeated. "None of us are strangers. We may come from different lands, but I chose to see the world as a tree that connects us all; like how I came to visit this land. We each have a choice, and I choose to help; not strangers, but my fellow man."

"What an exceptional answer, wouldn't you agree?"

Do I know this man?

"Fret not. It is I who should feel the shame of not recognizing my lineage sitting upon that throne. The resemblance has been lost over time, but that look has not faltered in the slightest."

King Hilderic was silent of his own choosing. No one else in the court dared to speak before their king had given his thoughts on the matter. "Those affiliated with the Holy See would see your head preserved in a jar." His stare could turn a lump of coal into diamonds. "But it is I who have the blood of kings past in my veins. You talk about choice, if I so chose, I could bend the might of the Holy See to my will. My claim as inheritor to the great conqueror is undisputed."

Is that true? What he said about the Holy See?

"Perhaps. But the wheels of causality would have continued to turn all the same. It's exactly how I would have designed it."

Thum

"I will not be taking your head. Not today, not ever." King Hilderic paid the exaggerated stares sent his way no thought of mind. "You need but say the word and I will make you an honorary member of my court."

"You humble me, your Majesty," Emrys bowed once more. "But with all due respect, there is a king from my own land who needs counsel far greater than one with a divine lineage."

King Hilderic seemed to expect this answer with little relief. "Then may your king rule wisely. I would hesitate myself to go to war with a kingdom such as yours."

"With all due respect, your Majesty, given the distance between our lands, I doubt it will ever come to such."

"Then our business here has concluded," King Hilderic gave his dismissal. "I will deliver news to my queen of your departure."

"But of course," Emrys understood. But before he allowed himself to be escorted out, he spoke again. "Forgive me, your Majesty, I have but one small question."

"It is not the duty of kings to answer small questions, but I entertain enough fools as is. Speak, and I will hear you."

"How did you know I came under a false name?"

For the first time, the king's expression shifted at an earthly pace to mimic amusement. "Any man who would openly admit to a taboo such as witchcraft in front of a king must have something to hide. I daresay that you are more youthful than you appear and that your staff is for anything but show."

Emrys smiled. "It is indeed. For when I am gone, this relic will remain along with my memory. I greeted you as Emrys, but I leave in peace as Merlin."

The man without alias passed by. And he could feel a pull.

ooooooo

This is not your time. And it isn't... mine?

"You almost sounded certain of yourself."

You do not know him?

"Not in the slightest. Perhaps it is as he said, a relic of a memory. Lost within the swirling sea of remembrance. Perhaps if pursuit was an option, the answer would become clearer."

oooo

The outside was looking back up at where and when the previous scene had been. The setting was cramped on both sides with only the stretch leading forward and behind with the clear blue of the sky high above. The pure blue added to the tranquil sight of that white castle sitting high up on its hill.

'Let's go!' his voice cried out to no one, maybe not even to the watchers. All around him was filth and poverty. The smile and energy radiating off of him remained a light in solitude. 'Are you coming? The castle is getting closer, isn't it?'

It had to be getting closer in its stationary location. Every time he looked at it, the sight seemed that much clearer from the rooftops that tried to eclipse its radiance.

"It would seem he is referring to us."

'Are you coming or not?' his young pleading voice called out.

You want to go all the way up there? What's wrong with seeing it from here?

There was no reply at first. It might have been a whisper in a whirlwind. Blue eyes just staring at where it ought to have come from. And then, 'There's only one thing to see from here. Up there, I could see everything.' A bird of prey flew by overhead. 'Don't you want to see it with me?'

'I certainly would.'

Thum

Someone new had spoken.

He seemed a grown-up version of the young boy with his sights set high. His hair was longer but kept the pure, snow-white quality of the locks. The feminine features had grown more prominent, but they still possessed an underlining masculine presence that made them distinguished. The biggest difference lay within the blue eyes. The youth and innocence had escaped their cages leaving what looked to be the realization of forbidden knowledge.

All of that seemed completely lost on the young kid who stared up with wondrous awe. 'You will?'

'I'd certainly like to. I've... always wanted to go myself.'

'Huh?' he tilted his head in a confused manner. 'Why didn't you?'

'I... never had anyone to go with me before. There was a time, I came so very close to getting to the top. I was bringing along anyone who would follow behind me. They never made it.'

'Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Hm. It does seem unfortunate, doesn't it? And what about you? Who are you trying to lead up to the castle?'

A small finger pointed over to vacancy.

He would never make it.

"You are not wrong, but what makes you say so?"

He's alone. He has no price to pay.

'I'm not alone! I have plenty of friends! And when I get to the castle, I'm going to bring all of them there to live with me!'

'You want to be king then?' the elder asked. The youth nodded. 'Kings do not act because of their friends. Kings act for everyone. That is the price to be paid. Where are your friends now?'

'Back at the orphanage.'

"Unwanted, unloved, watching those friends come and go. How long was it before you realized there was only one path you wanted to travel? Is this it right now?"

'My friends would never leave me!'

'So where are they?'

'I told you, at the orphanage. They'll be here, you'll see.'

'They won't. No one is coming.'

He started shaking his head. 'Don't say that! You don't know!'

'I do.'

'You don't!'

'I do. Because I've lived it.'

'No...'

"Look closely, child. You will see for yourself."

I know that you know. This is your story's end.

Raindrops fell from those sky blue eyes. 'I reach it. I reach it... don't I? I promised that I would.'

'Our hearts, beating as one, we reached it. And here I am.'

'Was it wrong of me for... wanting something more?'

No. Doesn't everyone?

"It is the greatest deception."

'This is our kingdom. This is our end.' He might have reached out to put a hand on the younger self, but it would not have done a single thing.

'Our... end? Is it... for them, too?'

He pointed over from where he had come, back to the orphanage. People were standing there, watching them. A beautiful young woman, two short and plump looking men, a tall woman with short blonde hair, a girl with green hair wearing purple robes, and lastly, a boy with long, dark hair.

'Even you, trapped in that cupboard, is this your end too?'

I'm not... in a cupboard.

"Of course you're not," the six-fingered man assured him. "That was a past already forgotten in this sea. To help Guts, Casca, and all the rest, that is why you are here."

Guts? Casca? Do I know them?

The man seemed confused himself. "I have no memory of them. I thought they were yours, Harry Potter."

Harry Potter.

Thum

Harry Potter

Ba

Harry Potter

thum

Harry Potter

Ba Thum

Harry Potter

That was him.

WHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The pounding, swirling, storm that he was in raged on and on around him as lids heavy with the past burden opened to the end result of it all. Nothing but the swirl and what resided in the center of it all. Speeds ranging from heart attack level to a lazy pull that let Harry observe what was happening to himself.

To his great relief, Schierke was by his side, eyes wide shut as she was most likely lost in the flood of past memories as he had been. And much like him, she seemed to be dissolving.

Small bits and pieces that comprised their astral bodies were drifting off of themselves to become lost as one in the spirling whirlwind of the deepest void. Just the two of them.

'Farnese!' Harry yelled without point into the pounding wind that could drown out the deepest sea. 'Farnese!' he shouted in nonresponse. He tried to move, but his astral body was in a losing fight with quicksand filled gravity. The more he attempted to move his arms or even to crane his neck, more of his being drifted off of him, perhaps to be lost forever to add more to the ultimate end.

If he had any breath left to steal, he would have been robbed blind. Robbed. Or even contributing to the crime himself as he struggled to reach even a single finger over to where Schierke drifted as helplessly as he. His light arm faded to even transparency level form in order to do so. Getting as close as he dared to venture, Harry willed his fingers to curl, to try and grasp her fading hand.

His touch was sand passing over rocks.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no!

"You seek a vain goal.

'Your being is already fading."

He could not touch her. No matter how hard he tried to reach Schierke. His was the touch of a ghost.

Don't let her fade. Don't go.

Maybe she was just as intangible as he was now. She could be even further along than he was. Perhaps she was the ghost among graves and he was just the unlucky bystander within the deep catacombs. Their staffs being the only anchor they had left to that material world they once inhabited.

The staffs!

He still had a grip on his own - the one he had seen within the fragments of lost time. Schierke still had a hold on hers as well. They weren't gone completely. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Risking more of his essence, Harry reached his hand out even farther than before to try and grasp Schierke's staff alongside her own. His hand drifting farther into obscurity, he could only guess as to where his fingers hovered as he tried to force them to curl around the slim piece of spirit wood.

Thum

And he could feel it.

Harry was unsure if he momentarily stopped dissolving in the swirling madness around them now, but he was certain that he had made contact with Schierke's anchor, her running lifeline that could ensure that she made it back to the physical world intact. If he could, he would offer up whatever strength he had now for her to return safe and whole. He would offer up his own being, give her astral body some of his own fading specks so that she might awaken.

'Huun?'

She stirred.

'Schierke!' Harry called her name, trying to pull her drifting body closer to his own or risk separation in the eye of the raging storm.

Her eyes began to open with heavy difficulty from the false sleep. 'Harry...?' her voice, weak as it was, was proof enough that she was still herself.

'Don't try to move,' Harry cautioned as he saw her attempt to move her hand to grasp his own. 'Stay as you are.'

Her eyes looked over at him with minimal difficulty. 'We're... fading, aren't we?'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

'Don't think about that!' Harry felt the pull keeping them in place strengthen. 'You're awake now, focus on that.'

'I'm awake...' her voice sounded off dreamlessly. 'I saw you in parts. Those two short men and I... we met with Farnese and... little Gaiseric. Those memories... those times... this is where it all leads.'

'The center of it all.' The spiral they were in bent for Harry to see the very source of it all. The strong wings coming forth from the arteries as it all circled back with the veins. It hovered there, every thump making the cycle go on and on. And it was where they were heading right now.

'Harry,' he discerned her voice amidst the deafening roar of the drumming beating. 'Where is Farnese?'

'I...' there was no way for him to tell her that he had no earthly idea where she was. He refused to believe that she had faded completely. Farnese was stronger than that, she had grown so far beyond the ignorant girl blindly spewing out scripture. Plus, young Gaiseric had been there as well to act as a guide of sorts as the remnant of Gunderic said, he was an outsider as well.

"To have come so far, and to matter not.'

"Here. there is but no strength of self. There is but desire."

The deafening roar echoed all around them as the beating of the Abyss spoke inside their minds as they neared the core.

'It's wrong! Don't listen to it!' Harry shouted to hear his own voice.

The swirling vortex around them seemed to vibrate as the deathly greenish color began to take on more complex hues and shapes. The interior of a long hall lined with four tables and a ceiling that changed to reflect the night sky above. A row of children in black robes stood before a tattered old hat on top of a stool. "Riddle, Tom!" a name was called out. A sullen boy with dark hair and eyes sat on the stool as the hat was placed on his head. No sooner had it touched his hair, the hat cried out, "Slytherin!"

"Here, this is but an example.'

"Born to a world that does not understand. Told you were special to feed the lie festering within."

The young man sitting before them in the hall grew and changed to a handsome young man. And then - thum - he was but a decrepit version of a malnourished child. If he were to move a limb, he was likely to break it in the process. The face was snake-like with two small slits for nostrils, thin lips, and scarlet eyes which were unfocused either by pain or being trapped in the same madness as them.

"It was you who fled from death.'

"And here you remain. And for what cause?"

The weak figure craned its head to look at them. "There was too much to do in one lifetime. I knew I was special. How could I not be? When everybody is just the same, just as mundane as the next; living, dying, never achieving anything but the end of a line... there never would have been enough time."

Thum

"These souls, pledging their allegiance to a single flame.'

"Howbright they burn now."

Faces of torment. Each marked with an all too familiar brand in varying locations. A large man with squinted eyes, a dark-haired scoundrel with a haggard look about him, and a sandy-blonde youth with light freckles across his nose. There were more of them, some bore the classic insignia Harry recognized, others he did not. There were more than just a single band, High lords and ladies, common folk, the highest of nobility, they were all there, locked in the blazing wind that swept them away as quickly as it had summoned them.

Thum

"This one never taking the time to be content. Never realizing what a life could mean."

The vortex surrounding them changed again to a body being clawed at and pulled down by a sea of corpses that could have filled the emptiness around them all and then some.

'Guts!' Schierke cried at seeing the image.

Harry feared that she was right. He feared that Guts had lost the fight above and was now cursed to the eternal torment that surely awaited them now. But Harry then realized that they were wrong. The resemblance to Guts was uncanny, right down to the spiky black hair and intimidating build. But this man was whole, he had both arms and eyes, and no streak of white marred his midnight mane.

"You smile? Why?"

Through the sheer pain he was surely receiving from all those souls wreathed in the flames of war, he raised his head for them to see the muscles of his face pulling up at his lips as he looked at them and at the center where they were heading.

"Because I lived."

Thum

The sight vanished before them quite abruptly and the speed they were flowing increased with their own beating. "All of them, but mere specks of blood in the flow. Each one, if they were aware or not, fed the

'power you are in now."

"Selfishness"

"Ambition."

"Longing."

"Contempt."

"Fear."

"Rage."

"Desire."

"That is the nature of this conception. Within the minds and hearts of those past, present, and future. This is the culmination of their belief."

'That's wrong.'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Harry felt the invisible tug at his navel pull him down and toward the very core of the Abyss. Schierke separated from him as she tried to reach out and grab him. 'Harry!'

He was pulled too strongly, right down to the point where his being was hovering just above the black organ as it continued to pump more and more of the storm to and fro at a deafening pace.

"You do not know."

'I do.'

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

'How this all came to be. People... have always needed something to blame for all of it. For all the bad, its because it was meant to be. There was no way to justify why they had to happen.'

'Harry!' Schierke tried her best to move down to where he was, the harm it could do to her seemed forgotten.

"What do you blame for her inevitable death?"

She would die. She could die right now and...

'It would be because of me.'

Thum!

'She would die, and it would be because of me.'

'Stop talking like that!' Schierke shouted at him from above where she tried to swim her way down against the pushing current now. How she could hear his voice from here against the raging storm was beyond him. But he realized - the voice coming from the storm -

was his own.

THuM!

It was his voice.

It was Schierke's

It was Farnese's.

It was Casca's

It was Guts'

It was every apostle.

It was every human.

Ba-Thum.

Schierke continued to try and reach him against the howl of wind that kept her at bay. The warmth that shielded her body in astral form began to dim to that of a dying candle.

"She can reach you. At sacrifice to her own life."

'That's what it always comes down to. A sacrifice to make a belief come true.'

A father and king sacrificing the love of his sons to secure his blood's rule. A broken man sacrificing those who follow to become a ruler. A scared man sacrificing his soul to stay alive. Soldiers laying down their lives to serve a king.

Guts cutting his own arm to try and save Casca. Farnese putting her future with a man she didn't know to secure them passage. Casca risking her life and mind to help fight. Sir Laban giving his life to protect and serve. Zodd turning his back on the promise of safety. Silat risking the lives of his people. Serpico defending their physical bodies right now. Charlotte casting aside the future she had always envisioned. Schierke ready to end her life for him. And as for him...

'I understand.'

"Do you? Do you know how you can?" the pull was escapable now, and Harry drifted right down to the massive sight at the very center of it all. The staff in his hand seemed to hold additional weight. "What would you sacrifice?"

Harry held the staff out in front of him, right to the point he could touch the source if he leaned forward just a hair. A relic of the past, stored with the magic of those before him and even his as well from the stockpiling and his anchor to his body.

'All I can.'

He let it go.

His hopes, his conviction, his anchor, his sense of self. He let it all go.

The sound of Schierke calling his name was faint as the dying storm neared its last as the staff and the blackened core of the Abyss came in contact. That had just been the way of it. Giving up one thing in selfish exchange for another. It was enough to turn any heart cold. So one last sacrifice, one that could be different.

A splash of golden light erupted from the union in phoenix flames, licking their way across the deathly green winds being pumped in and out of the center. The core, the winds, the vortex they created, all of it was being taken over by the sacrificial flames as the whole spacious void began to shake, perhaps looking to create another abyss beneath the current.

Then came the pull.

The flaming light seemed to expand outward to the world above before being dragged back down, creating not a cyclone, but a funnel straight down into nothing.

Harry could not even find it in himself to feel the fear of the unknown that surely awaited him as a result of his actions. He could only wait and be pulled straight down with the flow. If he had the strength to move his eyes, he would see his astral body as something less than a phantom, intangible to even ghosts. He was faded to the point of a memory long forgotten.

'Grab on!'

Huh?

Not even caring what would happen if he should move, the current helped him along by seeing the glowing form of Schierke above him, her staff extended as far as her arms would allow. 'Hurry up and grab on already!'

You should go... his voice spoken by his mind.

'Take hold and we will!' she further insisted by reaching forward some more, her body dimming slightly by doing so.

If he could, he would have shaken his head. You should stop worrying. You'd be a lot happier if you did.

'You're right, I would be, but what's the point?! Stop talking like that and grab on already!' he could tell the end for both life and the unknown was right within his grasp. All that was left was the choosing.

Schierke... stop.

'I won't! You're such an idiot, you know that?! You told me once that you felt you never made a single difference, that everything would have happened if you were never there at all, that you were part of someone else's story, remember that?' a faint memory, one that was drifting. Just as he was. 'Well, what's the point of ending it all if you don't even get to see what you've done, huh?! You want to see what you did, well snap out of it and grab on!'

Any movements he made, they were random. He hadn't the strength left in him to even try to move, and if he did, he did not know what he would do. Vaguely seeing the dangling lifeline, he curled his fingers with nothing more than blind faith.

BA-THUMP!

The core gave one final pulse that radiated through layers, even the souls of the fallen feeling the beat.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by a young queen, her knight, a young girl, and the others at the fortress of Doldrey.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by a girl and her mother living outside of the safety of the city.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by those just outside of the city.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by every creature from the smallest of ants to the mightest of dragons.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by the army inside the city, the smallfolk, the nobles, the woman who had led people to safety underground via the sewers.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by those who lived in a world with a magical castle to learn magic and the ministry alongside it.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by a lone horseman locked in combat with four adversaries who had all paused in a collective attack, a startling realization befalling all of them as the blade seemed to emit a knowing aura.

BA-THUMP!

It was felt by the White Hawk, the Black Swordsman and the wielder of a magical sword.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

'Don't you dare let go. I don't care to find out myself if I'd follow you down.' Schierke was trying her best to float upward, dragging his limp being from where he clung to her anchor, a deadweight.

'Teachers!' the sudden voice called to them.

Whipping around, Schierke was faced with the visage of their student and a very solid looking young Gaiseric. 'Farnese! How? Where were you?'

'I felt myself becoming lost in this place, but he acted as my guide, he led me through those visions. He doesn't belong here, even more than we do. He... I think he may be able to get us out.' Farnese offered her staff end to Schierke who took it with her free hand as young Gaiseric held Farnese's hand.

'You see this, Harry?' Schierke asked him. 'We're going back. We'll be back soon.'

Leading the party, young Gaiseric looked back, his mouth opening to free the sound behind it. "Feel."

He had felt it too. They all had, every last one of them. But Harry... he did not. He could only feel what should have been a cold, icy pull on his nonexistent form. His eyes starting to close.

For the first time since he first received the Berserker Armor, Guts was fully aware of his movements when fully unleashed. Whenever he had lost control in the past, he had to rely on others to fill in that nasty gap in his memory to fully understand just how bad it had been. It had always seemed that those times were clouded dreams to him afterward; ones he just barely recalled. And now, he was living it in full experience.

If his strength and speed had been a sight to behold when he had partial control of the armor, he could scarcely fathom how he was able to move the way he was now.

His feet hardly seemed to be touching the ground at times as he raced around his foe, a black blur with the streaking red of the glowing eye trailing along to appear as an afterimage. Dragonslayer was dragging along as well, the end of the massive blade tearing straight through the stone laden ground with the ease of a child spreading butter on bread.

Casca seemed wary of his new battle status and kept herself at a safe distance, well out of reach of his blade. But her fears were misplaced as she soon came to witness. While his movements were extreme beyond a shadow of a doubt, his grip was tight on the chain that held the free beast. He had already circled around, taking out the innermost line of apostles that had been encroaching around them. He had passed by so quick that by the time he had reached the last, the first hadn't even realized that it had been slain. The delay before the cut along the underbelly appeared couldn't have been more than a second before the steaming entrails came toppling out.

Tiny droplets of blood came flying off Dragonslayer as Guts dug his heels into the stones, tearing them straight out of the earth as he slowed his momentum. The next line of apostles would organize themselves soon enough, but for now, Guts had his blazing sights set on the head of the whole army. Not a single scratch plagued his entire being for the duration of the fight so far. He would see that change.

With speed to rival a hurricane, Guts shot himself toward the White Hawk, putting a spin to his blade as well for added measure.

Almost matching the speed displayed against him, the curved helm tilted to the side to avoid total decapitation.

BA-THUMP!

And it was there, that every single being there felt it.

There was... it was no single feeling. It was... it was everything. All the bad, all the good, all of it. Even Guts whose body was immune to feeling any sort of damage felt the beat within his chest at that very instant. Time almost seemed to halt right there as the invisible strings hung limply in the air, no hand to further guide their actions.

Crrik!

A single piece of white metal fell from the corner of the hawk helm from just below the eye. Guts had struck him. The apostles which had started to regroup were frozen at the reality of what had just happened.

When those blue eyes shifted over to stare him down, Guts could tell that something had shifted within him as well. Before his opponent could move or even comprehend what had just happened, the cut Guts had caused started to spiderweb and spread out. White specs large and small began to fall off of his armor to reveal the wings of darkness underneath. Those blue eyes switching to purple and then their true scarlet hue.

Femto looked down at the armor crumbling off of him, observing his own clawed hand in silent disbelief if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. His fingers curled and the fallen bits of armor halted and tried to reform itself back on his body, but the disguise refused to hold.

Splop!

A single drop of black blood fell from his helmed head right where Guts' blade had passed him by to land the first cut. The clawed hand passed over the smallest of wounds, ensuring that it would close. It didn't. Guts had no idea what exactly they had done down in the astral world, but whatever it was seemed to have worked.

Not wasting any time when an opening was present, Guts bound forward, a hound out of hell as he jumped the rest of the distance and made ready to bring Dragonslayer down to finish off the Godhand member for good.

He saw his own image reflected in those crimson orbs and Femto raised his hand in the air, fingers spread as he motioned a stop. And Guts found himself suspended in the air, held in place by invisible hands with weakened grips.

Wiggling and twisting his arms and legs, Guts was aware that he was probably breaking the bones in his joints in order to do so, but the pins from inside his armor would set them back in place to ensure that he could continue with this fight. Blood spurted from the joint of his sword arm as Guts managed to wrestle free of the hold and bring his sword back down on its intended course.

Seeing that his hold was broken, Femto waved his arm off to the side and Guts went flying with it. His armor taking all of the impacts as he made several small craters with his body from where he twisted and rolled.

Standing back up, the armor let out a nasty grinding sound as his waist rotated to align properly with the rest of his body. As soon as it had, Guts was off again, tearing a straight line for the exposed leader of Falconia. The closer he neared, the more his body must have seemed a spinning black twister as he wildly swung Dragonslayer in continuous wide arcs, knowing that the Godhand was now weakened.

Femto knew that as well. He no longer carried the aura of invincibility as he had before. So when the twister that was Guts made a spinning beeline straight for him, his dark cloak molded into his pair of wings and he ascended from the ground - a hawk amongst ants.

Not about to let the Wings of Darkness get the advantage, Guts hurridly clawed his way up a pile of apostles he had slain previously and jumped from the top of their corpses. Even then with his enhanced movements, Guts was not close enough to properly strike the winged threat - but his cannon was a different story.

BOOM!

His cannon fired off as he fell back down to the ground.

Seeing the incoming projectile heading right for him, Femto raised his open palm again, seeking to halt the shot in its wake. It slowed but did not stop at his command. It kept at him, unwavering in its trajectory. The magic rune inscribed on the side glowed a deathly shade of purple before its detonation.

Whhaaaaa-Booooom!

A cloud of purple smoke filled the air and Femto was brought back down to earth - blistering holes marring his leathery wings. Seeing their leader in peril, two harpy apostles ascended to grasp the falling Godhand and bring him safely back to the ground.

Guts, meanwhile, had a much less pleasant fall. His armor-clad body landed back on the pile of smitten apostle corpses - his legs bent at what would be some very uncomfortable angles if he could feel the pain that went along with it. Some more blood spurted from the joints of his armor as is legs were set back in place.

No sooner had Femto recovered and he was back on the defensive, but not from Guts. The Sword of Gryffindor shone with dark ruby light as Casca cut the head of one of the harpy apostles as she snuck up on it from behind. "Nnnnnggnnnhhh!" the other screeched at seeing its other slain before its eyes. The talons scratched against the backplates of Casca's armor as she lunged forward and drove her sword to the hilt in its neck.

Now faced with the source of her mental recession, Casca couldn't even look as she took a blind swing at where the newest Godhand was. And she would have hit him fatally had Femto not raised his hand and halted her body's movement.

Casca's limbs shook as she tried and failed to shake the hold the power had on her. Femto stared her down as he raised his hand above his head to mimic an invisible sword about to come slicing down. "Not you."

Guts was over to the action in less than a heartbeat. He slowed just enough to lightly knock Casca out of the forceful grip and thrust Dragonslayer forward, looking to pierce straight between the eyes of the Godhand. Dragonslayer would have done just that had Femto not moved his hands together in a blink of motion to stop the heap of metal between them.

The helm of the wolf blazed fury at the Hawk of Darkness who met the glare with equal contempt to rival the anger. The emotion poured out of Femto's palms as the deadly blade began to turn, forcing his hands apart and greeting the cursed flesh with the sharpest of edge.

The avian style head began to lower in anything but shame before it jerked back up again and Guts noticed that his feet had left the ground as he tumbled up in the air before the hand of an invisible giant palmed him back to solid ground. Blood leaked from his waist as he instantly stood back up only to have Femto swat his hand and send him flying backward.

"You still persist?" Femto observed as Guts lept back to his feet and rushed him once again. He avoided the power that came with the next strike and raised Dragonslayer above his head as he went to try and bisect the Godhand from shoulder to groin. Femto did not swat him away, he but merely closed the clawed fingers on his hand.

Kkrrak! Guts' back bent forward at an unnatural angle. He dropped to the ground both his arms and legs began to condense inward towards his torso. His grip on Dragonslayer did not falter as the compression stopped him from getting back to his feet to take a swing at the looming Femto. He was brought up, but not by the strength of his legs, he was suspended in midair as Femto's eyes veiled the malice they surely felt. With a wave, he dismissed Guts, sending him flying back straight into the tower as his body got lodged between the brickwork. Droplets of blood stained the stones a dark red color.

He was not stuck for long, however. Guts was puled back out as Femto drew his hand back and he found himself crashing back into the ground. In a ragdoll manner, Guts found himself slammed back into the tower with more tenacity than before. His heavily armored body actually creating a hole this time with the power he was slammed by. He could not feel the pain, but Guts knew that blood was coming from his mouth.

Dropping back down before being levitated again, Guts was slammed back into the tower to seemingly finish the work that Grunbeld was unable to carry out. "You feel not a thing, do you?" Femto asked as he had Guts' body spin around the ground before tossing him up and letting him drop back down. "Your body is broken and you aren't even aware of it, or maybe you are. You still aim to kill me?"

Femto got his answer with the sight of the cannon arm pointed directly at him. Not about to deal with the pain and humiliation of the magic shot again, with a clench of his fist, Femto tore the prosthetic from off of Guts' body and crushed it with a single squish. Guts found himself slammed straight back into the tower.

"He was much the same. He still held out through the pain, believing that he could recover what was lost. I owe that much to him. The value he placed on you, I never understood it. But without it, I would not have been conceived on that day." Guts' body dropped back down, all his limbs twisted at broken angles, his back was still creaking as it worked to straighten out the slouch he was burdened with. Red nearly covered all the black. Femto might have had a look of pity in his iris if he had his disguise. "I don't blame you. Everything that you've felt, it only made our power stronger. So, in a way, you were our greatest asset. For that, you have my sincere thanks." Femto raised his clawed hand once more. "The price of sacrifice."

The fatal blow was struck as dark blood began running down and along the fine goblin steel blade as it pierced through the center of the chest from behind.

Casca's head was visible next to Femto's as the blade inched forward ever so slightly right down to the hilt. Femto seemed almost frozen as his eyes remained fixated on the sight of the blade protruding from his chest. His clawed hand grasped at the blade, shaking as he felt to see if it were actually real and not an illusion brought about by any nearby mage. It was as real as they came.

Head lifting slowly back up, Femto craned his neck to the left to see the one responsible and saw the face of Casca. Anger, hurt, resentment, sadness were all present in her eyes. And then there was fear. She had fear in her dark eyes alright, but none of it was because of him.

Femto began lifting his arm up. Raising it up with clawed fingers open to try and reach back, reach back to her.

Metal plates groaned against one another as Guts' limbs were reset by the power of his armor. Before anyone's heart could finish a beat, Guts had swung Dragonslayer, taking off the arm of the Godhand in a clean-cut right at the elbow before it could meet its goal.

Lifeblood continued to spill as either Casca pulled her blade free or Femto fell from it. The line between the two was blurred to the point of obscurity. Either way, the Godhand fell. Fell right next to where Guts' body lay with his cruel eyes actually looking lifelike as they clouded over.

His hand yanked back the chain and the helm of the Berserker Armor began to recede back again until its next, unfinished use. The pain became evident to the point of nothing as Guts could not feel a single nerve in his entire body. The shouts and cries of distress from the watching apostles were whispers in the wind. The sounds of horses galloping could have been rain falling on leaves.

"Guts!" The sound of Casca's voice as she looked over him, holding his face in her hands could have been something straight out of a dream as he recalled what happened to the last person to don this armor. "Guts! Just- oh no... don't leave."

Her voice was so distant, he just wanted to chase it and finally shut his eye. And darkness greeted his sight.

A/N: Sorry for the delay with this one. I started a full-time job so I couldn't write as often as I could. Anyway, I hope this chapter holds up and next one should be a long one since I have a lot of things to wrap up. Thanks for reading.