Guts materialized in the absolute center of a maelstrom of destruction. 

He was the epitome of carnage and destruction given form, his very being molded by the inferno around him. 

His silhouette, stark against the flames, was unmistakable: clad in the black, demonic visage of the Berserker Armor, its eyes glowing with predatory malice, and the impossibly vast, jagged iron of the Dragonslayer already gripped in his gauntleted hand.

From the shattered earth beneath his boots, from the smoke-choked air around him, countless desperate, wailing souls rose. They were the victims of Ohara, their lives brutally extinguished in the cataclysm. 

They streamed towards him, not as individual entities, but as a collective river of agony and despair, drawn by some unseen force. 

They flowed into him, a torrent of desperate consciousness, merging with his very essence. 

He felt their terror. 

Their pain.

Their final regret.

Their futile rage. 

Their lives, denied their full course, now fueled his denial of mortality, binding him to this new existence.

This is a work of fanfiction. I do not own the characters, which belong to :
Eiichiro Oda(Creator of One Piece)

Kentaro Miura(Creator of Berserk).

This story is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter 36 - Not a Chapter Just Artwork of Rosward and Shalria