In Japanese games and manga, there's a recurring idea: planetary consciousness. It goes by many names—Gaia, Alaya, the Sea of Souls—but the concept is the same: a vast, sentient force born from the memories and emotions of every intelligent being that's ever lived. A living heaven—or hell.
In most stories, this force is benevolent. It chooses champions, rewrites fate, and intervenes when the world teeters on collapse. But in the world of Berserk, that planetary will is twisted. It favors monsters. It favors the God Hand.
Five demonic Apostles, each wielding reality-warping power. At their center stands Griffith—the White Hawk. Guts' mortal enemy.
So when a white eagle invaded Jack Harper's dreams, he knew something was wrong. He jolted awake—and chaos erupted.
Frankie Romano, the scarred priest. Claire Whitmore, the sharp-eyed cop. Logan Barrett, her partner. Sierra Snow, the high school girl with a loli face and a warrior's soul. All four had once been altered by Roselyn's moth powers. Now they were half-transformed, insectoid and trance-bound, sprinting toward the horizon like sleepwalkers.
Jack tried to stop them. Failed. In the end, he froze them solid to keep them from tearing themselves apart.
The rest of the team regrouped. Elliot Gray and Evander Marlowe—anime scholars turned tacticians—had seen enough.
Elliot frowned at the frozen newcomers. "Griffith's calling his army. These four still carry traces of Roselyn's hellforce. I thought severing her link would protect them. Turns out Griffith outranks her. He didn't need permission—he hijacked their minds."
Evander nodded. "Makes sense. Bigger hellforce, deeper control. They're weak. Griffith's overwhelming."
Jack cut in. "I'm not here for lectures. Give me answers. What's the White Hawk dream mean—and how do we snap them out of it?"
That second part mattered most. Jack needed seven squad members to complete the mission. He had five: himself, Elliot, Evander, and the twins. He needed two more. But they had to be conscious to consent. No consent, no team. No team, no leadership. And with the Dark Dynasty looming, losing command meant death.
Elliot exhaled. "I didn't want to get dragged into the climax of this arc. But fate's got other plans."
He leaned forward, counting on his fingers. "First, the dream. Griffith's preparing to reincarnate. He's pulling every Apostle toward the Tower of Conviction. Casca's the key."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Casca?"
"Guts' lover. During the first Eclipse, Griffith violated her. The child she carried was corrupted—born twisted, but alive. It became a spiritual entity that haunts Guts and protects Casca."
Evander added, "When Casca was tortured, the child opened a gate between realms. Demons flooded in. Griffith used the chaos to incarnate—merging with the child's body."
Elliot continued. "The White Hawk dream is a psychic broadcast. He's rallying Apostles, building a cult, positioning himself as a savior."
Jack crossed his arms. "And the fix?"
"Two options," Elliot said. "One, purge their hellforce. Doubt it'll work. This world wants us in the story. Two, kill Griffith. That'll break the link."
Jack narrowed his eyes. "Kill a god? How strong is he?"
Elliot shrugged. "Planetary avatar. Think FF7's Weapons—built to fight Jenova. Not quite Sephiroth with seven wings, but stronger than five. Mid-Silver tier."
Evander whistled. "And he's got backup. The other four God Hand members. All mid-Silver. All nightmares."
Jack scoffed. "So you want me—a low-Silver adventurer—to take on five mid-Silver bosses and kill the strongest one?"
"Suicide mission," Elliot admitted. "Berserk's world is a bloodbath. Demigods rule, heroes bleed."
Evander grinned. "That's why it's compelling."
Elliot leaned in. "But I've got a plan. Three reasons this might work."
He raised a finger. "First—timing. Griffith's invulnerable in the astral realm, protected by fate in the physical. But during the crossover—when he incarnates—he's exposed. That's our window."
"Second—backup. Guts isn't enough. But there's one other: the Skull Knight. Probably Emperor Gaiseric reborn. Mid-Silver. Still hiding his full power. If we recruit him, we've got a shot."
"Third…" Elliot paused. "This one's dangerous. Saying it aloud might shift the world's fate. So I'll give you a hint. If you get it, you'll know what to do."
He locked eyes with Jack. "Astral Reckoning."
Jack froze. "Astral Reckoning?"
The others looked confused. Jack didn't. "I get it. But why that phrase?"
Elliot repeated, "Astral Reckoning."
Jack nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's it."
Evander groaned. "Can someone explain what the hell is going on?"
Jack shook his head. "Some things can't be said. Just trust me. First step—power up."
Originally, Jack planned to gather enough Behelits for everyone to complete the mission. But now that fate had dragged them into the heart of the story, restraint was pointless.
With Griffith's summons active, hidden Apostles began revealing themselves. Hunting them got easier. In one week, the team collected eleven more Behelits—twenty total.
Jack used one to redeem a card from the X-Men world: "Sabretooth Mutant Bloodline 1/1."
Enhanced strength and speed—barely Bronze-tier. But its real value was regeneration. Even decapitation couldn't kill the user.
Compared to other regen powers, it ranked below Majin Buu and Cell, but above most. Flora was the target. Her Yoma-infected body teetered on awakening—until the mutant bloodline quelled the corruption.
To reinforce it, Jack redeemed two more Behelits for genetic research from the X-Men and Claymore worlds. Elliot fused the data with alchemy, creating a safe method. Flora's mutant cells devoured the Yoma tissue. Her regeneration doubled. Not quite Cell-level—but close.
Before, Flora's body was fragile. Now, her cosmos energy surged to 300x. Passive regen made her nearly immortal. Jack finally exhaled.
But Elliot wasn't done.
"You want to transplant Flora's genes into others?" Jack asked.
"Not her genes—her evolved bloodline," Elliot said, now in a pristine lab coat. "It's probably high-Silver tier. Like Apocalypse using Wolverine's DNA to make Deadpool—we can boost our squad's survivability."
Jack frowned. "Do you even have the gear? What's the success rate?"
Elliot tapped his coat. "I've got the schematics. I can conjure the tools. Success depends on willpower. Strong mind, high chance. You and I aren't ideal. Your ice chi clashes with mutation. But the twins? They're berserkers."
Jack hesitated. "If you can't prove it works, I won't let you touch Caelum and Lilith."
Elliot smiled. "I've got a test subject. But you'll need to bring him in."
"Who?"
"The protagonist."
"Guts?" Jack considered. "He's tough. But would he trust you?"
"He might—if we offer to restore his arm and eye. And if we tell him Griffith's coming back, he'll jump at the chance. Add a promise to help Casca recover her memory, and he's in."
Jack nodded. Risky—but worth it. Guts was fate-bound to oppose Griffith. His involvement could tip the scales.
Three days later, Jack found Guts prepping to leave. A few words about Griffith caught his attention. The offer of power and healing sealed the deal. Despite protests from Puck, Guts agreed.
Elliot's alchemy made the process faster than Apocalypse's tech—but far more painful.
Guts endured it like a man who'd stared down hell for two years. Pain was just another enemy.
His arm and eye regenerated. His strength surged. Before, he relied on rage to swing the Dragonslayer. Now, his muscles alone could wield it. With spiritual energy added, it moved like a dagger.
The mutation amplified his bloodlust and instincts. For Flora, it was a burden. For Guts, it was fuel.
With Guts upgraded, Elliot refined the process. Less mental strain. Fewer beast traits. Jack approved it for the twins.
Lilith and Caelum underwent the transformation. Their bloodline wasn't as strong—but it reached mid-Silver tier. More importantly, they trained.
Jack gave them a Cosmos cultivation method and sent them into the "Dark Saint Training Camp" on Death Queen Island—a time-accelerated card world. He spent 20,000 survival points for five years of training.
When they returned, they were still kids physically—but their power had grown immensely.
"Master, look at Lilith's new outfit!"
"And Caelum's too!"
They twirled like excited kids at a costume party, their Dark Gold Saint Cloths gleaming under the light.
Jack had expected them to choose Gemini armor. But being opposite-gender twins, they went their own way.
Caelum, a close-combat specialist, forged the Libra Cloth—complete with twelve sacred weapons.
Lilith, a ranged fighter, chose the Sagittarius Cloth. But instead of a single bow and arrow, she created 108 dark-gold arrows, each stored in the metallic feathers of her winged armor. Every feather held one. Because the arrows were forged from her life force, she could recall them instantly from anywhere—even across dimensions.
Jack had hoped to send Guts into the training camp too, but card worlds only accepted adventurers and their followers. Guts refused to pledge loyalty. So that door stayed shut.
When Guts returned home, the story resumed.
As expected, the old blacksmith told him Casca had gone missing a month ago. Guts lashed out, blaming his companions. But the blacksmith's daughter snapped back—he'd been gone for two years without a word. What right did he have to judge?
Guts could only sigh and ask the blacksmith to repair his gear.
His Dragonslayer sword was battered. But after slaying countless astral demons, it had absorbed so much malice it was on the verge of forming a sword soul—like Jack's Deep Snow Masamune. Jack's blade was forged as a demon weapon. Guts' sword was becoming one naturally.
Its power came from Guts' rage. If it fully awakened, it could consume his mind, turning him into a berserker.
That's why Elliot didn't touch it. Only the blacksmith who forged it could reshape its aura—refining hatred into pure killing intent.
After reforging, the sword looked unchanged—but its presence was heavier, deeper. It could now devour demonic energy and grow stronger. Neither Guts nor the blacksmith understood why.
Guts didn't need new armor. His mutated body was tough enough to shrug off small-caliber bullets. His old arm cannon and crossbow were obsolete. Elliot had prepared a replacement: a massive left-arm gauntlet containing a rapid-fire gun, shotgun, flamethrower, and micro-grenade launcher. With spatial ammo storage, it was a technological leap.
With gear ready, Guts set out again. Elliot joined him, using Casca's memory restoration as an excuse.
Jack, meanwhile, led the rest of the team to the Tower of Conviction—to guard Casca and prevent fate from derailing their plans.
The Astral Reckoning was coming. And they would be ready.