LIORE
The crowd cheered, as a new statue was created. Father Cornello raised his arms, basking in the adoration of his faithful. And two children, one armored and one red-coated, watched him carefully.
As did a one-eyed, one-legged man, leaning unnoticed in the back of the crowd on a newly reinforced crutch. He watched, as did a small green head, poking out from his cape.
No one took notice as Guts looked down at Puck, and murmured. "Can you make anything of it?"
"Kind of... It's weird. It feels... Off. Rigid. Magic is loose and flexible normally, but this is ordered. You'd think that'd be good, but... It feels WRONG, too. There's pain in there, a lot of pain every time he does a "Miracle". Pain and death."
"It's definitely coming from that ring, though. It shines like a beacon to my eyes when he activates it."
Guts held up his hand. There were thin drops of blood on the fingertips. "I'm feeling it too."
Puck's eyes went wide. "The Brand!" Sure enough, it was bleeding. Not steadily, not heavily, but there was a tiny drop leaking out every time Cornello called up a miracle.
Puck whipped his head around. "Guts, we gotta let people know! If this guy's an apostle, or even a disciple... Think of the sacrifice he could be lining up here in Liore! The whole town..."
Guts shook his head.
"I had dinner with the guy, remember? Not a peep out of the brand. And you're sure you weren't there?"
"Positive! I'm telling you, I don't know what you saw, but it wasn't me..."
"He's not a disciple or apostle, and that makes him not my problem."
"But, the whole town could-"
"I don't care. I need to find Caska."
"But what if-"
"She's not here. So, I'll have to look somewhere else. At least I've got directions to the next city, now."
Puck looked away.
"I don't like it." The little elf finally replied.
Guts didn't reply. And soon, the Tak-tak-tak of his crutch carried them both away from the crowd.
Behind them, the crowd cheered one last time, as birds rose into the sky... And one among them followed the limping swordsman with cruel eyes.
And Envy smirked to himself, as he winged after the man in black.
THIRTY MINUTES LATER
Guts had lied to the brigands at the gate. He had a small stash of coins on him when he came to this world, and although the merchants didn't seem to recognize the coins themselves, they were happy enough to weigh and take some of his silver. Newly loaded with a backpack full of water and trail food, he passed through the unguarded western gate. The refugees were truly gone, leaving only litter and disturbed sand to show their passing. Guts shook his head, surveying the empty patch for a minute.
"Looking over your handiwork?" It was an unfamiliar voice, and Guts couldn't tell if it was that of a man or a woman.
He looked around. Didn't even hear anyone approach... Puck peeked out of his pocket, and flittered his wings nervously.
The... person, was leaning against the wall of Liore, smirking at him, with its eyes shut. It was small and thin and young, dressed in a shiny black armless top, and some sort of loose pants. It had sandle-like footwraps, and spiky green hair that shot out in all directions.
It had a red symbol on its leg, that looked like some sort of reptile biting its own tail.
Guts stared at... him, for a minute. "No. Just looking at the road ahead."
The youth opened an eye, and its smirk got wider. "Actually, your road's pretty short. You're going to come down with a bad case of death."
Guts looked him in the eye. "Yeah?" One hand casually flipped back his cloak, and Puck buzzed up to his shoulder, ready to get clear...
"Oh, not from ME. It seemed that you refused an offer that the good Father didn't want you refusing. That and you poked your nose into places that it shouldn't have been. With that little spy there, I mean." The youth opened both eyes, and gestured at Puck, who squeaked.
"You can see me?"
"Yes, actually. Funny, isn't it? How no one else can... I've been trying to figure that one out. And how you can fly with such flimsy wings."
"FLIMSY? Why you little androgynous bishie-boy!"
The youth laughed, and there was no humor in his voice. "So, I figured I'd give you an offer before Cornello's stupid minions caught up to you. Give me your pet, and I'll take care of it. Might even feed it once in a while. And it'd be a real shame if something happened to it in the crossfire."
Guts quirked a smile. "Not going to offer me a trade for him? For sparing my life, or something along those lines?"
"HEY! I have a name, you know..."
The youth'sgaze slid over to Puck, and the elf quivered, and ducked. His eyes! What kind of monster IS he?
"Actually, I didn't know that. And that makes me even more curious... But no, I'm not going to offer you your life. You're not that interesting, just another soon-to-be-dead human."
"Yeah, I can see your point. Fact is, though..."
Guts stopped smiling, and glared at the green-haired teenager. "He's not mine to trade. He goes where he wants to."
"Oooh, scary..." The youth yawned. "How noble of you, though. Ah well, I'll just grab him after you're dead then. Hey bug, try not to catch a bullet before then."
"BUG! Why you little palm-tree-pated ball-less wonder..."
Feet pounded the cobblestones leading to the gate.
"Well, that's your death squad. Time for me to head out, for now."
There was a brief burst of energy, and the youth SHRUNK, twisting inward until there was nothing left... but a falcon, hovering in midair, its wings flapping to keep it aloft. With a piercing cry, it launched itself past the stunned duo, and winged its way into the distance.
Puck looked at Guts. Guts looked at Puck.
"You felt it?" Asked Puck.
"Yep." There was a little fresh blood on his brand. "Felt different, but there was still pain."
"Now he, HE might be a demon of some sort. Those EYES, and that power..."
"Later." Murmured Guts, as he propped himself up on his crutch, and looked at the three figures that had just stepped out of the arch of the gate. The two moving out to the sides, not taking their eyes from him, were unfamiliar men in Templar's habits. The man in the center...
"Hey Cray. What happened to you?"
There was a knot on the side of his head, but it didn't interfere with the big man's glare, as he pointed at Guts.
"Demon. Father Cornello told me the truth about you."
"Did he? Mind letting me in on what the truth is, this week?"
Cray growled, and chopped his hand to the side. The templars reached into their robes, and drew out odd little metal contraptions.
They're holding them like weapons. I don't know what they are... Not good.
"I may have failed against the alchemists, but I'll redeem myself with your head."
Guts sighed, and closed his eye for a second. "You don't want to do this."
"Speak not your lies, unholy scum!"
Cray started to draw his own metal contraption from his vest. Guts watched, his hand sliding up to his chest, and the bandolier across it...
"The Father blessed our bullets especially against demons! And while you're an unholy terror with that sword, we won't get close enough to-AGH!"
There was a knife sticking out of Cray's hand, and his weapon was knocked aside! Puck blinked, then flew up for all he was worth, as the other two templars yelled, and fire, smoke, and noise roared from their hands!
And then, there was silence.
Puck looked down. "Oh no! No..." Those things are like small cannons, he realized. And even the strongest of men can't do much against a cannon round...
Guts was lying sprawled on the ground, his drawn sword covering the upper half of his body, held loosely in one twitching hand.
Dents marred its surface, and from below him, a red stain pulsed out to puddle on the sand.
One of the Templars was down, a knife hilt quivering in his eye socket.
The other was slumped against the wall, three knives buried in his entrails. He choked on his own blood, as he tried to fumble them out.
Cray looked about him in horror. "Brothers... what..."
He marched over and seized his fallen pistol with his left hand, folding his bloody fingers in his habit.
"Stay, stay a second, I will tend to you when we are done with our task..."
For a few seconds, he eyed the fallen figure of Guts.
Guts didn't stir.
"Truly, you're a demon of death. Fitting enough, that I take your head with your own sword."
He moved to the fallen figure and nudged it with his foot, to no response.
With a grim smile, he reached down, and grabbed the hilt of the sword, levering it up with both hands, grunting and straining as his blood dripped down to mix with the pool below...
"Hey."
He looked down.
Down into the muzzle of Guts' artificial arm, as the hand apparatus slid back, and a cord leading to it was currently clenched between the swordsman's teeth.
The sword! He was hiding this under the sword...
Cray let go of the sword, and brought his pistol around slowly, so slowly as the huge slab of iron started to fall, and Guts jerked the cord to the side. Cray watched in horror, as deep within the muzzle sparks caught, and flared...
"Sorry, Cray."
BOOM
Guts got his hand up in time to catch his own sword, before it crushed his chest and head.
It also provided a convenient shelter, as pieces of Cray rained down around him.
A minute later, he dragged himself up, and Puck fluttered down. "Guts! You're okay!"
Puck looked at the puddle of blood on the sand below him, and the steadily pumping hole in his side.
"Uh, are you?"
"Those things hit like sledgehammers. Got the sword around to block most of them, but one tagged me."
He glared at the surviving templar, who had pried the last knife out of his guts. The man was looking back and forth from his gun, to Guts.
Guts smiled, all clenched teeth. "Try it."
The templar fainted.
Guts sagged, and coughed. Puck swooped in, anxiously. "Hey! You're bleeding pretty bad, hold still and let me...
"Hang on." Guts pushed him back.
"What? Look, you're spraying all over the desert, here!"
"I can still feel something in my side. Arrowhead or something."
He pulled out a knife. Puck groaned and looked away, knowing what was coming.
After a minute, the sounds of meat being peeled ceased, and he looked back. The wound was bleeding more now, and Guts was staring at a black, jagged chunk of metal in his hand. Puck fluttered over and threw sparkling dust into the wound, sighing as the blood-flow finally stopped, and scabbed over.
Guts was still looking at the tiny piece of metal.
"I'd wondered."
"What? Look, sit down, you've lost blood..."
"I'd wondered why no one here carried a sword. Guess this answers that."
He looked at the dents in his sword.
"Actually, don't sit down! We just killed two, maybe three guards if that guy doesn't recover... We need to go! If we escape far enough into the desert..."
Guts grinned, and pocketed the metal bit.
"Not gonna work. I'm slow now, and Cornello would just send more templars. What do you think these weapons will do to me on open ground, with three or four times this number of men?"
Puck blinked. He imagined it for a second... "Ouch..."
"Yeah."
"So what now?"
"Cornello wants me dead, figure I'll give him another shot at it." He was grinning.
And Guts started back into the city.
"Well... That's one decision made..." Said Puck.
He spared a look back at the bodies littering the sand, and the fresh blood already soaking into the dry ground.
"I just wish... I just wish that ONCE, we could enter these gates without killing good people, misled by bad reasons..."
And as people once more came to investigate the noise of fighting, and found only corpses, the Black Swordsman again made his way into Liore...