GUHIN

Guhin's vision was fading, as if a black veil were to slowly fall over his sight. The world around him, once sharp and intense, dulled into a hazy blur. He could still make out Bokun’s towering figure amidst the storm, though everything seemed distant, detached. Guhin tried to fight back the darkness that clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but his body resisted, trembling as the urge to succumb grew stronger.

You have to move, a voice echoed in Guhin’s mind, desperate and pleading. You can’t let him die because of you.

Through the thickening fog of his vision, he saw Bokun preparing for the inevitable clash. The giant’s eyes were locked on the hunters who surrounded them, and for a brief moment, Guhin could see Bokun's mind at work—calculating, assessing.

Bokun began to count, his lips moving silently as his gaze swept over the enemy. “Four... nine... sixteen... thirty-seven...” The numbers continued to rise as more hunters emerged from the storm’s embrace. The hunters, hidden behind their silver masks, were eerily silent as they moved, their motions synchronized like a deadly dance. One by one, they brought their hands together in fluid motions, the air around their fingers warping and distorting as they summoned their weapons.

Out of this distortion, a silvery liquid began to swirl and coalesce, shimmering in the dim light. The liquid quickly solidified, elongating into the shape of swords that appeared almost ethereal—narrow, elegant, and sharp enough to slice through the air with a faint hiss.

Yet despite their haunting beauty, Bokun wasn’t worried. He knew better than to fear weapons born of magic. These conjured blades were mere illusions of power, no match for true steel forged in the fires of his homeland. His greatsword—massive, heavy, and unyielding—was a weapon born of flame and earth, a testament to the strength and skill of its maker. These conjured swords, however many there were, were nothing but toys in comparison.

Amidst the ranks of the silent hunters, one figure stepped forward, his presence commanding attention even among his peers. The air around him seemed to ripple with energy as he raised his hands. From his palms, the silvery liquid emerged, elongating into twin swords, before he gripped them firmly.

The hunter shifted his stance, his body coiled like a spring, ready to strike. He crossed his twin blades before him, their edges humming with lethal intent. Bokun, watching this display, felt a surge of excitement course through him. He adjusted his grip on his greatsword, feeling the weight of it. He welcomed this fight.

Bokun shifted into a fighting stance, his feet planted firmly in the mud, his massive frame crouched low, ready to unleash the full force of his strength. His eyes locked onto the hunter’s, and for a moment, the battlefield seemed to shrink to just the two of them, each measuring the other with a warrior’s instinct.

A loud, piercing neigh suddenly cut through the storm. Etro, who had taken some distance from the battle, stood on his hind legs, his front hooves slashing at the air as he bellowed out a cry that echoed across the battlefield. The sound of his loyal steed’s voice sent a wave of energy through Bokun, a reminder of the bond they shared, of the battles they had fought together. It was as if Etro himself was urging him on, cheering for his master.

Bokun's determination solidified like steel. With a roar, he and the hunter charged at one another, their movements swift and deadly. The distance between them closed in an instant, their blades poised to strike.

As they met in the middle of the battlefield, the sound of steel on steel rang out, a sharp, resonating clash that cut through the roar of the storm. Bokun’s greatsword collided with the hunter’s twin blades, and for a moment, they were locked in a stalemate, each pushing against the other with all their might.

The ground beneath them trembled with the force of their collision, mud splashing up around their feet as they strained against one another. With a growl, Bokun pushed harder, his muscles burning with the effort, determined to overpower his foe.

His grin widened as he twisted his wrist, dragging the hunter’s twin blades to the side with brute strength. The hunter, his hollow-socketed mask betraying no emotion, faltered slightly as his stance began to break. Seizing the opportunity, Bokun shifted his weight and, with a sudden burst of power, slammed the handle of his greatsword into the hunter’s chest.

The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the hunter’s body, causing blood to seep through the cracks in his mask. As he staggered back, his fingers grazed the air before instinctively clutching at Bokun’s neck. In that brief moment of desperation, the hunter’s hand caught onto the necklace of brown pearls hanging around Bokun’s neck. With a sharp tug, the string snapped, sending the pearls scattering through the rain and mud.

Bokun’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of anger as the pearls bounced and rolled across the battlefield, but he didn’t hesitate. With a fierce, triumphant roar, he brought his sword down in a powerful, sweeping arc. The blade sliced through the air with deadly precision, cleaving into the hunter’s body from shoulder to hip. He stood frozen in place, his silver mask facing the sky.

Then, with a sickening, wet thud, his body gave way. Blood and innards spilled out in a gruesome cascade, mixing with the mud at his feet as he crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

The sound of the hunter’s body hitting the ground echoed through the battlefield.

For a moment, the storm seemed to pause, and when a lightning strike illuminated the sky, Bokun's eyes widened as he saw hundreds of blades raining down from the heavens like a deadly hailstorm.

But in that same flash of light, Guhin saw something else—an image reflected within himself, the monster lurking in the depths of his soul, waiting for its chance to break free. The darkness coiled tighter around his mind, whispering, Let me take over. You’ll be free.

No... Guhin clenched his fists, his nails biting into the flesh of his palms. His body trembled, shivering with the effort to hold it back. I won’t let you take me, he thought, determined to resist. He had wanted this—wanted the hunters to finally end him so he wouldn’t have to fight anymore. That had been the plan. Let the hunters finish it, and with it, the struggle that had defined him for so long. He had resigned himself to die on this battlefield.

But then there was Bokun.

Without hesitation, Bokun wound up and unleashed a mighty swing, cleaving the air in front of him. The sheer pressure of the wind generated by his blade repelled the falling swords, scattering them harmlessly to the sides.

But as Bokun followed through with his swing, a chill ran across his back. Dozens of hunters were lingering mid-air after he left himself wide open, their conjured blades poised to sink into his flesh. Their silver masks glinted in the light, emotionless, devoid of mercy.

With a grunt of effort, Bokun spun on his heel, planting his feet firmly in the mud and unleashed another devastating swing, his greatsword whistling through the air with incredible force. The blade connected with the hunters in mid-air, and the sheer power of the strike decimated their bodies, reducing them to falling pieces of flesh and shattered armor. The ground was littered with the remains of his enemies, but Bokun didn’t pause to revel in his victory. He immediately dashed toward their front line.

Some of the hunters were still in the process of conjuring their weapons when Bokun reached them. He appeared before them in an instant, his greatsword raised high above his head. With a mighty swing, he cleaved their legs from under them, then followed through with another wild slash that took their heads clean off.

Another heavy, gong-like sound reverberated through the rain as Bokun swung the flat side of his greatsword, crushing the hunters under the sheer force of his blows. Their armor crumpled and bodies split apart, the weight of his strikes rendering them helpless. The hunters in the back, realizing the futility of direct confrontation, conjured more of their slick swords and hurled them toward Bokun in a deadly volley.

Bokun’s instincts flared as he saw the incoming barrage. With a growl, he brought his greatsword up in a sweeping arc, deflecting the first wave of blades just in time. The sound of steel on steel rang out, each deflected sword spinning off into the darkened sky or embedding itself in the ground with dull thuds.

But there were too many to block them all. One blade grazed his arm, slicing through the thick leather of his vambrace and drawing a line of blood. Another narrowly missed his neck, embedding itself into the mud at his feet.

He snarled in pain and fury, his eyes blazing with rage. The hunters didn’t let up. More of them lunged at him from all sides, their conjured weapons flashing in the storm’s light. Bokun spun on his heel, catching a hunter mid-leap with the flat of his sword, sending the man flying back with a bone-crunching impact.

But the hunters kept coming, driven by some dark resolve that refused to yield. One leaped onto Bokun’s back, driving a sword into his shoulder. Bokun grunted in pain, but he reached over and yanked the hunter off with a roar, throwing him to the ground and stomping on his head with enough force to crack the earth beneath him.

The rain poured down in torrents, washing the blood from Bokun’s face as he waded through the muck. Another hunter came at him from above, a blade flashing in the storm’s fleeting light. Bokun caught the hunter by the head, his massive hand engulfing the masked face. He lifted the hunter off the ground, using him as a shield as another wave of blades hurtled toward them.

The conjured swords sliced through the air with deadly precision, and Bokun turned his captive just in time. The hunter’s body shuddered as the blades pierced his flesh, his limbs twitching as blood poured from the wounds. Not a sound escaped from behind the mask, not a cry of pain or plea for mercy. Bokun held the body steady, using it to absorb the barrage until the rain of blades ceased. Then, with a snort of disdain, he tossed the corpse aside and surged forward.

Swinging his greatsword in a wide arc that cleaved through everyone around him in one brutal motion. Their bodies were torn apart, limbs and blood flying through the air as they were dismembered by the sheer force of his attack.

A hunter rushed at him from his side slashing wildly with a conjured blade in each hand. Bokun blocked the strikes with his greatsword, but two more hunters were already upon him, jumping onto his back and clawing at his arms. Bokun snarled, thrashing like a wild beast as he tried to shake them off. He grabbed one by the head and smashed him into the other, their skulls cracking together with a sickening crunch.

The battlefield was a chaotic mess of mud and blood, and Bokun’s boots sank with each step. The hunters kept coming, their relentless assault pushing him to the limit. Bokun deflected another volley of swords, his greatsword ringing with each impact. And when a hunter lunged at him from the front, Bokun catches him by the throat, lifting him into the air before crushing his windpipe with a single, brutal squeeze.

As Bokun fought on, a new presence emerged on the battlefield. A figure stepped forward from the sea of silver-masked hunters—a woman, her armor more ornate, her form more slender but no less deadly. Her mask, like the others, was a silver-weathered and cracked piece of art, but it seemed to shift and twist, trying to take on a new form.

Bokun’s eyes narrowed as he spotted her, a sudden, uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He had faced many enemies, but something about this one felt different. As she moved, a group of hunters gathered around her, forming a tight circle. They raised their hands above her mask, their palms glowing with pulsating dark energy that flowed directly into her.

“A woman?” Bokun scoffed, a mocking grin spreading across his face. “Thah! I’ve clearly overestimated you maggots, bringing a woman to fight your battle. You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

Despite his bravado, Bokun’s eyes darted around, making sure no women from his homeland were nearby. The women there were fierce warriors, and if any had overheard his words, he would have been in serious trouble. Satisfied that he was in the clear, he refocused on the group before him.

The hunters, continued to pour their energy into her, their bodies trembling under the strain. Bokun watched as the energy reached its peak, and then, one by one, the hunters began to fall. Their lifeless bodies crumpled to the ground, their hands still outstretched toward their chosen. Each of them had given their last breath to fuel the transformation that was now taking place before Bokun’s eyes.

Dark energy swirled around her, engulfing her form in a shroud of shadows. Her silver mask began to shift, the worn edges warping and twisting as it changed.

At the same time, her armor underwent a similar transformation. The once-bright silver plates darkened to a deep, shadowy black, the surface seeming to absorb the light around it. The smooth curves of the armor became more angular, the edges sharper, giving her a more fearsome appearance.

The huntress, strode confidently toward the center of the battlefield, the remaining hunters retreated behind her. Her movements were deliberate, her presence commanding a profound respect from her allies. She tore away her dark robes fluttering in the wind, revealing her newly formed armor that shimmered in the storm’s light.

Her hand was held over a closed fist, as if there were no need for a weapon of her own. The other hunters watched in silence, their gazes fixed on the dark huntress.

Bokun welcomed the challenge. With a fierce grin, he decided to demonstrate what true combat meant. He thrust his greatsword into the ground beside him with a resounding thud, its blade embedded in the earth.

“Fine,” Bokun roared, his voice echoing across the battlefield. “I’ll show all of you what it means to fight with honor.”

With a deep breath, Bokun unleashed the technique of his people.

"先祖の呼び声"

"Senzo no Yobigoe"

"Ancestor's Call"

“バーサーカー!"

"Bāsākā!"

"Berserker!”

His body, already a mountain of muscle, swelled further, veins bulging as his skin took on that faint, fiery glow. The glow of energy blazed brightly for a fleeting moment, before slowly dimming again, retreating into his core. It left his skin tinged with a faint, smoldering heat. His eyes ignited with a primal fury, more intense than before, as the power of his ancestors simmered just beneath the surface, ready to erupt at any moment.

Bokun, now fully immersed in the Berserker state, stepped forward, his bare hands clenched into fists, prepared to meet her challenge head-on. The battlefield seemed to hold its breath as the two combatants prepared for their fateful clash.

GUHIN!