The sky boiled red.
The air tasted like rust and fever dreams.
Griffith kneeled in the heart of the Eclipse, the torn bodies of apostles writhing in silent anticipation, the God Hand looming like vultures around a dying star.
Void's voice slithered through the air like an invisible knife.
"Griffith… your suffering has been the forge. Your despair, the hammer. Every step you have taken—every loss, every wound—has brought you here. The life you knew was but the scaffolding for the true shape of your destiny."
Conrad's low, wet chuckle followed. "And now… with one word, you may rise beyond the grasp of the mortal coil. Shed the weight of flesh. Cast aside these fragile creatures who chain you to the soil."
Ubik's grin stretched impossibly wide. "They are the stone around the falcon's neck. But with a single breath, you may take wing into eternity… and rule."
Slan's voice dripped with indulgent hunger. "Sacrifice them, my beautiful boy. Let their screams be the hymn to your ascension. They will serve you in death, as they have in life."
Finally, Void's gaze deepened like a black hole swallowing thought.
"That is the sentence of God.
But if that dream still lives—
If that castle still gleams just as brightly in your eyes—
Then it is your obligation to lay the stones that surround you now.
Let us begin the chant of offering.
Stray from the path, and you will not be granted the black wings that will carry you to the heavens.
Fate has set you free from human reason, and by providence, embrace your inner evil.
Now stand, and face your future."
Behind him, the Band of the Hawk—his soldiers, his friends—bled and clung to life, watching the monsters circle.
Griffith's fingers tightened on the Behelit. It pulsed with expectation, a heart that wasn't his own. His gaze swept over the Hawks—Caska's eyes still burning with stubborn fire, Judeau's wounded but steady stance, Pippin holding the line though his shirt was drenched in blood.
He knew the cost.
And he knew he would not pay it.
Slowly, his hand opened. The Behelit slipped from his grasp, tumbling before striking the ground with a dull, almost pathetic clink. The living eyes upon its surface closed in unison, its mouth curling into a twisted, final frown before turning to stone.
The God Hand stared. The apostles froze.
"I… Refuse…"
Then Griffith's heart stopped.
it was absolute. One moment there was life, the next there was silence.
Only Guts saw it. Their eyes locked for a heartbeat that wasn't there, and Guts knew—this was no accident. This was Griffith's choice.
"GRIFFITTHHH!" Guts roared in disbelief
The God Hand noticed too, their attention sharpening with something colder than anger—silent recognition of a player stepping off the board on his own terms.
Griffith's body unraveled in threads of light and memory, his form scattering to the winds of some unseen current. There was no ground. No sky. Only motion—fast, endless, and cold.
The others… they saw only the decision.
"…He spared us…" Judeau's voice cracked. "He spared us."
Caska's breath shuddered out of her as she sagged to one knee, tears mixing with the blood and dirt on her cheeks. "Griffith… you could've…" She couldn't finish.
Guts said nothing. His jaw clenched until his teeth ached, the truth burning a hole inside him. They didn't see the way Griffith's body had gone slack before the light took him. They didn't feel the absence that now weighed like stone in his chest.
The God Hand said nothing more. Then the world began to fold.
The apostles screamed—not in rage, but in confusion—before being peeled away like shadows under a merciless sun.
As the nightmarish world of the Eclipse folded in on itself, the twisted veil of that hellish realm dissolved like mist beneath the dawn's first light. The Band of the Hawk—battered, bloodied, but unbroken—were promptly cast back onto the familiar earth, landing at the agreed rendezvous point where Rickert and a handful of loyal comrades waited anxiously. Among them stood the ominous figure of the Skull Knight, his armor gleaming coldly in the pale morning light. Their bodies collapsed onto the cold ground, lungs filling with crisp air as the grotesque cries of apostles faded into silence. Relief surged through the group, but the heavy weight of loss lingered.
The Skull Knight's hollow gaze swept over the weary survivors. His voice, gravelly and resolute, broke the silence. "Griffith made his choice. He refused to sacrifice the Band of the Hawk. Instead, he gave his own life so that you might live."
Guts pushed himself up, eyes burning with fierce, unyielding fire as he stepped toward the Skull Knight. "Tell me… what happened to Griffith?" His voice was low but sharp, cutting through the quiet.
The Skull Knight's gaze met Guts's. He spoke slowly, "He abandoned all earthly tethers, he exists now only in spirit."
Guts's breath hitched. His fists clenched until his knuckles went white. "He abandoned his dream… for us." His voice cracked with a bitter ache. "Griffith gave up everything—the future he wanted, just so we could live. He carried that burden alone." A shudder ran through him as the weight of the sacrifice sank deep. "And he left us behind."
A heavy silence fell, broken by Judeau's shaky breath. "He saved us…" he murmured, disbelief and gratitude trembling in his voice.
Caska collapsed to her knees, tears falling freely. "Griffith… he saved us."
Pippin exhaled a breathless chuckle, exhaustion and wonder mingling in his eyes. Rickert rushed forward, gripping their hands with wide, hopeful eyes.
Guts remained still, jaw clenched tight. United once more the Band of the Hawk lifted their voices in unsteady celebration—a fragile hope rekindled amid shadows of sacrifice.
The wave of renewed hope surged through the Band of the Hawk as one voice rose, with a fierce cheer. "That's our leader!" The others quickly joined, their tired bodies trembling with emotion as they began to chant in unison, "Griffith! Griffith! Griffith!" The name echoed across the quiet morning air, a desperate, unwavering tribute to the man who had sacrificed everything for them. Their voices, raw and unsteady, bound them together—alive, united, and still carrying the flame of his dream.
The echoes of their chant still lingered in the air when Judeau stepped forward, his voice steady despite exhaustion. "Caska… you're the new leader of the Band of the Hawk. Griffith trusted you—and so do we." The group nodded in agreement.
A calm murmur spread through the Hawks. "Caska's been one of us from the start. She understands the dream we're fighting for." The mood was gentle, filled with quiet conviction, a collective breath of relief settling over them.
As the murmurs softened, the crowd's attention shifted just a few steps to her side, where Guts stood silently. The atmosphere grew heavier, more somber. Rickert stepped forward, his voice earnest and vulnerable. "Guts… we need you. Without you, the Band won't be the same. Please, stay with us."
All eyes turned to Guts, watching as he struggled beneath the weight of grief and responsibility. Slowly, he met their gaze and nodded. "I'll stay," he said quietly. "For Griffith. For all of you."
Guts and Caska's eyes met across the quiet clearing. In that brief, silent exchange was a shared understanding—of loss, of responsibility, and of the fragile hope they now carried together. No words were needed; their gaze spoke volumes, binding them in a pact to face whatever came next side by side.
The Skull Knight stepped back into the shadows, "This is where I leave you. Your path from here is your own to forge. Remember the price paid and walk it with courage. Farewell, warriors. May your blades stay sharp and your spirits unbroken." With that, he turned away, the sound of his steed's hooves fading into the distance as the dawn fully broke.
As for Griffith
He was no longer flesh.
He was a comet, a shard of will wrapped in searing light, cutting through an infinite black ocean.