Aether stood atop a wailing human face. Its pale, hairless skin stretched tightly as its distorted features twisted in endless agony, its cries echoing across the space.
He looked around.
Egg-shaped Beherits rose from the ground in every direction, towering like uneven hills. Countless faces surfaced across their surfaces, all frozen in pain. Low, hollow wails drifted through the air, as if the dead envied the living.
Gray mist curled upward, blurring everything in sight. At the far end of the Beherit hills lay a pitch-black void. Above, the only light resembled an eclipsed sun, casting a dim and oppressive glow.
The entire place felt like a separate world, similar to a domain or a divine realm. The atmosphere was suffocating, like a fusion of hell and the abyss. It was a gathering ant for beings far removed from humanity.
Scattered across the land stood grotesque humanoid figures with grayish-white skin. These were Apostles, monsters that once walked as humans in the outside world. So had been legends, others nobles hiding behind human masks.
They had all gathered for a ritual that occurred once every 216 years, an ascension ceremony that would create a new mber of the God Hand.
Each Apostle had once been human. Driven by despair and extre emotions, they obtained Beherits. In their darkest monts, they sacrificed everything they cherished, abandoning their humanity to beco these creatures.
They fed on human flesh and souls, born from twisted desires.
Many of them even believed this fate had been predetermined.
Not far away, another group stood in stark contrast.
Hundreds of armored soldiers gathered together, their crude dieval equipnt clanking as they shifted uneasily. Their expressions were filled with fear and confusion.
"Where are we?"
"Weren't we just on the plains?"
These were the sacrifices for the ceremony, the rcenary band known as the Band of the Hawk.
At their center stood a woman with short black hair and brown skin, her voice firm despite the situation.
"Don't panic. Form a defensive square imdiately. Stay alert."
This was Casca, holding the group together through sheer will.
Beside her stood a man with a powerful build and short black hair. His presence carried the sharp edge of a warrior who had reached the peak of human capability.
Guts.
Aether's gaze passed over them briefly.
They were not his focus.
Instead, his attention settled on a frail figure nearby.
The man wore a hawk-shaped helt, his body thin and broken. Once, he had been the commander of the Band of the Hawk. Now, he was barely more than a shell.
Griffith.
The true center of this ceremony.
Once, he had been a striking figure with silver hair and an androgynous beauty. A brilliant tactician and fearless leader, he had risen from nothing to beco a noble.
But his ambition had led him to ruin.
After Guts left, Griffith lost control. He acted recklessly, beca involved with the king's daughter, and was captured. The king had him tortured until he beca the crippled figure he was now.
Guts and Casca had risked everything to save him, fighting through relentless pursuit to bring him back.
And now, those sa companions stood here as sacrifices.
Aether's hand moved to his blade, drawing it halfway. A faint killing intent flickered in his eyes.
Then he stopped.
Killing Griffith now might disrupt the ceremony. His goal here was not to interfere with fate, but to face the God Hand themselves.
If the ceremony ended prematurely, it would ruin everything.
He released the hilt.
Below, the Band of the Hawk struggled to maintain order. Fear spread quickly, but under Casca's command, they managed to form a tight defensive formation.
Aether watched her with mild interest.
She had both authority and skill, able to steady morale even in this nightmare. That kind of talent was rare.
Without interference, however, her fate was already sealed.
At that mont, the Apostles began to murmur.
"The ti is coming."
"The ti is coming."
"The festival we have awaited for 216 years is finally here."
"The eclipse has arrived."
"They are coming. The rulers of the Apostles, the God Hand."
Their voices overlapped, growing louder.
Then the ground trembled.
A massive naked female figure rose from beneath the surface, towering over everything. Apostles nearby stumbled as the land shifted.
"Lady Slan..."
Her body stretched over a hundred ters tall, her form exposed and flawless in a disturbing way. Her hair writhed like living snakes, and four pairs of black wings spread from her back, stirring violent winds.
The gusts swept across the land, tugging at Aether's clothes.
His expression sharpened.
Through the Voice of All Things, he could hear sothing deeper. A presence calling out, welcoming these beings.
At the sa ti, the world itself seed to resist, as if rejecting their existence.
"Slan," Aether murmured, "the Whore Princess of the Uterine Sea."
Before the shock could settle, sothing else appeared.
A massive, grotesque head fell from above. Just before it hit the ground, it burst apart into countless insect-like creatures, each the size of a human head. They buzzed through the air, laughing in shrill, mocking tones.
At their center ford another figure.
A swollen head above a body clad in armor resembling a beetle.
"Ubik, the manipulator of human emotion."
A sharp, piercing noise followed.
Another mber of the God Hand erged, its form resembling a deford fetus with a hardened back. The sound from its mouth grated against the ears.
"Conrad, the bringer of plague and disease."
Three had appeared.
Aether shifted his gaze toward the empty space between them.
A cold wind swept through the area.
Countless wailing souls surged together, forming a tall and eerie figure.
Void.
His appearance was unsettling. His head was elongated, his brain exposed. The lower half of his face lacked skin, revealing bone and muscle, while his eyes were sewn shut.
"The Archangel," Aether said quietly, "the oldest of them."
He observed them carefully with Observation Haki, confirming their presence was real, not illusions or projections.
The God Hand were not fixed beings. Their positions could change over ti.
The entity they served was sothing greater, a god born from humanity's collective darkness.
Void stepped forward.
"Apostles, enjoy this sacred festival."
His voice echoed across the space.
"Prince chosen by causality, the Hawk. At this mont, you have been selected by our god. You will ascend and join us."
His words spread like a curse.
The Band of the Hawk turned pale.
Their leader, the one they had fought so hard to save, stood at the center of this nightmare.
"That's impossible," soone shouted.
"Griffith isn't like them."
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