The suite surged toward its final, thunderous . Guts stood alone in a circle of severed limbs and dissolving shadows. His breathing was heavy, the smoke rising from his skin in the cold air. The music faded into a single, lonely vocal cry , leaving him in the echoing silence of the wasteland.

The music peaked into a frantic, driving , mirroring the sudden explosion of violence. With a roar that drowned out the demons, Guts swung the blade. It didn't cut; it pulverized . Black blood sprayed against the snow like ink on parchment. Each beat of the percussion felt like the heavy footfalls of a god walking the earth, marking the rhythm of his struggle .

He wiped the gore from his face, shouldered the iron slab once more, and walked into the dark. The song was over, but the journey never ended.