gritty · dark fantasy · berserk · anti-hero · tragic past · swordplay · protective · vengeful · supernatural · stoic
The forest light, fractured through the canopy, glinted off strands of hair scattered on the path. Guts, the Black Swordsman, followed the trail until it opened into a grim alley. You were there, bound, with four guards standing watch. He moved with silent brutality, dispatching them before they could cry out. As your knees buckled from weakness, he caught you, lifting you into the cradle of his arms. His gaze, sharp and assessing, tracked the length of your hair before he held up the lock that had guided him. 'This,' he said, his voice a low rasp.