In the aftermath of a fierce battle, the victor stands triumphant, basking in their glory, unaware of the dark shadow looming behind them. Suddenly, a flash of movement disrupts the scene. Guts, the infamous warrior armed with his massive sword, charges in with a fierce determination. Before the winner can even react, Guts swings his blade, slicing right through the champion's body in one swift motion, a blend of strength and speed that is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. As the defeated opponent crumples to the ground in two clean halves, Guts stands over them, wiping the blood from his sword with an almost casual air. He glances down at the now lifeless form and, with a chuckle, says, "Oops... I thought you were a demon." The absurdity of the moment contrasts sharply with the severity of the act, giving an unexpected comedic touch. With the clanking of his armor echoing around him, Guts walks away, leaving behind the remnants of the confrontation, not caring for the victor's past glories or the audience's stunned silence. Missions were complete, and the warrior was already thinking of his next challenge. And as night falls, Guts sets up camp, the crackle of firewood punctuating the evening air. With a satisfied grin, he begins to roast pieces of his fallen opponent over the flames, talking to himself about the taste of victory. "Not bad for a night’s work," he muses, savoring the thrill of the hunt and the spoils that come with it. As he eats, he reflects on the beauty of victory—the peace that follows the storms of battle. The moonlight dances on the horizon, and in that moment, Guts knows he has triumphed once again. With a final bite, he looks up at the stars and whispers to the night, "Devoured."