Harry Potter and the Berserker

Chapter 51

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

He had been watching them, watching them from the darkened shadows. Maybe that wasn't even the best way to properly describe it; more like he was a part of the shadows themselves. With his all black cloak that covered his entire body from head to foot, but still leaving room for him to move around like a serpent in the grass. The only thing that made him the least bit noticeable was his bone white mask with the design of a three-eyed beast with some small fangs poking out near the bottom.

He liked the mask, he really did. It was unique but replaceable. Fitting, but a reminder that he had limited visibility; a reminder of his past as one of the Bakiraka's best assassins, and a link to his present form as an apostle.

Such contradicting themes all linked to a single mask, but Rakshas only spared little thoughts to them on occasion, they gave him something to think about and his best source of company was himself. All of the other apostles sans perhaps Zodd, Irvine, and Rosine seemed to completely buy into everything the Hawk of Light spewed forth.

And so did he – to an extent.

It wasn't as if he personally had anything against the Hawk or what he was doing, he was a God Hand, after all, can't go and forget about that little minute detail, oh, no. This city, Falconia, it was a nicer place than any place the Bakiraka had camped out at as they looked to take jobs to further their infamy as the top assassins and one day regain the favor of the Emperor. But now Emperor Ganishka was dead, turned into a giant tree of all things.

Fitting, really. Rakshas always found him to be a bit wooden.

But really, Rakshas could not really think of anything negative about the Hawk's character. And that was why he would like to one day have his head.

A creature so pure in a world so shitty, it would perhaps be almost poetic, not that he cared about poetry either. It was just one of those things in life when you know exactly how something will feel even before you experience it. That was what he wanted in actuality; to have the head of the Hawk, if not by his own hand (although it was preferred) to see it happen in all its glory. He might even praise the name of the one to do it and sing their praises to the darkest corner of the abyss; he'd make it a tune to remember, and he hated songs in general on top of that.

It was a challenge to him, a being so divine that he could not possibly be killed by anything of this world or the next. What sane man wouldn't want to take up that challenge? Probably all, but that was beside the point. It was all about the thrill that went into it.

So when that bore named Locus came to him requesting him to fulfill an assassination, Rakshas was all for it. As delusional as he was believing that he was acting the part of a proper knight be defending the Hawk's image, Locus was providing the thrill he had been seeking. The boy who had slapped the Hawk of Light was nothing special at first glance, not to Rakshas anyways.

He had been following the boy since the day after the whole incident, getting a feel for how this boy moved, how he acted around others, his schedule, where he took up work, who he socialized with. The latter consisted of a now one-handed Daiba working at a stable, Serious Silat, his former clansman, a rather attractive lady who seemed to be an inn owner; and lastly, a young girl who called the boy "brother."

It was a bit sad that the girl was soon to become an orphan.

But hey, there were tons of orphans after the war; she was nothing special in that regard anyway. Maybe he could take her out too as an act of cruel mercy.

"Are you done spying on them yet?"

Rakshas' masked face seemed to propel from out of the shadows that filled the narrow, dark alley to give a warning glare of silence to his companion. "Don't talk so loud. Stealth is important, you should know that. Didn't you use to go around kidnapping children?"