This is the 4th painting in my Berserker Predator series. 70x100 cm.
Story
In this scene, the Berserker is not in the middle of a hunt.
His armor, weapons, and mask are still with him, but his posture tells a different story.
The object he is holding is something he carries in his pouch and rarely takes out.
It is not a weapon, nor a display of technology.
It is a personal item — something he values, something tied to memory rather than conquest.
He came to this place not to hunt, but to be still.
Away from hierarchy, noise, and the constant need to prove strength.
Though this planet is alien, it offers him a rare sense of calm.
There is no rage in his expression.
But there is no softness either.
What we see is balance — the state of a being who has survived long enough to no longer be ruled by instinct alone.
The light comes from the environment itself: biological structures and crystalline forms.
It is not harsh.
It does not reflect loudly off metal or skin — it is absorbed, softened.
That is why the scene feels dark, yet not oppressive.
Technically, the composition supports the narrative.
The dark, matte background is not used to dramatize power, but to isolate the figure.
Light exists only to describe form, not to decorate it.
From a distance, the background reads as a single mass; up close, it reveals a living ecosystem.
In this moment, the Berserker does not appear powerful because he is hunting —
he appears powerful because he is in his own space.
S1 before the games, mention of gambling addiction, mention of age gap, some very light swearing, break up, violence mentionned, toxic relationship (quite depressing, really).
English is not my first language so sorry if there is spelling mistakes. I would love feedback on this!
A PART 2 RELATED TO THE GAMES IS COMING UP IN A WEEK.
It was yet another night Gi-hun came home to you, totally beaten up. Loan sharks had found him and made him pay for his unpaid debts. Gi-hun had promised multiple times to stop, to just try and quit gambling, but in reality, he couldn’t—it was an addiction.
Despite everything, you remained by his side, trying to help him as you could, even by lending him the little money you had to keep him out of trouble.
You even moved in with him five months earlier, and your presence had significantly improved his lifestyle. He was really trying to be better, for the sake of your relationship and himself. But it still wasn’t enough, and tonight was the last straw for you.
It was already 11 P.M as you waited for Gi-Hun to come home. He was supposed to be with you by now. You were worrying, as always, fearing that you would have to witness your lover being destroyed physically and mentally by his addiction yet again. As you sent him another text asking where he was, you heard the sound of keys in the lock, and the door opened.
You looked up, your eyes widening as you saw Gi-hun. His head was lowered, his bag dangling in his hand. You could sense his guilt in the way he carried himself and you knew, you just knew it was going to be a terrible evening.
"Look at me,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice calm, but firm. He lifted his eyes slowly, meeting your gaze. They were red, his nose bleeding, his left eye swollen and bruised, and there was a nasty bump on his forehead.
You got up, your breath catching in your throat, and ran toward him. The smell of stale sweat and alcohol filled the air as you closed the door behind you. You guided him to the kitchen chair, his body heavy and uncooperative. He didn’t say a word, visibly shaken, only staring at you with deep regret. You helped him remove his jacket and cap, “Stay here.” you said gently.
You didn’t even bother to yell at him this time—what good would it do? This had happened too many times. Instead, you went to the bathroom, searching for the first aid kit in the mess of bottles and supplies. As you rummaged through the cabinet, you heard him let out a muffled sob from the kitchen. You paused for a moment, sighed and stared at your own reflection in the mirror, wondering if happiness was even possible in this relationship anymore.
Finally, you came back to him with the kit. You knelt in front of him, placing your hands on his knees to reassure him.
“I’m sorry… I’m so fucking sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered.
You didn’t respond and got up to pick a cotton pad, soaking it with disinfectant. You began to clean his wounds carefully. He didn’t say another word, knowing how disappointed you were in him.
You continued silently, now applying healing cream to the bump on his forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” you asked, concerned.
He shook his head no, but you noticed some bruises on his arms. “Go take a shower,” you said, pressing a hand to his back to guide him to the bathroom. “Then we’ll talk.”
He nodded, not arguing. He knew he had no right to. As you heard the water start running, you sat down in the chair he had just left, staring at your hands.
You couldn’t believe this had happened again. You didn’t know what to say to him anymore. He kept promising and promising to change, but nothing ever changed. There were good days and bad days, but the sight of him beaten up and hopeless was too much for you to bear anymore.
Tears formed in your eyes as you thought about how much you loved this man. You had even imagined marrying him one day. He made you happy, but at the same time, you felt so sick from worrying about him constantly.
Ten minutes later, Gi-hun came back from the shower, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. He wore a worn-out white shirt and striped pajama pants as he sat at the end of the table in front of you, his expression resigned and his bruises visible.
“Go on,” he said quietly. “I know I don’t have any excuses. I deserve this.”
“No!” you said sharply. “No, you don’t! Ever.” You paused, trying to compose yourself, “Who did this to you?” but you already knew the answer.
“Loan sharks,” he admitted, defeated. “They were stalking me earlier and cornered me in an abandoned bathroom at Ssangmun-dong Park.”
You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. “Gi-hun, I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. How many times has this happened? Two? Three? Four? You keep telling me you’ll change, that you’ll stop gambling, and every time, I believe you. But look at you! I can’t bare you looking like this, you don’t listen to me!”
You had mixed feelings during this moment; you didn’t want to make him feel worse, he already knew he fucked up, but at the same time he was the real adult, a grown man fifteen years older than you, and you were the one giving him a lesson.
“And I suppose you gave them the money I lent you last week?” You were bitter, your voice trembling with anger and pain.
“Yes,” he whispered, lowering his head.
“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I keep thinking I can fix everything, that I can make it all like it was before. But I just keep disappointing you. I disappoint everyone—my mom, Seong Ga-yeong…” His voice cracked and he marked a pause.
"Please don’t leave me,” he begged, looking at you desperately.
You didn’t respond, you were just sick of all his excuses. Instead, you stood up, walked over to him, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. He clung to you desperately, hugging your thighs, burying his face in your jumper as he sobbed.
You let him cry, his tears soaking your clothes. Your own tears fell silently as you held him close. Your heart broke for him, for everything he had gone through. You hated to see him like this.
And for Gi-Hun, he knew this meant the end. By wanting to fix things he only made it worse, to the point he made the one person who loved him unconditionally leave.
He was right. You finally moved and sat on the kitchen counter. “I can’t do this anymore Gi-Hun, I just can’t. I tried to help you, to save you, because I know you feel miserable but it started to take a real toll on me!" ... "I think I realized that I couldn’t help you if you don’t even want to save yourself!” You said now looking resigned.
You words hit him hard, he knew you were right, that you both deserved better.
The silence lingered as you tried to decide whether you should break up with him on the spot, knowing that you’d never get over it and that you’d blame yourself forever for leaving him in that position, or whether you should stay and end up dying of worry and poverty.
“I think it would be better for us not to see each other for a while.” You said, your voice painfully cracking.
“I’m sorry, Gi-hun, I need to think, I need to know if you’re really a lost cause or not. I do love you, more than you can ever imagine, but love is not enough anymore. I want to be able to come home without wondering if you’re dead in a sewer because you owed money to some asshole, you know? I can’t keep living like this.”
You were now crying without shame, it was exhausting to feel so useless. And deep down, you knew it wasn’t entirely Gi-Hun's fault. He was a sweet, gentle boyfriend who always did everything for you, he made you happy, but he was also an addict, and things had gotten very bad.
He knew that if he kept going you were going to leave him, and it was now happening. “Please, please, (Y/N)... I’m so sorry. I never wanted this. I never wanted to make your life harder...” He was pleading, at least fighting for you to stay.
You smiled tenderly at him. “I know you’re sorry. I’m not mad at you Gi-Hun, I just think it’s better this way for a while.”
Gi-hun had gotten up from his chair, but as you went into your bedroom to pack some things for the night, he sank back down. With his head in his hands, he sat there, watching his life fall apart. He was now losing the love of his life because of his addiction and his inability to change. It felt like he was being brought back to five years ago, when his ex-wife had divorced him for the same reasons.
You finished packing and walked back through the kitchen. Gi-hun sat with his head in his hands, resigned too. He knew the situation wouldn’t change unless he did. You put a hand on his shoulder “I’m going to a hotel for the night. Please, take care of yourself, Gi-hun.” Your voice was soft, you were sorry that it had to end like this.
You pressed one last kiss at the back of his head, one that lingered a bit too long and you left your shared apartment. As soon as you stepped outside, you broke down, feeling sick and guilty to your stomach.
You knew this was for your sake, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Inside, Gi-hun remained seated at the table, still processing what had happened. Silent tears ran down his cheeks as he realized he had lost it all—again.
The room is quieter than usual for a meeting about good and easy news. So it is like usual, because they rarely get good and easy news.
Zatanna stands before the main holographic console, her fingers tracing faint trails of residual energy only she can see. The air around her crackles softly when she speaks, as if reality itself is remembering how to bend.
Batman stands rigid beside Superman.
Clark does not look at him. Not directly. As if he is trying to give him space even in perception.
Zatanna: Okay. I’ve got it. And… magically speaking, it’s a mess.
She flicks her wrist. The hologram shifts, showing Rann, the Thanagarian artifact, the moment of impact. A wave of invisible force spreads across Bruce’s silhouette.
Zatanna: The explosion you used to “deactivate” the object gave consistency to part of the magic surrounding it. I don’t know what it was. Some of the “dust” hit you, B, and… partially anchored you.
Barry leans forward.
Barry: That sounds bad.
Zatanna: It is bad. It means the spell didn’t form correctly.
Diana’s gaze sharpens.
Diana: And what did form?
Zatanna hesitates for a moment.
Zatanna: A conditional “Truth Binding.” Not global. Just personal and focused on something.
Barry: That doesn’t sound that bad.
Zatanna: It is, because I can’t undo it. And I don’t think anyone can. It’s stuck halfway formed—we’d have to find the exact missing half to undo it, and that… is luck. We don’t even know how much dust hit B or what percentage of the curse each particle carried.
Everyone falls silent. No matter how much they actually understand, the important part is that it cannot be undone.
Bruce clenches his jaw.
Bruce: Define “conditional.”
Zatanna exhales.
Zatanna: When you fulfill the condition, it breaks. I think. Normally that’s how it would work.
Bruce: And how do we know what the condition is?
Zatanna’s eyebrows lift.
Zatanna: Ah… it’s always the same: when you express your deepest hidden truth, your most intimate secret, the anchor releases and you regain the ability to lie.
A sepulchral silence settles over the room.
Clark finally looks at Bruce.
Clark: That is… specific and incredibly vague.
Zatanna (shrugging): Magic loves specificity and mystery.
Hal mutters something under his breath about hating magic entirely.
Bruce remains motionless.
Bruce: “Deepest hidden truth” is not measurable.
Zatanna: Oh, it absolutely is. But it usually means you first have to be honest with yourself, and the spell only forces you to be honest with others.
It is such a terrible thing—and even more terrible because it is emotionally constipated Batman—that everyone falls silent as though Zatanna has announced a deadline for Bruce’s life.
For several full minutes, all the heroes remain quiet. Screens shift colors. Things beep softly.
Finally, Victor adjusts the console.
Victor: So if he confesses it, the effect breaks.
Zatanna: Probably. Or it stabilizes. Or rebounds. But I trust it’ll end even incomplete.
Barry groans.
Barry: Bats is never going to manage that. He could move a mountain, sure, but…
Diana: Of course he will. When he is ready.
That silences Barry, though not his expression, nor the heaviness in Bruce’s chest.
Clark’s voice is quieter.
Clark: And if he doesn’t?
Zatanna looks at Bruce, not unkindly.
Zatanna: Then he stays like this. Honest. Exposed. The strain could… break the binding anyway. Probably.
Bruce finally speaks. Eyes forward, seeing no one, lost somewhere among the stars beyond the great window.
Bruce: Who do I have to tell?
Everyone falls silent.
Zatanna, speaking carefully: Who do you tell… your secret to?
Batman nods.
Zatanna: Oh… oh… —she seems to understand. The others probably do too, but Bruce refuses to look at them—. The person. The people involved. If it were, uh… a secret about yourself, verbalizing it would be enough. If it’s about someone else…
It does not matter that she never finishes the sentence.
Bruce: And then it ends.
Zatanna: Probably.
Bruce: “Probably” is unacceptable. And there are too many here.
I did an ART STUDY of Legoshi from the beastars anime and manga. I just love him, he is such a silly "little" guy and I relate to him a lot personality-wise.
