Berserk

In the year 842, the world of Berserk collapsed. The Church spread terror with the bonfires of the Inquisition, while monsters born from humanity's worst nightmares broke through spiritual barriers, devouring entire villages. The balance of the earth had vanished, suffocated by fear.
In this scene of ruin, Guts' band advanced through a dark forest. Suddenly, the bushes parted before a clearing. There stood an imposing silhouette, in dark armor and with platinum hair, calmly eating a red apple.
"Guts, retreat!" whispered Schierke, trembling. "The current of destiny bends around her. She carries the blood of Balance, but her soul is purely wild!"
Guts took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of the Dragonslayer.
"Your smell isn't human... and you certainly don't belong in this hell. Who are you?"
Isidro peered from behind him, his jaw dropping at the massive sword embedded in the ground beside her.
"Wow! Look at the size of that blade! Hey, girl, is your pride too big to use a normal weapon?"
Serpico pulled Farnese back, his hand on his rapier.
"Careful, boy. She walks as if the sky should apologize for being above her."