This is kind of an obvious observation, but I do appreciate the cruel irony of Braggadocio’s trauma ruining the one thing he loved above all others. It makes his anguish hit home a lot harder, and keeps his story from feeling too much like a retread of Byron’s.

“The berserk…it could take on the livin’ n’dead alike…and often times the berserker demons converted one of those states int’th’other, as they made their entry.”

And in the last frame, we deliver the real gut punch. It’s not just the horrible past Braggadocio is mourning, it’s also the (seemingly complete) loss of his own future.