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.
