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Night fell like a shroud over the broken land, a cold, merciless darkness that offered no comfort, only concealment for the monsters that roamed it. The moon was a sliver of bone behind a veil of clouds, offering little light to the desperate, fractured company of soldiers riding hard through the gloom. They were a ghost army, their green capes the color of moss and memory, their faces grim masks of exhaustion and hate.
The air was thick with unspoken things. The rhythmic thunder of hooves was the only sound in a world that had forgotten how to speak. Every soldier was an island, lost in their own private sea of grief, confusion, and a simmering, poisonous rage.
At the head of the formation, riding beside a stone-faced Commander Erwin, was their new, unwilling guide. Annie Leonhart rode with a stoic grace, her body a coiled spring of readiness, her eyes constantly scanning the dark horizon. She was a predator, hunting her own kind.
"He'll be heading for the coast," she said, her voice quiet but clear, cutting through the rhythmic pounding. "But he won't take a direct route. Reiner's not a fool. He knows you'll expect that." She pointed towards a dark, looming shadow on the horizon. "He'll cut through the Forest of Giant Trees. It's the best cover between here and the sea."
Erwin considered her words, his gaze analytical. "You seem certain."
"I know how he thinks," she replied, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. "He's a soldier. He'll choose the path that offers the most strategic advantage, even if it's more dangerous."
From his position a few yards back, Jean listened, his heart a cold, hard knot of pure hatred. Every word from her mouth was a fresh twist of the knife. She spoke of Reiner with a familiarity that made his stomach churn. They were comrades. They were friends. And they had slaughtered his. He looked at her, at the quiet confidence in her posture, and he felt a wave of nausea. He was following the woman who had killed Marco, trusting her to lead them to the man who had watched it happen. The absurdity of it, the sheer, agonizing injustice, was a poison in his veins.
---
In the back of a specially rigged cart, the world was a jolting, agonizing rhythm of pain. Akira's eyes fluttered open, the darkness of the canvas cover a welcome relief from the blinding light of his own power. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. There was only the pain, a deep, grinding ache that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. His Ki, the life force that had always been a raging river inside him, was now a shallow, barely-there trickle. He felt hollowed out, a fragile, empty shell.
A soft, cool hand touched his forehead, brushing away the sweat-matted strands of his light blue hair.
"Akira?"
He turned his head, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through his battered body. Mikasa was there, her face a pale, worried moon in the darkness of the cart. Her dark eyes were wide with a fierce, protective love that was a pain all its own.
"Mikasa..." he rasped, his voice a dry, broken thing. "Erin... is she...?"
"They have her," she whispered, her voice trembling with a barely contained rage. "But we're going to get her back. I promise you."
The canvas flap of the cart opened, and another figure slipped inside, the faint moonlight silhouetting her kind, gentle features. It was Petra, her face etched with a mature, professional concern.
"He's awake?" she asked softly, her warm, amber eyes landing on him. "Don't try to talk. Here, drink this."
She held a water canteen to his lips, her movements deft and practiced. He drank, the cool water a balm on his raw throat. She then began to expertly check the bandages on his hands, her touch surprisingly gentle.
"You're a fool, you know that," she chided, her voice a soft, scolding murmur that was more caring than angry. "Pushing your body that far... you're lucky to be alive."
He looked at her, at the genuine worry in her eyes, and felt a fresh pang in his chest. These people... they cared for him, even after he had betrayed their trust, even after he had protected their enemy. The weight of their kindness was a heavier burden than any physical pain could be.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered.
"Don't be sorry," Petra said, her voice softening. "Just live. That's an order from all of us." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before slipping back out of the cart, leaving him alone in the darkness with Mikasa, and the crushing weight of their collective, fragile hope.
---
The trees were giants, their colossal trunks blotting out the stars, their high branches weaving a dense, dark canopy that turned the world into a claustrophobic, lightless tunnel. The air grew still and heavy, the rhythmic sound of their horses' hooves muffled by the thick carpet of ancient leaves on the forest floor.
They had been riding for hours, guided by Annie's unerring sense of direction. The silence was absolute, a deep, listening quiet that made the hairs on the back of every soldier's neck stand up.
Suddenly, Annie pulled her horse to a sharp halt, her hand raised in a silent command. The entire column froze, the sudden lack of motion a jarring, terrifying thing.
"What is it, Leonhart?" Levi's voice was a low, suspicious hiss from the darkness.
"It's too quiet," she whispered, her eyes scanning the impenetrable shadows between the colossal trees. "There are no animals. No insects. Nothing." Her head snapped to the side, her warrior's senses screaming a warning. "He's here. He knows we're coming." She looked at Erwin, her face pale in the gloom. "It's a trap."
---
The world exploded.
It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling. A sudden, violent shift in the very fabric of the forest. From the deep, absolute darkness between the giant trees, figures began to emerge. They were silent, their movements unnaturally fast, their dead, smiling eyes gleaming with a faint, malevolent light in the gloom.
"TITANS! AMBUSH!"
The cry went up, but it was too late. The trap was sprung.
The formation shattered into a dozen small, desperate battles for survival. The darkness was their greatest enemy, the colossal trees a chaotic, three-dimensional maze that made coordinated attacks impossible. Soldiers screamed as they were plucked from the air, their ODM gear useless against an enemy that could emerge from any shadow.
It was a slaughterhouse.
But amidst the chaos, a new, strange kind of order was born. The fractured team was forced to fight as one, their survival now dependent on the very people they despised.
Jean, his grief now a cold, hard diamond of rage, fought with a desperate, brutal efficiency, his blades a blur as he protected Connie and Sasha.
And in the heart of the battle, an impossible alliance was forged. Mikasa, a whirlwind of spinning steel and righteous fury, found herself fighting back-to-back with the one person she wanted to kill more than any Titan.
Annie was a different kind of fighter. She was not a storm. She was a scalpel. Her movements were economical, precise, and utterly lethal. She flowed through the battle like a deadly phantom, her kicks and chops, enhanced by her own Ki, shattering Titan napes with a brutal efficiency that was both terrifying and breathtaking to watch.
They didn't speak. They didn't have to. They moved in a perfect, unspoken truce, two sides of the same warrior coin, their shared, desperate goal of survival overriding the ocean of hatred that lay between them.
---
The trap was not just the Titans. It was the terrain. It was the darkness. It was the chaos.
Christa, her heart pounding with a terror that threatened to consume her, spurred her horse through the dark, twisting paths between the trees. A five-meter abnormal, its movements jerky and unpredictable, burst from the shadows, its grasping hand swiping her from her saddle.
She hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. She scrambled backward, her sword held in a trembling, useless guard, as the Titan loomed over her, its smiling, dead-eyed face filling her vision.
This was it. She was going to die.
"CHRISTA!"
The scream was not a word. It was a raw, primal, and soul-tearing sound of pure, undiluted terror. It ripped from Ymir's throat, a sound that cut through the roar of the battle and the screams of the dying.
She was too far. She couldn't make it. No one could.
With a final, desperate roar that was a promise of vengeance, Ymir leaped from a high branch, not towards the Titan, but into the empty air. She raised her hand to her mouth, a blade flashing in the faint moonlight.
BOOM!
A flash of brilliant, golden light erupted in mid-air. It was not the colossal, world-shaking explosion of the Armored or Colossal. It was a small, contained, and shockingly fast detonation.
From the light, a new monster emerged. It was small, no more than five meters tall, but it was a creature of pure, terrifying agility. It was lean and wiry, with long, powerful arms, a wild mane of dark hair, and a face that was all jagged, needle-like teeth and a massive, unhingeable jaw.
The Jaw Titan.
It hit the abnormal that was looming over Christa like a cannonball, its movements a blur of chaotic, animalistic fury. It scrambled onto the larger Titan's back, its razor-sharp claws digging deep into its flesh, and with a sickening, wet crunch, it sank its incredible jaw into the Titan's nape, tearing out a massive chunk of flesh and bone in a single, brutal bite.
The abnormal collapsed, its steaming corpse crashing to the ground just inches from a stunned, terrified Christa.
The chapter ends there. On the horrified, disbelieving faces of Jean, Connie, Sasha, and the others as they stare at the new monster. The small, panting, and terrifyingly familiar creature that had just saved their friend. Another one. Another one of their comrades, another one of their friends, had become a monster right before their very eyes.
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•To Be Continue•
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