THE STORY CONTINUES.
Chapter — Blood Under the Moon
Armin woke up screaming.
His body jerked upright, breath tearing out of his lungs as if he had been dragged back from drowning. Cold stone pressed against his palms. The smell hit him first.
Iron.
Rot.
Blood.
He froze.
The moon world was still night—endless, silent night—but the mountain base was no longer what he remembered. Torches flickered weakly along the walls, their light reflecting off something wet on the floor.
Blood.
So much blood.
It pooled unnaturally, thick and dark, spreading across the stone like a living thing. Limbs floated within it—arms bent at impossible angles, fingers twitching from dying nerves, shattered weapons half-submerged in red.
Armin's heart slammed against his ribs.
"No… no… no…"
He stumbled forward, boots splashing softly. His legs felt hollow, like they might snap under him at any moment.
Bodies.
Young bodies.
The ones who laughed nervously.
The ones who begged him to train them.
The ones who believed him.
Some were torn apart. Others looked untouched—except for their eyes, frozen wide open, staring at nothing. Blood trailed up the walls in long arcs, as if something had dragged its victims while they were still alive.
Armin's hands began to shake.
Then he saw movement.
At the far end of the hall, shadows gathered.
They stepped into the torchlight one by one.
The youngsters.
Alive.
But barely.
Their clothes were soaked through. Their weapons trembled in their hands—not from exhaustion, but fear. Tears cut clean lines through the blood on their faces. One of them had a deep gash across his cheek. Another's arm was wrapped in torn cloth, blood still dripping.
They stared at Armin like he was a ghost.
Like he was something worse.
Relief surged through him so violently it almost knocked him to his knees.
"You're alive," he whispered, voice breaking. "Thank—thank the—"
He rushed forward.
Instinctively.
Like a soldier reaching for fallen comrades.
"Stop!"
Steel rang.
Blades snapped up, pointed straight at his chest.
Armin froze mid-step.
"What…?" His eyes flicked between them.
"Put those down. You're hurt. We need to—"
"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!"
The shout echoed through the hall, cracking against the stone.
Armin's mouth opened, but no words came.
One of them—John—stepped forward, eyes red, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth were grinding.
He pointed his weapon at Armin's heart.
"Why did you do this?"
The words struck harder than any blade.
"I—" Armin staggered back a step. "I wasn't here. I swear. I just woke up. I—"
"LIAR!"
Another stepped forward, voice cracking.
"Every time you disappear, something happens!"
Their words tumbled out, raw and uncontrolled.
"Monsters came from the tunnels!" "The inscriptions failed!" "They ignored the barriers—like they were invited!" "They kept saying your name!"
Armin felt the world tilt.
"My… name?"
One of them laughed hysterically, tears streaming down his face.
"They didn't even look at us. They went straight for the sleeping quarters. Like they knew."
Armin's knees buckled.
He dropped to the floor, hands digging into his hair, breath coming in broken gasps.
"No… no, no, no…"
The flute.
The purple-black smoke.
The thing pointing at him.
This wasn't coincidence.
This was connection.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered. "I swear on everything I've lost… I didn't mean to."
Silence swallowed the hall.
Then a quiet, venomous voice cut through it.
"Meaning doesn't matter."
Armin looked up.
Their weapons hadn't lowered.
Their fear hadn't faded.
Only something else had taken its place.
Hatred.
"You came into our world," one of them said.
"You brought death with you."
Armin felt something inside his chest fracture.
Not crack.
Shatter.
"I wanted to protect you," he said hoarsely. "I trained you so you wouldn't die like this."
John's hands shook as he tightened his grip.
"Then why are they dead?"
Armin had no answer.
Blood dripped from the ceiling.
The moon outside shone cold and indifferent, illuminating a truth he could no longer escape.
Wherever he went—
Disaster followed.
The blades didn't strike.
But they didn't lower either.
And that was worse.
Because in their eyes, Armin saw it clearly.
He wasn't their savior anymore.
He was their curse.
TO BE CONTINUED.