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All that exist to the cramped world was a road of dirt, shattered wood, and the hulking monstrosity that stood between them and the rest of the battle. The guttural snarls of the lesser thralls trapped in the ditches were a distant chorus, a reminder of the larger nightmare, but here, the threat was singular and immense.
Reiner's armored thrall stood its ground, its violet eyes burning with mindless hate. Mikasa, having taken the ODM blades from Hannes's discarded gear, held them in a reverse grip, her body a coiled spring of lethal grace. Annie stood a few feet away, favoring her broken arm, but her stance was low and ready, a predator assessing her prey.
The thing charged. It wasn't the graceful, powerful lunge of the Armored Titan, but a jerky, brutal shunt forward, like a machine with broken gears. Yet, the power behind it was undeniable. It swung a bladed arm, the size of a tree trunk, in a wide, decapitating arc.
Mikasa didn't meet it. She flowed under the swing, the ODM blades scraping sparks off the armored plating on its wrist. She was a blur, using her speed to slash at the backs of its knees, the joints in its hips; any gap in the warped, violet-veined armor. The blades bit, drawing black, weeping ichor, but the thrall barely seemed to notice.
Annie, meanwhile, darted in from the side. A lightning-fast kick, driven by all the strength her good leg could muster, cracked against the thing's armored ribs. A fissure spiderwebbed across the plate, but it held. The thrall backhanded her, and even though she rolled with the blow, the impact sent her skidding through the dirt, gritting her teeth against the fresh wave of pain from her injuries.
"What is this thing?" Mikasa hissed, leaping back as a massive foot stomped down where she'd been standing. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of fury and horror, scanned the corrupted form. "It looks like… like the Armored Titan. Did that ghost make a copy?"
Annie pushed herself up, spitting dirt. "How am I supposed to know." she retorted, her voice cold and sharp, laced with a bitterness Mikasa couldn't yet understand. "As far as I know, it didn't make a copy. It corrupted someone to make this. That… thing… was a person. Whi knows what else that ghost monster could do?"
As monstrous as it was, it is true. This wasn't a creation; it was a desecration.
Mikasa's gaze flicked to Annie, her distrust a palpable force. "I still don't trust you. For all of this… this madness… you seem to be taking Eren's abilities rather… normally."
Annie let out a harsh, humorless laugh that was more of a scoff. "Normally? Don't mistake silence for acceptance. But right now, that 'madness' is the only thing standing between us and being turned into one of those." She gestured with her chin toward the thrall, which was shaking its head like a bull, its glowing eyes fixed on them.
"But since we're sharing observations… you realized he had this kind of power and decided it was just another day? What, does he turn into a different monster every Tuesday?"
Mikasa's grip on the blades tightened. "We should focus on the threat in front of us."
"Oh, I am," Annie pressed, her ice-blue eyes narrowing. "But a girl gets curious. You are a friend of his aside from the other kid. You had to have known. So, what's the story? Is he a demon? A science experiment? Or is he just… built different?" The question was a barb, meant to probe, to unsettle.
Before Mikasa could retort, the armored thrall let out a roar; not a Titan's challenge, but a raw, frustrated scream of pure, throttled rage. Its eyes flared violently, the violet light intensifying as if Zs'Skayr's own fury was being channeled directly into it. The distraction was over. It lowered its head and charged again, this time with renewed, single-minded fury.
The temporary truce of words shattered under the immediate need for survival.
"We'll finish this later," Mikasa stated, her voice leaving no room for argument.
"Count on it," Annie shot back, but she was already moving, a mirror of Mikasa's intent.
The thrall swung for Mikasa. This time, she didn't dodge fully. Instead, she met the blow, crossing the ODM blades in a desperate parry. The force was immense, knocking her off her feet, but it stopped the arm's momentum.
It was the opening Annie needed. She lunged, not at the armor, but at the fissure she'd created earlier on its ribs. She drove the hardened point of her good hand, fingers stiffened like a spike, deep into the crack. Black ichor spurted, and the thrall roared in genuine pain, its attention whipping toward her.
Mikasa was already back on her feet. Seeing the thrall distracted, she used her innate Ackerman prodigy instinctively (Yes instinctively, not like she knows what the Ackerman bloodline is for now) to accelerate herself, and drove both blades into the back of the thing's other knee.
The armored thrall stumbled, one leg buckling.
It was hurt. It was angry.
And it was still very, very much between them and their friends. The unresolved tension simmered, pushed down but not forgotten, fuel for the brutal dance of death that had only just begun.
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Trost district…
Once the chaotic flood of refugees had slowed to a trickle till it stopped entirely, what was only left was an unnatural silence that was more terrifying than any scream in the inner gates. The air was a foul cocktail of sweat, fear, and the sharp, oily scent of pitch. The tension could nearly be chocked on quite easily.
Hannes stood at the forefront of a ragged line of Garrison soldiers. Behind them, the massive iron-barred gate was sealed shut. Before them, the wide thoroughfare that led into the refugee sector was a tunnel of darkness, dotted with the guttering flames of their last line of defense: a staggered row of torches and barrels of pitch, ready to be lit.
"Steady," Hannes muttered, the word meant as much for himself as for the men around him. His voice was rough, stripped raw. To his left, Stefan clutched his rifle so tightly his knuckles were white. To his right, Hank had abandoned his usual scowl for a look of pale, grim determination. Every soldier there, from the greenest recruit to the most grizzled veteran, had the same wide-eyed, haunted look. They'd been told they were facing monsters. Not Titans, but something new. Something that wore human faces.
They were garrison. Gate-watchers. They weren't the Scouts. This kind of horror wasn't in their training manual, hell not even the scouts do this kind of shit. Yet, not a single one had broken ranks. The order had been given; a desperate, unofficial order passed in hushed tones from Hannes to Stefan to the few squad leaders who would listen. Hold the gate. Fire is the key.
The only sounds were the crackle of their torches, the nervous shuffle of boots on cobblestone, and the ragged rhythm of their own breathing. Minutes stretched into an eternity. Each shadow that moved in the distant ruins of the camp made a dozen rifles twitch upward.
Then, the silence broke.
It started as a low, collective sound. Not a roar, not a scream, but a wet, guttural murmuring. It was the sound of dozens of throats making noises they were never meant to make.
And then, the eyes appeared.
At the far end of the thoroughfare, where the darkness was deepest, pinpricks of light ignited. One pair. Then ten. Then thirty. A field of sickly, glowing violet stars, all fixed on the thin line of soldiers and their pathetic wall of fire.
The murmuring resolved into snarls, into clicks, into the sound of dragging, stumbling feet. The thralls emerged from the gloom, a shambling tide of corrupted humanity. Their movements were jerky and messed up. Some were missing limbs, their wounds weeping black ichor. Others had jaws hanging slack, unhinged. But their eyes… all their eyes burned with the same vacant, hungry malevolence.
"Walls protect us." Stefan breathed, his rifle trembling.
Hannes felt a cold dread seize his heart. There were so many. Far more than he'd imagined. Their fireline seemed laughably small.
"Remember the plan!" Hannes yelled, his voice cutting through the rising panic as he kept on his bravado. "Aim for the lights in their heads! Nothing else matters! Light the barrels!"
A soldier nearest the pitch barrels thrust his torch forward. With a loud WHOOSH, the volatile liquid ignited, sending a wall of flame roaring to life between the advancing horde and the gate.
The thralls didn't stop. They didn't even slow. They simply walked into the fire.
The front ranks caught alight, their clothes and flesh burning, but they didn't scream in pain. They screeched in fury, stumbling forward as living torches until they collapsed. More simply walked over their smoldering bodies, their violet eyes unwavering.
They were going to march straight through the flames, and straight into their brethren's carcasses.
Hannes raised his rifle; the bayonet pointed at the nightmare approaching through the fire. His mouth was dry as dust.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" he roared.
With that the sounds of gunshots erupted in the air.
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The world was a cacophony of roaring fire and hissing, malevolent energy. Armin ran, his lungs burning, his legs screaming in protest. The "Light Lance" felt pathetically flimsy in his hands, a jumble of scrap and hope. He had to reach Eren. He had to—
CRASH!
A silvery, metallic form slammed into the ground a few feet in front of him, impact cratering the hard-packed earth. Armin skidded to a halt, heart in his throat. It was Eren…or what was left of him. His body was a distorted, liquid metal puddle, like a dropped quicksilver sculpture.
"Eren!" Armin cried out, rushing forward.
The puddle quivered, then began to flow. Limbs re-formed, a head shaped itself, and in moments, Overhaul was standing again, his green optic sensors blinking rapidly as he reoriented himself. He looked down at his own hands, then at Armin.
"Armin! Do you have it?" Eren's voice was a digitized buzz, urgent and strained.
Armin held up the jury-rigged (See what I did there, Juryrig?...Never mind) Light Lance, its pulsing core looking dangerously unstable. "I… I think so! It's—"
A wave of soul-crushing cold washed over them.
"Touching."
Zs'Skayr emerged from the shimmering heat haze near the fireline, his solid form striding toward them with terrifying purpose. His upright skull was a mask of cold fury. He ignored Eren completely, his single, burning purple eye locked on Armin and the device in his hands.
"The senile fool's legacy, wielded by the grandson," he rasped. "A fittingly pathetic end to his bloodline."
He moved with blinding speed, a clawed hand shooting directly for Armin's heart.
"NO!" Eren roared.
Eren's body didn't attack; it expanded. He became a wave of living warped metal, shooting forward and enveloping Zs'Skayr in a silvery cocoon. For a moment, the Ectonurite was completely trapped, a statue of writhing liquid metal.
"RUN, ARMIN!" Eren's voice was muffled, coming from the liquid metal itself.
But Zs'Skayr's strength, even solidified, was immense. With a sound of tearing metal and a guttural roar, his claws ripped through the galvanic mechamorph form from the inside, shredding the cocoon. Eren recoiled with a digitized cry of discomfort and pain (I have no idea if Upgrade feels pain, but…who knows?) his form splattered back, struggling to coalesce.
Zs'Skayr didn't even glance at him. His focus was absolute. He was in front of Armin in an instant. A backhanded swipe, fueled by telekinetic force, sent the Light Lance flying from Armin's grasp. It clattered to the ground, and Zs'Skayr's foot came down on it with a sickening crunch of glass and metal.
The fragile core flickered and died.
"NO!" Armin screamed, despair washing over him. It was over. Their last hope was shattered. Again.
Zs'Skayr's claw closed around Armin's throat, lifting him off the ground. Armin gagged, clawing at the iron grip, his vision spotting. The ectonurite paused in his advancement as something caught his eye.
"The sun…" Zs'Skayr muttered, his eye flicking to the horizon where the first faint hints of grey and orange were lightening the sky. "Dawn approaches. An inconvenience. I require a vessel. And you…" His grip tightened around Armin's neck. "You should consider yourself lucky. Your frail, insignificant body will be the chrysalis for a god."
Armin felt a coldness far deeper than the hand on his throat begin to seep into him. Zs'Skayr's form began to blur, to become intangible, ready to pour into him.
No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!! Get it out, get it out, GET IT OUT!!!
A searing green beam of plasma lanced through the air, striking Zs'Skayr square in the shoulder. It was a direct hit from one of the optic sensors on Eren's reformed chest. The Ectonurite snarled in pain and surprise, his grip loosening just enough for Armin to drop to the ground, gasping.
Eren, now fully reformed, didn't charge. He lunged, grabbed Armin by the arm, and yanked him back, putting distance between them and the furious ghost.
"It's broken!" Armin choked out, tears of frustration and terror in his eyes as he pointed to the shattered device. "It's over, Eren!"
Eren's digital eye looked from the broken pieces to Zs'Skayr, who was now rising, his form trembling with an energy that was making the very air hum. The ectonurite was looking at the rising sun with pure panic. The grey light of dawn was not just a warning; it was an executioner's axe hovering over his neck.
"NO!" The denial was a psychic shriek that echoed in the minds of every being connected to him. He couldn't stay out here much longer, nor could he let go of his prized possession. What to do, what to do!-
Zs'Skayr's twisted mind came up with a brilliant idea, fitting to his own image; he just requires a bit of…assistance.
"No, it's not Armin." Eren said, his voice suddenly calm with realization, unknowing of the situation at hand. "It just needs…an upgrade."
Eren's body dissolved again. This time, he flowed across the ground not as a wave, but as a stream of liquid metal, directly into the shattered components of the Light Lance. The silvery substance enveloped the broken glass, the twisted metal, the dead power cell. There was a sound of shifting, clicking, and reforming. In seconds, the pathetic scrap heap was gone. In its place was a sleek, high-tech cannon, glowing with vibrant green circuits. The core at its center now blazed with the intensity of a miniature star.
"Whoa," Armin breathed, scrambling to his feet as the weapon settled into his hands. It was light, perfectly balanced, humming with immense power.
But their moment of hope was shattered by a sound of utter revulsion…and it was coming from Zs'Skayr. The ecto-lord's body began to convulse. It was not a voluntary action but a violent, horrific spasm. His skeletal frame scrunched in on itself, bones audibly groaning. The black stripes across his body writhed like electrocuted worms. But the true horror was the sound; a wet, tearing, sucking noise that seemed to pull at the very fabric of the air around him.
Zs'Sakyr was not just drawing on power; he was violently reclaiming the very essence he had used to create and sustain his thralls. He was consuming his own children to save himself.
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Trost District…
The battle at the gate was a meat grinder. The thralls, mindless and relentless, had pushed through the fire. A Garrison soldier screamed as a thrall that had been a woman wrapped its arms around him, its jaw unhinging. A wisp of black smoke poured into his mouth.
He convulsed, his eyes flashing violet. He turned on his comrades, a snarl on his lips.
That was when something unexpected happened.
All across the battlefield, every single thrall; the ones burning, the ones fighting, the one that had just possessed the unfortunate Garrison; staggered as one. A collective, agonized shudder ran through them. Their violet eyes flickered like faulty candles.
The newly possessed Garrison dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat. The black smoke was violently ripped out of him, screaming back into the late night as if pulled by an invisible cord. All around, thralls collapsed, the malevolent light in their eyes snuffing out, leaving behind dazed, human pupils clouded with pain and terror.
But the horror wasn't over. They were still trapped. The thrall woman looked down at her hand; her skin was still sickly gray, black veins pulsing beneath the surface. Her jaw ached, feeling loose and wrong. A chorus of confused, terrified sobs and screams rose from the dozens of former thralls. They were themselves again, but imprisoned in monstrous, twisted bodies.
"Monsters! They're still monsters!" a Garrison soldier yelled, raising his rifle.
"W-Wait please-!" One of the reformed thralls called out as rifles were pointed at them.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Hannes bellowed, his voice cutting through the panic. He stared, his own rifle lowering.
"Hannes, what the hell?!" Hank called out in confusion.
Hannes didn't reply yet, all he saw was the terror in their eyes. Even with the grotesque appearance, they looked profoundly…human.
Their eyes…it wasn't purple anymore.
"It's gone! The light is gone!"
The garrisons; while begrudgingly; held the line. A tense, bewildered standoff with dozens of horrified, mutated people.
However unknowst to most of the other garrisons, one begged to differ, their hand quivering ever so slightly to the trigger.
Near Irrigation ditch…
Mikasa's ODM blade was poised for a killing thrust at the armored thrall's neck. Annie was ready to shatter its other knee. The monster, in turn, had its bladed arm raised to crush them both.
In that frozen moment, the armored thrall froze.
Its entire body seized up. A guttural, pained gasp, shockingly human, escaped its distorted maw. The violent violet light in its eyes vanished, snuffed out like a candle. The massive form swayed, the unnatural strength deserting it. The armor plates seemed to lose their sinister gleam, becoming just… warped, diseased flesh.
The eyes that blinked open were hazy, confused, and filled with a soul-deep exhaustion. They were Reiner's golden eyes.
His gaze, clouded with pain, drifted past Mikasa and landed on Annie. There was a moment of impossible recognition in their depths. His lips, torn and misshapen, moved.
"…Annie…?" The word was a ragged, broken whisper.
Then, the last of his strength gave out. His eyes rolled back, and the massive thrall form crumbled to the ground with a ground-shaking thud, unconscious.
Annie stood frozen, her own injuries forgotten. The sound of her name, spoken from that mouth, hit her like a physical blow. She took a hesitant, stumbling step forward, her cold mask shattered into a look of sheer, uncomprehending shock.
Other side of Refugee camp…
Grandpa Arlet braced for impact, staring up at the colossal, corrupted form of Bertholdt's thrall. The massive hand descended making the old man raise his clutch up as a form of defense.
Then, the thrall shuddered violently. It let out a low moan, a sound of profound agony, and stumbled backward. The violet light in its eyes died. The ectoplasmic enhancements receded like evaporating mist, until all that was left was the unconscious, poorly discolored and pale body of Bertholdt Hoover, crumpled on the ground, though still massive in height.
Simultaneously, a sharp crack echoed from the crystal dome. The diamond prison containing Bran shattered. The thrall-form collapsed, the violet light vanishing from its eyes. It twitched, and the corrupting influence bled away, leaving behind just Bran, bruised and terrified, but himself…or what was left of himself. He looked down at his own hands, at his twisted, grayish limbs that looked anything but normal flesh. The memory of what he had been, what he had done, flooded him.
Yeager brat knocking him out…
The feeling of helplessness like the others trapped like him…
Then that demonic ghost as it gazed down on him like a waiting meal…
The ghost…
The teen's initial trauma contorted, twisting into a white-hot, venomous rage. He looked up, his eyes blazing with hate not for the people around him, but for the source of his torment.
"Ghost freak," he spat, the words dripping with a promise of vengeance.
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Zs'Skayr's body began to swell and distort. The black stripes on his form writhed like living serpents, his tentacles lashing wildly. His bones cracked and elongated; and his claws grew into monstrous scythes. He grew taller, more monstrous, a horrifying abomination of concentrated ectoplasm and stolen Titan energy. He was still recognizably Zs'Skayr, but he was now a towering, nightmarish version of himself, his single eye a blazing purple inferno of pain and rage.
"NO MORE GAMES!" his voice boomed, now layered with the echoes of a hundred stolen souls.
The writhing tentacles on his chest coalesced, forming a pulsating, vortex of dark energy. It glowed with a malevolent purple-and-black light, sucking the warmth from the air.
Armin and Eren stared, horrified. Just what the hell were they looking at?!
"EREN!" Armin yelled.
"FIRE IT!" Eren's voice shouted from within the cannon.
Armin didn't hesitate. He aimed the upgraded Light Lance as Zs'Skayr unleashed the blast; a thick, coruscating beam of pure void that screamed toward them, promising absolute erasure.
At the same moment, Armin pulled the trigger.
A lance of concentrated sunlight, so pure and intense it was almost white, erupted from the cannon. It wasn't a beam; it was a solid shaft of dawn itself.
The two forces met in the center of the clearing with a cataclysmic CRACK-BOOM! that shook the earth. Light and darkness warred, a blinding, deafening stalemate of opposing energies. The force of the collision created a swirling maelstrom, kicking up dust and debris.
Armin gritted his teeth, his entire body shaking as he poured all his strength into holding the cannon steady, the heat from the barrel scorching his hands. Inside the weapon, he could feel Eren's will, a fierce, determined presence, fueling the blast.
It was a tug-of-war between the rising sun and the dying night. And the first rays of true dawn were finally beginning to crest over the Walls.
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The silence at the gate was more terrifying than the battle had been. The thralls—no, the people; stood frozen, a gallery of monstrous forms with human eyes wide with confusion and fear. They clutched at their greyish skin, their distorted limbs, feeling the horror of their own bodies.
The Garrison line held their rifles, a wall of trembling steel and frayed nerves. Hannes stood slightly ahead, his hands raised, his heart hammering. "Steady! Everyone, just stay steady! Look at them! They're scared, just like us!"
A young thrall, a boy who couldn't be older than fifteen, took a hesitant step forward. His voice was a dry, rasping croak. "Th-thank y—"
BANG!
The gunshot was deafening. It came from a soldier named Rolf, whose face was a mask of sheer, unadulterated panic. The bullet went wide, zipping past the boy's head and embedding itself in a wooden post.
"THEY'RE TRICKING US!" Rolf screamed, his finger white on the trigger. A chorus of shouts and the clicks of other rifles readying to fire erupted along the line.
"HOLD YOUR FIRE! DAMN YOU, HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Hannes bellowed, lunging at Rolf and shoving the barrel of his rifle toward the sky.
Rolf whirled on him, eyes wild. "Get off me, Hannes! You saw what they did! They could be pretending! I didn't sign up for this shit! I signed up to keep Titans out, not to play nursemaid to... to things!"
"They're people, you fool!" Hannes snarled, trying to wrestle the gun away.
"Are they?!" Rolf spat, his paranoia twisting into something uglier. He shoved Hannes back, leveling the rifle directly at his chest. "Or are you one of them?! Maybe that's why you're so keen to save them! Maybe you're a monster in disguise!"
The world seemed to stop. A half-dozen soldiers, those who trusted Hannes, immediately swung their rifles away from the thralls and pointed them at Rolf.
"Lower your weapon, Rolf!" Stefan yelled, his voice cracking.
Another group, just as terrified and convinced by Rolf's hysteria, kept their guns trained on the thralls. The Garrison was now split, a tense, armed standoff in the middle of the street, with the victims of the night caught in the crossfire.
Meanwhile, the thralls began to whimper and shuffle backward. It wasn't the guns they feared now. The first direct rays of the morning sun were touching their mutated skin. A deep, instinctual, cellular panic set in; a final, dying echo of Zs'Skayr's essence within them screaming at the touch of the light they were never meant to endure.
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It was all now a clash of power between both sides, the atmosphere shrunken to the screaming vortex of energy between them. On one side, a lance of pure, concentrated sunlight, so bright it bleached the color from the world. On the other, a beam of absolute void, a darkness that seemed to swallow the very sound of the conflict.
Armin's arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. The upgraded Light Lance bucked in his hands, the heat from the barrel searing his palms. He could feel Eren's presence inside the weapon; a fierce, desperate, sustaining will; pouring every ounce of power into the blast.
"YOUR EFFORT IS PATHETIC!" Zs'Skayr's voice boomed from his monstrous form, layered with the screams of the thralls he'd consumed energy from. "YOU FIGHT THE INEVITABLE WITH A SPARK! I HOLD A UNIVERSE OF DARKNESS!"
With a final, horrific surge, the ectonurite poured more stolen power into his attack. The dark beam swelled, pushing back the lance of light. Inch by terrible inch, the void advanced. The white-hot energy sputtered, flickering. Armin cried out, his knees buckling under the strain. It was too much. They were losing.
No! The thought wasn't Armin's. It was Eren's, a raw, wordless scream of defiance that echoed from within the cannon. He wouldn't lose. Not after all of this.
Not after Grandpa Arlet.
Not after everyone had suffered.
Inside the weapon, Eren didn't just channel power; he became it. He poured his entire being; his rage, his guilt, his unwavering will to protect; into the core. The green circuits on the cannon blazed with an emerald fire. The shaft of sunlight didn't just stabilize; it exploded outward, burning with the intensity of a newborn star.
The look on Zs'Skayr's face shifted from triumphant malice to sheer, unadulterated terror.
The sun… he could feel it. The first true ray of morning light crested the Wall, striking his distorted form. A wisp of smoke rose from his shoulder. He was being burned from two sides.
"NO! NO! THIS CANNOT BE!" he shrieked, his voice losing its layered power, becoming a solitary, desperate wail.
The lance of light consumed the dark beam entirely. It didn't just defeat it; it erased it. The pure, focused dawn slammed into Zs'Skayr's monstrous form.
There was no scream. There was a silent, expanding wave of light. When it faded, Zs'Skayr was gone. Vaporized. Only a scorched mark on the earth remained.
The Light Lance sparked, fizzled, and fell silent. A flash of red light erupted from it as Eren was forcibly dislodged. He reverted to his human form, collapsing onto his hands and knees, gasping for air. The device itself crumbled into a pile of inert, scorched scrap.
Panting, sweat pouring down his face, Eren looked up. The sun was rising. The fire around the clearing was dying down. It was over.
It was…really over.
The brunette turned to his best friend, a weary, hopeful smile touching his lips. "Armin…" he rasped, extending his hand to a fist bump. "It's… it's over. We did it."
Armin didn't respond. He stood perfectly still, his head bowed, his blonde hair hiding his face.
"Armin?" Eren's smile faltered. "You okay?"
Slowly, Armin's hand rose. But it didn't reach for Eren in celebration. It shot out with unnatural speed, clamping around Eren's throat in a grip of iron. It wasn't the grip of a scholar; it was the grip of a predator.
Eren gagged, his eyes widening in shock and confusion.
Armin's head lifted.
His eyes were open…but they were no longer blue.
They glowed with a sick, familiar violet light. Spiderweb-like cracks of dark energy spread from the corners of his eyelids, marring his face. A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips, a expression Eren had never seen on his best friend's face.
The voice that came out was a horrifying blend of Armin's soft tones and Zs'Skayr's grating rasp.
"Yeah," the thing wearing Armin's face said, its grip tightening. "I couldn't agree all the more, Yeager."
The victory…had been a lie. The battle had been a distraction.
In his final, desperate moment, Zs'Skayr hadn't tried to win the beam struggle. He had abandoned his own body and performed one last, detestable effort.
He had hidden himself in the last place Eren would ever think to look.
Inside his best friend.
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Grandpa Arlet worked carefully, using a sharp piece of crystal to chip away at the diamond prison holding Bran. Each breath was a stab of pain from his broken ribs, but he persevered. With a final crack, the encasement shattered, and Bran stumbled out, collapsing to his knees on the dirt.
He was breathing heavily, his body still bearing the grey pallor and faint black veins of his possession. But his eyes burned with a fury that was entirely his own.
"That... ghost freak..." Bran snarled, the words dripping with venom. He punched the ground, his fist cracking the dry earth. "I'll kill him. I'll find him and I'll tear him apart!"
Grandpa Arlet paused, leaning heavily on his makeshift crutch. "You... you know what he is, kid?"
"I don't know his damn name!" Bran shouted, looking up with tears of rage in his eyes. "I know he's the one who was in my head! The one who made me... made me do things... I could feel him. His... coldness." He clutched his chest as if he could still feel the invasive presence. "But I can still feel something else. A... a pull. Like a thread."
He glared off towards the eastern edge of the camp, where the sky was brightest. "He's that way. I know it. And he's scared. I can feel that too. The sun's coming up, and he's terrified."
"Kid, wait," Grandpa Arlet said, his voice weary but firm. "You're in no condition—"
"To hell with that!" Bran yelled, staggering to his feet. He looked down at his own twisted hands, then back in the direction of the rising sun, a grimace of pain and determination on his face. "He's mine."
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In Eren's mind, the world had not been saved. It had been twisted into a more intimate, more horrific hell.
Eren scrambled backward, his throat burning where Armin's—no, Zs'Skayr's—hand had clamped down. The rising sun, which should have been a symbol of victory, now felt like a cruel spotlight on his failure.
"Armin… please…" Eren choked out, his voice raw.
The thing wearing his best friend's face smiled, a grotesque parody of Armin's gentle expressions. The violet eyes glowed with malicious delight. "Please? Please what, Eren? Fight back? Go on. Hit me."
Eren…couldn't. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. This was Armin. The boy who dreamed of the ocean, who solved problems with words, not fists. To strike him was to desecrate everything they were.
Zs'Skayr lunged. The attack was clumsy, telegraphed; Armin's body was not built for this. But Eren's hesitation was his undoing. He managed to grab the possessed Armin's wrists, wrestling him to the ground. He pinned him, his own body trembling with the effort of restraint.
"Fight it, Armin!" Eren screamed into his face.
The violet light in Armin's eyes flickered. The spiderweb cracks receded. The struggle in his limbs ceased, replaced by a confused weakness. Armin's own, terrified blue eyes looked up at Eren. It looked like a miracle had happened.
"E-Eren?" he whispered, his voice small and lost. "What's… what's happening? Why are you…?"
The hope that surged in Eren's chest was a blinding, painful thing. "Armin! You're in there! You have to fight him!"
He loosened his grip, just for a fraction of a second.
…It was all Zs'Skayr needed.
The violet light slammed back into Armin's eyes with violent force. A cruel laugh erupted from Armin's mouth as his hand, now fueled by alien strength, broke free and delivered a backhanded blow that sent Eren spinning into the dirt, his lip splitting open.
"So predictable!" Zs'Skayr crowed, standing over him. "So weak! Your sentimentality is a leash, and I hold the chain!"
The cycle repeated. A taunt, a brief, heartbreaking glimpse of Armin's consciousness offered like a cruel joke, followed by a vicious attack. Eren was being emotionally flayed alive. The sun climbed higher, its rays beginning to shine on the two individuals, but thanks to Zs'Skayr's absolute grip on Armin, he doesn't get hurt by it.
Finally, he had Eren pinned on his back, Armin's hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing the life from him. Spots danced in Eren's vision.
"Does this feel familiar, Yeager?" Zs'Skayr purred, leaning close, Armin's face inches from his. "The choking. The helplessness. Remember when you did this to the girl? Oh, the guilt on your face was delicious. Now you know how it feels."
The memory of Mikasa's wide, hurt eyes flashed in Eren's mind. The guilt, combined with the lack of air, created a surge of pure, desperate adrenaline. With his last ounce of strength, he bucked his knees up, driving them together into Armin's stomach.
The possessed boy gasped, the grip loosening just enough for Eren to wrench free, rolling away and coughing violently.
"You… parasitic cockroach!" Eren spat, blood trickling from his mouth. "You can't just die for once!"
Zs'Skayr straightened up, smoothing down Armin's shirt with a mocking gesture. "Cockroach? Look at the universe you infest, boy! Your very species is a host to a far more insidious parasite! You are all walking, talking cages for the Xerxathi! Do not lecture me on parasitism!"
Eren's glare never wavered, but his childish mind clung to that sentence in confusion. Xer-xati? This wasn't the first time he had heard that word. It was like 6 months back prior when the omnitrix had-
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
The sound interrupting Eren's flow of thoughts was a lifeline. Green light replaced red. The Omnitrix symbol glowed brightly on Eren's wrist.
Without a second's hesitation, Eren slammed the dial.
A flash of light, and Inferno (Of course the omnitrix gives him what he wants now…classic) stood in Eren's place. His rocky skin was dark in color, more like volcanic rock than bright magma, with two short, jagged horns curled from each side of his forehead. Flames wreathed his body, and his eyes were pools of white-hot fury.
"Give him back!" Inferno's voice was the roar of a forge. "Get out of my best friend's head, you bastard!"
Zs'Skayr actually chuckled, spreading Armin's arms wide in a mocking invitation.
"Or what? You'll burn us both? You have no advantage here, child. The sun may kill me if I come out, but I won't be the only one going down too you know."
Unease etched to the pyronite's features. "…What are you talking about?"
"You haven't realized by now have you child? Those things you call monsters. Every single one of them. Their bodies are unstable, riddled with my essence…My children. Without me to sustain them, the sunlight will reduce them to ash. From the incompetent officers to the frail children… all of them, dead. The only way to save them… is for me to live. And to do that, I need a new vessel. Your body. Stand down, and I will cure these… imperfections." (N.B: I give him props, he's a good gas lighter)
The horror that washed over Eren was colder than any ice. He wasn't just fighting for Armin anymore. He was being asked to sacrifice himself for the lives of his enemies, for the boy who tormented Armin, for the Warriors who destroyed his home. The weight was crushing.
"NO!" The denial was a torrent of fire. A blast of plasma shot from his hand, going wide in his rage, and slammed into the distant barn. The dry wood ignited instantly, a new pyre against the dawn sky. "GET OUT OF HIM!"
"So stubborn," Zs'Skayr sighed, as if dealing with a temperamental child (He's not lying to be honest). "Perhaps you need some enlightenment then."
Then, he demonstrated his ultimate cruelty. Armin's hand began to change. The skin writhed, turning grey, the fingers elongating into claws, the veins bulging black…only for it to revert instantly to Armin's boyish skin, then morphed again. It flickered between Armin's hand and a thrall's claw, in and out, a terrifying glimpse of a permanent, monstrous fate.
"What will it be, Eren?" The voice was Armin's, but the cadence was a serpent's hiss, the words slithering from lips twisted into Zs'Skayr's cruel smirk. "A quick, noble trade? Your body for his? Or shall I make your dear friend a permanent part of my collection?" Armin's hand rose, and the flesh writhed, flickering grey, the fingers threatening to elongate into permanent claws.
"He'll make a fascinating thrall. All that brilliant strategy, warped into mindless hunger. Your hesitation is simply making the transformation more… painful. Besides, if you did do otherwise…his screams would echo like the others that would be joining me."
Eren stood frozen, the fiery form of Inferno flickering like a guttering candle. Every instinct screamed to attack, but the target was Armin's heart. He saw the fear in his mother's eyes, felt the ghost of Mikasa's bruised wrist, witnessed Grandpa Arlet's sacrifice all over again. To save them, he would have to destroy the person who made that salvation mean anything.
"Face it, little vessel," Zs'Skayr sneered, the patience vanishing from his voice, replaced by impetuous rage. "Your defiance is a child's tantrum. All your running, your paltry plans… they have all led you here. To my absolute victory. You. Have. Lost."
The declaration was a physical blow. But it was the sight of Armin's hand fully morphing into a grotesque, grey claw that shattered Eren's paralysis. The cost of inaction became more terrifying than the cost of action. His glowing eyes dropped from Armin's tormented face to the ground. There, amidst the scorched earth, lay the shattered remains of their extinguished hope; the Light Lance…or what remained of it.
And within the wreckage, the Omnitrix-powered core still pulsed, a tiny, captive sun fighting to stay alive. Inferno could only remember what Armin's grandpa had said a few hours prior.
"This beauty's from my Wrecker days. Channels pure sunlight, even in the dark. Zs'Skayr hates it, burns right through his kinds."
Burns…right through…
An idea, horrific and brilliant, bloomed in his mind. It was a violation. A betrayal. It made him sick with guilt.
"I'm sorry, Armin," he whispered, a confession meant for his friend's soul, wherever it was trapped. "I'm so, so sorry."
Then, he moved. Inferno took a deliberate step forward.
Zs'Skayr recoiled, Armin's body stumbling back. The arrogance flickered, replaced by shock. "What is this? Stop! You wouldn't dare harm him! His blood will be on your hands!"
Eren didn't answer. He knelt, his molten hand hovering over the broken core. He didn't pick it up; he absorbed it. The pure, concentrated sunlight flowed into his fiery form, making his internal light blaze with a whiter, purer intensity. He stood, now a being of fire containing a minature core, and reached for Armin.
"Stay back!" Zs'Skayr shrieked, genuine fear cracking his voice. He raised Armin's clawed hand like a weapon. "I will unravel his mind! I will twist his body into a horror that will haunt your every waking moment!"
A raw, agonized scream tore through the tension. A figure staggered into the clearing, his body; still marked by the thrall's corruption; was smoking, the faint dawn light causing his skin to sizzle. His face was a contorted mask of pain and undiluted hatred. It was Bran.
Zs'Skayr's fear vanished, replaced by triumphant glee. "You! My child! Perfect timing! Restrain this incendiary fool! Hold him!" (Are you for real?)
Bran's eyes, clear and burning with a fury all his own, locked onto Zs'Skayr. "I'm not your damn child, you ghostfreak!" he roared, his voice a ragged tear. He didn't even look at Eren. He launched himself at the possessed Armin, wrapping his arms in a desperate grapple.
"No shame at all! Picking on the bookworm?! What's wrong, the big bad ghost scared of a real fight?!"
He wrestled with the stronger, possessed body, straining with every ounce of his will. "I've had enough of this shit!" Bran yelled, spitting blood. "I'll end you myself!"
"Get off me, you vermin!" With a snarl of annoyance, Zs'Skayr threw Bran off with a surge of telekinetic force. But as Bran hit the dirt, Eren moved taking his chance.
He surged forward, his hands; searing hot but carefully controlled; clamped onto Armin's arms. Zs'Skayr barley saw it coming.
"What are you doing?!" Zs'Skayr screamed, struggling against the grip. "You cannot harm me without destroying him! How?!"
Eren's voice was low, a deadly calm over a roiling inferno. "Can't I?..." he stated, his grip tightening, "Or won't I?"
He focused. He channeled the purifying sunlight he had absorbed, not as a blunt weapon, but as a precise, surgical tool. He sent a controlled, agonizing wave of searing light directly through Armin's arms and into his bloodstream, flooding the boy's body with the one thing the ectonurite essence could not endure.
Armin's body went rigid, then convulsed violently. A scream tore from his throat, a horrific duet of Armin's raw pain and Zs'Skayr's piercing, alien shriek of agony.
"YOU MADMAN! LETGO OF ME!!! YOU ARE A MONSTER WORSE THAN I!" Zs'Skayr howled, feeling his very essence being scoured and burned from the inside out.
"I'm just tired of your voice," Eren growled, his resolve an unbreakable diamond. "It's time for you to be silent."
Unable to withstand it, with a final, wet, tearing sound that seemed to rip the air itself, a wisp of solid black shadow was violently expelled from Armin's chest. It was Zs'Skayr, his form frayed, withered, and half-dissipated from the internal purge.
Eren didn't give him a millisecond. His hand shot out and closed around the ectoplasmic substance of the Ectonurite's head. His intense heat made the intangible solid. Then proceeded to slam the ectonurite brutally to the ground, his hand still holding the head.
"No! This… this cannot be! My destiny…this isn't how it's supposed to end!" Zs'Skayr writhed, his single eye wide with a terror he had not known in millennia.
"…On the contrary Zs'Skayr," Eren said, his voice cold as the void between stars. His own fiery body was blocking the sun, which was a hair's breadth from fully rising. He held the shrieking ghost up, casting him in a demonic silhouette. For one terrifying moment, all Zs'Skayr could see was the horned outline of Inferno against the blazing sky. All he could see…
"I couldn't have allowed this to end otherwise."
…Was the devil.
Eren turned around and raised the Ecto-lord high.
The sun crested the Wall, and the first, full, unadulterated ray of morning sunlight struck Zs'Skayr. His screech reached an impossible pitch. His form smoked, then ignited, burning with a silent, violet flame. He thrashed for a moment in Eren's unforgiving grip, and then, like a piece of paper in a bonfire, he was consumed. An unholy shriek escaped the burning ghost's body like misplaced melodies, but Eren held still.
His final scream was not just a sound; it was the dissolution of a consciousness. But as the light vaporized him, his mind was flooded with a final, stolen vision; a crashing wave of memories from the Attack Titan's legacy, fragments of time itself he had glimpses of while he had tried to take hold of Eren's body.
The images of him using Eren's body as he made his army crumbled to dust…
Visons of him bending civilizations of several planets vaporized…
And the last, searing image before eternal nothingness claimed him was not of the boy, but of the man.
An older Eren Yeager no doubt, standing in a vast, alien expanse of sand and light, his eyes glowing with ancient, murderous green fire, stared down at Zs'Skayr's fading essence with a hatred that transcended time itself.
How coincidental the two had said the same thing to him, remembering the conversation he had with the man and what his present, younger self had promised to him a few hours ago…
'When it's finally time for you to die... my face will be the last thing you see. I'll make sure of it.'
Even in his final moment, Zs'Skayr couldn't help but mirthlessly chuckle in his head.
A monster defeated by a greater monster. How unruly, yet…fitting…
Zs'Skay turned to ash, and the ash dissipated on the morning breeze.
_______________
Trost district…
The tension at the gate was a taut wire about to snap. Rifles trembled, aimed at former thralls and fellow soldiers alike. Rolf's wild eyes darted between Hannes and the monstrous-looking civilians.
"I'm telling you, they're faking!" Rolf screeched, finger tight on the trigger.
A collective, shuddering gasp went through the crowd of thralls, interrupting the tension within the air. A faint, ethereal grey vapor seemed to wisp out of their pores, rising from their greyish skin and dissolving in the morning air. As it left them, the horrifying transformations reversed in a wave of silent, unnatural biology. Grey skin paled to a sickly but human tone. Black veins faded. Unhinged jaws snapped back into place with soft, sickening pops.
The violet light in their eyes didn't just vanish; it was extinguished. One by one, they collapsed, not in death, but in utter, bone-deep exhaustion, sobbing in relief and confusion.
The Garrisons stared, their weapons lowering slowly. The threat was just… gone.
"What… what happened?" Stefan whispered, his rifle clattering to the cobblestones.
Hannes didn't answer immediately. His eyes were fixed beyond the gate, past the recovering refugees, towards the distant, smoking ruin of the refugee camp where the colossal fire had blazed. He saw the first true rays of the sun illuminating the devastation.
A slow, weary, but profound smile touched his lips. He knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his soul, who was responsible for that sunrise.
"Eren," he breathed, the name a prayer of thanks and exhaustion.
Elsewhere…
Grandpa Arlet winced as he finished tying a makeshift bandage around his ribs. The pain was excruciating, but it was a familiar, mortal pain. He looked down at the collapsed form of the colossal thrall near him. And the other kid had disappeared to walls knows where.
…Great.
A sudden, massive shift drew their attention. The hulking, monstrous form of Bertholdt's thrall began to steam violently. It was not Titan steam; this was a darker, shadowy mist that boiled away into nothing. The form shrank, the ectoplasmic enhancements receding like a nightmare fading upon waking, until all that was left was the tall, lanky, and unconscious form of Bertholdt Hoover, lying battered on the ground.
Grandpa Arlet stared, then let out a long, shaky sigh that carried the weight of the entire horrific night. The psychic pressure, the cold presence of the Ectonurite, was gone. Truly gone.
"It's over," he muttered, the words feeling inadequate for the relief they brought.
His eyes, however, lingered on Bertholdt. They weren't filled with hate, but with a deep, weary, and cryptic knowing. He saw the boy, but his mind's eye saw something else. He knew what this child was. And the knowledge was a heavier burden than any wound.
"What to do with you, nuke of Marley…"
Elsewhere as well…
Mikasa's blades were still in her hand, her body poised over the unconscious, armored thrall. Annie stood a few feet away, clutching her broken arm, her expression unreadable.
Then, the massive form shuddered. The violet light died, and the armor plates seemed to lose their sinister aura, becoming mere warped flesh that then melted away into steam. In seconds, the monster was gone, replaced by the familiar, muscular form of Reiner Braun, unconscious and breathing raggedly.
Annie didn't rush to his side. But after a moment's hesitation, she limped forward and knelt. It wasn't an act of affection, but one of grim, professional assessment. She checked his pulse, her fingers brushing against a nasty cut on his temple. A minuscule fraction of the tension left her shoulders. He was alive. He was himself.
Mikasa didn't move. Her gaze was turned away, towards the east, towards the heart of the camp where the final battle had taken place. The early morning sun, now fully risen, painted the devastated refugee camp in a soft, golden light, illuminating the destruction but also burning away the lingering shadows of the night.
Annie followed her gaze, then looked down at Reiner. "They really did it, didn't they?" she mumbled, the words barely audible.
Mikasa gave a single, slow nod. "Yes, they did…"
Her stoic expression softened for a fleeting second, her lips moving silently, forming two names against the dawn light.
Eren. Armin…
Around them, in the deep irrigation ditches, confused and weak cries began to rise. The thralls trapped within were also reverting, their nightmare ending at the same moment.
_________________
Eren's fingers remained firm, holding into the last wisp of black ash that began dissolving around his fiery digits, carried away on a dawn breeze that smelled of smoke and dry earth. There was no final scream, no grand explosion. Just… nothing. A profound, deafening silence descended, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire and Eren's own ragged breaths.
A sharp, familiar BEEP-BEEP-BEEP echoed in the quiet. The Omnitrix symbol on his chest glowed red. He hadn't even had the presence of mind to slam the dial down himself. The device had simply… finished. The fight was so over that even the watch had given up.
He had reverted back at some point. He didn't remember the flash of green, didn't feel the alien form recede. One moment he was Inferno, holding a god to the sun, the next he was just Eren Yeager, ten years old, on his knees in the dirt.
The strength that had sustained him; the rage, the desperation, the sheer, stubborn will; vanished as if Zs'Skayr had taken it with him. A hollow numbness flooded in to fill the void. It was a feeling deeper than exhaustion, a cold emptiness where his emotions should have been.
His gaze, blank and unfocused, drifted to the side. Bran lay a few feet away, groaning. The greyish tint of his skin was fading, the last remnants of the thrall's corruption evaporating like morning dew under the now-fully-risen sun. He was turning back, just like all the others. Eren felt… nothing. No relief, no satisfaction. Just a distant acknowledgment that another nightmare was ending.
The sound seemed to pull him from the depths of his numbness. A tremor started in his hands, a fine, uncontrollable shaking that quickly spread through his entire body. He pushed himself up, his legs feeling like water, and stumbled the short distance to where Armin lay.
Armin was pale, so pale he looked like a ghost himself. But he was breathing. Soft, shallow breaths that fogged slightly in the cool morning air. The violent purple cracks around his eyes were gone. He was just Armin. His best friend…that he had HURT.
Eren collapsed beside him, his own strength giving out completely. He didn't say anything. He just gathered Armin's limp form into his arms, pulling his friend's head onto his lap. He held him tightly, as if afraid he would vanish too. The contact was the only thing that felt real.
"It's over…" Eren whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He looked around at the scorched field, the smoldering barn, the evidence of a battle that had felt like the end of the world.
"It's… really over."
But the words rang hollow. Because as the silence stretched, a different, more terrible truth began to seep through the cracks in his numbness, cold and accusing.
This was my fault.
The thought wasn't a shout; it was a quiet, insidious whisper that echoed in the hollow space inside him.
ALL of it.
He saw the MP's body in the irrigation ditch; his hands, moved by Zs'Skayr, but his body nonetheless.
He saw Mikasa's bruised wrist.
He saw the horror in his mother's eyes.
He saw Grandpa Arlet, broken and bleeding, sacrificing himself.
He saw the entire camp thrown into a night of terror, people turned into monsters, all because he couldn't control the power on his wrist. All because he was weak. All because he was…afraid.
The Omnitrix felt heavy on his wrist, no longer a symbol of power, but a brand of guilt. He had won. He had saved everyone. But he was the one who had put them in danger in the first place.
He held Armin closer, tears he didn't know he had left beginning to well up and fall, dripping onto his best friend's peaceful, unconscious face. The victory was bittersweet, tainted by a shame so profound it threatened to drown him.
Zs'Skayr was gone. Erased.
It was over. The night of terror had ended…
…but what about the haunting feeling in his chest?
Alien countdown: Heatblast (Inferno), Wildmutt (Savage), Fourarms (Titanfist), Ghostfreak (Phantom), Diamondhead (Obsidian), Greymatter (Cerebrus), Eyeguy (???), Stinkfly (Buzzrot), XLR8 (Blitz), Upgrade (Overhaul).
Chapter 19-30 are already available on Patreon.com/Weeb Fanthom for as low as $3.