the hilt | eren jaeger

e l e v e n - J.D.

[TW: Mentions of Violence & Aggression]

[Heavily Implied Manga Spoilers Present]

[Season 2 & 3 Spoilers Present]

YEAR 850~

"No... I thought that Mikasa got back late with Denman and Jean... and the others..." Connie trailed off, a confused look on his face.

He looked over to Jean and I sitting next to one another on the shallow stairs of the building.

Our moods were somber, our faces dim.

My pants still burned dark red, blood splatters still adorned themselves on my face.

I'd never forget this day.

Bertholdt was watching over me carefully, relief in his eyes that I was fine, but worry was also creeping into his soul.

My fist clenched a little tighter as Ymir broke the silence, "Jo, don't tell me that Mikasa got hurt."

Jean and I looked at each other simultaneously, and we shared a collective sigh.

I shook my head, "I can't say anything. We're under an oath."

"It's not gonna be too effective, that's not a secret they can keep," An exasperated, dry and empty chuckle left Jean's lips, and stopped as soon as it started.

A calloused grin spread across my face, "Everyone will know soon enough," And in defeat, I put my head in my hands, "We're so fucked."

Close to Marco, the idiotic cries of a weak man broke the tense air, replacing it with desperation, "Marco... I- I'm done... I can't...."

The man, Daz, ran his hands through his hair, his eyes shedding pitiless tears. Not one of us looked upon him with empathy— I didn't, at least.

"I can't fight the titans... My— My buddies were all eaten in front of me... They were all eaten alive...and I felt nothing! No hatred, no sadness, I just felt incredible gratefulness that it wasn't me!"

He looked bewildered, "But next time, it'll be my turn! I don't.... I don't want to die! I can't do this anymore!"

And with those words coming out of his mouth, my fist made contact with his cheek.

The knuckle on bone contact made a loud crack, shutting the bastard up. He fell to the floor, a moping, depressive mess. He held his cheek in his hand, and stared up at me like a scared, lost puppy. It was pathetic.

I leaned over, grabbing his shirt collar by the fist, yanking him upwards. A small yelp left his mouth in the process.

"Tough shit, people died," I snarled.

My teeth gritted, my jaw clenched, "Why the fuck are you even here, training to be in the military, if you can't handle a little death. It's not like this would've been any different had it happened after we chose our regiments.

"You'd still be here, on the Garrison, 'cause you're far too much of a pussy to ever go into the Survey Corps," My grip on his collar tightened, "And, you'd still be watching people die. So fuck off."

With a heavy sigh, I let go of him, and he stood planted onto the ground, fear still intricately woven into his eyes.

My hand reached down to my right boot, and withdrew the blade.

The dark green handle now glowed a dark burgundy, and the metal still had remnants of dried blood on it. It wasn't pure. It wasn't anything good. It was an awful totem of destruction. But I didn't care.