The War Hammer ( AOT x Male Reader story)

Chapter 8: Alteration

"Well" I thought as I packed a bag with some personal belongings, a water flask and two paper bags of rations. "This is a sudden, yet beneficial occurance."

It was around 7 oclock in the morning, the boat for paradise will leave at 10 from the Liberio dock. A MRC240 Iowa-class battleship will be taking me and dropping me at paradise if I remember correctly from the report and briefing with Maggot and the other generals. They will drop me at the port, before making their way south toward a neighbouring ally country, dealing with resistance from an Eldian restoration group. I should arrive at the dock of Paradise at around 12:30.

As I finished up packing, I heard a creaking comming from the bunks next to me. I looked over to see Marcel leaning on his shoulder, looking at me through half lidded sleepy eyes.

"Leaving already?" He mumbled, his voice still croaking from sleep.

"Unfortunatly" I replied, finishing up packing and zipping the bag closed. I swung it on to my shoulder, before turning to face him.

"I'll tell you here and now while I can. You had better come back alive" he said, all traces of drowsieness gone from his voice.

"Who do you think you're talking to Marco? Im the War Hammer" I grinned. He smiled at the nickname.

"And your the Jaw, so the same applies to you" i followed up, going over and sitting on the edge of his bunk. He grinned.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" He replied. We both snickered. He reached out his hand and we both shook on it. I stood up and began making my way to the door, while he flopped his head back onto the pillow.

"I'll see you soon brother" he called. I stopped and looked around at him, kind of shocked. He never called me that before. That name was for Porco. However, it made me happy. I smilled.

"You too brother" I replied, before turning and walking out the door, closing it behind me.

As I made my way along the gravel path and towards the headquaters and office building in the middle of camp, I started to think of what lay ahead of me, what I have set myself, and all the things I will have to do in the future, some good, but most terrible. I would be lying if I said I was not scared. Because in truth, I was terrified. It made me shake even now, and I am sure it was not the cold morning airs doing.

"I am going to become a killer. So many innocent lives, so many people trying to survive just like me, are going to have everything taken from them, for things they had no say or input into."

I stopped in my tracks, looking down at my feet. I'm scared. I'm terrified. What am I becomming. Where do these thoughts come from? Why am I acting like this. I hunkered down, crossing my arms over my knees and burying my head in them. My breathing was quickining. I need to calm down.

Then, something. The grip of a strong, cold hand on my nape. Another cold hand, gripping my face, covering my mouth, sealing it shut. And then, hundreds, hundreds of cold hands gripping my hair, my arms, my legs, my ankles. All hard, unforgiving, pulling me in each direction, all of them relentless. And then, the voices. The whispers. The calls. The demands. The cries. All of them, begging to be heard. And then. One voice. One voice above others. Whispering in my right ear, like they stood behind me.

"You are the possesor of this power. You are the only one who can free your people". My eyes widened. That cold voice. Unforgiving, steel, demanding full attention and co-operation. A voice I have not heard in months.

"Mother?" I thought, trying to turn and look. The grip on my face and mouth tightened. I couldn't turn. I couldn't look. I felt the finger nails digging further into my skin. It stung. It hurt. But the most alarming thing was the weight on my chest. I felt guilt. I felt scared. I felt determination. I felt hatred. I felt sorrow. Everything gathered into a ball and forced onto me. I wanted nothing more than to wail in agony.