Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

(1) Echoes of Anticipation

"Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves."

Lord Byron

(chapter nine)

The journey back to the walls had been nothing short of a mess.

Once the command for retreat had been announced and blue flares of withdrawl had begun to rise across the expanse of Wall Maria, Pandemonium came to share its grotesque inhabitants that took the form of multiple ravenous titans.

An entire brigade, it seemed, of insensible mutants that rose as tall as our most beloved mead halls, came barreling towards the right flank unexpectedly. No one had sensed the rumbling of their footsteps, nor their noisy grunts and, rather putrid, scent. It was all so sudden; the blood, pools of it layering the once green grass in a vibrant viridian that slowly dried an ugly brown; stringy, pink innards wrapping around the few trees that lay in the open fields, along with broken bodies, twisted in a way that would ensure one's immediate death. It was an abysmal sight, one I'd bestow not even to my worst convict.

My squad, Squad Kemmerich, had been far too late to come to the rescue of our comrades. When we had caught up to the fallen squads of two and three, there wasn't a titan or (live) human in sight. The only activity in the area had been the rummaging of ravens under the falling sun — a brilliant ambiance for such a nauseating and disgraceful sight.

"Where the hell'd they all go? You'd think those monsters would still be feasting, knowing them." Kemmerich's utterance was laced with the foremost regret, although, his countenance lacked the emotional hysteria that was his voice.

Felix kept his head held down, fiddling with the reins of his horse. Despite his years of experience in the Scouts, the boy still seemed much too innocent to maintain his stoicism at the sight of his dead comrades. But I found that as a sterling trait for it is not often soldiers reap their adversity in the face of others. What I find admirable is the humanity it expresses. It's what to expect of someone as compassionate as Felix, though.

Gerard was next to Kemmerich, upon his brown steed, looking into the far distance of a large forest that I shivered at the prospect of. He was whispering to Kemmerich, nothing I could ascertain from my position next to the tree in which blood intermittently dripped from.

The two men were the oldest on the squad, Akim Kemmerich just a few years Gerard Dubois' senior; the latter being second in command. From what I've heard, the two were of the same graduating class, both in the top ten; however, Gerard took the liberty of joining the Military Police before transferring to the Scouts. He likely transferred because he saw firsthand how corrupt the government truly is.

"Sir," I say after noticing that no bodies held the marks of stupendous titan teeth. "I don't think it was a typical massacre. The bodies are intact..." I pause, looking over the crime scene, "All considering."

"What are you trying to say, Soldier?" Kemmerich asked, pulling his horse my way. Milo, being the cocky bastard he is, jumped off his horse and pulled a carrot out of its saddle bag, leisurely feeding the gray steed as if we weren't in the heart of enemy territory.

"There must have been an objective." I respond.

"An objective? Stop pulling my leg, Kid. Not in the situation we're in now," Kemmerich looked to Felix who still had his head down. "Segen, collect all of the names and write 'em down. And hurry, we don't have much time." The boy nodded his head and scurried off of his horse to check the back of the uniform jackets that held the sewed names of our allies.