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You almost laugh at Rod Reiss when he calls you the Devil.
How could you be such a divine being? You are nothing but a speck of dust under his feet, thrashing on the ground under his visceral wrath.
The Devil has no interest in you. To him, you are nothing more than an annoying bug he can squish under his claws and so he enjoys pulling your wings and watching you suffer. But it's nothing personal. How could the devil be personal with the likes of you? This is just how the Devil plays his game.
So how could you ever be the Devil? You want nothing more than to get personal with the man in front of you. No games; just kill.
And then there was your Mother; distant, and cold. She sold you off in exchange for her freedom, abandoning you to whatever fate awaited. In her actions, you see echoes of the Devil's indifference. Perhaps she, too, saw you as nothing more than a bug, a nuisance to be discarded for her own sake.
But the Devil is tragic too, isn't it? In its own twisted way, it is a creature of its circumstances, bound by its own nature just as you are bound by yours. Perhaps there's a strange kinship there, in the tragedy of being what you are, even if it's diametrically opposed.
When you had regained your consciousness, you had found yourself confined in a room with only one window to tell apart night and day. Your hands and ankles were tied together, tightly gripped by the rope, its fibres rough and coarse against your skin. Eren and Historia were there, too, as Rod Reiss towered over all of you with a sinister grin.
"For a bitch who used to tremble under my gaze not too long ago, you seem awfully proud and fearless without knowing what's going to happen to you."
"Tremble?" You question, a dry chuckle escaping your throat. "Bold of you to think you can cast fear in the Devil you so proclaim."
You half expect Rod Reiss to pull out a gun and shoot you for being so brazen, but instead, he simply taps his chin with an ungodly grin.
He hasn't changed. Even after all these years, he's still the son of a bitch that ruined your life.
"You know," his eyes shift from you and land on Eren, whose hands are tied back and mouth wrapped in a cloth, preventing him from biting anything. "I agreed to send you to the scouts in hopes that you'll die. But you ended up being more of a nuisance than I thought."
He makes his way over to the boy with heavy steps, grabbing a chunk full of his hair and inching him closer to his face. You see Eren wince and attempt to thrash out of his grip, but it is to no avail. "You're useless to me now. This one, though. I will make good use of him."
