One swift cut. That was all it took. Ten centimetres across and a metre deep. Barely anything, if you considered it. And he was considering it. He was always considering it. Because there was nothing quite like the feeling that came with slaying a Titan. He wouldn't call it exhilaration; it was more like adrenaline. It was a warmth that started in the pit of his stomach, tingled in his toes and heated his head until he wanted to scratch and itch and rip it all out. It was the sort of feeling that some men lived for, the sort of feeling that one would willingly risk death for just to feel. And he risked dying for this sensation. He risked dying again and again and again.
Of course, he told himself he was doing it for the same reason they were. He told himself he was doing it to save humanity, to avenge his parents and his grandfather, to see the outside world. But he wasn't, and somewhere deep inside he knew that. He knew he was doing it because he loved the thrill of the chase. For the first time in history, they were the hunters, and the Titans were the ones who could only watch in horror as their comrades fell, and he relished that. He basked in the glory that came with it. After all, nothing could compare to the jolt that shot through his body when he killed.
He'd been called weak his entire life, and yet, here he was, soaked in the blood of those he had slayed.
He wasn't Mikasa; he possessed no special gifts and no one would ever consider him talented. He wasn't Eren either; he didn't have the ability or the drive or the passion or the rage that his friend did. But what he did have could only be described as bloodlust. Something pushed him onwards at a constant speed because he wanted to kill. He needed it, that tugging at his innards that came with his blade meeting the back of a Titan's neck, that warm feeling in his chest that made it hard to breath when he flung himself into battle, that glowing relief, that wonderful satisfaction that came with watching something fall lifeless to the ground and knowing that he did that. He killed it.
Perhaps it was with the knowledge that he was capable of ending something else's life that had unhinged him. Perhaps it was the sense of power that came with that knowledge. He couldn't say. He could, however, tell that this change was taking over him. It was in the fact that those he had trained with, recruits he had considered friends, recruits who had placed higher than him when their class had been ranked, couldn't look him in the eye anymore. They shied away from his gaze. They cowered from Armin Arlert, the weak little boy who had been smarter than the rest of the class, but couldn't run and couldn't fight. They avoided the boy they'd all thought was useless back in training. Even Eren and Mikasa treated him differently. It was clear they realised this wasn't the same Armin they'd had to protect all those times back in Shiganshima, however many years ago. This was an Armin who could hold his own in his fight. This was an Armin who would slaughter in cold blood and think nothing of it. This was an Armin that had the potential to be very, very dangerous if handled incorrectly. An Armin whose blue eyes glinted with cunning and menace. An Armin who held himself differently, whose gaze darted from side to side, as if searching for his next victim.
He liked to think that he scared them. He liked to imagine that they'd wake up in cold sweats, their minds plagued by terrible nightmares of this new Armin, this distorted Armin, this Armin that they barely recognised. He would picture Eren tossing and turning as he attempted to sleep, his mind tormented by twisted visions, memories of his mother's death, of fights with Titans, of Armin, stood tall and proud, blades drawn, blood dripping down his face, his mouth curled into a feral grin. Mikasa's nightmares would be different, though. Armin thought that she would dream of far more practical things. He imagined her nightmares would present themselves as normal dreams about the three of them. Everything would be bland, normal, safe, until he snapped. Yes. In Mikasa's nightmares, he suspected she would watch him look down upon Eren's corpse the same way he looked down upon a Titan. In Mikasa's nightmares, the monster was him. His blades soaked with Eren's blood, he would look up to her, his eyes gleaming, his blades drawn. In Mikasa's nightmares, she was the weak one. She was the one who couldn't fight back.
This was all speculation on Armin's part, of course, based on what he'd observed from the way they watched him, from the bags under their eyes, and from his own dreams, he supposed. Because that was when the old Armin resurfaced. His dreams were endless tunnels of fear. His stomach would clench, tears welled in his eyes and he often found himself resisting the urge to vomit. He could never remember what he had dreamt about when he woke, but the horror that it left with him lingered.
He'd come to the conclusion he dreamt in blood. His nightmares were so horrific, so hard for the old, weak Armin to bare, because he killed in them. And not just Titans. He was certain he dreamt about killing people as well; Eren and Mikasa included.
But really, when it came down to it, was there really that much of a difference between humans and Titans? All it would take was a slice, a stab, a rip, a tear, a cut or a chop, and his clothes would be sprayed red. That feeling would come. He'd be overwhelmed by it. It would drive him to repeat the process on another subject. And then another. And another and another until there was no one left.
He wouldn't even know they were dead until he cleaned their blood from his blade.
Author's Note: I had to write something for that new opening. I had to. Armin covered in blood wearing the face of a murderer? It was too good a chance to miss. (Plus there is something ridiculously attractive about that boy drenched in blood I mean hot damn)
Did you know Armin's my favourite character because he is I really hope this doesn't happen in his character arc because I will cry so much if it does.