A few short words.
I've always enjoyed anime. Recently, I've become obsessed with Attack on Titan, which I proudly state has made me cry more than any other anime I've seen. Little by little, I'm also getting myself back into Bleach, a show I unfortunately stopped watching a few years ago during the Arrancar: Hueco Mundo Sneak Entry arc. But, not including the fillers, I'm now caught up to the Lost Substitute Shinigami arc.
So with these two shows in mind, I wound up imagining a story, and I had to get it down in words. This is the result: chapter one.
Please take in consideration that my memory of the events before the Arrancar arc in Bleach are a bit hazy, so character interactions may seem a bit awkward. And please feel free to correct my mistakes or provide feedback on my work. I know I have a lot to improve upon.
Enjoy.
The Royal Messenger
Chapter One: The Descent
He never really understood his decision to join the Survey Corps - to undergo the trials of the mysterious and frankly terrifying world outside. On an expedition, a Titan's hand hid in every shadow, waiting for a new toy to play with. Out there, luck weighed more than talent; no amount of training would help if one noticed and caught you mid-flight.
Jean Kirstein, with an unwavering stare, had once loudly declared to his fellow trainees that he would gain a coveted spot in the top ten; that his battle skills would become one of the best; that the Military Police would have a new recruit, within the safety of the walls; that only the insane consider the Survey Corps.
His dream never came true. Something had interrupted his plan, rooted his feet to the ground as Commander Erwin requested fighters - martyrs - for the cause. He had watched the smart ones, the ones who valued their lives, turn away. Viewed the graduates who remained as deranged, himself included. But, regardless of a lack of self-preservation, no one accepted the role of powerless ant without a reason. And as Jean relived the events of his short life, the face that annoyed him to no end, in human or Titan form, came to mind.
If he ever got out of this mess alive, Eren Yeager was a dead man.
Jean equipped his last two blades, suddenly aware that his 3D Maneuver Gear was running on fumes. His chest pushed in and out in a rapid fashion, and his movement - usually quick and efficient, as required by an officer of the Survey Corps - was becoming sluggish. Although he didn't want to admit it, eventually, adrenaline would be his only sustenance.
Mingled with sweat, blood ran down a cut above his right eye. Since wiping it on the fabric of his cape would only further impair his vision, he surveyed the scene around him with the thought that, no matter what, there was always more red to come. Six Titans in the immediate area, one large enough to cast shadows over the tallest buildings. All converging on his location. Jean rested on the rooftop of a church tower, wondering how long it had been since it last held any semblance of faith.
The soldier prayed that it was worth it. His life for the survival of humanity. He wasn't a saint; it was a hard idea to commit to.
But there were worse things than death.
Hobbling in the street, the closest Titan, 9 meters tall, moved toward Jean's front. A grin spread wide against its face as it took in a new snack, eyes bulging out. Another one close behind, 7 meters, shuffled to catch up to its peer and get first crack at the human. Arms swung back and forth at its sides while drool dribbled down its chin.
Jean took a deep breath.
He jumped off the roof, grapple shooting out and attaching itself low on a building's corner pillar. He vaulted himself downward, and a second later discharged another hook across the street. Soon, Jean felt satisfying pressure against his blades as they cut through an Achilles tendon. A dazed expression on its face, the larger Titan toppled towards the ground.
The knowledge that one is never safe. Always, a nagging thought in the back of the mind that the day has come, the fall of the walls. This was worse than death.
A body contorted in mid-air, and the small Titan fell forwards in a heap as blood spewed out from its nape.
A mother tucking her son in at night, wondering when the nightmares will come true. A mother knowing she can't to protect her child. This was worse than death.
The first Titan struggled to stand up, but its foot was already beginning to heal. Kneeling, it looked around for its toy, eyes wide. Jean doubled back, landed on its nape, and plunged his blade deep down before slicing through. Navigating onto a rooftop, the soldier listened for the sizzling sound, let out a breath when it came. Two down. Maybe there was a chance. The grip on his swords tightened.
Living as slaves in a world that was once filled with countless opportunities and discoveries and freedoms. Living as cattle trapped in a pen. This was worse than death.
In the end, Jean would willingly give up his life to end the Titans' terror. Would die to keep Eren, who was undoubtedly mankind's greatest hope, safe. Wasn't it this brat's idealistic views that had first grabbed hold of Jean's thoughts? The will and the dreams of his friend had to be respected, no matter how stupid they were, how impossible.
There was a reason why people gravitated more towards Eren than to himself - it was better to spend time with a man who pictured an optimistic future than with one who focused on the depressing facts. He couldn't deny it; humanity's best asset was its ability to find hope in the most hopeless of situations.
He almost didn't see the hand. His body started to jump on reflex, but by then it was too late. Jean felt himself smash against a wall, pain tearing at his back. His thoughts were cloudy; he was face-to-face with a Titan, but he wasn't moving. An arm twitched slightly at his side, stilled. Hopefully, Eren and the rest of the group had made it safely back to Wall Rose. Stuffed inside their jackets and packs was the information that would defeat the Titans, papers that would reveal the true origins of these gigantic monsters - a way to win the war. Jean stared up at his killer, whose face neared and whose mouth gradually got wider. Fingers moved forward to capture the human toy.
Death was worth it. It had to be worth it.
There was a low rumbling from behind.
With difficulty, his head turned back towards the wall, and eyes widened in amazement at the unnatural purple and black swirls that were moving along the brick, twisting back and forth like startled eels. They began swirling together to form a large circle, replacing the part of the wall behind Jean. His back started to sink into the portal.
He did nothing to stop his fall; instead, he turned his head forward, and watched the giant hand slowly inch its way towards his face.
The image quickly disappeared as the blackness swallowed his body.
Although he was ready to die, Jean wasn't a martyr by choice, and he definitely wasn't the type of person to toss away a chance at survival.