AN: Manga spoilers ahead, longer AN at the end.
The Elders always said how great an honor it was to be chosen, but Ares had yet to see a point to any of the prestige that had been promised. The cost had been far too great.
All he'd seen was how his mother had slowly changed over the years.
The consequences of their family's decision had started long before she'd been bedridden by the first signs of natural illness. A woman whose smile used to light up a room like nothing else, the life of the party in the most literal sense of the phrase, reduced to a shallow husk that currently lay reclined before him.
Perhaps it had been that very personality that had led to her being chosen in the first place? The gentle sister of their charismatic head of house, loved by all, yet appearing harmless enough to never be suspected.
They couldn't have asked for a better candidate for the family legacy.
It was so easy to tuck her away from the public eye without anyone the wiser, just as they had with every predecessor for the last hundred years or so.
At least until her health started failing.
Perhaps her kind disposition simply couldn't handle the onslaught of so many lifetimes of experience, some of which had existed in times of constant slaughter and conquest. Or maybe restricting the once-outgoing woman to the life of a recluse had taken its toll. But either way, his wonderful, selfless mother had eventually cracked under the pressure.
A mere four years into her service, the call for a premature transfer was made, the burden of course, falling to her only son Ares.
Ares' left hand came to rest upon the syringe perched atop the pedestal erected between he and his mother. Distorted hazel eyes peered back at him, reflected by the polished glass of the instrument, tinted a pale yellow by the fluid contained within.
Ares tried and failed to repress the slight tremor in his hand, curling slender fingers around the glass tube.
His gaze returned to his mother once more.
Even to someone ignorant of the situation, the scars of the last few years of her life were evident to any that cared to look. It was in the in the dark shadows underneath a sleepless gaze, or her deadened, haunted stare. Features that once lit up with joy at the mention of any small detail of Ares' life were now unresponsive even in his presence. The woman that had raised him was no more.
He could have declined when they'd approached him about the transfer, but It wouldn't have postponed his mother's fate for more than a few days. There were many options within the family to choose the next successor after all, Ares just happened to be the most logical, being a direct descendant of the previous holder.
So he'd accepted.
Going through with the transfer would be a show of mercy. Letting her waste away, trapped within her own body would be cruel.
A lie. But how else was he supposed to live with the knowledge that he was to devour his own mother?
Ares let out a heavy sigh, the nervous tremor in his limbs fading along with the air that left his lungs.
No.
Such an excuse would be a disservice to her memory. Her death would indeed be horrifying and visceral, but it would undeniably be the catalyst to topple the endless cycle of the Tybur family.
Ares tilted the syringe upwards, its cruel, metallic point glinting in the dim lighting of the ceremonial chamber. He gently depressed the plunger flicking the glass three times, the soft plinks like gunshots in the grave silence of the room.
Leave it to him to be the first titan to die of a heart attack. A humorless grin ghosted across his youthful face at the thought.
Ares would remember Elizabeth Tybur as she was, not as this emaciated, corrupted version of herself.
It was the least he could do.
The needle settled at the most prominent vein at the apex of his right forearm, sinking slowly beneath his lightly tanned skin with the slightest bit of pressure. The plunger descended, finalizing his fate.
Ares' heartbeat, already pounding from the stress of the situation accelerated even further, echoing like a thumping bass from ear to ear. His vision blurred, a rush of vertigo spurring him to rest his weight against the pedestal, the empty syringe shattering against the stone floor.
He snarled, a wild rage filling his being as the last of his will was driven from his mind.
A single orange spark arced from palm to palm before the tension snapped, his form exploding, bathing the walls in the same blinding hue.
As his consciousness faded, his mother seemed to shrink before his expanding figure. He truly hoped that he was only imagining the horror etched on her face as she gazed up at him with those familiar hazel eyes. The opposite would be too much to bear.
oooOoOoOooo
The flashes of unfamiliar memories came with increasing clarity ever since that day.
It had been two years.
Two years since he was selected for the privilege of inheriting his family's legacy and hidden away for a life of monotony just like his mother before him.
Two years of biding his time.
Uncle Willy had done his best in the most recent years to Improve the status of Eldian's within Marley's territory, but it wasn't nearly enough. Mass discrimination couldn't be fixed so easily, and the Eldian residents, barring Ares' own family of course, were still treated like second class citizens.
Though he did put up a fight, even a decision by the head of house could be overruled by the Tybur elders. Ares had been secluded as they had wished, doomed to continue his education through tutors and other means of private education used by his extended family.
If he had expected to be given a bit more freedom as a boy barely into his teens, he was sorely mistaken. Ares was restricted to the interior of his family's manor home, save for the rare occasion where he was permitted a few minutes of leisure within the manor's perimeter.
With an escort of course.
If Ares had followed every rule that had been laid out for him, they'd have him waste away like his mother, squandering the only real gift his inheritance had given him.
The Hammer… The power to change things.
He'd been bedridden for a few days after the whole ordeal, but after recovering, Ares had begun to slip away from his watchers at every opportunity. This was most often during late nights when he was nearly unsupervised.
Ares would disappear into the forested areas surround their mansion, returning hours later, dragging his body along in the midst of exhaustion. It was a blessing that some of the guards were sympathetic to a child seeking a bit of adventure.
For months he'd repeat the process, utilizing every spare moment he had to himself. His predecessors going back several generations had been quite content to sit on their laurels, never pushing the limits of the Warhammer's abilities.
Such a waste…
Practicing his abilities through means other than just the paths of the previous holders wouldn't have such instant gratification, but in the long run, the benefits were worth it.
oooOoOoOooo
"-res. Ares Tybur! Please pay attention."
Ares peered through lidded eyes towards the Tutor who'd interrupted his nap. The elderly woman may have phrased it as a request, but her tone, one he was exhaustingly familiar with, demanded immediate compliance.
Sure, catching up on his sleep in the middle of his afternoon lessons might not have been the most appropriate decision, but in the end, he had to rest at some point. The alternative was abandoning his late-night excursions, and that was simply not an option.
This was the easiest way.
Ares returned his attention to the History text resting in his lap, gaining an approving nod from the tight-laced tutor.
His eyes trailed over the page the book had opened to, a vaguely detailed map of Marley's territory, and to a lesser extent the large island off the eastern coast. Paradis… the home of the so-called island devils, whose race continued to be persecuted in the streets for the crimes of their ancestors.
His ancestors.
But… what gave Ares the right to live such a lavish lifestyle while his people suffered? Despite being disallowed the freedom of a normal child his age, he was well aware that he had to struggle for naught.
There was always food on the table, prepared by personal chefs of the Tybur family, a roof over his head, and any trivial possession he wished for would likely be provided. If it wasn't for his own unique position in the family, he'd be free to walk the streets of Marley with unrestricted access, not even required to don those disgusting bands identifying him a lesser human being.
What gave him the right? Was he really so different? Ares hadn't been the one to Liberate Marley from their Eldian oppressors any more than the children of Liberio hadn't been responsible for the original crime.
If that even was the true history...
The official story was riddled with inconsistencies, contradicting itself in some places, and clashing completely with the flashes of knowledge granted by his predecessors.
Even the text laying open before him was guilty of it. There was no way the original Eldian empire were the first group of people guilty of suppressing another faction, yet here Marley stood, repeating the crimes of their enemies. They even took it a step further, weaponizing the race's unique gene for their own means in the perpetual conflict with other countries.
The hypocrisy was staggering.
Ares could never be sure of the true history, as it was often decided by the victors, but he knew things couldn't go on as they were. The Tybur family may have originally had the people's best interests at heart, but that was clearly no longer the case.
Ares wanted answers, and there was one place that was likely to have them.
oooOoOoOooo
Heroes of Marley!
Generation's most promising Warriors assembled for a preemptive strike against the Island Devils!
Was this a joke…
Ares stared down at the headline, barely suppressing his disgust as his eyes skimmed the propaganda-littered article. A short caption under five greyscale portraits briefly hailed the identities of the warrior candidates chosen to inherit some of Marley's deadliest weapons.
Barring Zeke Yeager, whose reputation among Marleyan citizens rivaled that of the Tybur family due to his most recent military exploits, nearly the entire roster of Warriors was being passed on.
Whether this was done specifically with this long-term mission in mind or not, Ares did not know. Either way, Marley was clearly desperate to retrieve the founding titan if they were willing to launch such an overt assault on Paradis.
If King Fritz's legendary promise of immediate retaliation wasn't the farce that Ares suspected it may be, then Marley risked incurring the wrath of the Rumbling for no reason other than the selfish whims of its leaders.
But if the Eldian King's line was truly as pacifist as the flashes of Ares' predecessors' memories would have him believe, then this was nothing more than an unprecedented attack on a peaceful Nation.
Just another example of Eldians being persecuted for the sins of their fathers.
The other world powers must be truly becoming formidable enemies if Marley's seven warriors weren't enough of a deterrent anymore.
Not that the Tyburs would ever consider putting their precious trump card into play unless the world was knocking at Marley's gates. Ares scoffed inwardly, folding the newspaper in half and tossing it into his backpack full to the brim with the essentials needed for an extended journey.
This was the nail in the coffin.
The age of titans may be ending, but Ares would still do everything in his power to prevent the loss of more innocent lives. It was his duty. Marley's Warriors had apparently departed for their mission weeks ago, but he planned to follow them at the very next opportunity.
The next survey ship slated to patrol the waters surrounding the so-called devil's island was a mere three days away.
Three days until he'd depart for Paradis.
oooOoOoOooo
Ares ghosted along the shadowed hallways of his family home, wondering not for the first time if he would miss it later on.
His fondest memories of his mother had all taken place inside these restrictive walls… But the location itself? The mansion represented everything that was wrong with Marley's class system in a single convenient package.
How ironic that a Tybur was once again defecting to the 'enemy' nation.
Looking at it one way, Ares' family was nothing more than a group of flip floppers, hopping ship to whichever leader suited them best. He could certainly see it that way, if not for his paths hinting otherwise, he might have even believed it himself. The official story was obviously a hoax, but anything more specific than that he did not know.
Hopefully the memories of his ancestors would become more decipherable in time…
Ares slipped soundlessly passed the rotating guards, sticking to the blind spots he'd timed in the nights leading up to his departure. His already pounding heart leapt into his throat as one of them let out a cough that echoed through the blackness of the night. Remaining completely motionless against the hedges of their sprawling front lawn, Ares merely counted down the seconds before he was sure to be discovered.
But the moment never came, eventually spurring him to continue his trek to the looming gate of their estate. Ares scaled the structure, pulling himself up hand over hand, thanking whatever deity existed in this world for the fact that he'd trained his physical body and not just the use of his titan.
He hopped down on the other side of the gate, landing in a crouch before straightening up and pulling the hood of his knee-length coat up enough to cover his dirty blonde hair.
One final glance back to the prison he was leaving behind, and he was off into the winding Marleyan streets, making his way as stealthily as possible towards the docks.
oooOoOoOooo
Ares sliced the corner of his lower lip with the tip of his canine, feeling the familiar rush of power lance through his being. But he stamped down on the energy writhing beneath the surface, leaving the barest amount to trickle through.
The fleshy hue of his fingertips slowly faded away, whitening and hardening into jagged points. A partial manifestation of the Warhammer's signature ability, one of the more useful tricks he'd picked up in his time experimenting.
Ares crept along the docks, waiting for the perfect opportunity to board the ship of prisoners without being sighted.
Now!
He rushed towards the edge, leaping onto the metallic hull of the ship, latching on with his hardened fingers just as it began to pull out of the harbor. He pulled himself up hand over hand and flipped over the railing, landing on the unsteady deck of the ship.
Without pausing for breath, Ares vaulted off a nearby storage barrel up to the roof of the highest level, pulling his cloak tighter against the chilling wind.
Hunkering down while he was exposed to the elements wasn't exactly the most comfortable experience, but at least on the roof he didn't risk the chance of being discovered by the Marleyan Military.
It was imperative that he not be seen traveling to Paradis. If Marley caught wind of one of their more powerful titans jumping ship, then the descendants of King Fritz would have more than the initial strike force to worry about.
Ares settled against the smokestack, hunkering down as the small boat sailed into the coming dawn.
oooOoOoOooo
The survey ship and by extension, the stowaway did not see another landmass until dawn the next morning.
Frost peppered the dark blue material of Ares' cloak, a testament to the harsh temperatures he'd been forced to endure throughout the night. He certainly hadn't gotten much sleep, but with his abilities there was very little risk of being harmed by the extreme cold.
Ares peered through lidded eyes as the landmass took up more and more of the horizon, though it wasn't until a few hours later that the island's small dock came into view. It was a modest little thing, wooden, and barely large enough to fit a couple small boats, let alone some of the larger ships in Marley's navy.
Other than the stone staircase leading up to the massive wall dominating the far side of the cove, it was clear that no one spent any extended length of time here.
The survey ship only further proved that point as it anchored offshore, not even making use of the dock itself.
Had the subjects of Ymir roaming the land as pure titans truly grown so numerous? Or was there another explanation for the caution shown by the scouts?
Either way, Ares' plans remained unchanged. His destination lay within the kingdom the Fritz family left behind, so fighting his way through hordes of titans had always been a given. Luckily, his abilities would make what would normally be a suicide mission, perfectly within reason. Not that he wouldn't be avoiding them as much as he could.
It looked like the survey ship wouldn't be getting any closer to the island itself, he'd have to make it the rest of the way himself. It was a good thing he'd thought to seal the more important items he'd brought along in a waterproof container.
Ares peered over the edge of the ship, making sure he wouldn't be diving past a guard that happened to be in the right place at the right time. He tightened the strap of his pack so it wouldn't jostle around in the water, taking a final breath to settle his nerves.
There was no turning back after this.
Two loping steps and Ares was off the edge, diving with a soft splash into the frigid surf.
Fortunately, the current was not particularly strong, letting him swim out of sight of the survey ship while staying underwater. He stuck to the long shadows cast by the rising sun, wading into the shallows and eventually taking his first sloshing steps onto Paradis.
He was home at last.
Ares avoided the stone staircase and wall entirely, both for the practical reason of avoiding the scouting vessel's attention and another, purely self-indulgent reason.
He really didn't want to have to stand in the same position where so many innocent Eldians were tossed so carelessly towards a fate worse than death, doomed to wander these lands without rest. Even looking at the structure from afar, it reeked of suffering, carrying with it a shivering feeling of unease intangible to the five basic senses but present all the same.
No, Ares would rather not have to stand atop such a place in his admittedly short time among the living. He instead followed the rocky coastline to the north until he arrived at a smaller cove where the cliffs where not so tall or shear that they would be insurmountable in his human form.
He scrambled towards the summit on his hands and feet, hardening the tips of his fingers whenever necessary. Eventually he made it to the top, heaving slightly but not overly so. He was much more interested in the view as he gazed off into the distance.
Sprawling plains of yellow sand dominated the land closest to his position, though as his eyes trailed further inland, he could pick out more and more forested areas.
But perhaps more shocking than the terrain were the numerous ambling humanoid figures that peppered the landscape.
Had Ares not been aware of exactly what kind of situation he was dealing with he might have been confused by the scale of the strange creatures when compared to the trees in the distance. But privy to the situation as he was, it was not confusion that Ares felt, but sorrow.
Sorrow for his brethren who were cursed to wander these lands as mindless beasts for an eternity.
Occasionally, Ares would be struck with flashes of his own memories for once, visions that were most likely suppressed by his own subconscious.
He remembered the uncontrollable lust for human flesh. The all-consuming rage. The yearning to return to his true human form.
Ares' seconds spent as a pure titan haunted him to this day. He could only imagine the helpless agony of being trapped like that forever. He was one of the lucky ones, gifted with the power and vitality of these terrifying monstrosities yet retaining full control.
He was only given a moments respite after his long climb before the nearest beast caught sight of his presence atop the dune. It froze, its eyes as comically wide and as vacant as his inherited memories would have him believe. Thick, goopy drool fell in rivulets out of its gaping maw as it turned, ambling towards Ares' position with lumbering footsteps.
Oh, how he wished there was another way to deal with these cursed souls, but as long as they yearned for his flesh and stood between him and his goals, he had no other choice.
Ares teased at his lower lip with his incisors as the lumbering beast wandered closer, revealing its full twelve meters of height. It positively towered over Ares hunched form, coming to a stop a few meters away before it reached greedily towards its prey. Were anyone to watch the scene from afar, they would most certainly assume the young man was about to meet his end, but Ares was no ordinary human.
His jaw clamped down, slicing the tender flesh of his lip, and his world went red.
The orange flash of light eclipsed even the sun's relentless rays, though just for a moment. The surging bolt of electricity arced down from the heavens marking Ares' transformation.
But this wasn't the work of a god.
Muscle and flesh exploded outward as the Warhammer came into being, the scalding nerve tissue merging with his comparably frail human skin.
No, the unparalleled rush of adrenaline and scalding heat left Ares a slave to his humanity even more so than his natural form. His emotions heightened, his rage intensified, and despite his experience with the form itself, the Warhammer threatened to seize control.
But he resisted the monster's will, stamping down on the bloodlust in favor of the current threat.
A massive hand, bone-white and perfectly proportioned, met the greedy, grasping hand of the pure titan, tugging harshly on its wrist so it was thrown of balance. No longer capable of cognitive thought or finer motor control, the beast never stood a chance. It toppled to the ground with an earthshaking thud, flailing madly in an attempt to regain its feet.
Ares didn't give it the chance, shoving a hardened fist into the downed foe's nape and ending its sorry existence then and there.
One down… however many thousand to go…
Ares stared down at his hand through the enhanced vision of his titan form, admiring the wispy clouds of steam from the titan's evaporating blood. In seconds his palm was the same pristine white as it had always been.
As if the titan had never existed in the first place.
AN: Hey there! I actually wrote this a few months ago but never got around to posting it. I recently read through it and actually liked it more after sitting on the idea a while. The premise is that the canon holder of the Warhammer Titan falls ill before the events of the manga start, leading to a premature transfer of the titan. Given how little we know about the actual members of the Tybur family beyond Willy and his unnamed sister, I figured this OC would fit in well enough if we aren't too picky with the details. I'll apologize ahead of time for any botching of the canon lore, even to someone whose read and watched the series as much as I have, it's still a bit confusing.
The abilities my character exhibits in this chapter are supposed to be believably canon even if we've never seen a shifter use any titan abilities beyond regeneration or (Reiner's consciousness bs), in their human form.
I know that Annie is the pairing listed in the summary, but I'm still not completely sure which direction I want to take this story in, so I'm open to suggestions if you want to leave a review. I was considering a Rico pairing too as I've never really seen that done before. The age gap may be a bit much, but that's never really kept people away from their Levi/Mika pairings so who knows...
Updates for this fic will be sporadic at best.