Guest or sazquame: I don't know if you're saying "shit" as a reaction to an event in the story or if you think the story in general, is "shit". Either way, thank you for commenting and congrats you may be my first hater!

mykasa: Great to have you back, mykasa! I was wondering where my top commentor went :) (Don't worry ikanisfish, I like your comments as well.)

Also, warning for this chapter. Not bloody happens but just in case.

My name's Hinerich Stiener.

im an ugly almost 19 year old that canot aford a razur to shave with. I like beeing quirky in writing this jornal becous I have no frends in reel life.

Oh look at me, im so quirky that I can right in bold.

***HERES A SMAL FACT**
I rub myself off to an imaginarie caracter.

Im so superiur to other writers becous I spoil my own storie on purpose. Oh yea, I also like to giv objects feelings. fore example, the farting rock bit my leg and ran away. Haha gud righting am I write!

Also, girls luv me a lot. There's this one gurl who happens to be my ded friend's sister. i like drawing her—

I'm so sorry about that. There's an illiterate 12-yr old girl that keeps bothering me nowadays. I should have never started teaching her how to write. I would have erased this too, but she managed to find a pen somewhere.

By the way, nothing she wrote is true, ok? They're lies. I'm not a creep.

Anyway, where the hell were we?

I guess we're finally on the 20th chapter. A milestone. It's almost surreal...

An Eldian's Journal

Wartime Shenanigans

Chapter 20: Freedom of Pain

After beating up the 'warhammer', Viktor walked out of the ring with the other gang members cheering him. It was fueling his ego as gasoline does for engines. But you know what happens to gasoline if you light it up? It catches on fire. (I don't know where I was going with this.)

The wounds that I had dealt on Viktor's face a few days before had retreated into his skin, but there was still visible damage. It was like leftover pencil marks that refuse to leave no matter how much you erase. You could never seem to get rid of all of it. (I'm not doing too well on comparisons today.) Other than that, his face was a simple blanket red from adrenaline. His hair mirrored his chaotic energy.

What's more dangerous than an Eldian dealing out punches?

An Eldian who revels in being punched.

The 'warhammer' laid on the floor of the ring with scrambled and walled off breathing. Poor guy had asthma. Afterwards, the second pair of fighters were about to walk in but were interrupted by Viktor's realization.

***A STUPID REALIZATION***
"Oh wait, we haven't come up with a group name yet."

"You're asking that now?" was a question that was mentioned by the adolescent devils.

Fred, one of the group members, shoved his suggestion into the air. "Fight Club!"

"Hmm, I feel like that's already taken," Viktor replied while scratching his chin.

The knocked-out 'warhammer' answered from the ground through his lazy lips. "Eldian Fight Club..."

"That's basically the same thing."

Fred cleared his throat and yelled out another suggestion, "Eldian Restorationists!"

Viktor immediately lunged out with his slightly bloodied hand wraps and covered the idiot's mouth. Every gang member looked at him with the face of a ghost. It looked like Fred got hit in the head one too many times. Technically, we all did.

"Just because we meet up at a basement doesn't make us Eldian Restorationists!" Viktor said that with a loud whisper. He then let out a sigh. "I guess we can stay unnamed for now."

Viktor then lowered himself into a chair on the other side of the room. "What should be the first rule of this unnamed group?"

"Don't talk about said unnamed group?"

"Shut up, Fred. We're talking about it now."

After a short silence, the second pair of fighters walked into the ring and began duking it out. I couldn't help but look at their faces, and my brain lunged into another bout of overanalyzing. They were faintly red, but I wanted to know what laid beneath the blood vessels in those faces—beneath the bulbs of blood. What was the electricity fueling these crimson bulbs? The gasoline of praise fueled Viktor's ego, but what about these guys?

Fighting truly is an odd thing, we just punch, and sheets of minuscule muscles have to get battered by curved off bones wearing the faux mask of skin.

It's like fish suffocating and vibrating atop a dock without water.

Actually, they're pretty different. That comparison makes no sense. Alas, I went on another damn tangent...

As I tried to make meaning out of a basement fight, Viktor called out to me from across the room, and my overanalyzing ceased. He looked right at me, and a grin crawled on his square jaw. "Heinrich, you're fighting me next! I let you beat me up last time. Now we're doing it properly."

Dammit.

"No." I felt that burn on the inside. The one that never fails to light whenever you feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to deal with any issues again.

The gang looked right at me, and Viktor blurted a sentence. The other gang members' mouths made the same words. "Heinrich's a baby."

"Heinrich's a baby."

"Heinrich's a baby."

"Fine. I'll do it."

I took off my shirt and put on a pair of hand wraps that someone handed to me. Viktor's chants transformed into an obnoxious whistle. The kind that guys do when an attractive lady passes by. Everyone chuckled along.

I got into the ring, wondering how my supposed friends were already making fun of me even though it was only a few days since the most tragic moment in my life. Well, I guess that's what good friends are for. They make fun of you when you're at your weakest, and maybe you'll accidentally laugh along.

It's hard to narrate a fight that you actually participated in. I can't remember every jab & punch that I threw, so some fiction will be used here. Don't judge me.

Smiles were practically wrapped all around the ring. The gang members chittered with money in their fingers and bets on their tongues. The room brewed with a poorly cooked stew of joy and pungent fear. It would be such a great combination if I wasn't wearing the badge of fear.

I could feel it weighing on my face, on my skin, in my heart. It took the form of different sensations, but I can vividly remember a suit of heat. My heart kept beating with the pacemaker forged of fear. If adrenaline had a scent, I smelled it among the bouquets of sweat wrapped up haphazardly in the shape of adolescent devils. Adrenaline would be a black rose in this bouquet.

The result was the same. I had to face the truth. The disapproval of fighting not because I was some stupid pacifist, not because I was afraid of losing, but because...

...I was afraid of killing my friend.

During this inner turmoil, I noticed that Viktor's face was refreshed with different wounds. His chocolate hair was dragged down with sweat. Eyes drugged on adrenaline.

The round started.

This wasn't a professional match like the one in my dream from a few chapters ago. This street fight was only improved by a shitty boxing ring, like a stale bread with a dab of butter. There was also cheering. "You can do it Viktor!"

"Beat his ass, Heinrich! I bet my money on you!"

The clash of two miniature titans had begun. We hopped into the center of the ring, and Viktor threw the first jab, and my chin caught it. A nice crunchy sting. The crowd's murmurs licked my ears as I hopped about.

I think Viktor was testing me. Or maybe, testing my reactions. As the seconds passed, he kept moving in closer and took more risks. His lack of grace was apparent, for his stance was all over the place. None of this mattered, for everything constantly landed on my cheeks and chin.

He kept coming at me. Until he stopped.

"Heinrich, you aren't even trying."

He caught my plan. I gulped a cocktail of saliva and faint blood. "Of course I am...you're just beating me because you're that good."

"Oh yes, I am that good. But you didn't even put your arms up once."

I looked down at my hands as if they had failed me in some way.

He sighed. "I don't know why I thought you'd be up for fighting after all the stuff you've been through recently."

"..."

"I guess we can do something a little tamer then."

I watched the dance of the light in the room as Viktor walked over to the lamp. He picked it up and pulled out the candle. The spray of light narrowed down to a raw flicker. The tears of the flame were the wax that dripped down the candle's abundant faces. He went to pick up the other candle.

All of our light sources were in his hands. The rest of the gang members gazed at Viktor with focus; their eyebrows were furrowed.

"Heinrich, lie down on the floor." Viktor then looked at the other gang members. "Hold him down."

I did what he said, and the gang members came by and held me down. I didn't know what he needed the candles for. The devil with candles in his hands stood above.

***A TAMER OPTION***
Viktor poured melting wax on my leg.

I watched the candles' tears pour onto my leg. The sting started as a peck but grew into an ache that mowed through the veins of my body. The roof of my mouth went dry, and my body pulsed with each spike-like tear. The fear felt like it would burst through my heart.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled.

I thought a monster was standing above me, but no, this being had a square jaw and chocolate hair. It was just a simple devil that liked fighting. But at that moment, I learned that this devil had something more to him than his apparent hooligan attitude. He had a philosophy.

He said, "Stay with the pain. Don't shut it out."

I tried to imagine a lush forest. Something peaceful with birds and green all around—something without humans and titans. I could taste the sweet berries and the kisses of falling leaves. As for the sounds, I tried putting my mind into the space of chirping, but each bird began chirping in Viktor's voice.

"Stay with it! Look right at the wound!"

I tried focusing on the ceiling. I thought that the sensation would grow muted if I did not look at my leg. I imagined that some calming, cozy words wearing blankets and sitting comfortably next to friends were up there. After a while, however, the words died, and their flesh seared on skewers—rotten letters.

Viktor: "This is real. This is the only thing that you can 100% believe in. You're dreams, your doubts aren't here with you, but the pain is."

"Stop it!"

Viktor slapped me across the face. "This is the realist thing you're going to feel, and you're missing it by taking deep breaths?"

"Put some water on it! Please!" I tried imagining an ocean and dipping my leg in it. The heat put itself out in the blue water.

Viktor: "First, accept the feeling!"

I tried gulping a few times and closed my eyes. In the black of my vision, I could see the pain in the form of faint waves floating about, most likely derivative of any light surrounding me. I shifted my eyes about in the sockets as if I was trying to catch the waves and accept them—accept the freedom in pain.

Viktor took a canteen of water and poured it over the wax. It wasn't immediate relief, but it began to cool down.

"I'm not trying to make you a masochist, Heinrich. I'm telling you the only thing I have to offer. This world gives us enough pain, but if we make our own pain and learn how to take control of it, this world can't screw with us anymore."

The relief overshadowed my senses, so I couldn't wholly absorb Viktor's sentences. Nonetheless, I stored them for later.

"Lend me a hand," I said for I had some trouble getting up.

"Get up yourself..." He wouldn't lend me a hand for a few months from then. "...But look, your one step closer to freedom." As usual, the signature grin lit underneath his dimples.

I wonder what Viktor thought of himself then. Did he feel superior to me with his half-baked philosophy? It seemed like he was trying to sound more eloquent than he was old enough and knowledgeable for. Maybe it was some god-complex?

Alas, he taught me something that day.

I couldn't get mad at Viktor for his crazy idea. For some reason, the month of October kept bringing me different lessons; philosophies, if you will, through the characters of section E and section F. "You're a slave to your goal." "You can't understand anything about me unless you see the world in the shade of color that I do." And then, "This world gives us enough pain, but if we make our own pain and learn how to take control of it, this world can't screw with us anymore."

***A LIST OF INJURIES***
-For October-

-Hit in the back of the head by a bottle and getting punched in the stomach.
-Fell onto a street twice and scratched the side of my face.
-Punched in the nose by a journalist.
-"Stabbed" in the heart when I found out I got manipulated.
-Sense of smell got wounded by the street-dweller.
-Groin got violated by a kick.
-THIS F*CKIN CHAPTER

For some reason, people think that hot drops of wax can be quite pleasurable. I do NOT attest to that opinion especially when someone keeps pouring it on my leg like its water.

Viktor, the gang, and I left the basement a little while after. For the rest of the day, I hid my wound underneath my pants so that my parents wouldn't see me. It worked out quite well for the ironwoman kept her hands busy cleaning the bar, and my papa was reading his 'advanced literature'. Who knows what they were actually thinking about.

I visited Lina and Viktor that evening to escape the gloominess of my parents. They didn't do their typically hilarious verbal abusing in a while, so I grew bored. The crooked siblings were my go-to people after that.

I knocked on their door and heard half the usual response.

"Hey Heinrich."

I was expecting a 'heya Ricky' from the non-Viktor sibling, but I was left with simple silence. Viktor shortly answered, "She went out to run an errand."

Viktor and I sat on the mini staircase that leads to his shoebox-like house. I sat there wondering what to say to the boy who poured hot wax on my leg.

"You know, the wax is still on my leg. I still have to figure out how to get it off."

Viktor scratched the back of his head in slight embarrassment.

"Viktor, I've been thinking about what you said earlier...when you poured that damn wax on my leg... it didn't sound like you. Where did you get those lines from?"

"Sometimes, I just say things in the moment that click. They just sound right."

"It has to be more than that."

"..."

"You always say things without thinking. Yet, that line seemed planned. All of it seemed planned."

Viktor scratched his neck and his gaze ping-ponged back and forth. He fumbled about his words and seemed quite conflicted. While I watched his reaction, I began thinking about why he did what he did. Maybe it was his way of helping me out since he felt bad about everything I went through the weeks before. Perhaps it was all just his wicked way of conveying it.

After analyzing, I looked down Hell Street. A tiny diamond shined underneath the streetlights in the distance. It was the girl on an errand—a cigarette wielder.

Viktor: "Ew Heinrich! You're disgusting!"

"What? What did I do?"

I looked down at my crotch. Hmm. Looks like all guys can be titan shifters even if it's just their peni—

ewwww Hinerich is a purvert. I told you all that hes a creep. he shood go to jail—

I'm sorry about that. The illiterate girl I told you about earlier keeps watching me write this journal, and she won't leave me alone. She keeps stealing to write in it too. Also, I apologize for my lust. It truly is something a depraved soul like mine really struggled with.

Viktor immediately gave me a suggestion on how to tame the titan in my pants. (I'm sorry that you have to read this.) He told me to think about an animal dying or something horrific like that. Alas, the hormones pushed their imagination to the max to defeat the horrific images, and the titan stayed strong.

"Heya Ricky!"

I immediately went into a fetal position and pulled my legs closer to my body. "H-Hey Lina!"

The cigarette wielder's head jerked back, and her eyes focused on something. The F-word kept spiralling in my mind along with 'Shit! Shit! Shit!'

"Ricky..."

"Y-yea?"

I started to sweat at the thought that she finally noticed it. But she replied something entirely different. "What happened to your leg?!"

I looked down to see that the wax and the burn was revealed. One issue was replaced with something even worse. I looked over at Viktor. The 'if you snitch you're a bitch' rule didn't exist anymore, so I placed the blame where it belonged.

"Viktor did it."

Lina aimed herself at the fighter. Viktor began to blink rapidly, for he must have known what was to come. Lina's voice was as sharp as a diamond, and it cut through to him. "What did you do you little shit?"

I simply watched as the boy who threw prolific philosophies out of nowhere got beaten up by an angry sister...it felt...satisfying.

Me and the siblings entered the house. Lina said she was going to get some warm water to remove the wax with. As I waited, I gazed at a picture that slept in a photo frame across the living room. The painting forged from light was bereft of color yet plentiful in the dust. Familiar looking devils hid in that frame, yet they felt a tad off—Viktor and Lina's body structures and facial features were all scrambled and shoved onto a man and a woman.

It was papa and mama Dassler—Viktor and Lina's parents. They lived forever in a wooden frame in the corner of the living room.

I know what you're thinking. Yes, the parents are dead. They died a while before I ever came to Section F. I should've mentioned this to you earlier, but the truth of the matter is, it's simply unimportant. Devils always die. I should've directly mentioned that to you earlier, but honestly, it's insignificant.

How did they die, you ask? It's simple, really: since the industrial revolution started only around a few decades before then, safety regulations were slim, and the Marleyans got the Eldians to do all the extra dangerous work for them. The Dassler parents got caught in the mess of factory assembly lines.

It's not more complicated than that.

If you scooped up a handful of devils from section F, I think you can find quite a few with a similar backstory. These aren't tragic people; they are just people. This is the life of an Eldian.

Every time I came across that picture, however, I noticed a new facial feature that happened to be on their children. I would always chuckle in my head when I realized that Viktor was the man of the house after his dad.

After a short wait, Lina rushed out with some warm water and a washcloth in one hand. I sat down on a chair and rolled up my pant leg. She applied the warm washcloth to the wax and let it rest for a while. "Leave it there for a few minutes. This is my way of paying you back for the time you made me this cast."

"Thanks," I said.I had some trouble making eye contact.

Lina pulled out a cigarette. She had mastered the art of lighting them with just one hand. A true master. After a few clouds of grey floated about, Lina began playing a game that we used to play occasionally. Now that I think about it, it's not really a game but rather an intellectual exercise: "hypotheticals." It was something where we liked to see who had the most exciting answer.

As the weaselly light in the room flickered in yellow, Lina tried to develop a question and a premise for our conversation. Viktor pulled up a wounded chair, and we all sat in a triangle. Lina breathed out a cloud of smoke and said, "I have an idea." She pulled out a wide grin, similar to her brother, and sat at the front of her seat. "How would you test if paths really existed?"

Viktor and I looked right at each other simultaneously. "We already tried that before."

"Oh yeah, how could I forget? You wasted half our wheat flour when you threw it in the air to see if there were lines connecting you two."

I could feel Lina's second-hand embarrassment just from her reaction. She then threw her midnight hair back. It was more dishevelled than usual; she narrowed her eyes on us. "I have a different question. If you had the power of the paths and could jump around time, where would you go?"

Lina would always ask bizarre questions like that one, but they were usually something more stupid like, 'if you could be a titan, which one would you be?'. I contemplated for a while. My gaze hopped from the washcloth on my leg to the other side of the room. There are so many different eras to this world. The time of the plague, the time Marley took control of the Eldians, the time before titans even came about, etc. There are so many eras, so I had some difficulty choosing when Lina first asked.

Apparently, we took too long to think about it. "You guys are boring," Lina said.

"Well, you're stuck with us. It's not like you have any other friends," Viktor retorted.

Lina opened her mouth as if she was going to object, but it stayed frozen for a second instead. It then slumped, and the diamond face softened just for a second. "I have...friends..." It went back to normal a second later. "I'll tell you my answer first—"

Viktor interrupted. "Wait let me guess, you want to go back to the time when tobacco was first used so that you can smoke the strongest stuff?"

Lina threw some water at him. He attempted dodging it but fell off the chair instead. Lina then continued with her response: "I want to visit the time before titans. I want to see how people used to fight then. I want to see if life was more peaceful...or even more painful."

Lina continued with her response. As she did so, I thought about my own. I thought about how people in modern times would present lies in the form of books, telling history from the victors' perspective. Their cowering, snivelling words paint only a portion, or at least, that's what I think. That was my thought process then when Lina first asked me. I wanted to know what actually happened when titans first came about. I felt like going back myself to see how this cycle of hatred ever began.

When she was done, I replied. "I'd like to visit the time when titans first came about. I want to know what Ymir actually did."

"Why then?"

"We don't know if the history we're being told is true. We haven't seen it all actually happen for ourselves."

"That's true."

Lina joined in. "It's like with the islanders. We don't know if they're really worse than us. We're just told what to believe."

I replied. "Exactly, I need to see it for myself. I need to see who Ymir really was. If she wanted what was best for our people or if she simply wanted destruction."

Lina tilted her head to the side and her eyebrows raised. "I'm surprised, Heinrich. You would typically give me boring answers for these kinds of questions. But you gave us a proper answer for once."

After a minute or so, when the wax became more malleable, Lina rubbed it off with the handcloth. As I let that response soak

I turned around to see three people, not just two. The imaginary Ymir stood there with tears dripping down her face. 'Why is she crying?' I asked myself.

"Heinrich, what are you staring at?" Viktor asked.

My imagination was quite strong those days, or was I just losing my mind?

The Real Author's Note

I hope you all liked this extra-long chapter! (I believe it's the longest since Chapter 12 when Reiner got shot.) That candle scene may have been weird but hey, I just got in the flow.

Happy early 4th of July! If you're not from the U.S., it's our Independence Day.

Also, happy 20th chapter! May we have another 20 more and then some.