irosukuyammamoto: Kurt got what he deserved. A good punch to the face.

ikanisfish: Yea, I don't know why so much of the fandom like Pieck so much.

mykasa: Helloooo...maybe you'll guys see Colt. Who knows?

AJ the Guest: Thank you, my friend. I will keep moving forward. As for why it doesn't get much attention, there's some stuff in the story that doesn't follow the typical fanfic mold (i.e. formatting, italics, bolding, original characters, unusual tropes etc.). People like things they are familiar with and this story is likely not it for your average fanfic viewer.

An Eldian's Journal

The Soul of War

Chapter 32: A Rifle's Bite

When we first arrived at the medical tent, it was nighttime and our eyes were freshly pulped by our new buddy, Milo. His fists were fast acting after Kurt had apparently hurt his feelings by saying that he didn't find Pieck attractive. We knew he wouldn't allow us to sleep in the barracks for a while, so I prepared to sleep in the tent itself.

We got lost trying to find the tent, but when we finally arrived, a nurse with snake-like hair peered at us. The hair slithered about her shoulder.

I asked. "Excuse me, ma'am. My friends and I have black eyes. Do you—"

She interrupted me and attempted to use her words like venom. "Bruised eyes, eh? Come back with a broken arm."

"But—"

With a mocking baby voice. "It hurts, doesn't it? Let me just ignore all my patients with broken arms and legs and focus on your little eyes."

I looked at the beds with featherless humans lying on top as mattresses. Some of these "mattresses" had holes in them from training that the snake-like nurse patched up. I looked over the boys in expectation that they knew what to do, but there was nothing on their faces beyond the purple.

The nurse walked away to treat someone, but revealed something that was sitting behind her: a small bottle of alcohol.

Kurt suggested we leave, and I heeded his suggestion. We left the tent to notice one third of our trio was missing. "Where's Viktor?" Kurt asked with a twitch.

"He's right here," Viktor replied while leaving the tent. His hands were behind his back.

We walked back to the barracks while observing the new terrain presented to us underneath the moonlight. The ground was bald compared to the internment zone. There was less grass, and the dirt was a dry beige. Out in the distance, we could make out houses of a similar color, but their roofs were flat. Some of them even wore hats in the shape of upside-down bowls.

When we arrived at the barracks, we opened the door to find all our bunk mates lying down on their respective beds. One head raised above said bed and grew red. It was Milo, of course. "I told you three, you can't sleep here."

Viktor answered. "Well, that's too bad. I thought we could share some of this." He pulled out the small bottle of alcohol from earlier and dangled it as if it was a carrot in front of a bunny.

Of course, Viktor took it. He used to vandalize posters daily back in the internment zone. He needed something to satiate his tendency for disorder.

Milo grew infatuated. "W-Where'd you get that from?"

"The medical tent."

The issue was, besides the fact that no one in my trio was legal drinking age, the alcohol could have been rubbing alcohol, which is toxic if consumed. Milo was too much of an ape to think about that, though. It could have been traditional alcohol too since it can be used as an antiseptic even if it's not as effective.

We wanted to use Milo as the guinea pig to find out which one it was. Viktor proposed. "You want the first sip?"

Milo contemplated heavily on this point. He looked at his muscles, his bunk mates, his picture of Pieck, and finally accepted our proposition. The log hopped off his bunk and maneuvered through the file-drawer of beds to get to us.

He ripped the bottle out of Viktor's hands and took a sip. His whole ape face fluttered as if all the features could savor it.

"Can I get some?"

"I call dibs on next!"

All the bunk mates erupted from their spots and shouted for a sip of the alcohol. And from Milo's reaction, the bottle contained traditional alcohol instead of the one for medicinal uses. Looks like the military's budget was too low for proper tools.

Viktor rejected all the bunk mates and said, "I call the next sip."

Milo held on tighter to the bottle. "Wait, how old are you?"

"Old enough to get alcohol when you can't."

***A FACT***

Viktor was 15

Milo walked back to his bunk. "That isn't an answer."

"Oh, you have morals now after kicking us out of our beds?"

Milo's morals were quite conditional. "I guess so."

Viktor ran past Milo towards the log-like man's bunk. He pulled out something sentimental from underneath the pillow. It was the picture of Pieck. He held it between his forefingers as if he was going to rip it.

"Don't you dare!" Milo halted in his spot.

"I dare." Viktor tore a centimeter into the picture. Everyone oohed like ghosts.

"Fine! I'll give it to you." The 20-year-old, ape-like, log-like man heeded to the petty acts of some 15-year-old that had too much fun sticking his thumb to people that thought they were better than him.

I had my fair share of alcohol sips at home since my parents ran a bar, but Viktor never drank before. So, I wondered what he was going to do.

He drank the poison as if it was water.

It took him a large gulp to realize that one large gulp was too much. His eyes flickered, and his face went wry in a look of disgust. He put his tongue out and tried scraping it with his fingers.

He put the alcohol on the ground, and the other bunk mates flocked over to it like birds. They pecked each other, trying to get the next sip.

That bottle of alcohol depleted rather quickly, and everyone lied in their beds unsatisfied. All their flocking and pecking was useless, just for a drop of poison. They must have thought the drink could lull them to sleep, since the anticipation of training held their eyes open. Viktor was the only one in the room drunk. What a lightweight.

He lied on the bunk to my right. No one asked him to talk, but his words were attempting to figure skate using banana peels as shoes on a field of butter.

"Hey, K-Kurt. Kurtis. Why are there so many holes in your face?"

"Those are freckles, Viktor."

"Oh, okay."

After a slow-motion laugh, he dished out a question to me. "Hey, Heinrich. Let me ask you a question."

I sighed. "What is it?"

His vowels sagged and his consonants drooped. "Do you think my sister's alive? I wonder if they've taken her away to get turned into a titan."

Any semblance of sleepiness was ripped out of me and chewed away by an imaginary machine gun. "W-Why would you ask that?"

"I dunno. I was just wondering."

Everyone reacts differently to alcohol. Some grow extremely quiet. Some grow obnoxiously loud, and some just speak their mind without any filters. Unfortunately, this conversation was not private, and all the bunkmates could hear us. Of course, our resident bully asked. "Ohhh Viktor got a sister? Is she hot?"

I ignored the question, and carefully listened to what Viktor had to say. He seemed like the type to spill all the beans under the influence.

Viktor: "Remember when we were 12, and I told you that we should fight to get out of the walls?"

"Yea... I thought you forgot about all that."

"Well, I didn't."

"Why did you really join me, Viktor?" I realized the error of asking that question immediately when it left my mouth. We just met the soldiers in the room, and we didn't know if there were any rats in there. If Viktor said any words of dissent, we could get killed. So, I rushed over and covered his mouth.

He mumbled through it, and I missed what he was saying.

He looked at me confused. I lifted my hands, and he then said, "Ew... Your hands taste weird. I need to wash my mouth out now."

I went back to my bed, hoping Viktor wouldn't spill any more beans. Fortunately, I found him going fast asleep.

We woke up bright and early the next day. Not by Kaslow or the wall-keeper but by the most disciplined soldier of them all. It's a character I've grown to love. The sun. I can always count on it being there no matter where I am. It stands tall on the edge of the sky with a machine gun made of sunrays that reloads overnight. It consistently fires during the day.

It walks on the horizon like a lone stranger asking for no one's help, being indifferent to every race it shoots at.

When it shot me, the bullets of lights hazed through the barracks and bunkmates woke up one by one. We knew we had to get ready before Kaslow mowed past the door again.

We lined up by the outhouses, fearing the destruction the bowels of the cadets in front of us would produce. After dealing with a less than satisfactory shower (we had to use buckets), I walked to the barracks to put on the training uniform I was provided. As expected, mine was one size too big.

But of course, halfway through putting my pants on Kaslow and the wall-keeper came through the door.

"Attention! Line up! Move it! Move it!"

We formed our rows. I stood in line with my pants still down, since if I moved to pull them up, I would immediately become the subject of ridicule. Kaslow scanned us as if he was looking for something to complain about. He skipped me and returned to his position by the door.

He took a deep breath, and then yelled. "Which of you maggots are from Section F?!"

None of raised our hands since we knew he would ridicule us instantly for some reason. Unfortunately, Kurt didn't catch on with this, and he replied. "I am, sir—sarge."

"So, our Eldian circus monkey is from Section F, huh?"

"Yes, sarge."

"I hereby nominate you for a special task." Kaslow rustled through his back pocket. "Right here is a toothbrush I found lying on the bathroom floor. You, the circus monkey, will clean the bathroom with it."

Everyone chuckled through their statue-like poses except Viktor and I. Poor guy couldn't catch a break since he arrived in the barracks.

"What are you laughing at, cadets? One of you lost a toothbrush, and he's using it to clean the ground." Everyone ceased their chuckling, and a pang of heat shot through me when I realized I misplaced my toothbrush that morning.

Kaslow went through the rows again when Kurt left for his specialized duty. He centered on Viktor this time around, who had a hungover but still had a bite in him.

"What's wrong with you, cadet?"

"I'm Eldian, sarge."

"I mean, what's wrong with you besides that?"

"Nothing is wrong, sarge."

"I don't believe you."

"Why don't you believe me, sarge?"

"Because I don't see fear in your eyes. If you feared me, you'd be telling the truth!"

"The truth is, sarge, you look mighty handsome today. It's making me act up. Did you get a haircut?"

Kaslow stepped back and looked furious for a second, but soon mellowed out. He dropped a tear as if he was expressing gratitude for once. "No one has called me handsome before... I just washed my clothes today." His furious look returned. "Did you just patronize your commanding officer, Eldian swine?!"

"No, sarge. I was merely telling the truth."

"Am I ugly, cadet?!"

"No, sarge! You're very not ugly!"

Most of us in the room were visibly distraught by the interaction that transpired. Each face teetered between confusion and laughter. Kaslow then shifted over to Milo, who appeared to unsatisfied about something. He was probably upset by how little he drank the day before.

"Do I look handsome to you, cadet?"

"No, sarge. You're the ugliest sonofabitch I've ever seen."

"Now, why is that the cadet on your right says I'm handsome, and you're saying the opposite?"

"He has low standards, sarge."

"Have you seen better? I dare you to find something better."

Milo pulled out the picture of Pieck. "I found something better."

"You know what, cadet? I'll wear a black wig and make up just for your motivation."

"Really, sarge?"

"You know what... How about you find the actual thing? I'm going to make you run so many laps, you would practically be running to her."

"That would be a wonderful day, sarge."

"That wonderful day is today. Now, move it! Go chase that cart titan ass."

Sergeant Kaslow had too much fun messing with us. He chased Milo out the door and then forced us out as well for some initial rifle training. Just the word rifle made me shiver because of my sour history with guns.

We rushed out to a training field with guns lined up on stands in front of us. As surrounding noise, vehicles neighed, trucks mooed, and soldiers chirped. It was a farm to nurture destruction.

"Listen up, devils! I assume none of you have girlfriends. But that's okay, because these guns will serve you better. They don't complain, you don't have to go on dates with them, but most importantly they are the only reliable thing you have on the battlefield." He took a pause. "What are you all staring at me for? Go grab a girl!"

All my bunk mates, even Viktor, went to grab a gun from the stands. I stayed still in my place, for I couldn't force myself to even touch one. The soldier in the sky was looking down at me, shooting its rays as usual, yet it provided me with no answers. What was I to do? Kaslow stared at the stand with a remaining gun and asked. "Who's leaving this poor girl hanging?" He then laughed with the sound of an evil kettle.

"It must be Heinrich, isn't it?" That was the first time he called my name. "I know about your little history with guns." He must have noticed my reaction as well. "You think I didn't know? I was debriefed by a lovely friend of ours."

He grabbed the gun, and walked over to me with malevolence itching every bit of his face. He pushed the gun at my chest. "Take it."

"I'm going to be a combat medic, right? I don't need a gun."

"Oh, so guns are useless, huh? You will be in a battlefield someday, and you don't want to know how to use a gun?!"

"..."

He shoved me onto the ground using the wooden stock. His words were more venomous than the nurse from earlier. "I still don't understand why you are here with us, but it isn't my place to complain. I just need to make sure you aren't wasting my time. Now get the hell up and hold this damn gun."

I dusted myself and got up. The rifle's handle was made of wood, just like my old guitar and Mr. Kruger's guitar. But this wood must have come from a more evil tree than those did. I grabbed the neck, and it quivered in my hands.

The last thing I held that was made from a tree had strings and soothed ears.

This one shoots ears off.

Kaslow waddled back to his original position and announced. "Do not point your guns forward! I know you all want me to die. But I sure as hell don't!" Everyone lowered their guns and listened to the sergeant's instructions. In between some sentences, I glanced at Milo, who was running laps on a track about 100+ meters away from us.

All the soldiers took turns firing at a target that was set up for us. It didn't take me long to notice that bullets didn't just deal damage on what they hit but the guns themselves could damage the users. Numerous bunk mates were thrown back from the recoil of their first shot; one even dislocated their shoulder.

I was the last one to go.

I held up the weapon, and looked down the length of it. The stock bit uncomfortably into my armpit, and it was unruly in my hands due to the awkward weight. Sweat lubricated the handle, and it grew even more awkward to handle.

"Just shoot already!" Kaslow instigated.

I pulled the trigger.

Instead of shooting Reiner, the bullet broke the stand of the target. The sound clapped my ears, and I nearly lost balance.

"Haha, you're just as horrible as I expected."

I was expecting more instruction on how to properly shoot, but I guess there's only so much training you can squeeze into three months.

Kaslow: "Since you're the last one to shoot, Heinrich, I have a special task for you."

Shit.

***THE SPECIAL TASK***

"I want you to shoot Milo."

"Wha—"

"Shoot him in the calf, and after you're done, go to the medical tent and get a first aid kit. Fix him up."

"I-I don't know how to use one."

"You're going to be a combat medic, right? Learn."

"But—"

"Listen here, dammit. I need to train these soldiers to fight till their mission is complete, even when they have fatal wounds. I also need to train you to save lives when you're scared shitless, and have guilt."

I raised the gun and looked down the length of it towards the bully, the antagonist of the barracks. He was running around shirt-less, and I could faintly make out the sweat clinging lifelessly to his face. Why was I feeling sympathy for this man?

My finger hugged the trigger. It was a simple hug, slowly applying pressure by the second.

I squeezed the trigger...

...and missed.

The bullet had flown into a random direction, not even close to Milo. People in the surrounding area grew alarmed by the poorly placed shot. Milo stopped running and looked around frantically.

Kaslow took the gun from me. "Fine. I'll do it myself." He shot the bully straight in the calf muscle, and the log crumpled to the ground. Even from the distance, I could see the sudden excess of red.

Kaslow was truly the bully of the barracks.

Not Milo.

I brushed past Viktor, and a splurge of heat ran rampant through my body. I went to a medical tent, fueled purely by reflexes at this point and asked for a first aid kit. My words tripped over each other and fell in front of me.

I got a first-aid kit from the snake-like nurse and bolted towards Milo in the track. Thoughts about Kaslow's perfect aim, and this cruel act swarmed like vampire bats in the cavernous room that my mind. Finally, I kneeled next to Milo while trying to avoid the sting of my knee on the ground. His queasy leg was vomiting blood.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry ok?!" I yelled at the man.

My whole body tremored while my mind struggled to find a path for its focus to follow. I then open the first aid kit and pulled out a gauze. I attempted to wrap it around his leg wound, but the bleeding continued.

I tried to place pressure and when that didn't work, I looked for something to use as a tourniquet. Of course, I didn't know what a tourniquet was then; I just used as much common sense as a flustered mind could muster.

I found the shirt he had taken off earlier and wrapped it above his knee repeatedly.

I repeated, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ok?!" I looked down at his face to see he was unconscious.

The pattering of military boots tingled my tensioned brain from the back. One of these boots belonged to a despicable man. It was Kaslow. "You managed to stop his wound. See? That wasn't so hard."

I don't think I felt more rage for a human being until I saw what that glutton did. It's ironic how those that claim Eldians are devils go to such far lengths to hate us that they act like devils themselves.