Chapter 20. Gallows Pole

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I read thru the story again to make sure everything was flowing alright and that I wasn't missing anything in my notes. Glad I did; I discovered a pretty key error. It was mentioned in an early chapter that Eren knew about Levi's imprisonment and the Rivamika bond, and then I had my head up my ass and dropped that. It was an easy fix, but, to set the record straight, Eren doesn't know. Poor Eren. If you feel like you need more clarity, feel free to read the (minor) scene change I made to the beginning of chapter 7. Anyway, onwards.

It was unnerving, the sight of them; like a pair of silent coyotes they sat, regarding him with their dark, hematite eyes.

"Alright, let's go," was all he said.

Together, as if some silent cue had passed between them, both Ackermans rose from their cot vantage and approached. Mikasa kept her noble head high, eyes dead straight, as the manacles were fastened about her proffered wrists. Levi was next, and with the jailor's focus on the cuffs, the shorter man cast his blank stare upon Rikard—the briefest nod, a wordless conveyance. Rikard returned it.

"Take them to Red Mother," he bade the jailor. The parting look he received from Mikasa was decidedly less cordial than her compeer's.

The rationale behind his actions last night wasn't all that clear to him. Reparation? Peace? Guilt? Maybe a bit of each. Not that he could atone for anything. Levi hadn't argued or asked much beyond the reason for Rikard's presence at his cell. Which, really, was fine by him—he didn't exactly have an answer, anyway. But that brief slip in Mikasa's mask, the vulnerable shuffle of emotions across her usually stoic face as he'd marched Levi into her room, had served as a kind of answer all on its own.

His sister's derisive sneer dogged his memory, her voice distinct above the purposive pound of his footsteps as he strode through the halls: you're too soft. Always have been.

And maybe he was, though not as she'd meant it.

It had been a mistake to bargain with Levi from day one. Even at the time, he was aware that any information gleaned would expect its weight in full. The role of the perfidious captain, however, so ready to sell out his own compatriots because he had never really one of them to begin with, had been one Levi played well. It all seemed so ridiculous now. Then again, hindsight was a cruel bitch.

And, yes, he had gotten cocky. Gloated, even, all the while being played. So what? Their plan had failed in the end; true, being so easily beguiled had been a blow to his ego, but he wasn't the one marching to the gallows. You're too soft. Always have been. Probably, but it wasn't pity he felt. The Ackermans were perhaps the least pitiful people he'd ever encountered. Even his own sister, for all her callous rage, willingly carried the mantle of victim about her shoulders.

Perhaps he was just a mawkish fool whose weak heart bled for two soldiers finding something in each other in their final hour. Maybe.

Or, for the first time since his sister had fanned the flames of rebellion and saddled him with the charge of a legacy, he'd actually felt something.

Well, too late now, wasn't it. Everything was too late. The rows of cells flanking him on either side of the hall—Rubie's so-called "new homes" she had planned to fill with her long list of sinners once she'd had her day of reckoning—were just empty, wasted spaces at this point. He neared the only occupied cell at the end of the hall, the one belonging to yet another cultivator of his guilt. She and the ones before her.

It had only taken countless numbers of abducted children until they'd finally found the rumored Titan child, and he told himself he deserved the queasiness in his gut whenever he thought about them. And he watched as, just like her predecessors, that fire faded from Dennard's amber gaze as time wore on, overshadowed by an empty look of capitulation. There really was something different about this girl, though—not just in the all-consuming hatred she could unleash upon him with just her eyes alone, but in the accelerated rate with which she healed. Did he still doubt? Of course, and he found himself hoping each day that her odium would return. Hate me, hate me, hate me. Please.

"Alright, kid. Get up." She didn't reply, but he wasn't expecting her to. He was eager to get moving, however—the sooner they made for Chlorba, the better. The others would be no doubt reluctant to leave the barren monastery they'd called home for nearly two years, but their devotion to his sister far outweighed any emotional attachment they held for these caverns. Sheep. "Oi," he prompted, squinting into the darkened cell as he fumbled with the keys, "wake up, kid."

From this distance, in this light, he would have thought she was sleeping had it not been for the violent and erratic way her small body lurched about on the cot. Her hands were fists at her sides, arms and legs stiff and thrashing as her back arched and twisted.

"Hell," he breathed. Wrenching open the door, keys forgotten somewhere on the dark floor, he ran to her side. "Oi, kid!" He clamped her arms to her body, hissing as her fist flew free and clouted his jaw. "Wake up!" he bellowed at her listless face. The girl grunted in pain as a particularly vicious jolt sent her head back to clatter against the stone of the cell. "Dennard!"

And just like that, as if her name were the breaking of a spell, her eyes flew open. She gave a ragged gasp, her chest heaving as if she'd just sprinted a mile. Rikard didn't know what to do, torn between giving her space and offering some awkward token of comfort. He settled for a hand on her upper arm, anchoring the small limb. She choked in another breath, a half sob, her pale hands clutching at his sleeve as her wild eyes looked beyond him and searched the darkened ceiling. He waited for her to scramble away from him, for recognition to dawn, but her grasp on his shirt held firm.

"The hell just happened?" She flinched at his tone, his grip on her arm, so he lightened both. "Are you alright?"

Her honey-colored eyes finally drifted to meet his, and he saw a flare of that old spark in their depths. "You," she whispered, looking at her own hands clutching at his shirt, back to his face. "It's not too late."

"What?" He leaned in to better hear. "What's not too late?"

"If you have a heart at all," she began, eyes once more drifting as some thought derailed her.

"Dennard." He gave her shoulders a gentle shake.

"You'll never make it to Chlorba."

At this he stood, backed away. "The hell are you on about. Quit fucking around." How did she know about that? There was no way she could have known about such plans to move camp—even the jailor was kept in the dark, so it wouldn't have been possible for her to hear it from him.

She ignored his question. The low timbre of her voice—the certainty there—was at odds with her youth, and it so deeply unsettled him that all he could do was listen. "But you still have a choice, Rikard." The cot creaked as she rose to seated, and a thin trail of blood fell from her nose and trickled down her lip. It didn't seem to register with her. "If you have a heart at all, you'll help them."

"Levi."

She said his name and it was like he was hearing it for the first time, so familiar yet so sweetly foreign on her tongue. He'd never liked his name before she said it; now he just wanted to hear it played over and over in the timbre of her voice, rising and falling, those two syllables, so he could feel like maybe he'd done something right for once.

She had been real, warm in his hands and against his skin, and it hadn't been a one sided dance because she had moved with him. It was a strange thing—that someone could enjoy him—and he wanted to engrave the memory of her face in ecstasy onto his fucking brain.

She spoke again, a little sharper, dragging him from his thoughts, "Levi." The question was absent from her tone but reflected in her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the dynamic of captain and subordinate was felt. She was waiting.

Still, he didn't answer, surveying the Redeemers in their red garb—clumping like ants and just waiting for them to try something. His gaze landed on a tall man, on the gun in his hands. It was a rudimentary weapon, a flintlock, but a gun was a gun.

This was how you put down a dog. He would have laughed…

Mikasa had taken to observing the scene herself, too preoccupied to notice his gaze had returned to her. The tension was evident in her brow, but she kept her chin lifted, her shoulders squared. No, not like this. Death would come for Mikasa in the throes of battle, bathed in blood, or at the end of a long life after all the battles had been fought. But not like this.

"Oi," he murmured, and her head snapped to him. There was a flash of something so incredibly raw in her eyes, and it echoed in his chest. Resolve was quick to conceal the leak in her emotions, but he'd seen them, seen the fear, her rage. "I…"

He should say something, impart a final phrase, but his tongue was a useless thing. Or maybe he just had too many words and too little time to say them. Ironically, it would all be easier to convey through the bond, and he pushed against it anyway despite the unrelenting resistance. He could feel her on the other side, however—the anxiety in her gut that he too shared, the anticipation. Her fingers grazed his own, and he glanced down to their shackled hands as they joined. She said more in a single touch than he could in words—no one had ever touched him like this. How ironic that he should know it now.

"Mikasa." Perhaps her name was enough—a broken whisper on his lips.

She pulled him to her. Their chains made it a difficult embrace, but he made do with burying his nose in her hair and clutching her elbow in both hands. She curled into him, breath stuttering in his ear, all her carefully concealed emotions revealed within an exhale. "I will fight with you," she breathed, and the words galvanized him, because Mikasa Ackerman wouldn't die like a dog. "I will fight with you, Levi."

And then he was yanked back, separated from her by ungentle hands. "Alright, that's enough of that," the jailor groused. Then he chuckled, low and unfriendly, voice a rancid puff in Levi's ear. "Smile, dog," he jerked his chin at the woman approaching, "for the Red Mother."

Rubie had eschewed that balmy smile, her face grim. "I gave you a choice, Ackerman." Her gaze shifted to his left, to Mikasa. "The last of your kind," she murmured, a look of dismay flitting across her face. "What a waste." She turned then to address the soldiers present, voice magnified against the rock. "Let's go. I want us moving within an hour," and then, quieter, to the gunman, "get this done quickly."

A pair of onyx eyes burned into Levi's periphery. Waiting. This was seeming less like a grand entry and more like…an utter failure. "Hanji, cutting it close," he gritted through his teeth.

This could very well be it; Dennard's vatic words echoed long and loud in his mind, and he was well aware that this could be the moment they came to fruition. Mikasa, undoubtedly, knew this too. But in his name he heard her answer, as there was no fatalism there but a sense of preparedness in her tone. I will fight with you.

The jailor drove them both to kneel on the ground before their executioner, his broad hands heavy upon their shoulders. If Hanji were waiting for her moment, this was it.

Mikasa's anxiety rippled through the bond. "Levi," she hissed. She wanted to fight, would rather die that way than on her knees staring down a barrel.

"Wait." He was gambling like the bastard he was—for a moment, he was besieged by the wretched ghost of his uncle, and felt very much Kenny Ackerman's nephew.

A soft pressure applied itself to the back of his hand. Mikasa slipped her fingers along the chafed ridges of his knuckles, and he felt that there was more than trust in her caress.

"Those who have been wronged shall be avenged, and those who are forsaken shall be redeemed," Rubie intoned, and Levi wondered if she were mocking him, as if she knew how much hearing that pithy Redeemer locution in his final moments would utterly gall him.

The hollow click of the gun's hammer called Levi's gaze upward, to the gunman, and for a moment he saw himself in the man's face. He closed his eyes.

"Levi—"

The roar split the clearing with all the fury of a tempest, the sound as haunting as it was familiar. Levi's eyes flew open, face turning to Mikasa—and he didn't need to say a thing, didn't need to give a signal, because she already knew. They moved as one.

The gunman gave a yelp of surprise, his head snapping back as Mikasa drove the heel of her palm into his jaw. He held firm to the gun, however, fighting for ownership despite the river of blood weeping from his nostrils. Levi pulled the shackles at his wrists to their complete length, his elbow connecting with someone's face. He didn't stop to see whom, surging toward the jailor's turned back and giving the chain a new purpose around the man's broad neck. He roared with rage, arms swinging like battle axes, body lurching to and fro in an attempt to fling Levi from him.

The clearing was alive with shouts: commands and a call to arms, exclamations of fright. Another great roar sounded, and Levi knew the Titan's distraction was the only reason someone hadn't pulled him from the jailor yet. A pair of wide, green eyes caught his attention. Rubie. Her brow was bloodied. His attention was wrenched from her as the man beneath him veered suddenly.

Levi dug his knees deeper into the jailor's back, urging himself higher, grimacing against the repeated blows to his sides from the man's fists. Mikasa had successfully claimed ownership of the gun, her opponent a groaning mess at her feet. She locked eyes with Levi, hesitating but a moment before racing forward and delivering a swift kick to the jailor's gut. The man lurched but remained standing. Mikasa gritted her teeth in frustration, sending another kick lower. This doubled him, and his knees hit the ground.

"The keys," he instructed Mikasa. She snatched them from the jailor's belt. "You first," he said when she hesitated. She tucked the gun beneath her arm and unlocked her manacles.

A pained wheeze left the jailor, his hand patting feebly at the metal noose around his neck. Levi nodded once at Mikasa before bending forward to the man's fleshy ear, something very bitter and void of clemency curling in his chest as he murmured, "smile, dog."

Mikasa cocked the gun and fired.

The report rang across the rock, repeating and dispersing through the stalactite teeth of the cavern. For a moment, there was a suspension, like the shot had cut through the chaos and clamor and inspired all to hold their breath. Then there was movement. Crimson tunics billowed about them like a flock of deadly cardinals—Redeemers to his left, his right. Mikasa's back hovered against his own, and he could feel her stance, her tension, their bond beating in his ears like a second pulse. A heady madness overtook him then, and for once his mind became blissfully blank.

Months spent wasting away in a four-walled world, all the hours in the dark, suddenly melted away replaced by the rush of adrenaline; there was only so much he could maintain within a cage, but bringing his fist to meet the unprotected side of a Redeemer felt like second nature. His elbow cracked across a nose, and he relished the crunch of cartilage and bone.

A pair of hands descended upon his shoulders, a leg driving itself behind his knee in an attempt to wrestle him into the dirt. Again the chain proved useful—pivoting in the dirt, he secured it about his assailant's neck, turning them both around before flinging the groaning man into another advancing Redeemer.

"Protect your queen!" a voice bellowed. "Put 'em down!"

There was no turning back now. No surrender. Either they fought to the death or fought until every last red-clad adversary had fallen. Levi knew the odds had been far from their favor, but he'd underestimated just how quickly the Redeemers would rally—voices rang against the rock walls, carrying through the tunnels as reinforcements made for the scene. It seemed for every man they felled, another three took his place.

"Levi, catch." Mikasa tossed the keys toward him. She kept her eyes on the encroaching Redeemers while he went to work on his cuffs.

The manacles fell away not a moment too soon, and he spun just in time to avoid the deadly arc of a blade. The Redeemer attacked again, the knife cutting through the air with a dull hiss, and again he evaded—slice, duck, repeat. On the fourth pass, the man scored a cut along Levi's left shoulder. He was better prepared by the fifth strike, his hands capturing the man's wrist and effectively dislodging the weapon from his grasp.

The fight was Levi's—at least, it should have been, had his focus not momentarily faltered; Mikasa gave a sharp cry of pain, and all it took was the brief dart of his eyes in her direction for the Redeemer to regain the upper hand.

Levi landed on his side but drove his foot into the back of the man's knee, bringing him to the ground as well. Both men scrambled for the discarded knife. Levi caught a glimpse of Mikasa as he reached for the blade, saw her grappling with a woman about her same size. The wound on her shoulder wept red trails to her elbow; and as his fingers found purchase on the hilt, he realized the knife had never cut him at all.

The second blade came out of nowhere, soaring like a swift past his vision. The Redeemer beside him gave a pained gurgle, his fingers fumbling at the knife protruding from his neck. Then he went still.

A familiar sound came from above—the woosh of pressurized air—and Levi rolled to his back to see the Wings of Freedom soar by. He scanned the mass of green; Hanji wasn't amongst the rescue, but he recognized Efran immediately. It was odd to see the man in 3dmg, and he clearly felt uncomfortable in the gear. He handled the landing well enough, however.

"Efran," Levi said, and then, "you took your damn time".

The tattooed sheathed his blades with a grin. The expression faltered as he approached. "Shit, you look...like shit."

"Thanks, I was going for an uncultivated look." He bent to retrieve both knives, grimacing at the sucking, wet sound the one made as he pulled it from the Redeemer's neck. "Nice grand entry, by the way. I appreciated the suspense."

Mikasa's voice cut across the clearing. "She's getting away!"

A dash of red, set apart from the others, flitted through the fray and disappeared through a tunnel. Mikasa took off like a shot in pursuit of Rubie, vaulting over fallen bodies and swerving to avoid the ongoing battle in the center of the clearing.

"Mikasa!" Efran bellowed, turning his anxious gaze to Levi. Nothing needed to be said, and together the two men took off after the ebony-haired woman.

Anxiety gripped Levi's chest as Mikasa passed out of sight. He kept on, pressing on the bond so as not to lose track of her completely. "Bloody-minded woman," Levi cursed under his breath.

They reached the tunnel, Efran falling in line behind Levi. "Keep going, I'll catch up," he shouted. Levi didn't wait.

It was damp and airless within the narrow space, the ceiling low even for Levi; no doubt Efran would have to bend his head. The pebbled ground twisted left, and then sometimes right again, winding like a labyrinth. Levi dug his nails into the meat of his palm, focusing on the bite of pain there, keeping his breath even as he raced through the confined passageway.

The tunnel ended abruptly after a right turn, opening up to a large chamber that Levi didn't recognize. The air was cooler here—cleaner, as if there were an opening nearby for a draft to pass through. Levi took a breath. Efran emerged shortly after him, having forsaken his ODM gear. Both men took a moment to scan the space, seeing no sign of Mikasa.

"Fuck, that woman's fast," Efran breathed, dragging a hand across his inked pate.

It was true, and Levi couldn't help but think it his comeuppance for a time months ago when he'd greatly outpaced her in a similar circumstance. The terrain was in her favor now, the stretches of ground well-suited for her longer limbs and endurance.

"We've lost them," Efran despaired, rubbing at his head again.

Levi didn't reply, focusing on the pulse of the bond as he tested a theory.

Thanks for waiting, brat.

Silence stretched. And then her voice. Not my fault you fell behind.

Levi's eyes rolled to the rocks above his head in his efforts to battle his inquietude—they weren't out of the woods yet; the events of Dennard's premonition remained plausible. "You damn fool."

"Pardon?" Efran arched a brow.

"Wasn't talking to you."

"Ah."

Something indefinable tugged at his senses, and Levi felt the urge to yield to its pull. He started forward, jogging blindly. "C'mon. I know where she is—"

"Levi Ackerman."

It struck him then that he'd never once seen Rikard wear the scarlet robe of a Redeemer, and he found that odd. Nonetheless, there the man stood, clad in red—winded. He must have followed them through the tunnel.

Levi felt Efran's gaze on him. The man was no doubt prepared to attack should Levi so much as give the word. "I have nothing to say to you."

"And I don't expect anything. But I can help—"

"You'd best be on your way, Rikard."

The red-haired man was persistent, however. Levi didn't know why he remained listening to him—he could feel the distance growing between him and Mikasa.

"I know where they're going. Where Rubie's going."

"Yeah, well, so do I. Don't need your help." He turned to leave, Efran following suit.

"Dennard told me how to save her."

That...that stopped him. His heart stuttered painfully in his chest. This was some kind of trick.

"Why did Dennard transform?" He kept his back to Rikard, not willing to give more than his time.

"Distraction. Look, you have no reason to trust me, and I wish there were more time to explain it," a pause, the man's breath still returning, "but Dennard had another vision and gave me some pretty specific instructions to follow."

"Levi," Efran hissed, voice thick with misgiving. To him, this probably sounded like the ramblings of a mad man.

But too many things lined up. And that tension in Levi's chest was only curling tighter.

"Try to keep up," he spat, ignoring Efran's stuttering objections.

Another tunnel, this one longer but, thankfully, not as confining. Rikard never lagged, wordlessly following behind Levi and tailed by the ever watchful Efran.

"I hear something," Efran called from the rear. "Up ahead. Sounds like water."

The noise increased the closer they got the the end of the passageway, the air becoming cooler. The stark spill of natural light around the bend confirmed Levi's suspicion of an opening in the cavern. Rounding the corner, Levi was momentarily blinded as he stepped from the darkness of the tunnel, and it took him several seconds before he could turn his face to the massive fissure in the rock's ceiling revealing the bare sky.

The ground here was slightly more fertile, though the green was fungal in nature, and many of the larger rocks bore lichen. The sound of water was nearly deafening now, the air thick with moisture. It was utterly freezing out here, a fact which both invigorated and annoyed Levi.

The bluff they stood on stretched on for a few meters before ending abruptly. Levi wondered how far down the water lay.

"A river, perhaps?" Efran shouted above the noise, echoing Levi's thoughts.

Rikard nodded. "It's a tributary from the river barge." He gestured to the broad, curving wall of rock to their right. "There's a break somewhere in the river's floor and it empties into a pool several miles up that way. This gorge is the trickle down."

Trickle down seemed a bit of an understatement. Curiosity drew Levi toward the ledge, where the gray sky above became more visible. A winter draft past through the chasm, chilling him.

The size of the river wasn't what shocked him—it was actually a bit narrower than the barge. The velocity of the water, however, the sheer rage with which it tore down the gorge and battered the rock, was nothing short of imposing. He shivered deeply as his hair and clothes grew damp from the spray.

Movement of a different kind caught his eye—to his left, on the fringe of his vision. The ledge narrowed as it continued along the craggy wall of the gulch, the terrain growing steep and uneven. And there in the distance, at the top of the escarpment, were Mikasa and Rubie. Mid battle.

Levi took off toward the incline without so much as a backward glance to the men behind him. Efran shouted something at him, but the words were lost beneath the din of the watercourse.

Rikard caught up to him first, the steep stretch of rock proving to be more of a hill once he'd reached it. "Levi, wait." His damp hair clung to his pale face, robe wine-black from the spindrift. "I'm not asking for amnesty here, for me or my sister. But I think I can subdue her. I think she'll be more inclined to surrender if I can—"

The loose rocks shifted beneath their feet as Levi pulled Rikard forward by his collar. "You listen to me." This close he didn't need to shout, and his voice took on a direful rasp. "The only reason why I don't haul your ass over the side of this cliff is because of what you did. But your sister will get no leniency from me."

A very primal look of desperation crossed Rikard's face, and Levi thought it was perhaps the most expressive he'd ever seen the man. "She will die," he said, jaw clattering from the cold. He pointed a shaking finger up the slope to the women above. "Mikasa's skill in battle is unparalleled, I know, but this is how she dies, Levi."

Heady, misplaced excitement ignited in Levi's chest, and for a moment he could only roil with the sensation. The urge to call out for Mikasa was strong, and he realized, belatedly, that he was too close to use the bond.

"If you don't trust me, then trust Dennard," Rikard said.

The crunch of slate and soil turned Levi's head to the approaching Efran. "We don't have a lot of time here, laddie," the inked man said, eyes darting up the hill.

"Please," Rikard implored, pulling free from Levi's grip.

"Fine. Fucking go."

He needed no further directive and took off up the incline at an impressive pace.

"Where the hell's he going?" Efran yelled.

Levi motioned for him to follow, hoping the gesture would be reassurance enough, as formulating an explanation would take too long.

This didn't feel right. Nothing about this felt right. Mikasa's exhaustion was palpable through the connection, his own shoulder feeling the ache of her wound. The whole scene stretched out like one big nightmare, the loose slate and shingles beneath his feet making his ascent agonizingly slow. Rikard seemed to be having a much easier time scaling the terrain, and Levi suddenly wished for his ODM gear.

"Fuck this rock!" Efran bellowed from behind, suffering the same hardship as Levi. "How did that bastard get up there so fast?"

The ground was too precarious to look away from, so Levi was forced to pause momentarily. Sure enough, Rikard had successfully crested the top of the rise. He was saying something inaudible, inserting himself directly between the sparring women.

Levi put his head down again and charged forward a few more paces, nearly slipping on a damp rock that had begun to freeze over. He paused yet again to watch the scene above. Rikard had his back to Mikasa now—who was bent slightly, clutching her shoulder—his focus entirely on his sister.

Nearly there now, God he was nearly there. The rocks thinned, the frozen earth hard and compact beneath his boots and aiding in his climb. Something made him look up again, as if he'd been called for, and Mikasa's head snapped to him at the same moment. His name played on her lips, and for a moment he could only stare back at her, all the things he longed to say lingering just there on his tongue.

He needed to move. He could get there and time, get there to Mikasa…

An icy feeling stole through Levi's gut, and he faltered midstep. Rikard had shrugged off his cloak, letting the damp garment fall to the ground as he pulled his sister into an embrace. The sun broke through the gray clouds at that moment, turning their hair to flame and glinting off the metal tucked into Rikard's belt.

A gun.

A tightening sensation presented itself at the back of Levi's head—that familiar band of pressure that heightened his senses and charged his blood. He couldn't even feel the cold. Rubie brought her arms around her brother's waist, fingers just brushing against the weapon. She caught his gaze then from over Rickard's shoulder, a look of surprise in her green orbs. Then her hand shifted back down her brother's back, and he knew he wouldn't make it, that even if he had ODM gear strapped to him he would still be too late. Still, he climbed—and he was just at the top now—some animalistic panic spurring his feet to eat up the distance, a name ripping from his lungs, "MIKASA!"

The shot rang across the expanse, above the roar of the river. Levi gave a pained grunt as if he'd been struck in the sternum, and for a moment he could only cling to the slope's crest, eyes to his knees, knees to the dirt. The pressure in his head gave out, as much a relief as it was jarring. He pushed through the bond, unable to look with his eyes. Pushed.

And met nothing.

Another small sound left him, a gasp of air as he finally forced his head up. His entire body was trembling, a weak sensation he had only felt once before when he was very, very young. He'd never recover from this. She was the one with the mortal wound, and he'd never be the same. Her face was turned away, pale skin obstructed by dark hair and so much blood. Motionless.

Efran was shouting something, face wild with rage as he tackled Rickard to the ground. Levi recognized his own name—Efran was calling him to action. For some unexplainable, desperate reason, Levi looked to the gun now pointed at him and waited for the next shot. Hoped for it. Rubie's virescent gaze was wall-eyed and crazed above the barrel, waiting in turn, and then she swiveled to the two men wrestling in the dirt. She hesitated.

The weightless defeat in his chest altered then to something akin to resignation—a deep sense of calm that narrowed his vision to one specific point and boiled his blood. It was a different feeling from before, but he knew it well. This was something he could work with, something he could wield.

Molten ichor coursed through his veins, and the weak tremble vanished from his limbs. He felt the air drive from Rubie's lungs as he barreled into her side, felt the gun tumble down his back. He pushed on, ignoring her desperate hands grappling at his shoulders, her fingernails scraping at his neck.

Rubie's scream split the air as he drove them both over the rocky edge and into the raging river below.

Armin repeated his scripted conversation in his mind once again, the step of his boots ringing like a mantra through the hall. This wasn't going to be easy. In fact, it was probably one of the hardest tasks he'd undertaken. Certainly the most painful.

No. There were those who had it more difficult than he. He felt ashamed.

The door lurked before him like a mahogany opponent prepared to spar. His hand clenched and unfurled by his side, and he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. Come on, Arlert.

That monologue he had planned out promptly evaporated the moment the door opened.

There was an awkward moment of just standing there in the threshold, one staring at the other, the questions hanging thick between them. A few more beats passed, and Armin was grateful for the lack of interruption while he gathered his thoughts. Still, his friend had waited long enough for the truth, and it was only cruel to drag it out further. He held his breath.

"We need to talk, Eren."

A/N: This chapter was the most difficult one to write. The most obvious reason being that ending. You'll have questions, I'm sure...and some rage...