Forlorn

The damned monsters had smashed the Winged Sister to pieces, and the kitchen fires had engulfed all that remained, a bare wall and a staircase that led up into thin air. From there, the inferno had spread to the livery stable and neighboring shops. Nothing else had survived the siege. Standing among the wreckage, Levi saw scraps of military paraphernalia strewn about. Cloaks, old paring blades and antique rifles that crossed over each other, even a set of swords that hadn't been used since the invention of vertical maneuvering. The Wings of Freedom, the Thorns of Protection, the Guardian of Humanity, all three sigils lay abandoned in the rubble, torn and covered in debris, a sad proof of their existence. Just that morning, those banners had hung proudly from the walls and rafters in the tavern, signaling all branches of the military were welcome.

Soldier and civilian alike had gathered under this roof in good company, the old landlord made sure of that. He was never disrespectful to the Survey Corps or the Garrison because society thought they were worthless, nonessential, and a waste of taxpayers' money, or to even the Military Police despite their own negative reputation.

The tavern was always filled conversation, jokes, storytelling, music, smiles, dancing, gossip, bartering, laughter. And Levi had moved with it, hesitantly at first, the concept of strangers forging momentary friendships that lasted only an afternoon and neighbors actually giving a damn about each other foreign to him. It baffled him how humanity stopped to care about those around them out of genuine concern rather than seeking an advantage. Petra had laughed at him when he told her that once, and then her smile had faded to one of sympathy, apologizing for her rash thinking. His life and experiences, filled to the brim with every reason to despise other humans, was different from hers, composed of peaceful memories from her father's shop where good social skills was mandatory.

But in time, he'd come to love the Winged Sister. He learned there were good people among his race, not just monsters who lied, cheated, stole, and murdered to keep themselves alive. Herr Brauer, the local smith, was as strong as an ox yet had a heart of gold, always rising to a wronged man's defense, cracking his knuckles giving the perpetrator a fair chance to back down. A gentle peacemaker who loved arm wrestling, participating in every match he was challenged to and winning every time. Until Levi beat him and silenced the tavern for a full minute. The old landlord had come running, fearing someone had been killed, but Brauer roared in laughter, slapping his giant hand into Levi's back and declaring him a worthy opponent.

The schoolteacher, Meisner, always had a ear for listening and a gift for stories, regaling patrons for hours with comedies that had everyone laughing until they hurt, adventurous sagas where all sat on the edge of their seats, biting their lips, and old, terrible tragedies that brought everyone together, shivering and huddling with their friends and family. The unbreakable friendship of Daemon and Pythias, how Sigurd slew the evil dragon Fáfnir, the mysterious horseman without a head, the shifting ways of the Fates, the three sisters who descended from heaven and raised the Walls from the earth. Upon learning he was from the Underground, the teacher had approached him, curiously yet tactfully inquiring there were any songs or tales the subterranean city had to offer. After an hour's audience, he walked away with the tales of The Boy in the Grave, The Three Ravens, and The Soldier and Death.

General Allen Royceston was an honorable man, a surprising quality to find in an MP soldier. He settled conflicts fairly, calming placating Brauer before his mighty fists found targets, silencing sharp and petty retorts that gave rise to more anger, listening to both sides equally, and arbitrated or mediated the situation without prejudice or a thought to his personal gain. He also had the most perfect memory Levi had ever seen or heard of, accurately recalling events that had happened forty years ago as though they'd happened minutes beforehand. Every face he saw and name he heard, he never forgot, so new faces in the Winged Sister always stood out to him. Yet he welcomed them all the same.

The two cooks, Alessio and Jonaton, were masters of their profession, crucial to the Winged Sister's popularity. Carla, the doctor's wife, was a kind woman, though she often scolded him and Petra when their bickering got out of hand. Children played here, wrestling on the floor, chasing each other around table legs, running wild until their parents lifted them up or sent them home. One night when they'd been particularly rowdy, Levi himself scooped up one of the calmer girls and asked her if she minded taking the game outside before they hurt someone. She nodded wordlessly, black hair falling in front of her solemn eyes, and rounded up her friends within minutes, leading them out the back door to play in the alley. Erikas, the middle-aged artist, always sat in the creaky, fraying, old chair by the hearth, sketching scenes and people in the pub, recording everything in charcoal and paint. The serving girls, Ada, Mathilde, and Ethne, were a trio of crafty temptresses, effortlessly charming customers into buying another round of beer. They constantly fussed over Petra like big sisters, mourning the hair she'd been forced to cut after her accident and loaning her ribbons and other small trinkets. Even Erwin, whom he'd hated so bitterly for so long, found a place in his heart here.

The City of the South had welcomed him in a way the Underground never had. It was his home.

And now it was gone, torn away by these beasts.

Levi bleakly wondered if the old landlord had made it out alive. He wondered if his little grandson had made it out alive. He thought of that child, a small and fragile thing, and knew he wouldn't have stood a chance if he'd been crushed under the collapsing roof. In his mind, he could see that boy's broken body pinned under a heavy beam, ashes in his blond hair, his clear, blue eyes dull and vacant. Poor thing. Had Alessio and Jonaton made it out of the city? Ada, Mathilde, or Ethne? Any of their regulars?

Levi heard the heavy footfalls of an approaching titan and ran, searching for a safe place to hide until it passed by and he could strike it down. It was better to avoid higher vantage points, as they were situated in the heart of the sickening cloud of smoke and steam now permeating the city. Though it had been hours since the sun had gone down, the sky was still as orange as if it were twilight. The smell of the fires made his stomach turn and the ashes stung his eyes. Behind him, a Garrison soldier was seized. Levi stopped and slowly turned around, but she was dead in an instant, crushed between two palms and shoved into a gaping mouth.

He watched numbly as a dismembered forearm fell to the ground, then raised his eyes back to the titan. Ugly thing. It came for him next, reaching a hand with unnaturally long fingers towards him. Levi released a grapple, soaring onto the steeple of a ransacked church and firing the second anchor into the far-off brick building across the square, raising both blades to strike as he raced by.

Then his gas ran out and he dropped like a stone, crashing back to earth as the grapple dislodged from the wall.

The cobblestone streets rushed up to meet him, slapping him hard across the face and passing him along down a flight of stone steps. His gear snapped and fell to pieces from the impact, leaving a trail of dismantled pieces and blood behind him. He lay in a motionless heap at the bottom, his right arm trapped beneath him. His throat burned, pleading for water. His eyes ran, streaking blood and soot across his face. After hours of endless fighting, watching friends and fellow humans die, worrying about the unaccounted for friends, and running to all four corners of his destroyed home, he was finally at his limit. There was nothing left, his anger spent, his fear a constant companion, and the pain he'd ignored was resurfacing again.

He felt broken.

The ground trembled under the footsteps of the titan. Levi slid his eyes open. The wretched beast was leaning over him now, its macabre grin parting and trailing strings of saliva between its jagged rows of teeth as it extended a groping hand forward. Levi grit his teeth and drove the only blade that had survived his fall into the cobblestones and pulled himself forward, forcing his legs under his body to stand, only to scream in agony when one of them buckled. The hand was over him in a second. He felt the heat of its fingers as it pinched the back of his cloak.

Then it let him go.

Indolently, he raised his head, blinking through ash and blood. The monster toppled to its knees, biting its lower lip while its giant, mindless eyes rolled about in search of its assailant. Someone had fired a grapple into the back of its neck, and that same someone was currently racing up the goliath's spine. Levi squinted, trying to see who it was, but a wave of pain lanced through his leg and he found himself curling into a ball around the limb. He heard the steel blade slicing through the titan's neck, and it landed face first into a house and was still. Levi felt an arm wind its way around his waist and yank him up, and he dangled limply as his rescuer dashed through the ruined plaza. Hot knives sank into his leg and his arm throbbed at the shoulder, swinging uncontrollably with the momentum.

Hanging his head, he saw the smoldering remains of the titan growing further and further away, and the fallen city faded into vague shapes and shadows.

You filthy, unforgivable animals.

-0-0-0-

Author's Notes: This one was originally a lot longer, but it began to deviate from the main point, so the other aspect has been split into another venture. Also there's going to be a future chapter with Levi and Erwin's 'reconciliation', another on who saved Levi in this chapter, as well as some other ventures involving the Winged Sister tavern.

The mention of Ragnarok, again, is the mix of cultures. For anyone who's unfamiliar with it, Ragnarök is the Old Norse version of the Apocalypse, the final battle between the Norse gods and the giants. The Boy in the Grave and the Three Ravens are two of the lesser known Grimm's Fairy Tales. I think the Soldier and Death is an old Russian folktale.

Hajime Isayama owns Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin.