The everlasting winter sat stubbornly on the forest, refusing to budge, and so the other three seasons disappeared. Daylight savings time no longer a thing, clocks lagged an hour behind. The groundhog snuggled deep in his hole, forever. The trees remained white with dandruff. In this place, time was frozen.
Footprints of all shapes and sizes, seemingly belonging to a wandering gaggle of freaks and monsters, super-humans, and not-humans, disturbed the carpet of snow. Here was Kruger, the tallest. With his stretched gangling limbs, he was a circus clown walking the globe as though it were a cartoonishly-sized red-and-yellow starred ball on which he balanced for his act. He wore a blue policeman's uniform and a face identical to people who had experienced the electric chair; a snarl curved his jowls and mouth downwards. Milky zombie eyes searched in his skull, looking for misdemeanor afoot, maybe unpaid parking meters. A deputy badge glinted from his shirt pocket. Here was Galliard, snuffling in the bracken, nearing gorilla-like proportions with his Viking musculature, a warrior adorned in jagged bone-armor. Shoulder plates lined with teeth sunk into his skin and a blonde beard spilled messily from his chin. His berserking gait echoed of war-drums and bloodlust. Galliard hefted a white shield that sported a mouth of its own; a mouth that gobbled down rock, even steel with ease, as though they were lunch's leftovers going down a garbage disposal. Here was Grisha and Sister Tybur, floating seamlessly through the trees; Grisha with his invention of gadgetry and gears, Sister Tybur with her wraith-like ability of levitation. On the good doctor's back, a crystalline canister filled with dark blood whirred and fizzed, the height of malpractice. Hypodermic needles slithered from underneath his overcoat. And then came Frieda, a holy crusader, a super-soldier in super-armor and a super-sword strapped to her back of her exoskeleton. Last came Pieck, hovering, humming above the trees as a UFO, looking like an armored tank that had been removed off its treads and caught in a tractor beam.
Eren Yeager, now ten years old, stepped into the small clearing of the white forest, seeing all the freaks, and said to them: "It's coming." Because it was coming; he could feel it, barreling down, charging, lunging.
Eren looked at the little girl holding his hand. "Cold?" He asked her. She nodded and pawed at her red scarf.
"Well, whatever," Eren said. "We're not staying here long."
"I'm freezing my ass off, thanks," Galliard said, itching his overgrown red-gold beard. "Can't I get a scarf? I'll be your forever, I swear." That earned a giggle from Pieck, which sounded like a serious of battleship Morse code inputs.
"Careful, bonehead, I could write you up for public indecency," Kruger said. He jabbed a cigarette towards towards Galliard's naked chest.
Galliard gazed at Kruger as though seeing him for the first time. "You're old. Nobody respects you."
"I do!" Grisha chirped.
"Shut up, Grisha," Kruger said.
"Okay."
"Thee mustn't quarrel und'r the eyes of God," Frieda uttered. Eren knew that, under her techno knight visor, her eyes would be gleaming with self-righteousness.
"Fuck. Christ. Holy cheese," Galliard said. Frieda gasped as though she had been ran through. She drew her super-sword. It was fashioned in the shape of a cross. In her hands, it expanded magically and magnetically; the tip shot towards the cold sky, the hilt chunked against the ground. Galliard's shield growled defensively, sensing a fight.
"THOU SHALL REPENT-" a white cord whipped out at Frieda's back, pressing a button on her suit, and the sword shrank back to normal size. Sister Tybur had floated over, her ghostly dress of white tails curled around her belly like tapeworms spilling out of a corpse's intestines.
"Shhhh…" Sister Tybur said, putting a finger to her lips.
"Hey." Eren turned to them. "Can you guys quit it? We're supposed to work as a-" Eren searched for a word, found it in Levi's vocabulary. "-team." Because that's what they were, weren't they? A strike team designed to kill the enemy, stop the super-villain-
-slay the dragon-
-save the city. And suddenly, Eren felt the hairs on his neck raise. The air shimmered. Trees shook with trepidation. Snowflakes seemed to slow in their descent. The freaks sensed it too. The cusp of a great battle, the high-spirited evening feast before Ragnarok, the red sunset before a storm.
"Pieck?" Eren said. "How long do we have before contact?"
Pieck sighed deeply, as though she'd been tasked to tally up the total number of rocks on the moon. "I'm busy, ask me later."
Eren was silent.
"Kidding! No need to give me that look!" A satellite dish popped out from the Pieck's hull and began to spin in lazy circles, beeping occasionally with deciphered information. "Let's see… T-minus five."
"Five minutes?" Eren said.
"Five seconds."
A dying star was flung from the sky and landed in the middle of the forest, just up ahead. It wished upon itself and became a supernova. A vast, swirling earth sun burnt the winter into autumn. The forest rusted. The trees succumbed to the furious red heat, crumbling to ash. Hot flakes of ember billowed. Snow hissed. States of matter shifted. Eren was thrown from his feet. The little girl's hand was thrown from his.
Out from the dragon's fire, it came. A suit of armor; scorched metal bone; the ravenous belly of a cast iron furnace; the scavenged organs of a motorcycle and a hot rod amalgamated into the hideous likeness of the human figure. Shiny carapaces segmented its chest. Its helmet was split down the middle, a hellish trench of fire and brimstone. Bronze bull horns corkscrewed out of its head. Here was the Anti-Juggerknight. The stuff of dreams, the stuff of nightmares. It came in black.
"Galliard!" Eren said.
Galliard was in front of them, the great white shield descending protectively. A grappling chained claw fired like a harpoon and latched onto the face of Galliard's shield. The claw retracted, pulling Galliard with it. He yelled mightily, struggled. The Anti-Juggerknight's enormous pit of a stomach lunged, a maw, and swallowed him whole.
"He always dies first," Pieck sighed, before a second claw ripped her from the sky. Two casualties, in under a minute. The freaks broke formation. Frieda charged; Sister Tybur retreated; Grisha fainted.
Eren stood, grabbed the little girl's hand, and ran.
"Kruger!" he yelped.
Kruger's hand was under them, lifting, curling. Eren grabbed his thumb for support as they rose. Kruger's impossibly long legs carried them above the trees. He ran like an odd abstract painting of things in motion, holding Eren and Mikasa out in front of him. His tie streamed behind. Drool squeezed from the ghoulish flaps of his jowls.
"We just need to survive until he shows up," Eren said.
"How long?" Kruger panted.
"I just absorbed him yesterday on the train. It'll be a bit."
"It's getting stronger. We need more soldiers that you can sacrifice willy-nilly."
"Can you, like, use a word from this century?"
"I'm old. Do you know what all this running is doing to my knees?" Kruger said.
Eren felt an unpleasant warmth behind them. Sweat immediately sprung on the gray-flecked skin of Kruger's hand. With his other hand, he drew a dogeared cigarette, thrust it behind him; it lit from the heat alone and he puffed on it, satisfied.
The Anti-Juggerknight lept from the fray of battle with its astounding rocket boots and landed in a spray of snow on Kruger's left. Its gauntlet rose. The terrible claw fired. Around and around, it wrapped Kruger's spindly legs and down he went. Eren and the little girl landed in a snowbank, rolling to a stop at a frozen river. Eren looked up. The Anti-Juggerknight stomped and roared. A ring of heat where no snow remained surrounded its sabatons. A glowing orange crack appeared in its belly once more, twisted metal groaning open to reveal a molten churning fire bath. Eren whimpered. The little girl stepped in front of him, fists balled. Her scarf whipped in the dry wintry wind. Her face was a mask of defiance.
"Yooooo-hoo!" A voice echoed through the forest like a giant's bellow from a mountain. A faint rumbling of an approaching meteor grew in noise. Eren, the little girl, and the Anti-Juggerknight turned their heads right as it hit.
A huge snowball crashed into the Anti-Juggerknight. Buried in an avalanche, the glinting claw was the only part that remained, reaching for desperately for Eren. The chill of the snow soothed the blistering heat of its dying body. Eren made sure it was dead, heart thumping, before shakily standing. The little girl seemed to smile.
"Okay, fine, Mikasa,' Eren grumbled. "You saved me again. Happy?"
Mikasa nodded.
"I did too, boss!" The bellow came again. Perched on top of a purple mountain overlooking the forest was a great yeti. Here was Zeke, the newest addition to the strike team. With his long, winding monkey arms, white with the ancient age of ice, with his beard frozen over into vicious icicles, with his blue bloated belly hanging over his knees, with his fur the same color as the mountain he stood upon.
"The evil crab is no more," Zeke said, wagging his finger disapprovingly at the mound of snow.
"What took you so long?" Eren snapped.
"Please, boss, don't fire me! I had to give it a taste of my secret ingredient first! Or else it wouldn't have worked."
Eren saw a small stain of yellow at the top of the mound and was immediately glad he'd be dead in a couple of years.
###
Mikasa awoke with a pounding headache and a dream she couldn't remember. She swung her legs off the side of the bed as the pain made her regret being born and listened carefully. Once she was sure Eren or Levi weren't lurking outside her bedroom-the lonesome turret room of the Ackerman manor-she let out a low moan and cradled her head. She rocked. A light snow fell outside her window as autumn yielded its tacky orange to the stylish white of the approaching winter. Once she was done, she dressed and went downstairs.
At the dining room table, Levi was reading the paper and Eren was drinking his cereal. Eren was dressed in his school uniform same as her: a sharp blazer, starchy white shirt, knee high socks, loafers, and a black tie like an oil spill down his front. The only difference was that Eren wore shorts while Mikasa wore a pleated skirt. His knees were as pale as his milk mustache.
"The doctor put you on a liquid diet already, huh? Should I call a nearby hospice?" Levi said to Eren without looking up from his newspaper. The front page read: SUPERVILLIAN ATTACK: JUGGERKNIGHT SAVES THE DAY. Under it read: BOSTON GIANT SIGHTED.
"You can't have the milk and cereal together," Eren explained. "It's about the texture."
"What a sophisticated palette."
Mikasa sat down at the table. Eren and Levi looked up.
"Wow, you look awful," Eren said. "Are you really going to school like that?"
Mikasa was silent.
"I will transfer a grand to your bank account right now if you repeat that, Eren," Levi said.
Eren cowered. His life was worth a little more than that.
"Can we change it to penguins?" Mikasa said.
"It's always penguins with you," Levi sighed. "Petra, your assistance is required."
"I quit," Petra said, and walked out of the room.
"She'll be back, right?" Eren said anxiously as Levi clapped twice to activate the cycling zoo.
The dining room and the bar huddled on one side of the room. It had a rich, dark, imported wood interior. Elegant lighting fixtures hung like hanging jellyfish. At the bar, the alcohol, the kind that wealthy country clubs kept in cellars, shone on the shelves.
The other side was partitioned off by a glass enclosure. Beyond the glass, three different biomes turned on a massive spoke of a wheel. Camels endured the heat of a desert in one. Monkeys swung from the lush gardens of a jungle in another. Giraffes grazed in the third, their flanks cloaked by the whispering grass of the safari. And in the last one penguins slid around on dollops of snow and swirls of ice. The arrangement of the biomes could be altered so that the landscapes were staggered at angles above or below one another like a Ferris wheel. In the past, this clunky design feature had led to some elemental clashing, camels grunting in complaint as freezing water spilled over from the penguin exhibit and muddied their sands. The cycling zoo had been Levi's idea; he knew nothing about children and was somehow surprised when two ten-year-olds would rather watch the animals spin round and round instead of eating dinner every night. Eren had been sold on Levi as soon as he saw the zoo; Mikasa was not so easily impressed.
The cycling zoo swung a platter of diving penguins over to them. Continental drift. Levi laid the newspaper flat on the table. "Bottom line," he said. "We screwed up. By we, I mean one person in particular whose only job is to see the future, and if he can't do that, then I don't know why I adopted him, I might as well just take a nap, have a dream, and then do whatever I did in the dream and see how that turns out-"
"Levi," Mikasa said. The warning was sharp. Eren was staring hard at his soggy cereal.
Levi held his hands up in surrender. "It was my fault too. I let you both down. The point is, no more missions."
"What!" Eren said, head snapping up.
"No," Mikasa said at the same time.
Levi sat back in his chair. His blue suit was unbuttoned. Mikasa only now noticed the circles under his eyes. "Eren's visions are unreliable. I don't know if what he saw was a best-case scenario or if it was just plain wrong but we did more damage than we did good. I had a person die on my watch. She was a college student, went to MA, just north of us."
"People have died before," Eren said. "People will die again, over and over."
Levi shook his head. "Never because of our intervention. We just need to figure out another way we can help."
"What if Eren has a vision?" Mikasa demanded. "Do we do nothing?"
"We call the police, give them the necessary information." Even to Levi, it sounded weak. The police were just as likely to act on intel from the future as they were to act on Levi's dreams. And if they did, there would still be questions.
"Look." Levi rose. He pulled a blue handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wiped the remains of breakfast off Eren's face while the boy squirmed. He leaned over and straightened Mikasa's tie. He made them look respectable. Then he ruined his efforts by ruffling both their hair until Mikasa's red barrette was uneven and Eren had a cowlick. "Go to school. Don't cause trouble. I'll figure it out."
He started out the door while a penguin tap-tap-tapped on the glass, causing Mikasa's temples to throb again.
"Where are you going?" Eren asked.
"To pay my respects to our waitress," Levi said, buttoning his suit and shrugging on an overcoat. "And to make sure that damn monkey gets the maximum sentence."
###
"Ow!"
Eren hissed and clutched his hand and jumped around. He looked at Mikasa accusingly.
"That doesn't count as a point. You got me on the hand," Eren said.
Mikasa was battle-ready in her fencing gear. She stood poised with one leg in front of the other and her blade drawn. Eren eyed the saber warily, its snake's kiss smarting on his hand, and circled her. Mikasa's sword tip followed him like a wavering compass needle.
"It does," Mikasa said.
"It does not!"
Mikasa lunged. Eren heard his own intake of breath
"Owwww!" Eren rubbed his thigh, dropping his sword. He felt Mikasa's laughter.
"I wasn't ready," he said, "that doesn't count either."
"Fine," Mikasa said. "But if I score another point, it counts for three."
"You won't," Eren said, picking up his saber. He dropped it suddenly; Mikasa's eyes were on it; a feint. Eren went for a tackle. Mikasa sprang into the air like a startled cat, he saw the arch of her back as she somersaulted, her blade flashed out, and then she was behind him, landing with perfect form.
"Ow-wuh! Can you quit it?!" Eren said, hand on his stung neck.
A whistle blew and the gym quieted down. Petra had ended up driving them to school after Levi gave her a raise. Smithson High was situated just inside the outskirts of Boston and was nothing short of a palace. Boasting elitist values reminiscent of America's distant forefathers across the ocean, the private school had room for only the brightest (richest) of students. It featured swimming pools, ornate staircases, and courtyards that bore statues of the brightest (richest) scholars of the century. Here, students learned extremely important life skills, such as fencing.
Mikasa took off her kendo mask. Her black hair spilled out to her chin. With her bangs swept to the side, her dark brows made a rare appearance. Sweat gleamed on her forehead. Her two front teeth were just slightly visible as she held back a smile. Eren wanted that smile for himself. He shoved her in the chest. Mikasa shoved him back, hard, and-
There was darkness. Then, a bright brilliance flashed. The freaks came out to play. They bristled with excitement. Another one would be joining their ranks. They knew it. Eren knew it. One by one, we grow, they said, screamed, howled. One by one by one by one-
Eren was flat on his back. Mikasa was over him. She blinked owlishly.
"What did you see?" she asked.
"A boy," Eren said breathlessly. "He's our age. He's like us, too." Eren accepted Mikasa's hand and she heaved him to his feet. "He dies today, at the museum."
Mikasa's mouth was a grim slash. "Do you want to skip fourth period?"
###
BOSTON GIANT WANDERS THE STREETS, the newspaper read. Below the thick black headline was a picture of an enormous man-shadow eclipsing a building. The only place where darkness did not fall was the two open eyes of the giant. Responsible for the disappearances of Smithson High students? said the article. Jean Kierstein, Thomas Wagner, Macro Bodt, ages fifteen to sixteen, missing since the 25th of November, all while a colossus stalks the streets of Boston. Authorities have no leads. Locals lock their doors and draw the curtains as Krampus pays the town an early visit.
Eren's shoe came down on the newspaper, sodden from the snow on the sidewalk. The bus pulled away from behind them and the museum loomed tall and brooding. Mikasa was shivering beside him.
"T-t-t-this is where it happens? Y-you're sure?" Mikasa chattered. Eren knew she was thinking about last mission.
"Yes," Eren said. He was thinking of last night. His right hand flexed.
They entered the museum and paid for their tickets using Levi's credit card. Mikasa warmed herself with a hot chocolate as they made their way through the exhibits. They stopped at a brachiosaurus skeleton, its long ridged neck towering up towards the domed roof.
"This is what happened last time, too," Mikasa said hesitantly. "We couldn't find him in time-"
"I know, but this is different," Eren said. It wasn't. "Zeke Fritz was a supervillain. And my power only works when someone with a bright enough soul dies."
"Soul?" Mikasa asked. Eren looked at the dinosaur skeleton; she could see the cataclysmic blotting brightness of a meteor hitting earth in his eyes.
"Everyone has a soul," Eren said. "Some burn brighter than others. When a really bright one goes out, it's like a flare. I see what's fated to happen. But the future's not fully determined. We can still stop it and change what's supposed to happen. We've done it before. Usually, that soul is a victim of some disaster-like with Chesterfield. With Zeke, he was supposed to die on the train and we saved him by interfering. He was a bad guy. Armin is, like, fifteen and he gets bullied."
"Is that his name?"
Eren nodded. "His soul looks like it'd taste really good."
"Excuse me," said a voice behind them. Mikasa and Eren turned around to see a small blond boy. "You're blocking the brachiosaurus plaque."
Armin's school uniform was rumpled and out of place compared to Mikasa's and Eren's. His tie was undone, his blazer missing, his loafers replaced with mismatched basketball shoes, one green and one red. A pair of glasses sat on the crook of his nose. There was a wariness in the way that he regarded them.
"Um, hi-" Eren started.
"That's him, right?" Mikasa said to Eren.
"Do I know you?" Armin asked.
"Come with me," Mikasa said, taking a step forward.
Armin took a step back. "Look, I don't know what Jean's told you, but I don't even have any lunch money on me! I didn't even go to school today!"
"This isn't about lunch money," Eren said. "Mikasa, chill-"
Armin stilled. "I get it."
"What? No-" Eren said. He was cut off by the shrill squealing of feedback over the speakers of the museum. The mouth of the brachiosaurus popped open and it breathed a heavy fog. The fog sank, pooled, and creeped on the floor, like the primordial mist of some Jurassic period jungle, curling around Armin's shoes. A low rumbling rattled the display dinosaur skeletons. People murmured at the spectacle, suspecting that it was just an event that they missed on the tour brochure: 1 in the afternoon, experience the extinction event that wiped out the lizards!
Mikasa grabbed Eren's hand. "We need to get out of here."
"It's too late," Armin said. The fog was obscuring his figure now. His voice was layered, impossibly loud, booming out from the speakers. Mikasa lunged for him through the shroud. Her fingers closed on nothing; Armin was standing further back as though he was nothing but an optical illusion.
"You've awoken the sleeping giant." Armin's voice was all around them. People began to panic, stumbling around in the fog. Mikasa's grip tightened on Eren's hand. He was the only thing that was real. The rumbling was becoming more distinct and Mikasa recognized it as the sound of footsteps getting closer. Boom-boom-boom went the feet of a colossus, like a massive statue that had been resting for centuries came to life, stood up, and decided to take a brisk stroll down 13th avenue. The domed roof of the museum burst open, raining glass. A hand descended through it, the size of a semi-truck, hurtling towards them, about to squash them flat. Mikasa shoved Eren out of the way, closed her eyes, and bared the weight of the world.
The Juggerknight enclosed her in its steely heart. Her red scarf wove its lonesome threads into a swirling tapestry as it sprouted into a cape. A breastplate weighed her chest. The helmet snapped shut over her vision, springing into place like a bear trap. She dropped to her armored knee, bracing for impact. It never came. The hand had dissolved into smoke. Another illusion?
Mikasa clambered to her feet. Eren was gone. A spotlight cut through the fog, landing on the wall. A boy's shadow appeared on it.
"Eren!" Mikasa said.
The shadow startled, looking around. Another shadow appeared, this one belonging to a massive hand. It reached out, grabbed Eren by the scruff, dragged him offstage of this play. Mikasa's wings sprang out, and she took flight, leaping into the air towards where the hand should theoretically be casting that shadow. There it was, through the fog, coming straight at her. It was stiffened into a fly-swatting position. It's not real, Mikasa thought, it's just an illusion-
The hand slapped her silly. The Juggerknight went flying. Mikasa crashed into the Egyptian exhibit on the second floor. Priceless pottery shattered under her. She rose, dazed. The speakers blared again, laughter that echoed through the halls.
"So small!" Armin jeered. "Even with your fancy suit!"
Screaming was coming from the centennial exhibit. Mikasa spread her wings and glided from the balcony. The entrance to the museum had collapsed and tourists were trapped inside. The Juggerknight landed with a clunk. People backed away from her. One kid pointed and said: "angel!" Mikasa placed both hands under the rubble and lifted, timber splintering, metal groaning, everything rising, as she made a space big enough to walk through.
"Go," she grunted, straining. The tourists shuffled through. She wished they would move faster. The kid was the last to go. He stopped, looked up at something behind her. Mikasa looked too. There was a old model of a biplane hanging precariously from the ceiling. The giant's hand was there, murky in the haze of fog. It made a pair of scissors and snip! Mikasa's wing shot out, pushed the kid through, just as the plane collided. The structure of the front half of the building collapsed. Clouds of dust mixed with fog like brackish water.
Mikasa clawed her way out of the destruction, coughing. Her helmet was dented. Her halo hung lopsided on her head. Her wings were crumpled paper. This wasn't working. She would have to try what Petra called diplomacy and what Levi called ass-kissing.
"Armin!" she called out. "I don't want to fight. I just want Eren back."
The hand appeared. Mikasa crossed her forearms in front of her helmet to block. It made a finger gun and pulled the trigger. Out fired a bicentennial cannonball, passing through the index figure like it was a shadow. It blew Mikasa's shoulder plate clean off. She gasped, felt at the imbalance.
"You should've thought of that before you came here," Armin's voice came like a crashing wave. "Did Jean put you up to this? I thought I got rid of him for sure."
"I don't know who that is," Mikasa protested. She ignited her discuses around her gauntlets, their meager light bouncing off the billows of smoke. She readied them.
"Liar. Did his father pay you to hunt me down? Did Jean tell you how he used to take my medicine and make me jump for it, call me 'big guy?' I sent him scurrying back to England. I'm not ashamed of my body. I am not small and I am not weak."
Mikasa's weakness was in front of her. Eren was strapped to a chair and gagged with his school tie.
"Mmph!" Eren cried.
Mikasa rushed to him- and cracked her head on an enormous mirror. The mirror cracked too, Eren's image fragmenting into a million pieces. Mikasa stumbled back. Across her vision, stars fall down the stairs.
"Give him back," Mikasa gasped. "Please."
The sound of an old projector whirred. The spotlight shone again and the shadow figures put together another play on the wall. Armin's shadow wandered onstage. Another shadow, this one tall and mean with spiked claws and slanted eye holes, sauntered on too. He held a bottle above Armin's head, laughing. Shadow Armin leaped and reached on his tip-toes to no avail.
"Give it back!" he said. "Please!"
The shadows became distorted, stretching grotesquely as though the sun had changed positions. They slithered across the floor, growing, trailing back to the center of the museum, where Armin stepped out of the fog. The darkness collected behind him, blooming into a huge figure. It enveloped the entire museum. A giant's shadow.
"Everyone has a shadow," Armin said. "Some are taller than others."
Mikasa wasn't listening. She was beating her broken-bird wings, collecting fog, throwing up clouds of dust.
"Are you listening to me?" Armin said.
The Juggerknight was fading into its covering of dust. Mikasa slammed her discus into the floor. Sparks flew and an explosion of light blinded Armin. He threw his hands up. When he blinked away the spots in his eyes, Mikasa was gone.
"Wha-" Armin whirled around. The museum was quiet. He projected his voice.
"Fee-fi-fo-fum! Where did you go? I still have your precious-"
A glowing discus spun out from mist and sliced the head of his speaker clean off. It bounced off the roof, ricocheted to sear through another, and curved around to hit the last. Armin cursed. He was watching from the curator's office. Eren, still strapped to the office chair next to him, grunted and raised his eyebrows as if to say, you're in trouble now.
"Shut up!" Armin hissed. "I still have my projectors-"
The discus sizzled through the air again. The projectors were sheared in half, made molten. The brachiosaurus skeleton was decapitated; the fog machine was down. Armin rushed to the control panel and began pressing every button. Heavy sandbags and wooden battling rams swung from the ceiling on pulley systems, their disguise of hands burned away by Mikasa's discuses. The wheels of light spun, zig-zagged, cut, sliced. Armin was defenseless. He turned to Eren, quivering in his mismatched shoes.
"Hey, um, we can talk now, if you still want to-"
Mikasa threw open the door to the curator's office. The Juggerknight's white glowing eyes were narrowed to slits as she stepped inside. She leveled her gaze at Armin. He could hear her panting, her helmet making the noise sound like it'd been through a wind tunnel.
"Do you look like an angel because you send people to heaven?" Armin said, knees turning to jelly. "Because I don't think I'm going to heaven anyways so-"
"Eren. Now," Mikasa spat out. Armin went right to work on untying Eren. As soon as his gag was out of his mouth, Eren said: "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
The Juggerknight sagged all at once. It began shedding golden feathers. Strips of light flaked from her armor like peeling car paint. It shook, vibrating like clattering tin cans. The flurries of light floated like fireflies. Its red cape shrank, swaddling Mikasa's neck, and she stepped out of the dissolving metal. Her hair was hanging in her face, her skirt was ripped, and her clothes were caked in a fine layer of dust. But she was unharmed.
"Just tired," Mikasa said, sinking to the floor. Eren almost wept with relief.
"How did you get kidnapped by him? He's shorter than Levi," Mikasa groaned.
"Technically, I'm over 60 meters tall," Armin muttered, who was busy tying himself up.
"I-" Eren started. I needed to get close to him. I needed to touch him. His hand flexed, the tendons standing out as rigid as steel cord. I need his soul. "I'm sorry."
"I guess I'm going to jail now, aren't I?" Armin whined. No, Eren thought. You're coming with me. Eternally, I'll have you, locked away, fighting, every night. I need you. I need your burning, burning soul, the flame, the fuel for my army. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. He stood behind Armin now. A tremendous weight settled at his hand, ripe with power. It felt like his hand had suddenly became the source of all gravitational pull. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He reached out a hand. The freaks went into a frenzy. One by one by one by one by one-
"No," Mikasa said, "why would you? You're one of us." She smiled shyly. Understanding dawned on Armin. He looked between Eren and Mikasa. "Oh. Oh! You're both-!"
"I'm a girl, and he's a boy," Mikasa said firmly. That was that.
Armin beamed. Eren's hand shook. It's for Mikasa. Do it for her, he thought. DO IT. But his hand wouldn't move. The power drained from it. His hand became lighter and lighter, the weight running back up his arm like skittering water droplets, sponging back into his brain. He sighed. He sat down with his back to Mikasa's. He could feel her hair on his nape.
"Whatever," he said, closing his eyes. "You owe us big time."
###
Mikasa and Eren watched the blue and red lights of the police cars buzzing around the museum from the bus stop bench. It had gotten warmer in the day and the snow was melting onto the street.
"If we're quick, we can still make 8th period," Mikasa said.
"Uh, no," Eren said. "The bus isn't supposed to get here for another for another thirty minutes."
Mikasa stood and her nose scrunched as she concentrated. The Juggerknight materialized in a puff of metallic feathers, looking brand new. Mikasa stretched her wings testingly. Eren looked nervously towards the police. Thankfully, they were still focused on the museum. The Juggerknight reached out its hand, inviting. Eren backed away.
"No, no way, nope," he said. Mikasa rolled her eyes and grabbed Eren by his collar, tucking him under her arm.
"Mikasa!" Eren protested, banging on her steel biceps. Her grip was iron. Her knees bent in preparation. Her wings unfurled to their maximum length. "No, no, no, no-!"
Eren's stomach was launched into his throat as they took off. Soaring on a warm updraft, the city shrank beneath them. The police were crawling ants. The hole in the museum's roof was a window that a kid's baseball had punched through. The streets were congested with tiny shining beetle cars of all different colors. Of course, Eren couldn't see any of this since his eyes were squeezed shut. He squinted one eye open just slightly.
"Ohmigod, oh my god, where are you going!? School is that way!" Eren yelled over the pounding of Mikasa's wings. Mikasa didn't say anything, just flew them off the rocky coast. They passed a lighthouse and then the shore and kept going out to the ocean, where the gray, churning waves crashing at the coastline mellowed out to the thoughtful dark blue of the Atlantic.
"Is this for getting kidnapped!? I'm sorry, okay? It wasn't my fault!" To Eren's horror, he felt Mikasa's grip loosen a little. He scrambled, locking his arms around hers. "Okay! Okay! It might have been a little bit my fault!"
Mikasa looked down at him through her helmet. There was mischief in her gray eyes.
"Say that I won in fencing. I scored three points and you scored none," Mikasa said.
Eren's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me!?"
Mikasa dropped him to let him know that she wasn't kidding him. Eren couldn't hear his own scream as he plummeted. He saw Mikasa swoop in the sky, the shy winter sun peeking from behind a cloud to lend her a halo of light. She was diving, and in an instant, she was under him. Eren was in her arms once again. He pressed his forehead to her chest.
"I have zero points. I couldn't even touch you. I'm sorry for scaring you and I'm sorry you always have to rescue me," Eren mumbled. Mikasa jostled him gently. He looked up.
"Oh," he breathed.
They were above the weather. The pink clouds were at their feet, blushing in the warm sun. The sky was a lavender field. There was a day-moon, as full and sweet as ripe fruit. They had left moody Boston behind. Mikasa had brought him to heaven.
They glided the rest of the way back and Eren felt something stir in his chest, something that felt like it had always been there.
They hadn't made it to 8th period but they'd been just in time for a meeting with Principal Erwin Smith. He looked them over, his fingers steepled on his desk. He reminded Eren of some AI-generated all-American man made for the purpose of delivering war propaganda. His suit was almost as nice as Levi's.
"So," Erwin said. "You two were truant from most of your classes and you skipped- ditched, as the kids are calling it these days- to go visit the museum, which then, sequentially, blew up. Instead of staying and getting proper medical treatment and giving the police your statement, you proceeded to sneak out the back, take a bus, and return here to finish your classes."
Eren and Mikasa nodded. Mikasa slouched in her chair. Eren picked at his shorts.
"Don't tell Levi," Eren begged.
Erwin stood with his hands clasped behind his back. "I'm afraid it's too late. I have already informed him personally. Two students were endangered on my watch. I- the school, that is, takes this very seriously."
Levi walked in the office. His face was tight with fury. Eren shriveled. Mikasa yawned.
"Up. Now," Levi said. He flicked his finger toward the door. "Do not make me ask again."
Eren and Mikasa slunk out the door. They could hear two men conversing. "-I do apologize, Mr. Ackerman, I promise you, it will not happen again-" and "-please, stop the groveling, Erwin, these brats would've gotten into trouble anyways-"
As they were walking to the car, Mikasa asked: "you call Principal Smith by his first name? Isn't that called a first-name basis?"
Levi stopped so suddenly they almost ran into him. "Please, say another word. All of my inheritance, yours, if you say just another word."
There was not another word.
###
That night, the Anti-Juggerknight came as it always did. Eren and the freaks were trekking through a prehistoric bubbling tar pit. Ancient bones littered the white calcified wastelands. Slick, black pools of slime sucked Eren's shoes under. Geysers sprayed great gouts of steam. There was no talking; Eren could feel the accusatory gazes of the freaks hot on the back of his neck. Tonight, they would be fighting for, not just the lives that they lost every night, infinitely, but their immortal souls.
Eren knew that Zeke wasn't enough. They needed Armin. The tar pit in front of them was torn open as the Anti-Juggerknight clawed its way out of the black portal, like a fly struggling through a honey trap, wet and smoldering, its face all burnt from its time spent down in Hell, its ever-fires igniting the tar like gasoline. The fire spread, racing across the oily lakes, until the Anti-Juggerknight was cloaked in it, bathed in flame. Eren already knew that they had lost. He glanced at Mikasa and she stared back at him. She seemed to think differently.
He remembered her smile: You're one of us.
He thought of Armin, of those mismatched shoes: I saved you. For the first time, I saved someone.
He thought of the day-moon above the clouds, above all, tender and full-bellied.
The Anti-Juggerknight's fires were dying. It was smaller, meeker. This time, it had only one claw, hanging limply by its side. Its cast-iron belly belched only steam. Its horns were that of a young budding calf's. The freaks were on it in an instant. Zeke huffed out a blizzard, sending out the northern winds to douse the remaining flames. Kruger sidestepped the launched claw and on its withdrawal, handcuffed himself to its only weapon. He pulled taut and the Anti-Juggerknight staggered right into Galliard's attack. Galliard's shield was starved and it made quick work of the Anti-Juggerknight's other claw-less arm, gobbling, chewing, swallowing. Sister Tybur appeared behind it and her tendrils brought it to its knees. The Anti-Juggerknight writhed. Grisha's needles were on it, gliding through the chinks in its armor, searching. They caught a vein, held fast, and began draining the fiery blood, its white-hot ichor, a liquid inferno filling Grisha's blood tank. The Anti-Juggerknight's struggles grew weaker, looking more like death throes. Pieck's turret fired, shooting off its head. Frieda launched herself forward, stabbed at its chest; her sword, her holy steel, sprang to its full size in her hands and she ran the Anti-Juggerknight through, killed it dead. They lived to fight again.
In the morning, when Mikasa asked how Armin had died in his vision, Eren said aloud: "Dinosaur bone to the head." It was a lie. I killed him, he thought. His body couldn't handle the removal of his soul.
But that wasn't what happened so it wasn't what mattered.