Why does the body always lag behind the mind at the most crucial moment? By the time the brain has taken, processed, and resolved the situation it is already too late to put the plan to action. The proverbial messenger of stimulus had already been shot. Yet as the muscles atrophied, the sense of touch never dulled. The coldness of dirt and damp foliage that covered Krieg's face and fingers had perfectly contrasted with the warm nectar of life leaking from his wounds. As his life ebbed gently, all of Krieg's senses heightened in compensation.
The ripe smell of mildew, the blinding glare of rising sunlight, and the whistling of bystanding trees and wildlife were merely setting the stage of the boy's desperate struggle. Breaths weakly whistled past his burned lips, refueling the dulled iron and ash to dash upon what remained of his taste buds. His hands and legs merely twitched reflexively, the fibers in his muscles letting out one last cry of defeat. The rigid and splintering bark of the fallen log in front of him grazed his palm as the resulting twitch aided in moving it over.
Suddenly came the piercing of skin in tremendous force. With faint vision, Krieg could make out the shape of wood impaled through his right hand. Naturally a cry tried to escape his throat, but what came out was a pathetic death rattle. Noticing the caught prey's struggle, a towering figure had cautiously approached Krieg. Of helper or hunter, it was impossible to tell. Once the creaking of slack being drawn broke the silence, the blurry image of the bow aiming directly at him began to focus.
Absence of discordant bells served more dread than if they were ringing. Unlike the flow from his cuts and bruises, Krieg's veins ran cold. At this moment, did his mind too decide to concede? Was the situation so hopeless that there was no way to escape certain death?
No, for as long as the final shot has not been delivered, then there was still a chance. Not for the chance to win. Just for the chance to fight. Even if your legs could no longer stand; even if your hands could no longer ball into fists, even if your mouth could no longer speak. Use your eyes and stare into your attacker's very own. Remember how they look, the expression on their face, their weapon drawn before your tearing eyes. Carve that image into the very forefront of your mind, into your memories. Let it fuel your drive to survive and resolve yourself to face these impossible odds.
For this is what it means to struggle and fight until the very end.
The hunter's silhouette shimmered ever so slightly, namely at the retracted arm pulling the bowstring. They maintained the drawn pose the whole time, but they had yet to speak a word to the wounded Krieg. Were they even intending to talk to him? If not, then they had all the time in the world to finish off the pitiful boy's miserable state.
Through their moistness, Krieg's eyes were finally able to adjust to the lighting during the standstill. The notable rustic attire caught his attention, as it greatly differed from the numerous military uniforms he saw before. The tassels of the hunter's maroon poncho flourished with each shiver. Complimenting the clothing's color, the hunter's reddish-brown ponytail glistened from the residue of drizzled rain.
There was no mistake about the position Krieg was in, until he looked upon her face. He had been maintaining pointed eye contact with the young huntress, but only now began to notice the features surrounding her light brown eyes. Her gritted teeth suggested anger, and her narrowed gaze showcased pure focus to the target in front of her. But the tears streaming down the sides of her cheeks, and the trembling of her hands on her nocked arrow, betrayed such tenacity.
"Sasha!" A gruff older voice of a man called out from afar, yet the huntress did not break her stare. The galloping of horse hooves on dirt slowly approached the two, and soon another figure came to block the sunlight. Noticing the newly arrived man tenderly grasp the huntress' drawn hand, Krieg tried to reach out to the two. Blood trickling from his shot hand was the only result from the attempt.
Once they heard the caught prey's shuffling, the two hunters shifted their focus back to the boy. The huntress' bow finally seemed exhausted enough to relax as the older hunter gently approached the boy, kneeling right in his center view.
"Try not to move, kid. Understand?"
Krieg absentmindedly brought his hand forward as though he were reaching for the hunter's. Realizing his fist only caught air, a blink brought the masked cadet back to reality. Cold hard ground now felt of the warm softness of wool sheets, the humid breeze stifled to a dusty stagnation. Sitting up from the bed, Krieg could see he was presently in a room littered with beddings, bottles, and recently used bandages. In contrast, the bookshelves surrounding the edges and farther tables were caked in dust.
It didn't take calling out to the ajar door to surmise that he was the only person remaining. Krieg nearly shook his head at the cruel twist of fate, until he felt the chattering of the bed frame on the wooden floor. The thumping rattled in his eardrums, as if shells of cannon fire were landing on the ground just outside. Looking out the window, however, showed not the destruction of artillery, but the presence of a monster.
Those same monsters that appeared at the gate of Wall Rose.
By the time Krieg processed what he saw, his body already sprang into action as it leaped off the bed. Or at least it tried to, until the failure of his leg tendons caused the masked cadet's second falling. Trying to assess the damage, Krieg spotted a new piece of clothing that hadn't been there before:
A maroon cloth, edges laced with small brown tassels, tied around his leg over the uniform's pants. The familiar cloth wrapped around itself in messy layers from the top of Krieg's left ankle to just under the knee, with the excess hanging out nearest the calf. For a moment, Krieg felt Sasha's eyes pierce through him, instilling that primal sensation of pain throughout his body once again. Not enough to wail out in agony or keel over, just enough to remind him of his mortality.
Conscious of his makeshift puttee, Krieg also noticed his Cadet Corps uniform and ODM gear had been removed, leaving only the long-sleeved black undershirt. Krieg gingerly traced the collar of his undershirt, letting the bumps of stitching graze his fingertips before raising the connected mask over his nose. Even in the presence of nobody, the prisoner still found warmth in its security. After limping and searching the deserted library-turned-relief-station, Krieg managed to find his gear haphazardly thrown to the side of many sets of rectangular wooden boxes. Having been through the motions many times during training, Krieg fastened the multiple belts and straps of his ODM gear as he examined the nearby boxes.
The box next to Krieg's uniform had been the only one open out of the rest, which were all covered in more dust than the bookshelves. Peering into the opened box was a gadget he had only laid eyes on once throughout his training: a gun.
A rifle, to be more precise, though it proved to be less effective than literally hurling rocks at wooden titan targets. Krieg begrudgingly contemplated who he angered in a previous life, as this would be the only tool at his disposal; the blades and gas stowed with the ODM gear were ransacked, leaving only the compartments and triggers behind. Whoever it was, they clearly knew what they were looking for, as there was another empty spot next to the sole remaining gun that left a visible imprint within the dust. Just as the masked cadet grabbed the rifle, the breaking of glass reverberated throughout the walls, coming from a different area of the building.
It took some time for the Masked Moron to get there, but the dire situation finally clicked. The titans must have breached Wall Rose after the Colossal Titan appeared and broke the gate, leading a horde of Pure Titans throughout the city of Trost. In his unconscious condition, had Trost been overrun? Just how long was he out exactly? And Sasha, Eren, Connie, his entire squad… What happened to them? Was he abandoned by those same comrades?
The masked prisoner's questions persisted as he stumbled through the hallways of the building, fighting against wave after wave of fleeing cadets. Their screams were a panicked maelstrom as they pushed and shoved past fellow soldiers.
"RUN!"
"GET FURTHER IN!"
"Where's Mikasa?! Have you seen her?!"
"She ran out of gas! Forget about her, she's dead!"
The rough surface of the wall brushing his fingertips was the sole anchor keeping Krieg from spiraling with them. Not just his left, but his right leg began to feel heavier trudging through the flooded waters. Further cries of distress sank into his eardrums, threatening to drown out the instinctual command of pressing forward. At the point he felt the torrent was at its height, he had finally reached the eye of the storm.
In the center stood the fellow Bad Company member: Jean Kirchstein.
Though he didn't seem to be the perpetrator, just another victim of it. Instead, Jean was staring at the true culprit: the titans staring right at him through the widened hole that was once a wall. The familiar freeze frame of time always occurs right at the face of death. Unlike the other cadets in self-preservation, the two remained glued to the sight even as one of the titans inserted their arm into the enlarged hole.
Breaching the surface of those anguished depths, Krieg spurred to action as he raised the rifle's sights. The nape wasn't in view, but with such a measly caliber he didn't expect a kill shot. At this rate it would only serve as a distraction, just enough time for Jean to avoid getting caught. Squeezing the trigger was smoother than cutting through butter, and likewise its follow-through lacked impact. Only a click, no explosion or bang.
A detrimental result: the gun was empty. In his haste, Krieg had forgotten to even check the chamber for a round. Was he truly so foolish to think a forgotten relic of a weapon would come preloaded? If only he had searched more extensively for his missing gear. But then would his sword even reach at this distance, in such little time? There was no gas to burst forward nor power to his grappling anchors. Plus running with his wounded leg, was it even possible?
Each second spent mulling over choices and outcomes meant an inch closer for the titan to snatch its prey. Realizing the storm had dragged him back down, Krieg forced his legs to kick off and make a break from the encroaching abyss. Despite lacking gas tanks or blades, Krieg's footsteps felt heavier than ever before.
In those distorted moments before capture, Kreig wasn't sure how Jean's eyes were able to free itself from the threat in front of him, to the friend rushing to his side. Despair lingered in his eyes, the darkened gaze piercing another arrow into Krieg's memory. Not of a huntress, but of a small and helpless child reaching out to him. Nameless was the boy in the masked cadet's mind, yet that did not deter his aiding arm. Much like the present however, was the looming presence of a titan's grasp over them. A grim reminder of the stark difference in strength, and the helplessness that comes from realizing it.
"Krieg?" The boy's lips moved, but did not match the sound of Jean's voice coming from it. The next moment a hand was placed on the chest of Jean and was pushed along with resounding force. That impact didn't originate from Krieg's hand though, but from the solid haymaker that was thrown to the titan that was reaching in. Joining the floor along with the other cadets that remained, Krieg and Jean braced from the shockwave of the titan being flown away from the HQ, its arm ravaging the surrounding desks and windows that weren't already reduced to debris.
ROAAAAAAAAAAAAR
A bellowing warcry emanated from the sharp-eared titan that had replaced the previous titan at the hole in the wall. Its ear-to-ear row like teeth remained dislocated as puffs of steam exuded outwards, like a beast's panting. Strangely its gaze didn't seem focused on the humans within the building, but instead at the titans surrounding it.
"Wha-? What the-? My god…" Jean's exasperation seemed to come more from the jarring sight than his exertion to get back on his feet. Krieg felt the same questions run through his mind, but not at the titan who seemed to be fighting his own kind. Seeing the bruised hand that had collided with the previous titan, Krieg despondently looked at his own.
Although it seemed only a second apart to a bystander, Krieg was sure that the weight of Jean's shoulder came much after the Attacking Titan's intervention.
Particles of dust and cobwebs lingered in Krieg's palm, causing him to absentmindedly brush them off with the same hand. Once Armin, Mikasa and Connie miraculously arrived right after the Attack Titan's appearance, the rest of the cadets had begun formulating a plan to retake the headquarters. Whatever Armin had concocting remained a mystery to the Masked Moron, but he still showed Jean and the others where they were storing the firearms–drilling in the reminder to check the chambers for ammo.
"Don't know what good buckshot'll do anyway," Jean grumbled as he cocked his rifle. While Krieg could see the horse-faced cadet's gaze pointed in his direction, his voice seemed directed at the room. "Even if you had fired, I doubt it would've been any different from a spit wad. I mean c'mon guys, are guns even effective?"
"O-only if…" The mouse-like squeaks coming from a green-ponytailed girl cadet were booming in the silenced lift room. Her gaze was casted downwards to the dried crimson upon the right side of her face, of blood not belonging to herself. "We turn them on ourselves. It'll be faster than getting eaten alive."
Silence flooded the room, and the rattling of the rifle the traumatized cadet held only made her terrified words louder. Krieg couldn't help but join the rest of the fresh faces in their despondent expressions, suited towards looking at the ground rather than the sky. But even in this stuffy and crowded room, the masked prisoner's vision was still being intruded by another's presence. Sasha's torn poncho, still wrapped around his injured leg, served as a reminder. A reminder for his weakness, to be put in these situations where he couldn't save others, always meant to be saved.
Krieg turned to the familiar faces scattered throughout the room, still relieved that they remained breathing despite the invasion. Same couldn't be said for the faces that he last saw earlier that morning: Thomas, Mina, and Eren. According to Armin, they had all perished in battle trying to save him. Was that the fate for burdens like him and Armin? In that case, it would be better to save them all the trouble of an unnecessary death.
"Maybe it is," Armin's voice was the last Krieg expected to hear, breaking the tense silence. "But what Krieg was trying to do gave me an idea." Much less, the masked prisoner was also not expecting to be a cause of inspiration for the cadet tactician. Even if the blonde's words weren't a rallying speech to raise morale, the entire room's tightened fists and clutching to weaponry were relaxed as Armin began to elaborate on the plan.
Seven 4-meter titans were in the supply room housing the surplus gas and blades, so seven of the best trained cadets were tasked in exterminating them. In order to corral the titans, a lift of the remaining cadets will be lowered at the titans' eye level. Equipped with the rudimentary rifles, the lift cadets will fire on the titans and blind them. Once blinded, the slaying cadets will be able to enact their kills with little trouble. Surely it was a well-concocted plan assuming all things go well, and it seemed Krieg wasn't the only one thinking this.
"Look I–I'm willing to be talked out of this," Armin's apprehension wasn't a good sign, especially from the person who created said plan. "One half-baked strategy can't be our only option, right?" Still, that timidness did little to demoralize the supporting cadets.
"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," Marco reassured with his gentle smile. "C'mon with what we're looking at? 'Cause for our only option, it's pretty well thought-out. If we give it our all, we might just pull this off!"
"It'll be fine." Mikasa also seemed to put her two-cents in, though her affirming words maintained her icy expression. "You just have to be confident. You're a better strategist than you give yourself credit for."
While many of his confidants had nice words to say to Armin, a terrible feeling could only swell in Krieg's heart. If there was one assurance in the battlefield, it was that anything wrong that could happen, will happen. He already had a taste of such events earlier–and though they didn't have the luxury of time–it didn't hurt to have some kind of Plan B before rushing in.
Scanning the prep room in the minute before the lift would arrive, Krieg found the fitting tool: a huge burlap sack filled with gunpowder. Those who were designated on the lift used the sack in order to fill their rifles, but a large amount was still left behind. To be expected as each musket rifle could only house one bullet at a time. Dragging the heavy sack of black powder, Krieg plopped the gunpowder right next to the structural blueprint the team was overlooking.
"Gunpowder?" Sasha audibly spoke everyone's thoughts. "You cooking something up, partner?"
"This isn't the time to be thinking about food!" Connie's reprimand was much needed relief in the stifling atmosphere.
CONTINGENCY
Krieg's writing on the blueprint served as the answer, which prompted more probing from the initial blonde strategist.
"This plan isn't without flaws, so any sort of backup strategy is welcome. What were you thinking of using gunpowder for?"
Cadets that were foreign to the masked prisoner began approaching the team, trying to catch a peek at the newfound opportunity. Key points along the blueprint were circled, namely at the rectangular connected shapes.
"Are you saying we should blow up the support columns?" Jean's question was a suitable translation for the other cadets that weren't familiar to the masked cadet. "Wouldn't that cause the building to collapse? Seems too risky."
"Besides, this is the only bag we got," Reiner chimed into the conversation with a sigh, "There isn't enough to destroy all of the support beams. It'd at least be better used taking out one of those monsters."
"Throwing it at their weak spot would be the same as firing a cannon, right?" Sasha wasted no time in supporting Krieg's suggestion. Rashly raising her hand, she lifted the burlap sack as if she had claimed a hunted boar. "If it means one of us doesn't have to risk their neck, then I volunteer!"
"Don't bother, Potato Girl." Annie shut down Sasha's eager request with a deadpan grumble. "If you actually looked at the blueprints, you'd see there's barely enough room to stand. Plus the rest of us on kill duty will be nearby; you trying to get us caught in the blast?" For a moment, a shiver ran down Krieg's spine at the hint of collateral.
"There's not much it can do on the lift either. We can waste a single second, so reloading is out of the question," Bertholdt muttered in agreement to his two compatriots, "Maybe it's better to leave it behind."
Being shot down wasn't a new experience for the Masked Moron, but the stacking drawbacks grew the pit in his stomach even wider. His dejected aura must have been felt by the others, as Armin scratched at his head in an attempt to wrack his brain. Before the blonde strategist could speak, the metallic thud of the lift's door resounded as it swung open to the floor.
"Alright, the lift's ready to go!" One of the cadets announced.
As if the dinner bell rang, the cadets quickly ceased their discussion and filed into their assignments.
"Don't look so down." Connie's encouraging pat on the shoulder came briefly as he passed by. "Put some faith in us, yeah?" When it seemed Krieg's idea was effectively rejected, an unlikely voice spoke in favor amongst the leaving crowd.
"If you think you can use it, take it. Utilize every tool at your disposal, and fight." Even as she walked away to join the kill squad, Mikasa's voice was the only thing resonating in Krieg's ears.
Against everyone's wishes, Krieg dragged the bag of explosive powder right in the middle of the lift. While the ride down was mostly silent, there were still the whispers of regret skittering through the air. It didn't matter, as Armin said this was their only shot, so wishes made now would merely be epitaphs on a tombstone.
Though the ride remained hopeless and uneventful, the lift finally reached its destination: right before the very eyes of seven titans. As planned, the cadets lined up on all sides, two circular rows of rifles drawn ahead for the approaching monsters. From smell and presence alone, the titans noticed the amassed group of cadets while completely unaware of the hidden sword-wielders in the rafters.
With each quaking footstep, the titans inched ever so closer to the barrel of Krieg's rifle. Even at such close proximity, the iron sights remained aligned, targeted right at the pupils. Slowing his breath and relaxing his shoulders maintained the steadiness easily for the masked cadet. Was it from the sight of the Colossal that tempered his composure, or the unwavering of Marco calmly issuing directions? Whichever the case, it didn't seem to resolve the other cadets, as a quick glance to Krieg's side revealed the trembling of firearm machinery and choked whimpers that only grew louder. The green-ponytail cadet seemed more afraid of her own gun than the titan before her.
"FIRE!"
In that moment, a cascading torrent of mini-explosions erupted from all sides. Blinding light flashed from all muzzles, the sight soon replaced by plumes of ashy smoke and titan steam exuding from their heads, enough to smokescreen even the cadets who fired. In a two-step fashion, the sickening sounds of sliced flesh soon followed as one-by-one the numbers began to fall like dominoes. Although Krieg counted seven strikes, a new problem emerged:
Sasha and Connie's targets didn't fall.
The titan slashed by Sasha turned to its attacker, one of its eyes remaining uninjured rather than healed. A quick scan to the green-ponytail cadet beside Krieg revealed that her finger still remained outside the trigger, tugging on its guard.
"Crap… What do we do?" Armin thought aloud, unable to tear his gaze from the horror that awaited them. Was this all that they could do, watch as the people they care about get slaughtered before their very eyes? Passive bystanders to the carnage before them, unable to even lift a single finger in aid?
No, someone had to act. Ignore the depths calling for your name, calling for your friends' names. Taking one gaze will halt those feet of yours, steal whatever courage you had left. But don't blindly charge into the fray, look ahead at the skies before you. Muster all the strength in your bones and fight.
With no second thoughts, Krieg swiped the unused rifle from the green cadet in one hand and the gunpowder sack in the other. Throwing the gunpowder at this distance would have the explosion be just shy of the titan's weak spot, so there was only one other option. Krieg just needed a small running start before making it.
Kickstarting his momentum, Krieg ran past the crowd of cadets and leaped off the edge of the lift towards the titans. Still unaware of his presence and focused on the two cowering cadets before them, the titans' napes were in full view. Krieg could already begin to feel gravity dragging his body down, so with all his strength he threw the sack as close to their necks as possible. Sometimes even the best of contingencies require a little luck, and lining up the shot mid-fall was exactly that. But that small reliance on fate didn't stop his finger on the trigger.
From one explosion to another, the bag erupted in a thunderous boom. The force of the blast stirred settled dust from the HQ's walls and flickered the lit flames, as well as sent Krieg flying in the opposite direction. Vision filled with white and tinnitus ringing in his eardrums were the results perceived, yet through the adrenaline he could feel someone tugging at his collar throughout his descent. Was it Sasha again, this time without the debilitating piercing of an anchor?
"Too reckless." Nope, instead it was the monotone sigh that was enough to rustle the tightest of jimmies. Expecting to be dropped on the hard concrete, Krieg was left wide-eyed as Annie withstood most of the landing before rolling back to her feet. As gracious as he was to his savior, the sight before him certainly wasn't of an angel. "That's twice now that you owe me."
More like an angel of death.
"Wow, by the skin of your teeth," Reiner chuckled, with a stern Bertholdt in tow. "You're damn lucky Annie pulled you out of the radius when she did, or you both would've ended up with them." The four pointedly looked towards the aftermath of Krieg's impromptu plan: two steaming titans whose necks were covered in smolder. On the opposite end near the support beam stood Connie, panting heavily as he stared at the destruction before him. As for the other that was being targeted…
"Kriegggg!" The bawling Bad Company member barreled at the blasted cadet without a care for his state. "You saved my life! I swear, I'll never make fun of your mask again!"
As Krieg was beginning to retrace his memory to a time when such mockery occurred, Connie had rejoined the group, though with less tears streaming down his face. "Thanks for having our back, you crazy bastard."
With an announcement of victory, the lift was quickly lowered and the cadets spilled out in elation. Especially Marco, who seemed to slightly faint after the pressure of the objective was lifted. Carrying the mentally exhausted freckled cadet on one side, Jean seemed to breathe the biggest sigh of relief amongst the crew once the greenhorns broke for the refueling tanks.
"I can't believe it really worked. What kinda studying did you pull in training to form two strategies and have them both succeed?"
"I'm as shocked as you are," Armin humbly laughed, though his eyes betrayed the emitted ease. "If Krieg hadn't patched the flaws, I'm not sure we would've succeeded…"
Now wasn't the time to feel sorry for oneself, not when morale was at the highest it had ever been. So when Armin's unsatisfied gaze finally looked at his masked comrade, Krieg knew he had to give a sign to reinforce the positive atmosphere:
Krieg flashed an "OK" with his free hand.
Seeing Armin's expression brighten was barely repayment for the amount of support and tutoring he had given the Masked Moron the past few years, but he had to start somewhere. After this, maybe they would all be able to enjoy a home cooked meal together at the dinner table, and this would all just be another retold story they could reminisce about.
"Krieg, your leg!" Armin's face now contorted as his eyes turned to saucers, where a flame reflected upon the surface.
"Partner, you're on fire!" Though the words sounded goading, her tone was nothing short of horrified. Sasha immediately began patting down the ember, ignoring the heat torching her palm. The flames were smothered, but the nerves still shot signals of pain throughout his leg. Under the partially charred remains of the poncho-bandage was of the visceral nature that heat does to flesh. It was likely that the healing wound from the piercing had now fused together in a lumpy stitch of boiled skin. The texture of the exposed skin remained tender as Sasha slowly pulled her hand from it, the heated skin threatening to glue itself to her palm.
"Can you stand?" The same words from training but now laced with concern felt strangely unbecoming from Mikasa. If even she seemed worried, how bad was it? Krieg attempted to put his weight to his left leg, only for him to quickly buckle. Due to being nearby, Sasha was the one to catch his fall yet again, causing him to look upon her visage.
That very same look strewn across his old friend's face, as bizarre as it sounds, was nostalgic. The tears no longer ran, they merely lingered on her cheeks and puffy eyes. Her dilated pupils and wide-eyed stare fixated right at him, like she was witnessing a dying animal. His back could sense the trembling on her fingertips. Her teeth clenched so hard, as if an escaping breath would be enough to topple over the masked boy. He could offer a pointed look like before, but now he had more tools at his disposal.
In his last bits of energy, Krieg brought his hands up in Sasha's view, but not to wipe away her tears like he should've. Instead, he simply signed:
I OWE YOU ONE
Stifling a choked laugh, Sasha's tears began to fall directly on Krieg's resting hands.
"You idiot. We're even now."