Chapter 1: Blood and Broken Resolve
The air in the Forest of Giant Trees was always thick. It smelled of rotting leaves, wet bark, and something else—something metallic and old that clung to the back of the throat. Today, the scent was sharper. Fresher.
Levi’s boots made no sound as they sank into the moss. Around him, the stillness was a lie. The bodies of his squad lay broken at the foot of a colossal root system, their ODM gear sparking weakly. He didn’t look at them. Not yet. His focus was on the one form that still trembled.
Sage Renn was propped against a tree, her head lolling. Her vibrant red braid was dark and sticky, plastered to her neck and shoulder. The left side of her uniform was a ruin of shredded green cloth and glistening red. Through the tears, he could see the sickening white flash of a rib, the darker, pulsing mess beneath it. Her breaths were shallow, wet things that bubbled at her lips.
“Damn it,” Levi muttered, the words a low exhale.
He dropped to his knees beside her, the damp earth immediately soaking through his trousers. He didn’t notice. He ripped off his right glove with his teeth, fingers going to the pulse point under her jaw. It fluttered, a frantic bird trapped against his fingertips.
“Sage.” He said her name like a command. Her green eyes, clouded with shock and pain, managed to find his. “Look at me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
“C-Captain…” she slurred, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of her mouth. “The… the others?”
“Dead.” He said it flatly, because sugar-coating it was a waste of time and breath she didn’t have. His hands were already moving, pulling a rolled bandage pack from his belt. “You’re next if you don’t shut up and stay still.”
He pressed the wad of dressing directly into the worst of the wound, his bare hand applying firm, unyielding pressure. Sage jerked, a raw, animal sound tearing from her throat. Her hand flew up, grasping weakly at his wrist.
“Hurts…”
“No shit.” He didn’t lessen the pressure. He could feel the warmth of her blood seeping through the cloth, over his knuckles. It was everywhere. A mess. His jaw tightened. “Your reckless maneuver clipped the anchor line. You spiraled right into its path. What the hell were you thinking, trying a dual-vector swing that tight?”
“Worked… last time,” she gasped, her grip on his wrist tightening briefly before going slack.
“Last time you didn’t have a fifteen-meter class using your trajectory as a dinner bell.” He glanced at her face. Her skin was taking on a ghastly pallor. The pressure wasn’t enough; the bleeding was too deep. He needed to seal it.
“Need… to cauterize,” Sage whispered, her eyes drifting shut.
“I know what I need to do.” His voice was colder than he felt. A strange, hollow urgency was opening up in his chest, a feeling he’d carefully buried years ago. He wouldn’t name it. He couldn’t.
With his free hand, he fumbled for his gear. A small metal tin of salve, a cleanish rag, and his flask. Not for drinking. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth and poured the clear, high-proof liquor over the wound and his blood-slicked hand. The sting of it made her arch off the ground, a silent scream on her lips.
“Hold her,” he ordered the air, as if a subordinate were there. He was alone. He used his knee to gently pin her shoulder, keeping her from thrashing. He struck his flint steel, the spark catching on the alcohol-soaked rag. A blue flame leapt to life.
He didn’t hesitate. He pressed the burning cloth against the deepest part of the laceration.
The sound she made was worse than any titan’s roar. It was a choked, guttural thing that ended in a whimper. The smell of seared flesh mixed with the forest damp. He held it for a three-count, then pulled away, tossing the smoldering cloth aside. The bleeding had slowed to a sluggish ooze. It would have to be enough.
He worked quickly then, fingers deft despite the gore. He packed the wound with the medicinal salve, a bitter-smelling paste that promoted clotting, then bound her torso tight with the long bandage, looping it under her back and over her shoulder to keep the pressure even. His movements were efficient, clinical. But his hands, for the first time in memory, were not entirely steady.
“You are a massive pain in my ass, Renn,” he said, tying off the bandage. His words were harsh, but his hands were careful as he smoothed the final knot.
Her eyes were open again, glazed with tears of pain, but clearer. “You… you remembered my name.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. It’s on your file under ‘Liability.’” He pulled his soiled glove back on, then wiped his bloody hand on the moss. It was a futile gesture. Everything was stained.
He stood, scanning the towering, shadow-drenched trees. The quiet was back, but it was a listening quiet. “Can you stand? We can’t stay here.”
“I can try.”
“Trying isn’t good enough. Do it.”
He hooked an arm under her shoulders, pulling her up. She cried out as her muscles engaged, her weight sagging against him. He took it, his own frame solid and unmoving. She was taller than him, a fact that was suddenly, irritatingly obvious.
“Your ODM gas is shot,” he stated, checking her gear with a glance. “Mine’s at half. We’re grounded. The supply depot is three klicks northeast.”
“A walk in the park,” she breathed, each word a effort.
“Shut up and save your breath for walking.”
He moved her arm around his shoulders, his own arm locking around her waist, careful to avoid the bandaged injury. They began a slow, lurching trek through the labyrinth of roots and ferns. Every rustle of leaves, every distant snap of a branch, made Levi’s shoulders tense. He listened not just with his ears, but with his bones.
Sage’s breathing was a ragged soundtrack beside him. After ten minutes of brutal silence, she spoke, her voice faint.
“You didn’t leave me.”
“I’m not in the habit of leaving resources that might still be functional.”
“A resource.” She gave a weak, pained chuckle that turned into a cough. “Nice.”
“It’s the only reason you’re alive. Sentiment gets people killed.” He said it to himself as much as to her. The words tasted like ash.
They pushed through a curtain of hanging vines. The light was fading, the green gloom of the forest deepening to emerald black. He estimated they had covered maybe half a kilometer. It was too slow. Far too slow.
Sage’s steps became more uncoordinated, her weight heavier on his side. “Captain… I need… to stop for a second.”
“We don’t have a second.”
“Just… a moment.”
He relented, lowering her to sit on a massive, moss-covered root. She slumped forward, her braid falling over her shoulder. He remained standing, his eyes never still, scanning the vertical cliffs of the trees around them. The silence was pressing in again, heavier now.
“Why did you join the Scouts, Sage?” he asked abruptly. He needed to keep her conscious, and personal questions were more effective than orders right now.
She looked up, surprised. “Why does anyone? To see the world beyond the walls. To fight for something.”
“That’s the brochure answer. Give me the real one.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “My older brother. He was in the Garrison. Died in a wall breach. Not from a titan. A panic crush. People trampling each other.” She swallowed with difficulty. “I figured… out here, at least you can see what kills you. At least you can swing back.”
Levi looked at her then, really looked. Past the blood and the bravado, to the raw nerve she’d just exposed. It was a stupid reason. A human one.
Before he could form a response, a sound cut through the forest. Not a bird. Not an animal.
It was the distinct, shuddering crunch of a massive foot settling on soft earth. Then another. Heavy. Deliberate.
Levi’s blood went cold. He turned his head slowly, his grey eyes narrowing.
Emerging from between two giant trunks, its flesh steaming faintly in the cool air, was a titan. It was aberrant, moving on all fours like a grotesque hound, its neck twisted so its blank, empty eyes were fixed directly on them. A low, humming groan vibrated from its gaping mouth.
It had been tracking them. Waiting.
Levi’s hand went to the grip of his remaining blade. Sage struggled to push herself up, her face a mask of fresh dread.
“Levi,” she whispered, abandoning his title.
He stepped in front of her, placing his body between hers and the approaching horror. The blade hissed as he drew it, the sound cutting through the thick air.
“On your feet, Renn,” he said, his voice low and utterly calm. “The walk just got interesting.”
“The walk just got interesting.”
The aberrant titan scuttled forward, its movements unnervingly fluid for something so massive. It dragged its distended belly across the ferns, leaving a slick trail of steam and crushed foliage. Its eyes, wide and unblinking, held a horrible, vacant curiosity.
Levi’s mind cleared, the way it always did when the fight was unavoidable. One blade. Low gas. A critically wounded subordinate. The math was terrible. The only variable he could control was himself.
“Sage, the root behind you. Get up onto it. Now.”
She clawed her way backwards, her breath coming in sharp, pained hitches. The titan’s head swung to follow her movement.
Levi didn’t wait. He ran, not away, but at a sharp angle, boots skidding on the wet moss. He needed its attention. “Hey! Over here, you ugly bastard!”
The titan’s jaw unhinged, a low gurgle echoing from its throat. It pivoted, its lumbering body crushing a sapling as it turned toward the smaller, moving target.
Levi calculated the distance to the nearest tree—too far for a standard anchor shot with his remaining gas. He’d have to make it work. With a sharp hiss, he fired a hook into a trunk thirty meters up and to the left. The cable went taut. He yanked the trigger, and his body was hauled forward, not with his usual graceful arc, but in a desperate, sloping line just above the ground.
The titan swiped. A massive hand, fingers like rotten timber, swept the air where he’d been a half-second before.
Levi released the anchor mid-swing, dropping into a roll. He came up within five meters of the thing’s trailing leg. He had one shot at this. He sprinted directly at it, a tiny, speeding shadow against its pale flesh. As he neared, he dropped onto his back, sliding through the mud and roots beneath its wide, low-hanging torso. He raised his single blade.
The steel bit deep into the back of the titan’s ankle, severing the tendon with a wet crack. Steam erupted, blinding and hot.
The titan bellowed, a sound of pure, mindless frustration. It stumbled, its leg buckling. Levi was already scrambling out from under it, steam scalding his neck and cheeks. He didn’t look back. He just ran, back toward Sage.
She was on the root, one hand pressed against her bandaged side, the other gripping a broken branch like a pitiful spear. Her eyes were wide, tracking the flailing titan.
“It’s not dead!” she shouted.
“No shit,” Levi snarled, skidding to a halt beside her. The titan was thrashing, trying to rise on its three remaining limbs. It wouldn’t be down for long. “We need to go. Can you run?”
“I can try—”
“Don’t try. Do it.”
He pulled her arm around his shoulders again and they stumbled forward, plunging deeper into a thicket of younger, denser trees. The canopy here was lower, tangled. The titan’s enraged cries faded slightly, muffled by the foliage. They kept moving, every step a jarring agony for Sage. Levi could feel her trembling, her body screaming to shut down.
After a hundred meters, she sagged against him, her legs giving out. He barely kept them both upright, lowering her against the bole of a thick oak.
“Just… a minute,” she gasped, her head falling back against the rough bark. Her face was chalk-white, a sheen of cold sweat mixing with the dirt and blood. Her green eyes were having trouble focusing.
“We don’t have a minute. Breathe. Then we move.” He kept his voice hard, but his eyes were scanning her, assessing. The bandage was dark, saturated. Too saturated. Her lips had a faint bluish tinge.
She looked at him, and for a second, the reckless fire was gone, replaced by a raw, childlike fear. “It’s really quiet now.”
“It is.”
“Levi…I can’t…breathe…” she said. The words were thin, airless. A desperate rasp.
He was kneeling in front of her in an instant. He tore at the bandage he’d just applied. The wound beneath was a mess, but it wasn’t bleeding freely. This was worse. Internal. A rib fragment must have punctured something—a lung. He’d seen it before. The feeling of drowning on dry land.
Her chest hitched, straining for air that wouldn’t come. Panic flashed in her eyes.
“Look at me.” He gripped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. His grey eyes were like flint, demanding focus. “You’re not dying here. Not in this shithole forest. Do you understand me?”
She managed a faint, terrified nod.
He acted. There was no other choice. He pulled a small, leather-wrapped case from an inner pocket. Inside was a syringe and a vial of clear liquid—a powerful stimulant and coagulant, carried for extreme emergencies. It came with risks: tachycardia, stroke, sheer systemic shock. It was a last resort, meant to keep a soldier’s heart beating long enough to get them to a surgeon.
He didn’t hesitate. He jammed the needle into the vial, drew the dose, and found a vein in her neck. “This is going to hurt.”
He injected it.
Sage’s body went rigid. A sharp, choked gasp tore from her throat as the drug hit her system. Her back arched off the tree, her fingers clawing at the moss. Then, with a shuddering rush, air flooded back into her lungs. Her breathing evened out, turning deep and alarmingly fast. Color, a feverish, unnatural pink, returned to her cheeks. Her eyes snapped open, wide and brilliantly alert, pupils dilated.
“Whoa,” she breathed, the word tinged with a strange, giddy energy.
“The effect is temporary. Maybe twenty minutes.” Levi’s voice was gravel. He repacked the syringe. “We move faster now. Can you stand?”
She pushed herself up, not just standing but almost bouncing on the balls of her feet. The pain was clearly still there, held at bay by a chemical wall. “I can run.”
“Good. Don’t talk. Follow.”
He set a brutal pace, and she matched it, fueled by artificial vitality. They weaved through the trees, the world narrowing to the rhythm of their footfalls and the burning in their lungs. Levi listened for pursuit, but heard only the fading echo of the titan’s cries and the frantic drum of his own heart.
After ten minutes of silent, desperate sprinting, a break in the trees revealed a sight that should have been relief: the outer fence of the supply depot, a wooden palisade with a watchtower.
The tower was dark. The gate was slightly ajar. No smoke from the chimney. No movement.
Levi slowed, raising a fist. Sage halted beside him, her stimulant-driven breath puffing in quick clouds.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered, the drug making her voice vibrate.
Levi nodded once, his hand going to the grip of his blade. The safe haven was silent. And in the world beyond the walls, silence was never a gift. It was an ambush, waiting to happen. He motioned for her to stay low, and they began their final, cautious approach toward the quiet depot.
He motioned for her to stay low, and they began their final, cautious approach toward the quiet depot.
The gate wasn’t just ajar; it was broken. One heavy wooden door hung from a single hinge, the other splintered inward as if struck by a battering ram. No, Levi corrected himself silently, as if swatted by a massive, careless hand. The air here carried a new note—copper and bile, undercut by the ever-present steam of dissolving flesh.
“Stay behind me,” Levi murmured, his voice barely a breath.
He slipped through the gap, blade raised. The courtyard was a slaughterhouse. Crates were smashed. A supply wagon lay on its side, one wheel still spinning lazily. And the ground… it was mud, but not from rain. He didn’t look at the shapes that made the mud that color. He’d seen enough.
Sage followed, her stimulant-sharp eyes taking in the devastation with a clinical speed that would crash later. “No survivors,” she stated, the drug flattening her tone.
“Not our mission. Gas canisters. Medical pack. Now.”
They moved in unison, a grim efficiency between them. Levi found a half-crushed storage locker. He kicked the dented door in, revealing rows of pristine green gas canisters. He began shrugging them on, clipping them to his harness with swift, practiced clicks.
Sage ducked into the remains of the watchtower’s base. She emerged moments later, a bulky field medical pack slung over her shoulder. “Got it.” Her words were still too fast.
A low groan echoed from behind the main log structure, followed by the sickening crunch of timber.
Levi turned, two fresh blades now in his hands. “We’re leaving. Straight up and over the north wall. Do not engage.”
But the world beyond the walls rarely obeyed orders.
Two of them shambled into view from opposite sides of the building. Both were seven-meter classes. One was missing an arm, the stump dribbling steam. The other had a disturbingly human-like face, twisted in a vacant smile. They saw the movement—saw the two humans standing in the open—and their pace quickened.
“Plan?” Sage asked, her voice humming with unnatural energy.
“The plan is to not be here.” Levi fired his anchors into the palisade wall behind them. “Go!”
They shot upward together, the burst of gas a welcome roar in the silent graveyard. They cleared the top of the wall, landing in a crouch on the wide walkway. Below, the two Titans turned, their blank eyes lifting.
And a third, smaller, four-meter class, spider-like and fast, scurried up the outer wall directly in front of them.
It was on them in a second.
Levi dove left. Sage rolled right. The Titan’s jaws snapped shut on empty planking. It skittered around, focusing on Sage—the closer, louder target. She yelped, firing an anchor into its shoulder, using the recoil to swing herself over its head. She landed behind it, slashing downward. Her blade bit into its neck, but not deep enough. It wasn’t a killing strike.
Steam sprayed. The creature shrieked and whirled.
“Finish it, Renn!” Levi shouted, already moving to intercept the two now climbing the wall from the courtyard. He took the one-armed one first, a clean, whistling arc that severed its nape before it could crest the walkway. It fell back, dissolving.
The smiling Titan was faster. It hauled itself over the parapet, its giant hand swiping at Levi. He ducked under the blow, the wind of it ruffling his hair. He had to end this fast.
“Sage, status!”
“Almost—got it!”
He heard the thwack of her anchors, the zip of her gear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her beautiful, drug-fueled form: a red arc around the smaller Titan, her blade a silver flash. It connected. The four-meter class stiffened and dropped.
But the smiley Titan was between him and her now. And the drug, that brutal chemical tide holding her up, began to recede.
It didn’t fade gently. It collapsed.
Levi saw it the moment it happened. She landed from the killing blow, and her knees just… buckled. Not much, just a slight, uncharacteristic wobble. But her hand went to her side, and her breath, which had been a steady, rapid rhythm, hitched. The vibrant, feverish color drained from her face as if a plug had been pulled.
The smiling Titan, ignoring Levi for the new weakness, lunged for her.
She tried to move. She triggered her gear. The gas sputtered—she’d burned through most of her fresh canister in the frantic fight. The anchor shot wild, embedding in the walkway at her feet. She was stranded, ten meters from Levi, directly in the Titan’s path.
Its shadow fell over her.
Levi didn’t think. He calculated. One anchor into the smiling Titan’s forearm to alter its trajectory. A burst of gas so hard it felt like his ribs might crack. He didn’t go for the nape. He went for the space between the Titan and Sage.
He collided with her at speed, wrapping an arm around her waist and wrenching her sideways as the Titan’s grasping fingers closed on empty air. They tumbled together in a bone-jarring roll across the rough wood. The medical pack tore open, scattering bandages and vials.
Sage gasped, a raw, pained sound. The artificial energy was gone, leaving only the wreckage of her body and a dawning, helpless terror. “I can’t… my side… it’s back, it’s all back,” she choked out, her fingers clawing at his uniform.
The smiling Titan turned, its grin widening. Levi pushed Sage behind him, rising to his feet. He stood between her and the nightmare, his blades ready, his own breath suddenly loud in his ears.
“Get up,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “Get up right now.”
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She just knelt there, shuddering, as the Titan took its first, earth-shaking step toward them.