Chapter Text
Prologue: Tribute
Berik was no stranger to the concept of fear. It was his constant companion, inseparable as his very skin, and it clung to him just as tightly. The fear of starvation, the pain and weakness and worst of all the unbearable sensation of emptiness that malnourishment brought. Fear of the foul-tempered and often cruel officers of the Garrison, their neatly pressed uniforms contrasting with their brutal treatment of any street urchin who dared to befoul the pristine streets of their towns and villages. Fear of the overpowering cold that would sweep down from the tops of the Highlands of Mt. Maria like a living thing, blanketing the foothills in snow and ice and stripping the trees of their greenery and the land of its natural resources for months on end.
Yes, Berik feared and despised winter most of all. It was crueler than any Garrison officer or self-appointed town watch. In its cruelty, the season negated all chance of living off the land, while creating a greater need to do so than ever before. The cold seemed to slip into the hearts of humans as well as the world, solidifying resolve and banishing pity. Doors that would have opened to accept him for just a night were now shut against him, helping hands that would have offered at least a crust of bread of a chunk of dubious meat were now stuffed firmly into pockets as their owners walked on, stiff-legged and shivering against the bitter winds.
He had nearly died at least twice in Maria’s ugly winters before he had learned to do what he had to do survive, as no one else would spare even a moment’s consideration for a poor street-urchin at such a bleak and miserable time—and there was always evidence of those who hadn’t survived; frozen bodies littering roads, scattered in fields or holed up in shelters too miserable for anything but imaginary comfort and warmth. Berik had refused to be one of them; he had vowed to survive from the moment he had left the workhouse in his hometown. Thus he had stolen, he had lied, and he had even done violence—and sometimes to those who truly didn’t deserve it; he could admit that to himself now—all in order to survive. In order to stave off Death for just a little while longer, because that was all that waited out there for someone shut out of the protective bubble of society.
And perhaps that was the biggest fear of all. Fear of Death.
All his other fears had been but guises for this single, overwhelming terror that gripped him now as he forced his way through the ragged undergrowth and hopped awkwardly over the rocks that stuck up from the dirt like misshapen teeth. There was no light in the pitch blackness of the Forest of Giant Trees save for the pale glimmer of the crescent moon above—and even that was useless. The Forest that clung to Mt. Maria’s midsection like the rags of a torn garment was composed of the biggest trees in the Three Kingdoms. Their trunks dwarfed any human unlucky enough to wander through this cursed land, while their branches spread out into an interlaced maze that blotted out almost all trace of light from sun or moon. All the faint moonlight did was emphasize just how black it truly was in the forest, reminding Berik of his dire situation.
A pained curse flew from his lips as a root coiled around his ankle—but not just any root, no this one was a thick and flexible bastard, lined with thorns that bit deeply into his flesh. Spring was coming, overcoming winter’s bitterness with its usual regularity and now the forests and wilderness of Maria was coming back to life, plants first. Though minimal, the pain along with the sudden shock of a root around his ankle tugged his left foot out from under him and Berik crashed to the ground.
There was no time to even curse again, the breath was torn from his lungs by the force of the collision with the ground. Gasping and choking for air that wasn’t coming, the boy thrashed against the dirt and kicking his left leg in such a frenzy that pain bored into his hip. He ignored it however, as the objective had been accomplished—the root tore away and he struggled to his feet, his heavy rucksack swinging lopsidedly on his back. It occurred to him that he should reach inside of it and fumble inside for the lighting device that Bertholdt had slipped into it before he had been carted off to this horrific place, but a quick assessment of the situation told him just how foolish this would be.
Berik could already hear it coming for him, the monster that meant to end his life tonight. He had seen its fearsome speed and strength and he knew as surely as he knew his own name that it was only his state of constant, frenzied movement that had kept him away from its claws and razor teeth for even this amount of time.
It wasn’t that he could hear the demon coming for him…no, his only clues to its presence lay in what he couldn’t hear. Though winter still chilled the night air, this was the advent of spring and the sound of animals emerging after the frigid holocaust was always familiar, the wholesome music of the deep woods. Birds nesting, deer sprinting in search of food, rabbits darting away from any sound at all in their perpetual cowardice. But…not now. No, instead of those comforting sounds, there was merely a blanketing quiet that wreathed the trees like a shroud. It made Berik’s ears ring as if in accompaniment to the crashing of his heart within his chest, a wall of dead silence that seemed to precede the monster’s presence as all the animals of the forest stilled in terror that he could understand all too well.
I have to run, I have to run, the words repeated themselves over and over again like a drumbeat against the inside of his skull…but where would he run to? Berik knew his circumstances and he understood that even if he managed to leave the Forest of Giant Trees alive, there was little hope left for him. Where would he go? Back to his home village? Despite his terror, despite the painful thump of his heart and the prickling pain in his ankle as he staggered to his feet, Berik couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
His home village was the place where he had first tasted the fear of death in the workhouse, seeing children younger than him crushed into barely recognizable meat by machinery they had no business operating, all for what? So that they could huddle together in a miserable pile of writhing bodies that was too hot in the summer and only bred disease in the winter? So that he could endure the overseer’s whippings with the understanding that the pain was the lesser of two evils? That it was better than being thrown out onto the unforgiving streets he had ended up choosing anyway? No. Still…there was certainly no going back to Shiganshina.
They’d probably shoot me if I came back anyway, he thought as he forced his aching legs into a run again, leaping over a rock that jutted up from the dirt like an obscure monolith to some ancient god. And who knew? Perhaps it was? No sane human had wandered this forest in over a hundred years; even a newcomer from the foothills of Rose knew that. Not since the curse had descended upon Maria’s villages, leaving them helpless prey for something that could only be described as a living nightmare.
“And they’re using me to satisfy it! Those bastards! I trusted them! I fucking trusted them!” Berik hissed—and then clamped his teeth together, horrified. He had not meant to utter his angry outburst aloud. Who knew if the monster chasing him could have heard it?
Still, rage and bitterness was bleeding into his fear and he could feel half-formed ideas of vengeance darting beneath the surface like fish half-seen beneath the stagnant murky waters of a pond. Shiganshina had been so good to him! It had been the first village in his life where they had not hounded him out into the wilderness with threats of violence and bodily harm if he ever came back. Of course they had been suspicious at first, but they had all too quickly succumbed to pity for the poor wandering orphan with his ragged cloak and even more ragged clothes, and jaded all-too-cynical eyes that no child his age should bear.
Yes…all too quickly they had felt pity.
And he, who had never experienced true kindness for anything more than fleeting moments hadn’t understood until it was too late that Shiganshina was a trap which he had fallen into from the moment his mud-caked boots had set foot into its borders. Still…he wanted to think that he had made friends there. Reiner, who had made sure to include him in his more outrageous adventures, Reiner’s fiancé…what was her name? It had started with an H, which was all he could remember. And Bertholdt of course, stuttering, sweaty and ever-nervous Bertholdt who Berik hadn’t even liked at first, marking his trembling and hesitant attitude as the character of a weakling. Even Annie, who had all the personality and emotional sensitivity of a thrown brick had grown on him eventually, though he had learned through painful experience never to ask about her often-missing mother, at least not in her presence.
Had they known? Had they known that he was nothing more than a meal all along, a fresh pig fattened up for slaughter?
The painful questions were extinguished in an instant as the harsh crashing of branches exploded somewhere above and behind him, followed an instant later by the sprinkling of wood splinters as they cascaded to the forest floor.
Oh, Saint-Queens, Berik thought and he stumbled. Not on a root this time, or any other obstruction, simply the terror that wormed its way through his muscles like electricity, weakening and tensing them all at once. In his introspection on how he had gotten to this point, the situation had lost some of its essential reality, the threat of death at this predator’s jaws had become dull, lost its edge—only for it to be sharpened again.
Trost, it has to be Trost, Berik thought as he put on an extra burst of speed in defiance of the weakness that wanted to claim him. Trost was the closest town there was from this God-forsaken forest. And perhaps, his more optimistic half thought, it didn’t even need to be Trost. He had never heard of this thing leaving the forest, no tales spoke of the Mountain Devil leaving its wooded hunting ground to prowl about the paths leading upwards to the other settlements on Maria’s upper slopes, thought it was certainly capable of doing so. Maybe all he had to do was get past the tree-line and all would be well once again. He could continue on as if this had never happened, a little wiser now for this terrible experience.
But what about Reiner…Bertholdt…even Annie? What would the Mountain Devil do to their town, do to them if it did not receive its yearly tribute? Because that was what he was when all of it was stripped away. He was the sacrifice given to the demon in exchange for it leaving their town alone, not ravaging the settlement until blood ran in the gutters as it had in the years past.
He imagined it now, the picture built from the quick and awful glance he had gotten of his pursuer earlier. He could imagine the beast swinging from building to building, lashing out with those terrible claws. It would start with whoever was closest, tearing them limb from limb. He imagined Reiner, his body torn apart and thrown through the window of the shop he managed with his mother. Bertholdt cowering to the last, not even having enough strength of will to beg for his life before he was ripped apart. And Annie…somehow he couldn’t even imagine Annie’s death, merely its prelude. Her father would defend her to the last, throwing her behind him as he sought to futilely stop the Mountain Devil, though they both knew it was over.
Not my problem, Berik thought and though his legs kept pumping, the words fell flat, even in his mind. It was his problem, it had become his problem the moment they had befriended each other. He felt the guilt, but the urge to survive, the will to live that had drawn him away from the miserable workhouse in his hometown drew him onward and away from the doom that pursued him—
The canopy above him exploded into violent motion; ancient branches creaked and splinters and dead leaves rained down on him in a dry flood. Berik cried out against his will, throwing his hands up in a purely instinctive gesture. A blast hit him face-first and his eyes widened until the lids stung as he realized it had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the large body that swung down from the upper branches, making its way quickly and steadily towards him.
The disturbance had temporarily unblocked the moonlight and in its light Berik could see the Shiganshina’s terror far more plainly than he wanted to. It was at least seven meters tall, though its height hardly seemed to matter as anything more than a side note to its pure wrongness. Its eyes were soulless black holes in its face, staring at him through the wild tangles of its long unruly hair. The thought of its hair drew his attention to the fact that the beast’s head was disproportionately large for its rather small yet heavily muscled body, all of this complimented by its wide mouth, brimming with gleaming white razors for teeth.
The Mountain Devil Clung to its perch in the canopy, its inhumanly long arms barely tensing with the effort of holding itself to the wood by its hooked claws. It seemed to be studying him, and Berik found he was unable to look away. He could hear a high-pitched almost animalistic squealing sound that rang through the woods. It confused and rattled him, because while the demon’s mouth was open, there was nothing even close to sound emerging from that fanged face.
Pain jabbed at Berik’s throat and it hit him that the source of the sound was him. He had been screaming all the while and the Mountain Devil left his sight as he whirled away from his pursuer, the scream still building in his throat.
The ground shook with the muffled thud of the Mountain Devil’s landing as it crashed down from the trees, an ungraceful yet effective move. Berik chanced a glance over his shoulder and what he saw made him scream again, a far more jagged and desperate sound than before. The creature was chasing him. Its legs were extremely short, almost too short for its body, and while it did use them, that was not its main source of locomotion. Instead the demon would plunge its hands deep into the ground, hooking its claws in the dirt and then propel itself forward, crashing down just where Berik had been moments previous. For one of his steps, the Mountain Devil claimed three.
“No, no. no, no NOOOOOOOOO!” Berik screamed. Wind blew against his back, jostling his rucksack and he knew it was the demon’s claws, barely grazing his body as it sought to kill him. “You can’t do this to me, you can’t! You…please, please don’t do it! I don’t want to die!” Words. Useless, babbling screams that did nothing more than waste valuable time and energy. But he couldn’t help himself; it was a reflexive thing to do, like closing his eyes when he saw a blow coming at his face.
There was no answer from his pursuer of course, just the crash of its body on the ground and the ripping sound of deeply buried roots as they were unearthed and torn apart by its movements. Before he could stop himself, Berik wondered if that was what it would sound like when his body was torn apart by those grasping talons. The trees were narrowing slightly, making it harder for him to navigate. Weaving his way around a particularly large sapling, Berik allowed the faint hope that the Mountain Devil would be just as encumbered, to sprout within his heart—before the demon smashed aside the tree, its jaws snapping and saliva dripping in ropes from those razor-sharp teeth. The endless black eyes seemed to mark his soul forever, and Berik wondered for a moment if the old legends were true—association with a demon, no matter how brief and removed, damned the soul forever.
Pain sprouted in his midsection like a collection of hot blades plunged into his flesh and he screamed. Even as Berik saw the black, hooked claws gouging deep into the sturdy fabric of his new coat and dyeing the yellow fabric crimson, he couldn’t understand what was happening. It was as if there was a disconnect in his thoughts. In his frenzied mind he was still running through the trees, trying his best to escape death. There was no way he was caught; there was no way he had just been killed that easily. He had survived winters, beatings, attacks of disease and come through it alive if not unscathed. It couldn’t end like this! It just couldn’t—
The Mountain Devil’s breath washed over him as it lifted him to its yawning jaws and the stench of it was like a slap in the face to his fractured dreams of escape. Ages of blood and death came from that mouth, a reek of decay. Though the teeth were white and gleaming, he could smell the remains of those that had met death before him. He was just one more meal to this abomination, a faceless and unknowable number in an indefinite stream of innocents the Mountain Devil had fed upon and would continue to, perhaps until the end of the world itself.
“You…” Berik coughed and the taste of blood rose up into his throat, choking him with the urge to gag, but he swallowed it back down. The claws had punctured at least one organ, though from pain and the alternating waves of dizziness and cold, he suspected that it was several organs. The taste of blood came again, stronger, and this time he was helpless against it as he sagged forward in the demon’s grasp. “You…you have to let…you have to let me go, please…” he was whispering around the blood filling his mouth and dribbling over his lips and down his chin, his voice high and breathy. He knew that even if it let him go now, if it fled off into the night and back to the hell it came from, that he would die here tonight, bleeding to death from his wounds. And that was okay; even in the midst of this horrifying situation, Berik felt faint surprise at the ease with which his mind had assimilated and accepted the understanding that he was going to die. He had always thought he would go to death kicking and screaming, but all he could feel for it now was a faint melancholy, almost unfelt beneath the roaring terror. But not eaten, please not like this—
The stench of its breath worsened until he could no longer breathe as his head plunged into its mouth. For a moment there was nothing but the stench and the raspy, white-hot sensation of its thick tongue on his face before the pain erupted in his back as it closed its jaw and drove its teeth into his flesh, while plunging him into darkness. The pain was sharp, excruciating and just as hot as everything else around him now. The teeth plunged deeper, the walls of the monster’s mouth crushing against his sides and snapping his ribs like kindling while the teeth continued to work at shredding the muscle away from his bones. In the space of seconds, the whole of Berik’s world had shrunken down into two realities: heat and pain. Both of them were an unbearable torment and Berik screamed out his last breath against the boiling flesh of the Mountain Devil’s tongue.
.
.