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Despair comes to them in the shape of a folded letter.
The Azumabito’s told them that a letter from Liberio came in and they rushed for it. Upon ripping open the battered envelope and reading its contents aloud, Hange’s face pales; Mikasa’s expression loses all sense of color.
“An assault…” Mikasa repeats the written words, “But why…?”
“There’s little time,” Levi interrupts, “We need to get back to Paradis and alert the troops. Hange, Onyankopon, will the zeppelin be ready?”
“Yes,” Onyankopon answers, “But it’s been a while since I’ve flown one...I-”
“You have a day to figure it out. We need to gather our forces as soon as possible. I can head back and coral the troops while you stay at the port. We can use one of the boats from the Marleyan fleet we sidelined to get back over here. It’s not like it won’t be blown into metal confetti after Armin transforms,” for the slightest second, Armin witnesses Levi’s teeth grind, “We need to help that shit-for-brains brat.”
...do they?
It’s a question Armin asks himself as he speeds through a plan to fly their zeppelin through Marley. Hange’s voice is dulled but Armin overhears being condemned for this plan being reckless but being crazy enough that it just might work. He doesn’t respond, he’s too busy worrying if Eren could make it out okay; they don’t need to do this...maybe…
Armin screws his eyes shut. Once their strategy team disbands, he balls his fist against the table, clutching bits of paper with it.
Eren, why did you leave the courthouse? Why did you leave? All of this could have been avoided...if you just stayed with us... talked to us.
As he loses sleep over the next couple of days, Armin counts the soldiers who congregate and board the zeppelin. How many will make it back and how many won’t again? Will they get wiped out again by Zeke? Will they live?
Armin wrings his hands. He wants to curl up into himself and hide, roll away like the insignificant roly-poly he is. But instead, he’s here, in this hell where screams will scratch his eardrums again. He can hardly handle his screaming at night. How can he fight against more?
He can’t—that’s the answer. But Erwin could. Armin knows he could do it all if he was here.
Armin hears his cries and Mikasa’s sobs, Connie’s shuddering breathing. There is rage and crying as Sasha lies motionless on the wooden floor. He just recently scorched Marley into what looked like the first level of hell—and this has to be hell; the hysteria of weeping continues when Sasha’s body is carried out of the zeppelin and the other troops see her. Eren and Zeke walking off the ship together sends a foul chill through him, especially when brothers—one of royal blood and founder powers—put on such a menacing show of force. But why would Zeke help his little brother and what purpose is there really of him coming to Paradis?
Breathing is a struggle again. Armin staggers off the ship, sucking in deep breaths to compose himself. Armin coughs and rests his hands on his knees. A crater with the red-hot blaze leftover from his transformation, bodies, and Sasha invade every thought. He’s killed hundreds; they’ve taken children hostage, and one specifically screams curse words at them while she is carted off with the rest of the soldiers. Every muscle is a quaking mess and he can’t shake it.
Relax and breathe.
The warmth of a hand spreads over his head, and it sends Armin’s eyelids fluttering, the snake of anxiety coiling around him easing its grip; his mother may be dead, but the memory of her comforting touch running through his hair always soothed him. His tether to reality is fortified with every deep breath he takes until his breathing steadies and he finds the ability to sighs deeply. The hands on his knees push to help him lift himself.
Armin freezes.
Nose to nose, Armin stares straight into the eyes of a tan bleeding face. His wide white eye-sockets leak with red, and his black hair is matted, dripping wet with something translucent. Ropes of panic bind Armin’s chest; he nears hyperventilation.
“Bert— “
Armin’s seized by the throat. Brute strength launches his body skyward and Armin climbs higher and higher into the clouds, the force of air pushing against his back and head so intense, it threatens to squash him flat, but he keeps rising. He then comes to such a quick, screeching halt, that his brain could have slammed against the ceiling of his skull. He hangs now, the hand clutching his throat cutting off his air and crushing his windpipe. He’s hot—it’s so hot. Armin recovers enough to crack open an eye and glances down. The height from which he hangs matches the sixty meters the Colossus can reach...and there’s something beneath them that’s red and large and steaming. He squeezes his eyes shut again.
The hand choking him squeezes tighter. A thumb digs into Armin’s jugular which thumps in panic for air.
“Look at it,” a deep, monstrous voice booms, “Look at the carnage you created.”
Armin can’t. He won’t. He sputters and grunts and kicks his feet when the grip on his neck tightens.
“Look at it!! If you ever want to breathe again, look!”
He can’t tolerate a second more without air. Armin relents and peers down.
Bertholdt’s Colossus stands in the center of his explosion of the Liberio port. Below them hums a large, crimson vortex that spins in leisure spirals. Piles of flesh-singed rib cages and skulls tumble down the crater’s decline, click-and-clack over each other until they join the vortex’s spinning dance. In the distance, a titan with an split-open ribcage and the height of the Colossus walks, destroying homes and crushing what he suspects are people in both hands. The city leveled into ruin leaks a small, crimson river, and on its surface, the deceased ride the current downstream until the blood flow pours like a waterfall into the open crater. From east and west to south, more rivers of red meander toward the hole and grow thicker, more crowded, until it overflows.
“All this bloodshed and because of what?” the voice scolding him has changed. It’s transformed into a mix of Bertholdt’s, Sasha’s…Eren and Annie’s,” Was it because of a hunch you had but you pursued too late?” The elongated muscles and bones of the Colossus’s arm and pectorals snap apart and distort; they take misshapen shapes of Levi’s squad, of Stohess, then of Annie, “Of not becoming who you can never replace? Ignoring a friend who you refused to see was drifting away?” The Colossus’s chest muscles undulate; long, thick tendons form a silhouette of Eren; his back is aimed at Armin and everyone else. The other pectoral forms Erwin at Shiganshina on the day when he said he needed his abilities now more than ever, “And of course...me…,” the coldness in Bertholdt’s words shakes Armin’s hanging legs, “I didn’t have a say in any of this either. But you lived. I didn’t. You’ve seen the hell we lived in—what we went through,” the crushing pressure pressed into his throat has Armin seeing black spots, “Why should you get to live while I didn’t?”
Armin wishes he knew; he wants to give Bertholdt an answer as that fact boggles his mind every minute of every day. He wheezes, dry-coughs repeatedly when he tries to answer.
“So weak...so pitiful.” Bertholdt’s voice evaporates, and once again, his voice merges with Sasha, Eren, and Annie’s. Armin tries prying away the hard-as-steel clamp on his neck but gets no relief; the crushing of his windpipe intensifies. He gags, “You think you can help others? Save Paradis? You can’t even help yourself. You never could. You’ve fed this mayhem and you have the gall to wonder why it has to be this way? It’s because you’re useless. Your parents saw that. They abandoned you because they knew you were a useless, frail little nothing from the start. We know too.”
The crimson muscles of the Colossus’s face split down the middle. The large sockets twirl and divide into two, forming anew. Two heads float in front of him, one with a Roman nose and another with piercing green eyes. The muscles along the titan’s chest, arms, and neck ripple and twist, flashing memories along hot, molding flesh.
“Ask yourself,” Annie and Eren’s dark, merged voices resonate, “With all those facts laid out in front of you, is it so surprising that we betrayed you? How could we be bothered to care about someone so weak?”
Armin’s eyesight blurs. A blaze rages in his throat and his chest binds suffocatingly tight; he can’t breathe.
“You're a useless swine who snivels at the slightest inconvenience--you always need someone to save you,” Tears burn Armin's eyes as his vision blackens, finally passing out, “But there's no one to save you now.”
“Armin!! Are you ready or not?!”
A concussive slap hits Armin’s back so hard, that hot vomit erupts from his mouth.
“Ah fuck,” Jean backsteps a little and sighs, “Let it out, Armin. Better here than when we get back to HQ.”
“I feel like doing the same thing…” Armin side-eyes Connie who spoke up. His expression is unreadable but his fists are sealed tight. Tension tightens the string of muscles in his neck, “I want to do that...and so much else.”
Armin feels compelled to say something but another bout of vomiting stops him.
“Get yourselves together. We need to be ready to debrief the higher-ups,” Jean gives Armin a soft pat on the middle of his back, “Got it out of your system?”
Hardly.
“Yes…” Armin croaks.
“Sure, I believe that,” Jean puts his hand on Armin’s shoulder, “Take five more minutes to cool off. You too, Connie. I have a feeling we’re going to have a shitstorm waiting for us back home...”