High above the broken district, Alex hovered in silence.
Smoke drifted upward in lazy columns. Below, soldiers shouted orders, civilians screamed, and somewhere in the chaos cannons fired too late to matter. The breach in the gate—wide, jagged, ugly—yawned like an open wound in the Wall.
Alex stared at it, hood fluttering softly.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "That's not gonna hold."
His eyes traced the streets, the rooftops, the blind spots. Titans were gone for now—but he could feel it. That pressure in the air. That certainty.
More will come.
If they reach this hole before repairs—before defenses regroup—it'll be a massacre.
Alex exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he said to no one. "Guess I'll do a little home improvement."
He raised one hand.
The world shifted.
Not visibly—not at first. No light, no explosion. Just a subtle distortion, like heat rising off stone.
"Limitless," Alex thought calmly, almost lazily. "Not power… control."
Space itself bent.
Not pushed. Not pulled.
Stopped.
An invisible boundary spread outward from his palm, expanding until it aligned perfectly with the edges of the breach. The hole didn't close with rubble or stone—instead, it simply… ceased to be passable.
To the eye, the Wall was still broken.
To reality?
Nothing could cross.
"Think of it like this," Alex mused, half-explaining to himself. "No matter how fast you move… you'll never reach zero distance. Infinite steps. Infinite slowdown."
A Titan charging the breach would stop. Forever. Trapped in an unending approach.
Simple. Elegant.
Efficient.
Alex adjusted the field, smoothing its shape, anchoring it to the surrounding structure. No strain on the Wall. No visible sign. Just an invisible seal holding back extinction.
He nodded, satisfied.
"…There. Temporary fix."
Then—
The world tilted.
Alex's vision swam.
"Huh?"
A sharp pain bloomed behind his eyes, sudden and intense. His breath caught, chest tightening as his balance faltered.
Warm liquid dripped down.
"…Ah."
He reached up, fingers brushing his nose.
Blood.
It slid freely, dark against his glove, falling away into the air below.
Alex laughed softly—breathless, almost amused.
"Wow," he said. "That bad already?"
His head throbbed. The Six Eyes burned, overloaded, straining against limits they hadn't felt in a long time.
Right. Of course.
This body isn't mine.
No cursed energy reinforcement. No conditioning. Just borrowed potential running on fumes.
He wiped the blood away with his sleeve, breathing slowly to steady himself.
"…Guess I got cocky."
The barrier held. Perfectly stable. No cracks. No flicker.
But Alex knew better than to push it.
If I stay any longer, I'll black out midair. That'd be awkward. "Mysterious hooded guy falls out of the sky" isn't exactly low-profile.
He smiled despite the dizziness.
"Still," he thought, glancing one last time at the sealed breach, "not bad for a warm-up."
Satisfied, Alex let the technique fade—not fully, just enough to leave a residual layer. A delay. Time for the soldiers. Time for the story to stay intact.
He pulled the hood tighter around his face.
"Time to rest," he murmured. "Heroes who overwork die early. Learned that one already."
Space folded.
Alex vanished without sound, without trace—leaving behind a Wall that shouldn't have held… but did.
Far away, as alarms continued to ring and soldiers rushed to respond, no one noticed that the breach had gone strangely… quiet.
And in the shadows of the barracks, Alex reappeared, knees buckling slightly as he leaned against stone.
Blood still warm. Smile still sharp.
"…Yeah," he thought, closing his eyes.
"Definitely still weak."
But alive.
And for now—
That was enough.
Reiner Braun stood near the clustered houses below the Wall, chest rising and falling harder than it should have.
Smoke drifted overhead. Soldiers rushed past him. Orders were shouted, ignored, repeated. Chaos—yet something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Reiner's eyes lifted.
There—on the edge of a rooftop, just for a moment.
A figure.
Tall. Draped in a large black hood that swallowed its shape. No insignia. No gear. Just standing there, impossibly calm amid panic.
Reiner's breath caught.
"…What?"
Their gazes almost met.
Almost.
Then space folded.
The hooded man vanished—no cables, no leap, no sound. Just gone.
Reiner stiffened, heart slamming against his ribs.
That wasn't ODM.
That wasn't anything he recognized.
His eyes snapped back to the gate.
The breach—still open, jagged, broken—yet no Titans poured through. None clawed at the opening. None forced their way inside.
"Why…?" Reiner muttered.
A Titan should've charged by now.
He moved closer, boots crunching over debris. Slowly, cautiously, he extended a hand toward the hole.
His fingers stopped.
Something was there.
Invisible.
Solid.
Reiner pressed harder. The air resisted him like stone. Cold. Absolute.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
His jaw clenched, teeth grinding.
An invisible barrier.
A wall inside the Wall.
His mind raced—and then the realization hit him like a hammer.
If Titans can't enter here…
Then the plan fails.
Bertholdt was exhausted. Annie was embedded elsewhere. The Colossal's role was finished for now—but without pressure, without chaos, everything stalled.
Reiner's breathing grew heavier.
"…Damn it."
His hand curled into a fist as anger surged through him—raw, desperate, familiar.
That hooded man. That power. That interference.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Reiner pulled back, eyes scanning the rooftops, the soldiers, the cannons.
No one else seemed to notice.
Good.
"…Fine," he muttered darkly. "If this gate won't break—"
He turned his gaze toward the side of the Wall. A section less guarded. Less prepared.
"—I'll make another one."
His body already ached. Muscles screamed with fatigue. Transforming now would hurt—badly. Bertholdt wouldn't be able to back him up. Annie wasn't here to coordinate.
Doesn't matter.
He straightened, resolve hardening.
Before I check on them… I'll do this myself.
Reiner climbed.
Up the Wall. Step by step. No one questioned him—soldiers were too busy, too frantic. He reached the top, wind tearing at his cloak.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then he bit down hard on his finger.
Blood welled.
Reiner jumped.
Midair—
Lightning exploded.
A violent flash tore the sky apart as his body was swallowed by light and heat. Thunder roared. The air screamed.
Where Reiner Braun had fallen—
The Armored Titan emerged.
Its massive form slammed into the ground with earth-shaking force. Without pause—without hesitation—it turned toward the side of the Wall.
One.
Its fist crashed into the stone.
Two.
Another blow—cracks spiderwebbing outward.
Three.
The Wall groaned, fragments breaking free.
Four.
With a final, brutal strike, a smaller breach tore open—stone collapsing inward, dust and debris filling the air.
Enough.
Not as large as the main gate—but sufficient.
Before cannons could fully turn. Before soldiers could regroup.
The Armored Titan stepped back—
And vanished.
No roar. No retreat.
Just gone.
Leaving behind destruction, confusion… and a new opening for hell.
Far away, deep within the barracks, Alex stirred in restless half-sleep.
Something tugged at the edge of his senses.
"…Tch," he murmured faintly, blood dried beneath his nose.
"So you did notice."
Outside, alarms screamed louder.
And the fragile balance holding the city together—
Shattered.
Smoke drifted between the buildings, stinging the eyes and throat. The ground still trembled faintly from distant impacts.
Cadets stood frozen in clusters, faces pale, hands shaking around their gear.
Jean Kirschtein's breath came hard as he stared at the breach.
His hands were shaking.
"…This is a joke," he muttered.
Eren, checking his gear nearby, heard him.
"This—this wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered, voice cracking. "We were supposed to be inside the inner walls. Safe. That was the whole point."
Eren Jaeger rounded on him, eyes blazing despite the terror all around them.
"Safe?" he snapped. "Look around you! Where's safe now?!"
Jean clenched his fists. "You don't get it! People planned their lives around that! I was supposed to—!"
"Yeah?" Eren shot back, stepping closer. "And now Titans are walking through the city. So what—are you just gonna lie down and wait?"
Fear hung thick in the air. Some cadets dropped to their knees. Others stared blankly, already broken.
Jean turned from Eren and raised his voice."You know where I was supposed to be right now?"
Eren looked up.
"Inside the inner walls," Jean continued, voice tight. "Military Police. Safe posts. No Titans. That was the plan." His teeth clenched. "People planned their lives around that."
Eren said nothing.
Jean scoffed. "You always looked down on it. Acting like fighting on the front lines makes you better."
"That's not what I think," Eren replied.
Jean stepped closer, anger spilling out. "Then why are you acting like this is normal?! Like we should just accept it!"
Eren met his gaze. "Because if we don't, we die."
Jean froze.
Eren gestured toward the breach. "Look. The wall's broken. Titans are inside the city." His voice hardened. "There is no 'inner wall' if we lose here."
Jean's shoulders tensed. "I didn't want to die out here."
"Neither did anyone else who already did," Eren shot back.
The words hung heavy.
Jean looked away, jaw trembling. "I just… wanted a future."
"So did they," Eren said quietly. "That's why we're still standing."
For a moment, Jean said nothing. His breathing was uneven, eyes darting between the Titans and the soldiers scrambling around them.
"Listen to me!" he shouted. "We trained for three years for this exact moment! Three years of falling, getting back up, cutting dummies, running until we puked!"
"If we don't fight," Eren added, "then all that training—everything—means nothing."
No one moved.
Eren swallowed, then pointed down the street.
"Tomorrow—we'll still be alive. That's what we fight for now. One day at a time."
Jean watched him for a long second.
Then, with a frustrated click of his tongue, Jean tightened his harness.
"…Damn it."
He stepped into position.
"I better not die because of you," Jean said.
Eren didn't look back.
"Then don't."
Jean's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "Thomas! Get up, damn it! Stop crying!"
The young cadet flinched, but Jean's words carried a raw edge of authority. Slowly, shakily, Thomas pushed himself to his knees, then stood. His face was streaked with tears and dirt, but he was moving.
Other cadets, inspired—or maybe ashamed of their hesitation—started rising too, brushing off dust and fear. The trembling hands gripping their gear steadied just enough to make them functional.
Mikasa appeared at Eren's side, cloak flapping slightly in the wind. "I'm coming with you," she said firmly.
Eren turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "No. You're assigned to protect the evacuees!"
"They'll be fine with other soldiers!" Mikasa protested, her voice calm but insistent.
"And I need you to be there," Eren snapped, tone harsh but measured. "This isn't about what you want. Don't be selfish—not when humanity's survival is on the line."
Mikasa froze for a heartbeat, the words hitting harder than expected. Then, soft but firm, "…Don't die."
Eren gave a short nod without turning. "I won't." He fired his ODM gear, launching toward the broken section of the Wall, the wind catching his cloak.
The streets beyond the breach were thick with smoke, dust, and toppled stones. Eren, Armin, Thomas, and several other cadets regrouped, faces pale but determined. Their hands shook visibly as they gripped their ODM gear handles.
"Stick together," Eren said, scanning the three approaching Titans. "We take them down one by one. Don't panic."
A low groan rose from the Titans as they lumbered forward. Eren led the charge, swinging with blades poised.
Then—suddenly—one Titan's massive fist slammed into him midair.
Impact. Pain. Blood.
Eren spun, slammed against a wall, and crashed hard to the ground. He groaned, twisting instinctively, blades still in hand.
The other two Titans goes to other cadets and killed the them with just a swift of it's hands and ate it's limbs.
One Titan beside Armin.
Its grotesque face loomed near Armin. The boy froze, legs locked, terror rooting him to the spot.
The Titan bent down, jaws opening wide. Its breath washed over Armin, hot and fetid. He couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
"ARMIN!" Eren's voice tore through the chaos.
Instinct drove him forward. With a desperate swing, Eren propelled himself into the Titan's mouth, gripping Armin's hands and pulling him inward. But the jaws snapped shut before he could fully escape.
Inside, Eren's body slammed against the roof of the Titan's mouth. Darkness, heat, and wet pressure surrounded him. He could still feel Armin in his grip, safe—but the Titan's teeth had met his other hand, still outside. A sickening crunch echoed as it was severed, flying off and leaving blood in its wake.
Eren's chest heaved, muscles screaming, pain radiating through his arm and side. He remained trapped, half-swallowed by the Titan, but alive. Armin tumbled back a few steps, chest heaving, hands shaking violently, eyes wide in terror.
The battlefield did not pause for fear. Titans moved around them, chaos and screams filling the streets. But Eren, trapped in the monster's mouth, still clung to Armin's hands with all the strength he had left.
Time slowed for Armin. Fear, hopelessness, and awe tangled together. He stared, frozen, as his friend—inside the Titan, half-crushed, bleeding—was the only line of salvation in the midst of death and destruction.
The Titans were still alive. The fight was far from over.
And Eren, in that horrifyingly intimate proximity to the monster's tongue to it's air way and almost sliding down, had no choice but to endure, hold on, and survive… somehow.