[ as soon as she takes his hand, eren grips the blade’s handle tight and rubs the pad of his thumb against a runic carving. the farm’s scenery warps into concrete and sky, a woman of black, waving hair chained to a child about half her size with the white in her eyes clearly depicting fright. she looks out from the building’s roof, glimpsing down below where waves of soldiers awaited. eren is far off in the middle of the flat roof, nothing close to draconic— his face is clean, his hair pulled back into a short, rounded tail, and his glare staid.
"where is the enemy?" he asks her as the winds blew from the building’s height and whistled through stone. the woman briskly turns here eyes into a narrow, her smile quickly pulling a grave line and with her finger pointed: straight at him. “there,” she pronounces, right before the structure’s ground rumbles, bursts, and a titan of about five meters with massive crystalline jaws opens wide and snaps shut. it misses eren by a hair— or rather, doesn’t miss him at all. he begins to fall from a height with both his legs missing, snapped clean off— but life still there, a glare that meant death upon those against him as sparks began to snap from his skin. ]
I chose this. [ today, he knew the truth. he was never forced to inherit this power if it was eren, in the first place, who convinced his father to give it to him. a horrible sound strikes the structure’s top, loud and oppressive, and as briefly said once, flesh, bone, muscle, skin; it all weaves together seamlessly around its summoner rather than changing his body, to create a being of fifteen meters and a sight to see, pointed ears and exposed maw that very much resembles his more beastly aefenglom shape. as quickly as the memory began, it vanishes, until the scents of dust, smoke and incoming airship fuel is nothing but an afterthought. ]
We’d need two things for it to happen: an injury and a solid goal, or belief to act on. [ he doesn’t quite use it the way he always does, but . . . ] At least from my experience, it’s not so different here.
no subject
"where is the enemy?" he asks her as the winds blew from the building’s height and whistled through stone. the woman briskly turns here eyes into a narrow, her smile quickly pulling a grave line and with her finger pointed: straight at him. “there,” she pronounces, right before the structure’s ground rumbles, bursts, and a titan of about five meters with massive crystalline jaws opens wide and snaps shut. it misses eren by a hair— or rather, doesn’t miss him at all. he begins to fall from a height with both his legs missing, snapped clean off— but life still there, a glare that meant death upon those against him as sparks began to snap from his skin. ]
I chose this. [ today, he knew the truth. he was never forced to inherit this power if it was eren, in the first place, who convinced his father to give it to him. a horrible sound strikes the structure’s top, loud and oppressive, and as briefly said once, flesh, bone, muscle, skin; it all weaves together seamlessly around its summoner rather than changing his body, to create a being of fifteen meters and a sight to see, pointed ears and exposed maw that very much resembles his more beastly aefenglom shape. as quickly as the memory began, it vanishes, until the scents of dust, smoke and incoming airship fuel is nothing but an afterthought. ]
We’d need two things for it to happen: an injury and a solid goal, or belief to act on. [ he doesn’t quite use it the way he always does, but . . . ] At least from my experience, it’s not so different here.