Chapter 09. My Vulnerability

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The rain had transformed the landscape into a muddy canvas, the earth beneath Abigail's feet squelching as she moved. She cradled Furlan's unconscious body in her arms, his pale face ghostly against her dark clothing. The tumultuous sky mirrored the storm of emotions swirling within her, every breath she took felt heavy with despair, a weight she scarcely bear.

An anguish cry pierced the air, so raw that it reverberated through her bones. It sounded primal, a torturous mixture of fury and pain. She recognized that voice as Levi's, a sound of a man who thought he has lost everything, a man who fought against the cruel hands of fate. Abigail stared towards the hazy direction of the commotion, her green eyes blank and distant. In her heart, she felt the twisted shards of truth: Isabel was probably dead.

As the downpour began to ease, Abigail carried Furlan before setting her sights on Hange's team, desperation lending urgency to her step. Hange appeared as if conjured from the mist, brown eyes wide with concern, their chaotic hair sloppy wet.

"Abigail, what happened?" They fired the question, the tension is their voice palpable. Abigail's voice barely registered a whisper as she assessed Furlan's condition.

"Maybe a few broken ribs and sprained shoulders." The words tumbling forth with a breathy exhale. Hange pressed their lips together, clearly distraught, as a few remaining members of the Medical Unit rushed toward them, taking Furlan's limp body from her strong arms. The silver head stood on the edge of precipice, torn between helping further and the dark pull of instinct that gnawed at her. It was when she felt it--a sharp burn emanating from one of the inked flowers of her arm, urgent and demanding, her heart throbbing as if someone pulled at the heartstrings. It tugged at her awareness, a mark indelibly linked to Erwin--the tattoo that adorned her arm thrummed with visceral energy. She knew what it meant; a signal that Erwin was in danger, the ink felt as if it were alive, screaming for her attention.

Abigail turned her gaze toward the chaos unfolding in the distance. The tendrils of her thoughts sharpened into focus--Erwin was heading towards that very storm, where Levi was unleashing his rage.

"I'll be right back." She muttered to Hange, her voice barely a whisper, driven by the mixture of instinct and worry. Without waiting for a response, she grappled her hooks and launched herself towards the direction, the air rushing by her as she moved with a thunderous speed.


A few moments ago,

The storm had unleashed its fury upon the remnants of a battlefield where death loomed heavy like a shroud over the living. As Levi rode deeper into the tumult, the horizon shifted. Lifeless bodies and separated limbs strewn across the muddy ground, rainwater mixed with the blood of men and Titans alike, forming rivulets that trickled sluggishly into the crevices of the cracked earth. He pulled the reins of his horse, stopping to scan his surroundings. A black smoke signal caught his eyes, the moribund soldier who shot it, tried to speak, pointing at the direction behind him,

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