Levi is already a blur. A tornado of steel and fury. He carves a path through a seven-meter’s nape, spins off its collapsing skull, and lands on a crawling four-meter, driving both blades into its eyes. “MOVE!” he roars, blood painting his cravat.
The first wave hits like a rockslide. Not the clumsy, mindless ones—these are Abnormals . They slide on their knees, snatching soldiers mid-zip. A scream is cut short by a wet crunch.
The ground shakes. Not from thunder, not from a cannon. From them . attack on survey corps save
Only to save the memory of what they fought for. One last time.
But for every one he kills, three more appear from the forest. Levi is already a blur
Mikasa uses every one. She is a ghost in the smoke, her scarf red with someone else's blood. She hooks Armin out of a Titan’s grip with a flick of her wrist, the wire tearing through the creature’s fingers. “Breathe,” she commands, but her eyes are fixed on the closing circle.
The horses are gone. Scattered. Eaten.
He raises his sword, not in attack, but in a salute.