Chapter Text
“And it will do anything I ask?”
Kruger nodded. He gestured to the ground below them, where new titans roamed. “Tell it to kill one, and it will. Tell it to kill them all…” He shook his head. “Normally, you’d have to be specific - demons will trick you out of your end of the deal if you let them. Not the one we’re after, though.”
“What demon are we after?” Grisha asked. “You had a specific one in mind?”
“You always should,” Kruger said. He stepped to the edge of the wall, where they’d secured the rope. “We have to get down, if we’re going to summon it. You have to bury the tribute in the dirt to make the deal.”
Anxiously, Grisha followed him down, but the titans didn’t seem too interested in them now that night had fallen, too tired to notice they’d come within reach. The second he touched down, Kruger stepped away, crouching to the dirt, starting to scrape open a hole with his hands.
“What’s in the box?” Grisha asked, looking at the ‘tribute’ - to his eyes, nothing but a simple, unmarked wooden box.
“Something dead,” Kruger said, flatly. “Wrapped in silk, tucked in with something of mine. Three sacrifices - blood, value, and sentiment.”
Kruger did not elaborate further on the things he’d picked, and Grisha took that as cue not to ask.
He watched the man lower the box into the hole once it was big enough, take a deep breath, and push the dirt back over the top, smoothing it out over the spot.
“What now?” Grisha asked.
“Aamon.”
Grisha looked to Kruger in confusion, but he said nothing else, eyes fixed on the burial spot of the box.
Then, in front of their eyes, the dirt began to emit a soft steam.
Kruger got to his feet immediately, backing up a few steps, catching Grisha’s elbow to drag him clear as well.
The steam rose a few inches, then condensed into vine-like tendrils, curling around each other as they escaped into the night air. Those tendrils thickened, and separated further, starting to form a solid shape in the air - a distinct, not-quite-human silhouette.
The steam grew thicker, denser, from mist to fog to something solid. Color began to bleed into the form of it, and within moments, a pair of jet black eyes peered out at them from a raven’s head, on a man’s shoulders, but holding a wolf’s teeth.
Grisha stared, heart in his throat. “This is…”
The demon looked between them, before settling on Kruger. “You’re Leviathan-marked,” it said, in a silky voice, disjointed for having come from such a vicious appearance. “No demon can remove it. A deal will not save your life.”
“I didn’t summon you to save me,” Kruger said. His voice shook, and Grisha realized that, his theoretical knowledge aside, Kruger might not have fully expected this to work. “I summoned you for him.”
The demon’s eyes shifted to Grisha. The stare pierced him and set his heart racing, pounding in his ears, every instinct screaming at him to run.
The raven head tipped, and the canine teeth seemed to grin, though the hooked bird’s mouth did not move.
“I...would bind you,” Grisha said, forcing the words past his tight throat. “The people within the walls, behind us - they’re trapped, and they’re going to be killed. I want to save them.”
The demon looked out, into the evening, where titans were slowly starting to still for the night. “Leviathan’s mark is on them, too,” it said. “I can’t fix them.” He looked back, that inexplicable glint still sharp. “But I can kill them.”
“Then do it,” Grisha said. “Kill them all.”
“Grisha,” Kruger warned.
“Your friend is smart,” the demon told him. “You should be more specific, when talking to a demon.” He took a predatory step closer. “What do you want to bind me to do?”
Grisha swallowed. “...I want you to kill every titan,” he said, firmly. “Every single one, until no more exist.”
The demon reached out, catching Grisha’s hand, raising it up while it shook in his grip. He turned it over in the air, bearing the wrist, and brought it to his mouth, biting down.
Black veins spread out instantly, crawling across his skin, and shifted on its surface, looping themselves into a circular seal, almost like a compass, though marked with symbols Grisha could not read.
“I am bound,” the demon said, smoothly, releasing Grisha’s wrist-...
…-And darting its hand out to the side, to Kruger, sharp claws sinking through the flesh of the man’s throat.
Grisha let out a startled cry, stumbling back, as blood rained forth, the demon tearing Kruger’s throat out without mercy.
Kruger hit his knees choking, and fell dead to the dirt, leaving Grisha staring in horror.
“Every titan,” the demon said. “He is no exception.”
“But…”
“He would have died in days anyway,” the demon said, dismissively. “The Leviathan’s mark can’t be erased. You could take it, of course.”
“The Leviathan’s mark?” Grisha echoed. “You said that was going to kill him, right? And the titans have it, too?”
“The Leviathan was never meant to be bound,” the demon said. “But it got greedy, and sealed itself to a human...and this is the result. Humans corrupted with the power to devour the world, but unable to do anything but wander aimlessly with it, braindead the second the power touches their heart. Shells.” The demon gestured to Kruger’s body, face down in the dirt. “These ones, the ones in between - they consume the power knowingly, and that makes them different. They take on the binding the first contractor bore - a piece of it, anyway - and they can control it, to some degree.”
“Making titan shifters,” Grisha said, combining the demon’s information with the story he’d gotten from Kruger. “Titans- they’re demonic?”
The demon hummed noncommittally. “They bear a power they shouldn’t touch,” it said. “Not quite a demon’s...much darker. That’s why I can’t do anything about it.” It looked back to Grisha. “But you can take on the ability. He carries a syringe of Leviathan-tainted essence. Take the injection, and then consume him, and you’ll take on his power.”
Grisha eyed the demon suspiciously. “And then you can kill me,” he said. “Because I’ll be a titan.”
The demon laughed, the sound so strange from such a distinct, impossible mouth. “I can’t kill a contract,” he said. “I’m bound to you until I have done what you asked. If you take the power, you’ll have thirteen years to live your life, before the Leviathan’s curse kills you. If I have not killed the titans by then, I’ll have to suspend you in the last day of your life, preserving you until I’m done. If you die without me completing the deal, then I die. Do you understand?”
“You have to keep me alive, and do what I asked, or you die,” Grisha summarized. “Why would you take a contract, then? Why would you put yourself at risk?”
The demon tipped its feathered head. “What risk?” he asked. “Even Leviathan’s shadows are not a match for a demon. Your contract is simple. It will take time, given its scale - I am stronger closer to you, as a binding point. Killing any titans that are not on this island will be a bit more of a nuisance.” He looked up, at the walls behind them. “And then….there are those.”
“Don’t kill them until the ones outside the walls are all gone,” Grisha said. “If the walls fall before then, everyone within them will die.”
“You’re lucky,” the demon said. “Your friend knew who to call. A lesser demon would not have cared if those people died. It would be happy to screw you over, taking the walls down right away.”
Grisha eyed the demon warily. “But you…?”
“But, I,” the demon continued, “enjoy humanity. My abilities are all based in human ties - I can draw humans together, I can influence their relationships. You need to get inside the walls, while I work, and the easiest way to make them trust you is to go with you.” He shifted, looking to Grisha. “There is...an alternative to your deal, if it interests you.”
Grisha narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What?”
“You consume your friend,” the demon said. “You obtain his power, and his curse. In thirteen years, you die.”
“After you’ve killed the titans?”
“Before,” the demon said. “But you find a successor. Not just for the Leviathan’s curse, but your deal. You pass my seal along, ensure that I stay bound to the initial contact.”
“And why would I do that?” Grisha asked.
“Because,” the demon said, easily, “Your friend is not the only one with that ability. I can see the Leviathan’s mark, but only on a soul that’s bared to me. If I am to kill the other titan shifters, I will have to find them the old fashioned way. I can influence ties, though - I can draw people to you, convince them to trust you. Once I find the shifters, I can keep them near you, until every other titan is dead. The shifters must die last, unless there is someone to consume them, or their power will simply jump to someone else under the Leviathan’s curse. Another titan.”
“So you need someone alive to tie them to,” Grisha realized. “And if you can’t find them all by the end of my time, and you have to put me in ‘stasis,’ or whatever you’d said you’d do-...”
“Then you would be suspended in a second of your life,” the demon completed. “And not able to so much as draw a breath. Ties require feeding from both sides - you can’t form new ties when you are trapped in between life and death that way. To keep going, you’ll need a successor.”
“You can’t draw them to yourself?” Grisha asked.
“No,” the demon said. “I influence ties between souls. I don’t have one. There’s nothing to tie them to.”
Grisha turned, looking to the wall, then back to the demon. “...What is your name?”
“Aamon,” the demon said. “But demonic names are only invoked for rites. Call me whatever you’d like.”
Grisha looked to the body in the dirt, then back to Aamon. “...Eren.”
“Eren it is,” the demon said. He stepped forward, crouching down beside the body, digging in its pockets until he recovered a small syringe. “Here it is. Are you ready?”
“Are you going to come within the walls with me?” Grisha asked, instead of an answer. “To influence people, like you said?”
Black eyes landed on him again, measuring...and then shifted, retreated, the form of the person in front of him changing, until he was staring at a young man with jet-black hair and a grin made of wolf’s teeth.
“I have many forms,” he said. “Are you ready?”
Grisha cast one last look at his deceased ally, ever so briefly a friend.
“...I’m ready.”
Eren shifted again when Grisha’s transformation was complete, taking on the form of a small child.
Grisha got the impression that Eren had little control over the specifics of his form, as his hair stayed the same, framing his face in a way that made him look oddly unmatched to the rest of his ‘age’-appropriate appearance, and when he looked at Grisha and grinned, his full set of wolfish teeth were clearly visible.
They wandered the length of the wall in the dark until they were found by a man, who introduced himself as Keith Shadis, and seemed very suspicious of them for all of about five seconds.
When he went to question Grisha, though, Eren had reached up, casually catching the man’s hand, blank dark gaze locking with Shadis’...and that was like flipping a switch, the man suddenly only concerned about them being outside, eager to get them somewhere safe.
Grisha took this to be a show of Eren’s ability - influencing ties between people, making Shadis feel compassionate toward Grisha, as a complete stranger.
He didn’t think it was simply the man reacting to the presence of a child, though. The aura that surrounded Eren was not childlike at all, and there was no innocent light in his eyes, just a dull judgement and a single spark of curiosity.
Eren's ability proved itself again and again in the days that passed, leaving a lot of people nodding understandingly when Grisha appeared out of nowhere and claimed he had no memory of who he was or how he'd gotten there, accepting it as a strange-but-sad truth and reading no further into it.
Except…
"Hey, little man."
Eren looked up as the waitress returned, grinning down at him, as she always did.
"Your dad hasn't brought you by to see me in a few days," she said, crouching down to be at his eye-level. "I was starting to think you two'd forgotten about me."
She always spoke to Eren first - she liked Grisha, but no matter how hard he pushed it, no matter how strong he built the tie between them, she always spoke to Eren first.
Eren...kind of liked it.
"Sorry, Carla," Grisha said, from the other side of their table. "Out of town patient. We had to take a little trip for a few days."
Meaning, of course, that Grisha had found himself work to keep him out of sight while Eren scaled the wall and played with the titans, studying them, trying to determine how the Leviathan's curse worked exactly, and how best to counter it. They did this every few months, and so far, Eren had learned little. Titans were beasts of boiling water, healed almost immediately after being injured, and had no real sense or reason to them.
He'd been told those things, though, and not being able to add to anything he confirmed was starting to wear on his patience.
"A trip, huh?" Carla asked, smiling at Grisha fondly, before turning back to Eren. "Did you have fun?"
"No," Eren told her, simply.
She hummed, clearly suppressing a giggle. She'd gotten past the point of laughing at his bluntness, and now only slipped up at particularly jarring statements, otherwise respecting the fact that Eren got annoyed quickly by being laughed at.
"Sorry, buddy," she said. "Maybe you should get a snack tonight to make up for it?"
She grinned over at Grisha.
"He won't eat it," Grisha said, looking between them anxiously. He cared a lot for Carla, and Eren could tell he spent a significant amount of time worrying about her fixation on the disguised demon, and if she would ever catch on to the ruse. Things like the restaurant were heavy contenders for the possible final straw - Eren and food had a strange, distinct relationship, and being shrugged off as a picky eater would only save him so many times.
The thing was, Eren primarily siphoned his energy off the people around him, reaching into their souls and creating a false tie through which he could 'feed.' He didn't eat, not because he couldn't, but because it was unnecessary, and it seemed like a waste to take something vital to Grisha's survival and essentially burn it by putting it into his own stomach.
Carla always wanted to feed him, though. She was always proposing snacks, meals, anything she thought he might have interest in.
"Have you ever had a burger, Eren?" Carla asked. "I bet you'd like it."
Eren watched her with curiosity.
Carla was an enigma to him. Demons had no ties, no souls to form them with, and yet Carla reached out to him anyway, insisting in trying to forge one.
"...I'll try it."
Carla let out a thrilled sound, and - to Eren's surprise - leaned forward, pecking a quick kiss to his forehead, before heading off toward the kitchen.
Eren blinked after her, stunned, and then looked to Grisha.
"You're going to eat?" the man asked, sounding just as baffled as Eren felt.
Eren shot a glance toward the kitchen, then raised a hand, pressing it against the point of his forehead the kiss had fallen on.
"....We," he said, softly, but determined, "are going to keep her."
They kept her.
Specifically, Grisha kept her. He married her, and they got a house, and Carla filled in as the 'mother' to Grisha's 'father' role, and Eren got used to sleeping at night and eating three times a day, because Grisha had insisted Carla not know the truth and Eren honestly agreed.
It was...nice.
Grisha still took him to "out of town appointments," and Eren still abandoned him during the trips to jump the wall and see what he could find in the lumbering beasts outside.
The answer was still 'very little.'
More than that, they only knew one titan shifter, and that was just 'someone in the royal family,' not even a name.
Eren, however, found himself less frustrated by that then he should have been. It was rather simple to fall into playing the role of a child, to wake with his parents and to venture into the city, to speak with adults and run small errands as Grisha went about his business, to return home to find his mother there, ready to make a special dinner for Eren's finicky tastes - which had all but vanished, miraculously, because Eren didn't honestly care what he ate, if he was going to be doing it anyway.
And, then, there were the Ackermans.
"How far are we?" Eren asked.
"Well past civilization, now," Grisha replied. "You can change."
Eren let out a relieved sigh, and stretched, his child form breaking and shifting until he was man-sized again, head back to its feathered form, eyes blacker than the night around them.
"It took too long," Eren complained, stretching out in the back of the wagon, looking up at the stars. "They don't do much at night. It would be a waste of my time to go now."
"I can't help that," Grisha said. "At least you got to stretch out a bit."
"I'd have rather stayed home," Eren admitted. "I like Carla more than you."
"I'm aware," Grisha said, a slight laugh in his voice.
"It can't be helped," Eren sighed, shifting in the wagon, moving to clamber up into the front beside Grisha. "You can just entertain yourself tomorrow while you wait on me."
"I'll find something," Grisha agreed easily. "Unless the Ackermans need more than I can do in one night."
"They-..."
Eren stopped, suddenly, head tipping to one side.
"What is it?" Grisha asked.
Eren reached out, snatching the reins from Grisha's hands, pulling hard to one side. The horses followed the guide, dragging the wagon into skidding to a stop at an angle.
"Eren?!" Grisha asked, panicked. "What-...?"
"Someone's invoking a demon," Eren murmured, hopping off the wagon, breathing in the spark of hellfire in the air. "It's strong...there's pain in it…"
"Summoning a demon?" Grisha exclaimed. "What do we-...?
"We do nothing," Eren said, waving him off. "You...wait here a moment, then continue to the Ackermans' house. I'll see what this is."
"What?" Grisha frowned at him. "You have a contract, Eren."
"I don't want another," he said. "But there's something happening, here. I want to see what it is."
There was death in the air, when Eren arrived.
"Hmm…"
He stopped outside the cabin, the inside of which he could feel was the source of the summons.
He scented the air.
There's definitely blood.
He tipped his head, listening.
"Can't believe you killed the woman," someone was saying. "She was worth the most. You know what slavers would pay for a girl like that?"
Blood, and value, it seems.
That just left…
"The daughter will sell just fine," another voice said, dismissive. "Even if she is only half."
Daughter.
The woman killed...had a daughter.
Blood, value, sentiment.
The men speaking behind the door were not the contractors.
Eren gave a wicked grin into the night, and shifted, knocking on the door from a lower angle.
A moment later, the wood swung open. "What the hell-...?"
The man stopped short, eyes on Eren.
"...What's a teenager doing in the woods, kid?" He demanded, narrowed eyes on him.
"I was summoned," Eren replied, perfectly evenly.
He darted a hand out, talons stretching out from his fingertips, and tore through the throat of the kidnapper, tossing his body carelessly to the side.
"What the fuck?" The other kidnapper got to his feet, staring wide-eyed at Eren. "You little brat-...!"
Eren crossed the room in a blink, talons sinking through the man's chest, finding his heart and closing around it, crushing the chambers and watching with satisfaction as the would-be trafficker spasmed in response.
When he collapsed, Eren pulled free, letting his fingers ease back into regular human shapes.
"Scum," he muttered, looking down at the body, before turning to the side.
To his summoner.
She looked young, maybe around ten years old, or even younger - his grasp on human ages wasn't very firm. She was younger than he pretended to be, certainly.
He crouched beside her, letting one nail turn back to shave through the ropes around her wrists, cutting her free.
"You are pretty strong, little bird," Eren muttered. "I could feel your intent halfway through the woods."
The girl shifted, rolling onto her back, then sitting upright, watching Eren's face blankly.
"There….were three."
Eren blinked at her, processing, before movement caught his eye, and he shot to his feet just in time to be met head-on by a third man. Impact bad him skidding back a step, and he huffed out an irate breath, annoyed at having been caught off guard.
He'd gotten far too used to playing at a child.
He lunged for the kidnapper, catching him by the throat and throwing him down, pinning him to the ground.
"You called me, little bird," Eren hissed, looking up and over to the girl. "Blood touched the dirt, something of value was lost, something sentimental was given. That's a demon deal." He let his eyes bleed black. "You've got me, now. What do you want from me?" He beared down a bit on the throat of the man he had pinned, causing him to let out a strangled cry. "Do you want me to kill this one?" He grinned his wolfish smile. "Do you want me to make you strong enough to do it yourself?"
The girl stared at him, eyes wide, something unreadable beyond them.
And then, something shifted, and she stood on shaky legs, crossing the room to him, coming to his shoulder, looking down into the eyes of the struggling man still effortlessly held to the floor.
"You tore his heart out," she said, softly. "And the other man - you got his throat."
The man on the ground looked between them with wide, panicked eyes, clawing uselessly at Eren's hand.
"I did," Eren agreed easily. "But you don't have to do it like that."
She looked at him, an almost manic glint in her eyes. "What do I do?"
The man kicked up a renewed fight, thrashing wildly, and Eren turned his hand, threatening to crush him.
"The other one had a knife," Eren said. "Get it."
She turned, moving to the mangled body, and returned a moment later with a bloody knife held delicately on her open palms.
Eren placed a hand on the chest of the man, and the other under his chin, pushing him to bear his throat.
"Kill him."
The girl stood, staring at the knife in her hands.
"Or I will," Eren said. "But in life, everything is a fight. If you don't fight...you don't win. If you don't win, you don't live. Understand, little bird?"
"....My name is Mikasa," the girl murmured.
And she raised the knife, her hands steadying once in the air, and brought it down.