It wasn’t a battle. It was a job—one I had to finish, no matter the cost.
Zeke thought he could play god, tossing boulders like a child breaking toys, deciding who lives and who dies from a distance. Cowardice dressed up as strategy. He watched comrades—my comrades—get torn apart like they were nothing. And he ran. Always running. Always hiding behind his Titan form, behind lies, behind that smug look like he was in control.
But the moment I got close, the moment it was just him and me? He saw it. The fear. Because no matter how powerful he was, no matter how much screaming he did or Titans he summoned, he knew he was prey the second I moved.
I don’t enjoy killing. But I won’t hesitate. Especially not with someone like Zeke. He took too much from us. From me.
So when I cut him down—again and again—it wasn’t out of hate. It was necessity. Cold, efficient, final. That’s what it takes to survive in this world. That’s what it takes to protect the ones who are still breathing.
He called it war. I called it cleanup.