"Alright, let's do this," Eren muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the door he'd entered through. "It wasn't that far before, was it?" He wondered in annoyance as it nowlooked as if it had retreated to the farthest reaches of the universe, mocking him with its impossible distance.
"Tsk," he clicked his tongue in irritation, letting go of the faucet with a deliberate slowness. His body felt like a sack of bones barely held together, and forcing it to move too quickly would be a death sentence. He knew better than to push it; slow and steady was the only option.
Eren.
The name alone carried the weight of a thousand tragedies, and yet it still didn't do justice to the living hell that was his existence. Born into the noble house of Aurelious, one of the powerhouses of Elysium, his life was destined to be extraordinary—or so they said. The priestess of the old religion had declared him blessed by the old gods, a vessel of the WILL itself, and because of this prophecy, he was placed on a pedestal so high that even his twin, Seth, was left in the shadows. But Eren never let it inflate his ego. He was determined to be the greatest, the hero the world needed to stand against the ascendants.
His "destiny" led to an engagement with the daughter of King Athen Falgorian, the ruler of all humankind. His popularity soared, and the belief in him as the prophesied chosen one grew stronger with every passing day.
But then came the 1st Awakening—the day of judgment, the day that shattered everything. On that cursed day, the child, or rather, a tool of fate was born, a tool that would become the catalyst for the inevitable END. On that very day... Eren's fate was sealed.
He couldn't awaken.
A simple failure, yet it was the spark that ignited the flames of his descent. From that moment, Eren was no longer the shining hope of the Aurelious household. He became "the one who should never have been born," and in the later parts of the game, he became a villain so powerful that his status shifted from a minor Villain to a major antagonist—a force that the hero would eventually have to face. He became the doorway to the END, "THE ONE WHO COULD NOT DIE." But even with all this power, his death was inevitable, set in stone by the game's plot. Eren was meant to die in the third arc of the fourth game, in the chapter ominously titled, *He Who Became a Demon.*
Arael, or rather now, Eren, remembered that title all too well, and just the thought of it sent a shiver down his spine. The game's Eren had become so consumed by his desire for revenge that he lost himself completely, but wasn't that the point? From the beginning, he was never meant to live a peaceful life; he was always meant to be nothing more than a stepping stone.
"Argh!" Eren groaned as he stumbled over his own leg, crashing headfirst into the wooden door.
"Damn that hurts," he cursed, pressing his hands against the rough wood to pull himself up.
*Skweek.*
The door swung open, creaking under his weight before collapsing into the corridor with a loud thud.
"Argh," he grunted, pushing himself up to the edge of the corridor. He leaned against the wall, using it to support his weak, trembling body as he forced himself upright.
Step by agonizing step, he slid his hands across the wall, using it as his lifeline as he moved forward. He reached the end of the corridor and turned left, only to be met with a sight that left him wide-eyed in shock.
"What the heck happened to this place?" he whispered in disbelief.
It was... a living room? Sort of.
The cushions were shredded, as if a wild beast had been let loose and torn the place apart. The tables—or what had once been tables—were split in two, the aftermath of some violent struggle. But that wasn't even the worst of it. There were no forewalls. He could see the forest outside, clear as day. This wasn't a house; it was a dump, a graveyard of broken furniture and dead creatures.
Strange claw marks marred the floor, and scorch marks blackened the remnants of the walls. Dead bodies of unknown beasts were scattered around, adding to the chaos.
But the real question was, where the hell was he? How had he ended up in this hellhole? This never happened in the game.
No... the real question was, how was he even alive with all of this around him? Anything could've torn him apart while he was unconscious, but nothing did.
"Fuck this, I'm out of here," he muttered, tossing aside any attempt at reasoning. He needed answers, and fast. Whatever was going on, he was done playing along.