Self-loathing

The forest was a quiet, desolate place in the early dawn, mist curling around the trees like ghostly fingers, reaching out, then fading into nothing. Alaric stood alone in a small clearing, his body tense as he stared down at the pile of small animal remains scattered across the ground before him. Tiny, broken bodies lay lifeless in his wake-rabbits, squirrels, even a lone fox. His eyes darkened with something close to horror, a sickness twisting in his gut as he took in the extent of the carnage he'd wrought.

The hunger gnawed at him still, a deep, ravenous ache that felt like it came from every cell in his body, demanding more. It was like a silent, insistent voice, whispering in the back of his mind, urging him to take, to consume. It had been days now since the hunger had first taken hold, subtle at first-a quiet throb in his veins-but it grew louder and more insistent each time he tried to suppress it.

He clenched his fists, jaw tight as he tried to focus, to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind. Keep it together, Alaric. Control it, he reminded himself, repeating the words like a mantra. But he knew that it wasn't enough, not yet. His power-this virus- seemed to thrive on chaos, on the pain and anger that he'd spent so long trying to push away. It was a part of him now, inseparable from his very being, and no matter how much he tried to suppress it, the hunger remained, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the slightest crack in his control.

He took a steadying breath, closing his eyes as he forced himself to focus. Images of his past life flickered through his mind-the quiet, stable life he'd once known, filled with warmth and peace. He could almost see his family, his mother's gentle smile, his brother's reassuring presence. They felt like distant memories now, fragments of a life that had long since slipped through his fingers, leaving brutal, unforgiving stranded in this world.

But this wasn't his past life. And his memories, no matter how comforting, couldn't protect him from the reality he now faced.

He looked down at the blood staining his hands, the faint tremor running through his fingers. He needed to regain control, to find some way to manage the virus that pulsed within him before it took over completely. His gaze hardened, resolve settling in his chest. I can't let it win. I won't let it control me.

With that thought in mind, he forced himself to take a step back from the remains, then another, until he could no longer see the twisted bodies littering the ground. He could feel the hunger beginning to fade, receding like the tide, leaving him with an odd sense of clarity, of calm.

It was then, as he stood alone in the clearing, that a thought surfaced in his mind, a realization that sent a chill down his spine. Mikasa. She'd been on his mind ever since he'd left the Ackerman household, her quiet strength, the way she carried herself with a maturity far beyond her years. But with that thought came another, one that left him cold and unsettled.

He remembered something-something he had tried to push away, hoping it was just a half-formed memory or a detail he'd misremembered. But now, standing there in the silence, he couldn't ignore it any longer.

In the anime, in the story he knew, Mikasa's parents had died when she was only nine years old, killed by slavers who had come to their home, trying to capture her and her mother. The memory struck him like a physical blow, his mind racing as he pieced it together, dread coiling in his chest. Mikasa was nine years old now. And he... he had left them alone.

"No..." The word slipped from his lips, barely a whisper, but it carried a weight that settled over him, crushing him with a guilt he couldn't shake. It's not true. It can't be. But the fear gnawed at him, a dark, insidious feeling that told him he was too late, that he had failed them when they needed him most.

The forest felt suffocating now, the trees pressing in on him, the shadows stretching longer as if to swallow him whole. Without another thought, he turned and began to run, his feet pounding against the forest floor as he made his way back toward the Ackerman house, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, each one more frantic than the last.

"Fucking useless" he said to him

It felt like hours had passed by the time Alaric reached the outskirts of the forest,his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stumbled onto the narrow path leading back to the Ackerman household. His body was exhausted, his muscles aching from the strain, but he didn't stop, didn't slow down. He pushed himself forward, each step fueled by a single, desperate hope-that he wasn't too late, that he could still save them.

The house came into view, the familiar sight bringing a strange mix of relief and dread. He slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the property, searching for any sign of life. But the air was eerily silent, a stillness that set his nerves on edge, prickling at the back of his neck.

Something was wrong. He could feel it, an instinctual certainty that something terrible had happened here, a shadow lingering over the house like a dark omen. He took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding as he approached the door, each step heavier than the last.

With a trembling hand, he raised his fist and knocked, the sound echoing through the empty air. He waited, the silence stretching on, filling him with a growing sense of dread.