The ground shakes. Not from thunder, not from a cannon. From them .
He bites his hand.
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. attack on survey corps save
The horses are gone. Scattered. Eaten.
And the Survey Corps charges—not to win. Not to survive. The ground shakes
Commander Erwin looks at the sky. The sun is setting. Escape is a fantasy. The ground shakes. Not from thunder