The first thing Daniel Cross noticed was the smell.
Wet earth. Horse manure. Woodsmoke.
And something sour enough to make him question every decision that had led him to this moment.
He opened one eye.
A fly sat on his nose.
He stared at it.
The fly stared back, presumably without the slightest concern for his financial situation, emotional well-being, or the fact that Daniel had absolutely no idea where he was.
He raised a hand to swat it.
Pain exploded through his skull.
"Ah, fuck!"
He rolled onto his side, clutching his head. His palm struck damp grass, and the movement sent a fresh wave of dizziness through him.
For several seconds, he did nothing but breathe.
Then he looked at his hand.
It was smaller than he remembered.
Not dramatically smaller. Not the sort of thing that would make a person scream immediately. But his fingers were thinner, his knuckles less pronounced, and the faint scar across his thumb—the one he'd gotten from a kitchen knife when he was fourteen—was gone.
Daniel sat up so quickly that the world tilted.
"No."
He looked down at himself.
A loose, off-white shirt. Brown trousers. Mud-stained boots.
His clothes.
Except they weren't his clothes.
He remembered wearing a black hoodie. He remembered crossing a street while arguing with someone on his phone. He remembered headlights, a horn, and the brief, deeply embarrassing thought that he was going to die before he finished paying off his debts.
Then nothing.
He swallowed.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Brain damage. That's fine. Brain damage is survivable."
He looked around.
The field stretched beneath a pale morning sky. A dirt road cut through the grass, leading toward a cluster of wooden houses surrounded by low fences. Beyond them stood a town that looked as though it had been assembled by someone who'd never heard of electricity.
People in simple clothes moved between buildings. A woman carried a basket. Two children chased each other around a cart. Somewhere, a man shouted at a horse.
Daniel stared.
"No electricity?"
He turned slowly.
"No cars?"
His gaze settled on the distant horizon.
A wall rose beyond the town.
Not a small wall. Not a city wall.
A colossal, impossibly tall structure of stone that stretched across the landscape until distance swallowed it.
Daniel's mouth went dry.
He knew that wall.
He knew those houses.
He knew the uniforms worn by the soldiers patrolling the distant road.
And he knew, with the horrible certainty of a man watching his life savings disappear into a suspicious investment scheme, exactly what world he was in.
"No," he said again.
This time, the word came out as a plea.
He scrambled to his feet and nearly fell over.
"Absolutely not. I reject this. I reject the premise, the setting, the author, and whoever approved this ridiculous plot."
A passing woman glanced at him.
Daniel pointed at the enormous wall.
"Excuse me! What year is it?"
She frowned.
"What?"
"The year! What year are we in?"
She looked him up and down as though deciding whether to call the local authorities.
"Eight hundred and forty-four."
Daniel went very still.
Eight hundred and forty-four.
The year before the fall of Wall Maria.
The year before a colossal monster would appear over the walls of Shiganshina, kick a hole through humanity's supposed salvation, and turn thousands of people into screaming meals.
The year before Eren Yeager's life would be destroyed.
The year before the world began to unravel.
Daniel slowly lowered his hand.
"Oh, I'm so dead."
The woman crossed herself and hurried away.
He watched her go.
"That was a figure of speech," he called after her. "Probably."
A bell rang somewhere in the town.
People continued with their ordinary lives.
A man argued over the price of vegetables. A child cried because another child had stolen his toy. A dog barked at a passing wagon.
Normal things.
Beautiful things.
Things that would become unbearable once he remembered how easily this world could take them away.
Daniel pressed both hands against his face.
He had watched Attack on Titan in his previous life. He knew the story—or at least enough of it to understand that being here was an exceptionally bad development.
Titans weren't fictional anymore.
They were real.
And he was standing in a field without a weapon, a plan, or even a decent pair of trousers.
"Right," he muttered. "Think. We need a plan."
He had knowledge of the future. That was valuable.
He could warn people.
He could prepare.
He could join the military, learn to fight, and—
His stomach growled.
Loudly.
Daniel paused.
He looked down at his abdomen.
"Seriously?"
Another growl followed.
He hadn't eaten since—
Since when?
His memories felt slippery. He could remember his previous life with startling clarity, yet anything concerning the body he now occupied was a fog of unfamiliar sensations.
He needed food, shelter, money, and information.
In that order.
Preferably before a ten-meter-tall naked man decided he looked appetizing.
Daniel started toward the town.
He had taken perhaps twenty steps when a voice spoke inside his head.
\[DING!\]
Daniel stopped.
A transparent blue window appeared in front of his face.
He stared at it.
The window remained.
He waved a hand through it.
Nothing happened.
He poked it.
His finger passed through the glowing interface.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
More text appeared.
### \[TRANSMIGRATION SYSTEM INITIALIZED\]
Host compatibility confirmed.
Soul displacement: Successful
Biological synchronization: 97.4%
Primary ability: Evolutionary Titan
Status: Dormant
Welcome, Host.
Your survival is now our shared responsibility.
Daniel read the final sentence twice.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It was the thin, slightly hysterical sound of someone discovering that the universe had not only murdered him but had also installed questionable software in his afterlife.
"Shared responsibility?" he asked the empty air. "Who are you? My insurance provider?"
\[SYSTEM RESPONSE: QUERY NOT RECOGNIZED.\]
"Of course it isn't."
He took a breath and examined the interface more carefully.
"All right. Explain the primary ability."
\[ABILITY: EVOLUTIONARY TITAN\]
Classification: Adaptive Titan Transformation.
Description: The Host may transform into a unique Titan form. By consuming eligible biological material, the Host can acquire and evolve physical traits derived from the consumed organism.
Potential traits include:
* Enhanced muscular strength.
* Reinforced skin and natural armor.
* Improved sensory perception.
* Claws, fangs, and specialized limbs.
* Advanced locomotion and environmental adaptations.
Warning: Trait acquisition is not guaranteed. Compatibility, biological complexity, available energy, and the Host's evolutionary stability determine the outcome.
Daniel's expression changed.
He read the description again.
Then a third time.
"Wait."
His heart began beating faster.
"You're telling me I can become a Titan?"
\[AFFIRMATIVE.\]
"And I can evolve?"
\[AFFIRMATIVE.\]
"Like... eat a wolf and get its senses? Eat something armored and develop tougher skin?"
\[POTENTIALLY. EVOLUTIONARY OUTCOMES CANNOT BE GUARANTEED.\]
Daniel's lips parted.
For the first time since waking up, something other than terror stirred in his chest.
Hope.
Small, fragile, and possibly the result of a concussion.
But hope nonetheless.
He could survive this world.
He might even be able to change things.
If he could become strong enough, perhaps he could prevent the fall of Wall Maria. He could save people who were supposed to die. He could find out what the Titans really were and why they existed.
And if the world insisted on throwing monsters at him—
Well, perhaps it was time the monsters had something to worry about.
Daniel straightened.
"Okay. I'm listening. What else can you do?"
\[CURRENT FUNCTIONS: STATUS, EVOLUTION TREE, QUESTS.\]
"Quest system?"
\[AFFIRMATIVE.\]
"Good. Give me my first quest."
A brief pause followed.
\[INITIAL SURVIVAL QUEST GENERATED.\]
Daniel rubbed his hands together.
"Let's hear it."
\[QUEST: SURVIVE THE NEXT SEVEN DAYS.\]
Objective: Remain alive for seven consecutive days.
Reward: Basic Transformation Control.
Failure Penalty: Death.
Daniel stared at the interface.
Silence.
Then he pointed at it.
"Death? That's your penalty? That's the thing I'm trying to avoid!"
\[QUEST TERMS ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE.\]
"You're a glorified kidnapping app!"
\[INSULTS DO NOT AFFECT QUEST PARAMETERS.\]
Daniel closed his eyes.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
Then whispered, with the solemnity of a man making a sacred vow:
"When I get strong enough, I'm uninstalling you."
\[UNINSTALLATION FUNCTION NOT FOUND.\]
"I hate you already."
\[HOST AFFECTION LEVEL: NOT APPLICABLE.\]
He opened his eyes.
"That one was personal."
The interface vanished.
For a moment, Daniel stood in the middle of the field, trying to decide whether having a supernatural system made his situation better or simply more complicated.
Then he heard the shouting.
It came from the road behind him.
"Get back here!"
A boy in a brown vest sprinted past the nearest fence, clutching a loaf of bread to his chest. He couldn't have been older than twelve. Behind him came a heavyset baker with a flour-covered apron and an expression that suggested he had personally declared war on juvenile delinquency.
"Thief! Someone stop that little bastard!"
The boy looked back.
Bad decision.
His foot caught on a loose stone.
He stumbled, crashed shoulder-first into a cart, and sent a basket of apples rolling across the road.
The baker gained ground.
Daniel sighed.
"Of course. My first day in a death world, and I'm about to witness a public execution over carbohydrates."
The boy scrambled up and ran straight toward him.
"Move!"
Daniel moved.
Unfortunately, he moved in the wrong direction.
The boy slammed into him, and both of them hit the dirt.
The loaf flew from the boy's hands.
It landed directly in a puddle.
For one beautiful second, nobody spoke.
Then the boy looked at the bread.
He looked at Daniel.
And he began to cry.
Not quietly.
Not with dignity.
He wailed like the bread had been his only remaining connection to a loving family.
Daniel sat up, covered in mud.
"Mate. It's bread."
"It's ruined!"
"Yes, I can see that."
"You ruined it!"
"You ran into me!"
The baker arrived, panting.
"Got you, you little rat!"
The boy scrambled behind Daniel.
"Please! I haven't eaten since yesterday!"
The words changed the atmosphere.
The baker's anger faltered, but only slightly.
"You should've asked."
"And you would've given me food?" the boy shot back.
The baker's mouth tightened.
Daniel looked between them.
He knew this world was cruel. He knew the military spent lives like coins and the government buried inconvenient truths beneath layers of stone and propaganda.
But knowing something in theory was different from watching a hungry child cry over a loaf of bread.
Daniel pushed himself upright.
"How much does another loaf cost?"
The baker glanced at him suspiciously.
"Three copper coins."
Daniel patted his pockets.
Nothing.
Of course.
He had no money.
No identification.
No family.
No practical skills that would help him survive in a medieval economy.
He was, in every meaningful sense, unemployed and homeless.
Fantastic.
Daniel looked at the baker.
"I'll pay you back."
"With what?"
Daniel considered inventing a convincing lie.
Unfortunately, his face had apparently been designed by nature to look guilty whenever he attempted one.
"Future earnings?"
The baker stared at him.
The boy stopped crying.
Then, unexpectedly, the baker snorted.
"You're either a fool or a very strange man."
"I've been called worse."
"Can you work?"
Daniel hesitated.
He could probably carry things. Sweep floors. Wash dishes.
He had no idea whether this body could perform physical labor, but starvation was an excellent motivator.
"Yes."
The baker jerked his chin toward the town.
"Come by tomorrow morning. If you can carry flour sacks without dropping them, I'll give you a day's work."
Daniel blinked.
That was... surprisingly easy.
He had expected more suspicion. Perhaps a public beating, followed by a lengthy discussion about the suspicious stranger who had appeared in a field.
Instead, he had acquired a potential job.
The boy stared at him as if Daniel had performed a miracle.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Daniel gave him a tired smile.
"Don't mention it. Just don't run into me again. I think I've reached my daily limit for human contact."
The baker retrieved the ruined loaf and marched away, muttering about thieves, ungrateful children, and the declining quality of modern society.
The boy lingered.
"I'm Samuel," he said.
"Daniel."
"Are you a soldier?"
Daniel glanced at his muddy clothes.
"Do I look like a soldier?"
Samuel considered this.
"You look like you lost a fight with a pig."
Daniel stared at him.
Then he laughed.
A real laugh this time.
"All right, kid. I deserved that."
For a few minutes, the world felt almost normal.
Samuel showed him the nearest public well, explained which streets led to the market, and pointed out a cheap boardinghouse where strangers could rent a bed if they had money.
Daniel thanked him and watched the boy disappear into the crowd.
Then he looked up at the walls again.
They were still standing.
For now.
He had six days to secure food and shelter, find a way to earn money, and figure out how to use his ability before the world began to end.
Six days to turn a death sentence into a fighting chance.
He could do that.
He had to.
Daniel started walking toward the market.
He was halfway across the square when a sharp, wet sound came from an alley to his left.
Something heavy struck the ground.
Then came a horse's terrified scream.
Daniel turned.
A crowd had gathered near the entrance to the alley. People were backing away, their faces pale. A woman clutched her child and hurried toward the opposite street.
Daniel pushed through the gathering bodies.
"What happened?"
Nobody answered.
Then he saw it.
A dog lay on the cobblestones, its body twisted at an unnatural angle. Beside it crouched a lean, reddish-brown fox, its muzzle buried in the dog's torn flank.
Daniel recoiled.
The fox raised its head.
Blood darkened its whiskers.
It stared at him with bright, intelligent eyes.
Daniel's stomach turned.
He had seen dead animals before. He had watched documentaries about predators and prey. He understood that nature was not a gentle place.
But something about the scene unsettled him.
Perhaps it was the way the fox watched him.
Perhaps it was the fact that the animal didn't flee when the crowd shouted.
Or perhaps it was the sudden appearance of a familiar blue window.
\[EVOLUTIONARY MATERIAL DETECTED.\]
Organism: Red fox.
Potential trait: Enhanced olfactory perception.
Compatibility assessment: Pending consumption.
Daniel stopped breathing.
The fox's ears twitched.
A second notification appeared.
\[NOTICE: CONSUMPTION OF SUITABLE BIOLOGICAL MATERIAL MAY INITIATE YOUR FIRST EVOLUTION.\]
He stared at the animal.
Then at the dead dog.
Then back at the animal.
"You're joking," he whispered.
\[SYSTEM DOES NOT POSSESS A HUMOR FUNCTION.\]
"Of course you don't."
The fox abandoned its meal and slipped deeper into the alley.
Daniel remained where he stood, his pulse hammering.
A new ability.
A new advantage.
And a decision that, until a moment ago, he hadn't even considered making.
He looked toward the towering walls.
Somewhere beyond them, the future waited.
The Colossal Titan would appear. The gates would fall. Thousands would die.
And Daniel would either be ready—
Or he would become another name nobody remembered.
He swallowed hard and stepped into the alley.
"All right," he muttered. "Let's see what kind of monster I can become."
The fox vanished around the corner.
Daniel followed.
Then, from somewhere deep inside his mind, the system spoke again.
\[WARNING: FIRST EVOLUTION MAY ALTER HOST PSYCHOLOGY.\]
He froze.
"What does that mean?"
For the first time, the system did not answer immediately.
A second passed.
Then another.
Finally, new text appeared.
\[SUPPRESSED MEMORY DETECTED.\]
\[ORIGIN OF TRANSMIGRATION: CLASSIFIED.\]
Daniel felt the blood drain from his face.
He had assumed he died in his old world and somehow awakened here.
He had assumed the system was a gift.
He had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that he understood the rules of his new life.
But if the system was hiding his memories—
What else was it hiding?
At the end of the alley, the fox stopped and turned to face him.
Its jaws opened.
And for one impossible instant, Daniel heard a human voice whisper from between its bloodstained teeth.
"Found you."