The spike had run clean through the body. Roger wanted to use the Jaw Titan's claws to slowly saw it off, but after the fight with the hundred-meter Titan he was spent—mind and body. He couldn't put enough strength into it, and the cutting went painfully slow.
At the same time he kept searching—scanning below, looking down—trying to spot the War Hammer Titan as it closed in.
In his mind, if he were the War Hammer, he'd come from the last place the enemy expected—especially the blind spot behind the head.
With Rittai Kidō Sōchi (ODM gear), the War Hammer's shifter could, in a burst, fly to the Jaw Titan's rear and launch a surprise strike at the weak point—the nape—for a killing blow.
If so, there'd be no need to transform; a human form would suffice.
Holding to that thought, Roger finally gave up the Titan body and slipped out from the Jaw Titan's nape.
Careful, he tried to get clear fast and slip into a safer position without being noticed.
He poked his head out—no ambush nearby—then "boldly," "recklessly," slid free, fired his grapples, vented gas, and dropped from on high to a secure perch.
Even so, he didn't feel safe. The instant his feet touched, he drew twin blades from the ODM scabbard, took a fighting stance, and wound himself tight—ready for a strike from any quarter.
But…
After a long, tense search—
The War Hammer climbed up.
"?"
Roger blinked.
Pure white from head to toe, armored yet not as tough as the Armored Titan—something like light armor, like skin—the War Hammer looked around as soon as it topped the wall, or rather, stared fixedly at the Jaw Titan still pinned on the spike.
No guard raised at all. If it didn't see the enemy, it didn't take a defensive stance.
"Bringing me the War Hammer on a platter?"
Inexplicably, Roger felt a flicker of glee. The War Hammer in front of him seemed… dull. Like an empty shell wearing a War Hammer skin.
He still didn't dare relax. He knew little concrete about the War Hammer's power, only that it was overwhelmingly strong—several times the punch of the other Titans.
Even in a fool's hands, that would be trouble.
So he sharpened up again—and edged closer to the giant.
Below, the hundred-meter Titan was still evaporating, most of its bones yet unspent.
The War Hammer approached its own crystalline spike, pressed a palm to it, and closed its eyes.
In an instant the spike vanished. The Jaw Titan's body crashed down at the War Hammer's feet.
It stood. It looked down.
Instead of touching the body, it formed a long spear in its palm—Kesshō-ka (Crystallization)—and drove it through the Jaw Titan to make sure it couldn't move at all.
Then it crouched and slowly peeled back the nape.
Her elder brother Willy Tybur had given her the mission: kill Roger. But with Roger holding both the Armored and the Jaw, killing him outright felt wasteful.
If those two powers were reborn somewhere on Paradis, Marley's plan to seize the Founding and pacify the island would be set back severely—maybe fatally.
But when she laid open the nape, she froze.
Nothing.
The nape was empty—only a shallow hollow.
"He ran?" she gasped, jerking her head up to scan for the prey.
At that exact moment, Roger slid out from behind the Jaw Titan's massive body, fired a grapple straight into the War Hammer's face, and reeled himself in with a burst of gas.
"What?!"
The last thing she expected. She had assumed Roger wouldn't abandon his Titan—his only leverage for a duel with the War Hammer.
Drop the form, and the next transformation would demand a brutal cost.
The Jaw Titan was small, but the faceplate and talons alone burned through stamina—and he'd just gone all out to kill a behemoth.
If he'd shed the Titan now, he shouldn't be able to transform again.
And yet—
Roger hadn't just shed it—
he'd set an ambush.
"Die!!"
Just like years ago against the Beast Titan's Tom Ksaver and the Female Titan's Boi, Roger ran the same play.
Rusty hands, but the same rhythm.
First, a blitz—stab out the enemy's eyes. Then use momentum on the drop to hamstring the ankles, force a fall, and finally shred the nape to meat.
This time, he wasn't holding a little knife—he had twin regulation blades, each heavy enough to hack a Titan's spine.
Trained sharp, Roger closed on the War Hammer without effort and rammed both blades into its eyes.
"Aaah!!"
The War Hammer screamed like a human and swung wildly—but Roger slipped every haymaker.
He thought she was finally about to be finished when she stomped hard on the crown of the wall. The stone shuddered and a forest of spikes erupted outward from the War Hammer's position, lancing out to keep him at bay.
Shhkk-shhkk-shhkk-shhkk!
Roger had to disengage.
He ceded the opening—and never found another before the War Hammer's eyes knit whole again.
Then the white giant shifted to offense, calling a long-hafted war hammer into its grasp.
Eyes locked on Roger, refusing to let him slip the sightline, the War Hammer lifted the weapon and spoke:
"Roger Eikam, any last words?"
They stared each other down. Traces of Titan-marking still lined Roger's face.
He looked at the War Hammer.
The War Hammer looked back.
Then he smiled, slid his blades into the scabbards, and let his hands fall.
"Now, Levi!"
FWIP!!!
A snap of steel—grapples screaming out, reels howling, gas dumping in a rush—
Behind the War Hammer!
Right this second!
In midair!
Levi spun up, blades flashing—hewed straight at the War Hammer's nape!
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