Eliot realized the path he was treading might not be his own. He'd been used by the goddess, then fulfilled 'Eren's' task, then got captured and tortured by Anna. After that came the knowledge of enslavement—starting with her, then wanting to spread it to every heroine. It was too convenient, too smooth, just like when he'd followed the goddess's directive.
"The merge," he muttered, connecting it with what the girl had said about devouring the slaver. That's what they wanted—to use him as a vessel. The merge wasn't assimilation with his other self but a takeover, one that would happen after he'd enslaved enough people to weaken his soul beyond resistance.
Every decision had felt right in the moment. Knowledge appeared at perfect times, opportunities aligned flawlessly, and Anna's torment had pushed him toward the ritual. Even his anger might not have been his own. The pattern was clear now that he bothered to look.
