If I earned a coin, preferably one with a good exchange rate in the Dimension of Unscrupulous Merchants, every time someone decided to involve me in an idiotic plan with zero strategic planning, 100% chaotic confusion, and an alarming amount of unnecessary noise, I would have bought this planet by now. And, most certainly, I would have resold it in smooth, profitable instalments to some more competent cosmic civilisation, perhaps one that understood the concept of silence and a good schedule.
"I can sort of understand hijacking cars... or boats... but a train?" Lucy pondered, her forehead furrowed as if she were trying to solve a particularly ridiculous puzzle left behind by some bored god. There was an innocence to her question that was almost adorable. Almost.
I sighed, leaning my elbow on the window of Erza's magic car, watching the Fiore landscape rush by too quickly for my liking and, more importantly, for a certain Dragon Slayer's sensitive stomach. "Human creativity when it comes to committing acts of stupidity, my dear blonde companion in misfortune, is something that continues to fascinate me, no matter how much time I spend observing this comedy of errors called existence."
"It's still a vehicle, whether you like it or not, Azra'il," Erza commented from the driver's seat, with the cold, direct logic of a general planning an invasion, as if that justified the act of hijacking the least discreet and most predictable thing in the history of transport since the brontosaurus with mobility issues.
Natsu, beside her, was already that familiar, pathetic shade of green from motion sickness. Again. One day I'm going to conduct an in-depth study on what this boy has against moving vehicles and why on earth he insists on getting into them as if, this time, it will magically be a good idea.
"Hhrrrrg... I think I'm going to... be sick..." he groaned, his forehead pressed against the glass.
"If you are sick in this car, Natsu Dragneel, I swear I will launch you through the window with a high-speed propulsion spell. And I will do it with an affection you can't even imagine," I said, without taking my eyes off the road, my tone as casual as if I were commenting on the weather. He seemed to take me seriously, because he turned even greener, if possible.
Gray, in the back seat, was clinging to the dashboard with the face of someone reliving a childhood trauma involving a runaway carousel. "Erza, for the love of the seven hells, slow down a bit! This car consumes an absurd amount of your magic to move at this speed!"
"The situation is urgent, Gray! We can't waste time!" she replied, pressing even harder on the magical accelerator, as if she wanted to make us travel through time along with the car. The world outside became a blur of green and brown.
Happy, with the superior wisdom of beings who can fly and therefore don't care about terrestrial traffic, was sitting peacefully on Lucy's lap, analysing the situation with the calm of someone who doesn't have a stomach to turn inside out and is enjoying everyone else's chaos. "Lucy's weird," he commented out of nowhere, with the solemnity of a philosopher.
"ME?! WHY AM I WEIRD?!" Lucy shouted, indignant.
"Honestly, Happy, this time I don't disagree," I added, shaking my head in mock contemplation. "But, to be fair, in the current weirdness ranking in this vehicle, Natsu is winning by a considerable margin, closely followed by the psychopath driver with a magical lead foot." I swear on all the existences I've ever lived that boy was going to turn himself inside out before we arrived. And I would genuinely have to throw him out of the window.
And we arrived. By some miracle. Or by sheer, simple bad luck. I still haven't decided which of the two was correct.
The town of Oshibana was in a state of controlled chaos, which is usually worse than total chaos. There was black, suspicious-smelling smoke coming from the train station, people crowding the streets, shouting and pointing, guards running in circles like ants whose nest is on fire. In other words: a standard Monday in my long and exhaustive CV of 'observer of imminent disasters'.
Erza stopped the car with a jolt worthy of a slow-motion car crash. Natsu, who was already in a state of near-death, nearly flew through the windscreen. Lucy, with admirable reflexes, had to grab him by the collar of his shirt as if he were a clumsy piece of luggage about to fall apart.
The redhead, with her usual imposing presence, got out of the car, marching directly towards one of the poor, overwhelmed station employees who was trying, and utterly failing, to impose some order amidst the hysterical crowd. She grabbed him by the collar with her characteristic hungry-bear-like delicacy.
"What's going on here?" she asked, her voice so calm and cold it was more frightening than a shout.
The poor man, probably terrified by the appearance of an armoured woman with red hair and a glare that could freeze lava, hesitated. A very, very bad choice.
"I-I... B-but who are you? Why would I tell you?"
*THWACK.* It was the dry, unmistakable sound of the poor sod's nose meeting our small, delicate country flower's gauntleted fist. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
*(Very good,)* I thought, sighing with a resignation that had become my constant companion. *(Erza is in her 'delicate and efficient interrogation mode' again. This is going to be... quick.)*
Lucy approached, still carrying the inert Natsu on her back and with a look of pure existential defeat on her face. "Erza, with all due respect, but this type of interrogation of yours... is not at all productive... and is probably illegal in several towns..."
The Scarlet Knight ignored her completely and moved on to the next employee. Same question. Same fate. The poor station workers were dropping like bowling pins on a lucky day. I think the fourth one even managed to answer "good day, ma'am" out of pure reflex before kissing the street with his face.
I crossed my arms, watching the scene with a lazy, slightly amused smile on my lips, leaning against the car.
"You know, Lucy, don't you think it's, in a way, poetic?" I murmured, turning my gaze back to Erza, who was now shaking a fifth employee by the shoulders. "Such a beautiful and delicate country flower, solving the world's problems with the care and subtlety of a magnitude-nine earthquake."
Erza, who has annoyingly good hearing, looked at me over her shoulder, and I was sure that, for an instant, she seriously considered putting me on the list for a "fist-based interrogation". I smiled back, the most angelic and innocent smile I could muster. *(Are you going to hit me? Are you going to hit your emotional pillow, your private psychiatric support? I highly doubt it. Not today, darling.)*
After a few more unconscious employees scattered on the pavement and Lucy nearly burying her face in her own hands out of pure, absolute second-hand embarrassment, Erza finally returned with something more useful than a bruise on someone else's hand.
"The Dark Guild, Eisenwald, is inside the station," she informed, with the air of someone who has just solved a great mystery, as if the smoke, destruction, and screams weren't clues enough. "They've taken control of the entire line and are planning something with that cursed flute, the Lullaby. Let's go."
And with that, off we went. Marching towards the chaos, as always. But this time, with style, a magically parked car in a no-parking zone, and a semi-conscious Natsu who was beginning to mutter something disjointed about "soul-eating demon trains" and "the taste of his own stomach" between his feverish delusions.
We entered the train station and, honestly, if someone had told me that an entire army of soldiers had been run over and beaten by an invisible steamroller, I would have believed them without hesitation. The place looked like an interactive museum of "How Not to Win a Battle and Still Make a Monumental Mess": the station guards and the soldiers of the Fiore army were strewn about in corners, groaning in pain or completely knocked out, as if someone had gone around handing out sleeping draughts with a mallet and shouting "nighty-night, Cinderella".
"They faced an entire guild and were defeated like this?" murmured Erza, her strategist's gaze analysing the fallen bodies with professional disbelief. "A small group like this... would never stand a chance against Eisenwald, even if they were just lackeys. What happened here?" Ah, the sweet, poetic art of our red-headed warrior's military analysis. But she had a point. They'd had their arses kicked more efficiently than Natsu on a motion-sickness-free day with access to an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Speaking of whom...
"Ngghhhh... get me out of here... the world is spinning and it smells of failure... and sick, which I think is mine..." muttered the semi-functional corpse known as Natsu, still being heroically carried on the back of a Lucy who looked increasingly regretful of her life choices.
"Get a move on, Natsu, take a deep breath through your nose, smell the scent of others' defeat which, by the way, is much better than the smell of your own, and lift your head," I said, poking his forehead with the tip of my wooden jian. "If you're going to die today, do it with a minimum of dignity and on your feet, not drooling on your friend's back."
We crossed a staircase covered in more unconscious soldiers, a truly luxurious red carpet of military incompetence, and descended into the great hall where, on a normal day, people would peacefully await their trains to visit boring relatives or attend useless work meetings. But, of course, today was not a normal day. Today was brawl day.
"Welcome, you disgusting worms of Fairy Tail," a voice echoed from above, laden with an arrogance so thick you could almost slice it and serve it as a tasteless appetiser, with that unmistakable, cliché touch of 'I'm the generic villain of the week and I'm about to deliver a monologue'.
We all looked up, as if rehearsed.
And there he was. Sitting comfortably on top of the bloody stolen train, his legs crossed, as if it were the throne of his kingdom of stupidity. Shirtless, of course, they're always shirtless, covered in tribal tattoos that looked like they'd been done by a bored teenager, spiky grey hair that defied logic and gravity, and a gigantic scythe in his hands. Ah, the classic, timeless look of 'hi, I'm an edgy, dangerous psychopath with a desperate need for attention'.
"You bastard..." Erza snarled, her eyes as sharp as blades, her hand already on the hilt of her sword. "I presume you're Erigor the Reaper."
The so-called Erigor let out a laugh so melodramatic and exaggerated that, for a moment, I really thought it was going to start thundering inside the station and a ghostly church organ would begin playing a sinister tune in the background. I was a little disappointed when it didn't happen.
"Very good! You came running, like the cockroaches you are, straight into the lion's den!" he boomed, with the theatricality of someone who has spent hours rehearsing his speech in front of a mirror. "Only to be crushed by the fury of Eisenwald! Look around you! We are many! You don't stand a chance!"
"Damn it... there really are a lot of them..." murmured Lucy, her eyes wide, hugging an still-inert Natsu as if he were a deactivated human shield, while simultaneously trying to shake him awake. "Natsu, wake up, for God's sake, we need you!"
"Relax, Lucy," said Happy with a carefree smile, yawning. "Natsu's been on a train, then in a car, and now he's being carried by you. He's been through all the stages of vehicular torture. His soul is closer to the afterlife than ever. I don't know if he's coming back any time soon."
"I'M NOT A VEHICLE, YOU MANGY CAT!!" yelled Lucy, swatting the air in protest, completely offended.
Meanwhile, one of the Eisenwald mages, a chap with spiky black hair, a terribly tacky white coat, and an expression of someone who has been contradicted, pointed an accusing finger at Natsu. "It's your fault! It's your fault I was severely reprimanded by Erigor!"
I looked at the chap, then at the inert mass that was Natsu, then back at him. And I couldn't help a crooked little smile. "Ah..." I murmured, with a false air of understanding. "So you're the one with the flute. What a remarkable feat. You managed to get beaten by a Natsu Dragneel in his most vulnerable state: seasick and probably on the verge of a motion-induced coma. My congratulations. You must be very, very bad." The man turned purple with rage.
Erza took a step forward, completely ignoring the shenanigans around her. "We don't have time for your pathetic games and monologues, Erigor. What do you intend to do with the Lullaby?" Her tone was firm, authoritative, with no room for negotiation. The kind of voice that made even concrete walls rethink their life choices and perhaps consider a career as a door. I just crossed my arms, keeping an eye on every corner of the station. This stank of a trap. And not the clever, well-planned kind, but the 'let's make a lot of noise here so no one notices the stupid thing we're doing over there' kind.
And I hadn't even had my afternoon tea yet. That was, by far, the greatest tragedy of all.
"We don't need to answer questions from insignificant worms who crawl beneath the boots of the Magic Council!" said Erigor. Seriously, this guy had too much acting, not enough shirt... and the face of someone who undoubtedly spends hours making threatening speeches to his own reflection in the mirror. What a pathetic man.
Lucy, with her righteous heart and her moral fury always on the surface, took a step forward. "What kind of guild, what kind of people, would plan to play a deadly song to kill innocent people?!"
Erigor flashed that fifth-season-villain smile of someone who has just received the script and is loving his role, with delusions of grandeur that barely fit in the station. "Innocents...? Ah, my dear, naive little fairy. The Magic Council are not innocent. They are parasites! Tyrants who use their position to dictate the world's rules with rotten hands and hypocritical smiles, while they exile us, the truly free! They sealed us away. They humiliated us. They treated us like rubbish! But today..." He rose into the air, wrapped in a whirlwind, a performative and entirely unnecessary special effect to impress an audience of five people and a cat.
"He can fly!?" Lucy asked, shocked and genuinely impressed, which only further inflated the chap's already oversized ego.
"It appears to be wind magic, Lucy. I can fly too," Happy replied, with the calm of an aerodynamics expert, completely ruining Erigor's dramatic moment.
"...TODAY," Erigor shouted, trying to regain his momentum, "the people will hear the true song of freedom! The song of death! The Lullaby will be their requiem! Their last and most glorious melody!"
Lucy's eyes widened. "He's going to play the flute for the whole town to hear!"
Gray snarled. "This will turn into a massacre. We can't let him."
Erza advanced. "We will stop you right here!"
The entire group, with their characteristic nobility and impulsiveness, bought the idea. Fight to save the town. It made sense. In a linear and predictable way.
But…
(No. It doesn't make sense. It's too theatrical. And inefficient,) I thought. I've met this type of person before, in countless variations. The posture, the speech… He didn't seem like someone wanting to start an apocalypse via community radio. He seemed like someone buying time. Time for what?
(He doesn't want to play the Lullaby here. This is a distraction. The real audience is somewhere else.)
I took a deep breath.
So that's the plan... assassinate all the guild masters at once... genius and stupid. The favourite combo of inconsolable villains.
"You have no idea what you're up against," said Erigor, moving away with a current of wind around his body. "But you'll find out… too late." With a sharp whistle of the wind, he vanished.
With a whistle, the wind enveloped him and he simply vanished, like a receipt you need for a refund.
Erza charged, but it was too late.
"Damn it! He got away!" she shouted angrily.
The Eisenwald lackeys positioned themselves in front of us, clearly ready to die for a bloke who had already abandoned them without a backward glance.
Erza tightened her grip on her sword's hilt.
"Let's end this. Quickly."
"He's not going to play that flute here," I said, as if commenting that the coffee had gone cold, but with the weight of someone who knows an apocalypse is coming.
"What do you mean, Azra'il?" Lucy asked, a frown on her forehead.
"The real plan isn't to put on a show for a small town like this, you naive blonde," I explained, with the patience of one teaching a child that fire burns. "It's to turn the Guild Masters' conference into a mass funeral. Think about it: why waste a single-use weapon to kill random civilians, when you can annihilate the entire leadership of Fiore's legal guilds in one go?"
Erza narrowed her eyes, her strategist's brain working at a thousand miles an hour. "That... that would explain why he fled so quickly last time. He never intended to fight us. He just wanted to delay us."
"Exactly," I said, giving my wooden jian a light, lazy spin. "And now, like a good host, he's left his rubbish behind to entertain us while he proceeds to the main event. Very polite of him, don't you think?"
"We don't have time to waste then!" Erza shouted.
The Eisenwald lackeys, with the blind loyalty of pawns in a lost game, positioned themselves before us.
One of them yelled, "No one's getting out of here alive!"
"Oi, mate..." I sighed, feeling a deep boredom. "In all sincerity. Have you ever tried looking for a better leader? One who doesn't use you as a welcome mat for death?"
But it was too late for career therapy. They were coming with everything they had. Erza raised her sword. Lucy prepared to summon. And I... well, after so much drama and so much talk... finally, a bit of fun.
The Eisenwald lackeys were still there, closing ranks with the grim determination of those who have already accepted their fate as cannon fodder.
Erza took a deep breath and turned with that look of hers that said 'I'm about to give orders, obey or I'll turn you into wall ornaments'.
"Natsu. Gray. Go after Erigor. Now!"
Natsu, who seemed to have miraculously recovered from his forced transport overdose at the mere promise of a good fight, swayed for a moment but then straightened up with a leap, as if the word 'fight' were a miracle cure. "Heh. Finally! A real hunt! I thought I was going to spend the whole mission lying on the floor!" He punched the air, completely fired up.
Gray, who, to everyone's surprise, was still fully dressed, crossed his arms with an air of resignation. "I should be surprised that you can even run right now, matchstick-head, but frankly, I've seen you walk out of a fire you started yourself with a whole boar's leg in your mouth and still complain it was undercooked."
"It was a good leg! And it was done perfectly!" Natsu shouted back, already moving away and running towards the exit, sniffing the air like a hound.
Erza just pointed with the tip of her sword. "Go. He cannot, under any circumstances, reach the masters' conference."
They left. Natsu, with the enthusiasm of a hungry dragon who has just spotted a feast, and Gray, with the cool elegance of someone who really didn't ask to be there, but who will still get the job done right because it's what has to be done.
Barely had the two of them vanished down the corridor in a trail of ice and fire when two Eisenwald mages, who had apparently been lying in wait, launched themselves in the same direction, trying to intercept them. The first had a treacherous smile and hair spiked with enough gel to bring down a tower, and sinister shadows writhed around him. The other, more extravagant, wore floating black ribbons like blades and a striped hat.
Erza narrowed her eyes. "They're going to try to delay the boys."
"Their problem. This is a warm-up for Natsu and Gray," I replied, snapping my fingers and making my wooden sword fly from its resting position into my hand with a soft whistle. "Our show, my dears, is here. With the fan club. Let's give them the spectacle they're so eager for."
The three of us were left. Me, Erza, and Lucy. And, of course, Happy.
"So… it's left to us girls to clean up this rubbish," I commented, looking at the remaining Eisenwald members who were now surrounding us with an uncomfortable, suicidal enthusiasm for people who were clearly about to get a shameful thrashing.
Lucy was already pulling one of her golden keys from her belt.
Erza advanced a few steps, her body glowing with an intense golden light. And when the blinding light faded, she emerged clad in the Heaven's Wheel Armour, a truly spectacular display of floating blades, orbiting her body like lethal satellites. "Requip: Heaven's Wheel Armour!"
Lucy, beside me, stood static, her eyes wide. "That's... wow... it's wonderful!"
"Erza's magic is called 'The Knight'," Happy took on his role as the winged encyclopaedia with pride. "She can change her armour and weapons in the middle of a fight! The Heaven's Wheel is one of her strongest!"
"Each of those swords is imbued with her own, stubborn magic," I added, with the air of one who had already dissected that technique, stretching. "And yes, she controls them all at the same time. Because, apparently, being beautiful, strong, and honourable wasn't enough."
"That's so amazing!" Lucy sighed.
"It's amazing until she decides, in a fit of efficiency, to cut through the station roof along with the enemies," I grumbled.
The Eisenwald mages advanced like a swarm of angry mosquitoes. And Erza? Ah, she shot into the middle of them, a hurricane of steel. Every spin was a slash.
Lucy, still inspired by the redhead's overwhelming display of power, but finally remembering that she was also in a battle, spun her own golden key in the air with that contagious and somewhat naive excitement of someone who has just unlocked a legendary item in a game and is eager to test it. "Open, Gate of the Giant Crab! Cancer! "
Light, sparkle, the characteristic sound of celestial bells, a magical special effect that, I admit, had a certain visual charm and a good presentation... and then…
A man appeared. In a navy-blue striped shirt, spiky hair shaped vaguely but undeniably like a crab, extremely stylish sunglasses, and… two giant pairs of scissors, one in each hand, in an attack stance that was both menacing and strangely elegant. He looked like a particularly famous hairdresser who had been hired for a fashion show in the underworld, was very, very late, in a terrible mood, and ready to cut anyone who got in his way.
"Yo, baby. Ready for a trim! Kani!" he said, with a smooth voice and a final 'kani' that I didn't know if it was a crab sound, a war cry, or a fashionable slang from the spirit world that I was unaware of.
…
I stared at it. Expressionless. No reaction. Just... absorbing. Completely. The pure, unadulterated, glorious bizarreness of the situation. My mind, which had already processed the existence of interdimensional squid-gods, of alternative realities made entirely of sentient Swiss cheese, and of long, tiresome philosophical debates with stubborn, talking platypuses about the nature of reality, was having a small but significant problem categorising a celestial spirit of the Zodiac that was, for all practical purposes, an armed hairdresser with catchphrases.
"Is that… Cancer of the Zodiac?" I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else, feeling a pang of genuine, profound perplexity for the first time in a long, long time. A sensation almost refreshing in its rarity.
And then, like a runaway magic train, without brakes and with a particularly sadistic driver, running over my soul with the weight of ancient, forgotten memories, it came. The memory.
A distant life, from ages and ages ago, in a different world, with different rules. Marble temples that rose to the heavens, bathed in a light that was not of any sun known to this planet. Constellations that were not just clusters of distant stars, but living entities, that judged the souls of men and gods with a relentless coldness and an absolute justice. And I... on the throne of the underworld. Dressed in darkness, purpose, and an indifference that was my only defence, the sovereign of a kingdom of shadows, silence, and lost souls. Hades. Just darkness, a purpose as heavy as a mountain of unforgiven sins, and a cloak that billowed dramatically, as if moved by a breeze of pure despair, even when there was no wind at all.
And, in that life, in that age of myths, heroes, and sacrifices, the House of Cancer was not guarded by a stylish hairdresser. It was guarded by Manigold, the Gold Saint of Cancer. A foul-mouthed, irreverent man, with a macabre sense of humour that I secretly appreciated, but with a power that could burn souls and make the gods themselves tremble. A warrior who commanded legions of spirits, who opened portals to the underworld itself with his bare fists and his will of steel, and who... would never, under any circumstances, in any of the nine hells or the seven heavens, in any known or imagined universe, call someone 'baby' while holding a pair of scissors and striking a stylish pose.
[From what my visual sensors are indicating, he now trims the split ends of dark guild lackeys with catchphrases and a subtle hip sway. An… interesting evolution of the local cosmology. Or perhaps a cultural decline of truly cosmic proportions. My data is still inconclusive.] Eos murmured in my mind, and I could feel the malice.
I sighed, feeling a metaphysical headache and a deep, cosmic identity crisis begin to form behind my eyes. Not that I had any real hope or expectation that the celestial spirits of this world would be remotely similar to the legendary and terribly powerful warriors of that other one. But to see the feared and respected guardian of the House of Cancer, the master of souls, transformed into... this? It was, at the very least, a cultural shock of epic proportions.
"Yes... this is definitely not my pantheon anymore," I murmured, with a sigh that carried the weight of an ages-old disappointment and the realisation that, perhaps, I was getting too old for these surprises.
Lucy, who was about to give an enthusiastic order to her ninja-hairdresser-spirit, glanced at me over her shoulder, her eyebrow arched. "Azra'il? Did you say something about... a pantheon?"
"Hm? Oh, nothing, dear. Nothing important. Just thinking out loud," I replied, with my best 'don't worry, I'm not having an existential breakdown, just contemplating the nature of the universe' smile. "I was just thinking that, perhaps, your friend with the scissors could do something about that dreadful fringe on one of Erigor's lackeys. It's so uneven and long it must be seriously impairing his peripheral vision, poor thing. A considerable tactical disadvantage in a battle. And a crime against fashion, which is even worse."
With a light, lazy spin of my wooden jian, I finally prepared to enter combat, letting the memories of gods, saints, a considerably more organised underworld, and a slightly shaken sense of cosmic dignity return to their dark, dusty corner of my overcrowded, baggage-filled soul.
Secrets like that... are best kept well and deeply buried. Just as Hades, for the most part, should have been.
Erza advanced like a furious, armoured comet, her thousand and one swords shooting in all directions like a storm of intelligent steel, cutting, blocking, and occasionally impaling with a perfect, deadly synchronicity that was, I admit with a hint of pride, almost mesmerising to watch. Every movement was precise, every blow fatal, a true work of art of destruction.
Lucy, who seemed to have overcome her initial shock and was now embracing the eccentricity of her spirits, tried to keep up, shouting orders to Cancer, who moved with a surprising speed and cutting precision. And me…? I, with the elegance of one who doesn't want to get their nails dirty or expend unnecessary energy, limited myself to sidestepping a hapless Eisenwald lackey who flew in my direction like an out-of-control human spinning top, after having the terrible, lamentable bad luck of crossing the path of a particularly annoyed Erza with an excess of swords at her disposal. He whizzed past my ear with a high-pitched scream and splattered against a wall with a final, dull thud.
"Ugh… That woman fights as if tomorrow has been cancelled due to a lack of survivors and she's in a terrible hurry to get home and read her favourite novel," I commented, with a reluctant admiration I would never admit to her out loud.
I positioned myself calmly in the midst of the unfolding chaos, still holding my wooden jian in one hand, with the relaxed posture of someone holding a useless umbrella in the middle of a hurricane, just observing the patterns, the openings, the general incompetence of our opponents.
"Well… I suppose it's my turn to play a little. The cleaning up won't do itself, will it?"
With a slight push, which barely kicked up any dust, my figure vanished for a fraction of a second and reappeared instantly beside one of the Eisenwald mages, a large, muscular chap who was about to cast some particularly clumsy rock spell in Lucy's direction. And, without the slightest ceremony, without any warning, with the same naturalness as one asks for another cup of tea, I gave him a magical, but inverted, tap with the enchanted blade of my jian, right on the nape of his neck. The poor sod, who probably expected an epic fight and a dramatic exchange of blows, just spun in the air like a dizzy pigeon in an existential crisis, his eyes rolling back in their sockets, and fell flat on the ground at Lucy's feet, completely and utterly knocked out. Simple. Clean. Efficient. And rather anticlimactic, to his despair, I imagine.
Lucy's eyes widened when she saw me take down another Eisenwald mage with a dry, silent, and seemingly harmless blow from my old wooden sword, which, frankly, should have been retired by now with a medal of honour, a considerable lifetime pension, and perhaps private health care with cover for splinters and termites. "H-how did you...? That sword of yours… it's just for training, isn't it?!" she asked, her voice thick with a mixture of the purest astonishment, admiration, and what seemed to be a sudden, deep identity crisis about what was or was not possible in the world of magic and bladed weapons.
I approached her and spun the blade with an almost sensual laziness, the dark wood emitting a low, soft hum in the air before I planted it firmly on the ground again with a thud that seemed strangely final.
"Look, Lucy, darling..." I began, arching an eyebrow and giving her my best, most enigmatic smile, the one that, according to Eos, usually preceded a particularly dense philosophical comment or a tasteless taunt. "It's not the weapon, be it a legendary sword forged in the heart of a dying star or a simple, stubborn piece of wood, that makes the true swordsman…"
I tilted my head slightly towards her, my voice now so low and soft it sounded like a dangerous secret whispered in the middle of the battle, a veiled promise. "...but rather how one wields said piece. And I, modestly, am absurdly, almost supernaturally, skilled at wielding things that... aren't always swords, if you catch my meaning."
I took another step towards her, a slow, calculated movement that broke her guard. My blue eyes shone with that predatory, intensely amused glint that only appeared when I was about to cause an emotional breakdown in someone for pure and simple sport, to alleviate the boredom. "Shall I show you?"
Lucy froze. Literally. Her entire body went rigid as if she'd been hit by Gray's ice magic. Her pupils dilated, her whole face turned a vivid shade of red that rivalled Erza's hair, and her expression was that of someone who has just discovered that their pet goldfish was, in fact, a disguised demon lord planning to conquer the world from its fishbowl. Even Cancer, the summoned celestial spirit, with his scissors and his 'baby' attitude, stood still for an instant, as if time had paused in a moment of pure, collective second-hand embarrassment.
"A-A-AZRA'IL!!" Lucy finally choked out, her voice a high-pitched, panicked squeak. "I-I'M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL! A-AND WE'RE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BATTLE, FOR THE LOVE OF THE CELESTIAL SPIRITS!"
"Relax, Lucy, don't be so literal... It was merely a demonstration of versatility..." I gave a sly wink, my smile widening at her reaction, which was exactly what I had expected. "And neither am I. On most days, at least. But sometimes life, in its infinite and creative wisdom, convinces us to try new things and broaden our horizons."
Happy, who was floating nearby and hadn't missed a second of the interaction, let out a long, drawn-out "Ooooohhhh" full of mischievous implications, looking at once shocked, confused, and intensely entertained, like someone watching a forbidden daytime soap opera on a cosmic gossip channel they shouldn't be watching.
It was at that exact instant that the temperature around us dropped by about ten degrees. Literally. A sudden, piercing cold that had absolutely nothing to do with Gray's magic or the onset of winter.
I felt the scarlet aura, charged with a dangerous energy and an almost palpable irritation, form behind me before I even needed to turn. Ah, yes. What opportune timing. Erza. The jealous Titania. Who, to my surprise, seemed to have finished her own clean-up on the other side of the station.
Her Heaven's Wheel Armour swords, which I had imagined were all busy slicing up enemies, were now trembling subtly in the air around her, like furious guard dogs, growling and ready to be unleashed with a single, simple command, a 'go on, beat the stuffing out of that lupine mage and turn her into confetti'.
Without even flinching, with a frightening precision, she, with a swift and furious movement of her hand, pointed at one of the last Eisenwald mages still standing in front of her and, with a magical force that was pure contained irritation and poorly disguised jealousy, she launched him with her sword like a runaway, screaming missile, directly in my direction.
"OI. HOW RUDE AND LACKING IN EMOTIONAL CONTROL." I ducked with a smooth, elegant spin, the unfortunate chap's body whizzing over my head and splattering against a wall with a dull thud that must have broken a few bones and, possibly, his will to live. I stood up, brushing imaginary dust from my shoulder, a mocking smile on my lips.
"I CAN HEAR YOU, AZRA'IL WEISS!!" Erza's voice boomed from the other side of the station, laden with a thunder that promised retaliation, a long talk about 'boundaries', and probably a night sleeping on the sofa. And, knowing her, the sofa would probably be a damp, cold cave at the top of the highest, most frozen mountain in Fiore.
"I know, Red. That's precisely why I said it," I replied with a little smile of one who loves, adores, and lives to play with danger, especially when the danger has scarlet hair, a thing for armour, and an adorably transparent jealousy.
Lucy, by this point, was rooted to the spot, covering her red, shame-filled face with her hands, probably wishing the earth would open up and swallow her away from this extremely embarrassing situation, preferably to another dimension. Poor thing. So young, so innocent, so... caught in the middle of a hurricane of complex emotions.
"Go, Cancer! Cut down everyone still standing!" she shouted, her voice muffled by her hands, finally returning to the battle, perhaps to avoid having to look at me or the furious Erza.
The hairdresser-spirit, with a "Yo, baby~", happily returned to action. And he trimmed. A lot.
As Cancer emerged like a whirlwind of blades, scissors, and precise cuts, making the last of the Eisenwald mages look like regretful clients of a particularly aggressive beauty salon with a terrible customer service policy, Erza was already advancing again, shining as if she were a walking constellation in berserker mode. Her anger was now fully and, much more productively, focused on the remaining enemies, but I knew, oh, how I knew, that every blow she dealt, every enemy she turned into mincemeat, was, in a certain, beautiful way, for me.
Her movements, if that were even possible, were even more impetuous. More aggressive. More... passionate, in a violent way. Her swords spun around her like metallic moons in a gravitational fury, each attack coming with the weight of someone who wasn't just fighting generic dark guild mages… but against an internal, personal, and almost palpable irritation that had a name, hair as white as snow, cute ears, and a dubious taste for flirting at inopportune moments.
And I, the adorable and completely innocent source of all that productive irritation, just watched, with a smirk, savouring the glorious chaos.
"You're sharper than usual today, Red…" I murmured, dodging another mage who came at me like a comet of pure despair. "What's wrong? Did I sour your mood? Or is it just the pure thrill of combat making you shine so brightly?"
The question was, of course, entirely and deliciously rhetorical. Because the answer was in her eyes. Every time Erza glanced at me out of the corner of her eye while cutting a path through the enemies like a true and terrifying scarlet reaper, the glint in her brown eyes gained that unmistakable touch of 'if we weren't in the middle of a magical terrorist attack that threatens the lives of hundreds of innocent people, I would throw you through the window of this building, just to teach you, once and for all, not to flirt with other girls in front of me, you unbearable and irresistible white wolf'.
Just because, minutes earlier, I had had the audacity to flirt, in a completely innocent and educational manner, with poor Lucy. With class, of course. Entirely in jest. It was just a well-placed taunt to destabilise the poor blonde and, perhaps, test a few theories. Nothing more. (At least that's what I told myself, while ignoring Eos's analysis of my hormonal fluctuations.)
But for Erza, the Titania, the protector, the... well, the Erza, with her code of honour and her confused, intense feelings? Apparently, it was a cardinal sin. Betrayal. Blasphemy. Eternal damnation. And the punishment, I was absolutely certain, would be sleeping in the doghouse for a month.
What can I say? Life is full of calculated risks and, occasionally, unexpected rewards. Some people fight for justice. Others for honour and glory. Others still, for power and domination.
Erza, at that exact, glorious moment? Ah, she was fighting with the contained fury of wanting to beat me until I apologised and promised never to look at another woman again. And the unfortunate and entirely forgettable members of Eisenwald who had the terrible bad luck to be in the way… well, they were, to my great and secret entertainment, becoming the statistics of a lovers' tiff that wasn't even, officially, a lovers' tiff yet. What an absolutely delightful day. And I still had hopes of getting some tea before nightfall. Optimistic, I know.
The last Eisenwald mage, a chap with a particularly offensive moustache that I was hoping Cancer would trim, fell with a dull thud that echoed through the now-silent hall, a sound more dramatic and final than the last act of a tragic opera. The blade of Erza's sword, one of the many she controlled, still vibrated in the air beside him, a low, deadly hum, the aura of her magic slowly dissipating, like the heat from a dying fire.
But the look in her eyes was one of pure, absolute, irritated boredom, the typical expression of someone who expected a decent challenge to vent their frustration and received only a bunch of incompetent extras.
I, of course, remained leaning against a pillar that, by a true miracle of architecture or sheer luck, was still standing, spinning my wooden sword in my hand as if it were a stick of dubious humour, the picture of calm and disinterest.
"That was… disappointingly easy," I commented, stretching my arms lazily, a yawn forming on my lips, which was probably the worst thing I could have done at that moment. "Frankly, I finished my part, the two or three who dared to approach me, about ten minutes ago. But I kept pretending to be busy, so as not to hurt anyone's feelings or steal all the limelight from our main star. Consider it an act of pure and absolute generosity on my part."
Erza ignored me completely. Which, considering her normal reaction would be to threaten me with some form of creative, painful physical violence, probably involving being tied to a log, was practically a pat on my head, a 'good job, girl, keep it up' whispered in my ear. A remarkable progress and, I must say, a slightly disappointing one in our relationship.
With a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire battle and her unresolved frustration, she deactivated her armour, returning to her normal form with a faint magical glow and an almost imperceptible metallic click. The magnificent and frightening Heaven's Wheel Armour disappeared into thousands of shimmering particles of golden light, and Erza leaned momentarily on one knee, panting, the battle's adrenaline finally starting to give way to physical and magical exhaustion.
"I used... too much magic driving here," she murmured, more to herself than to us, her breathing still ragged, a lock of scarlet hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. "I can't continue in this all-out attack mode. I need to conserve energy for the real enemy. For Erigor."
"Best you do, darling," I shrugged, with a smirk that was pure provocation. "If you used any more of that flashy, sparkly magic of yours, you'd end up blowing up the entire train station… again. And, look at that, what a miracle, this time it wouldn't even be Natsu's fault. He'd be so disappointed to lose the credit this time."
Erza shot a narrow, tired look in my direction, one that promised a very, very serious talk and probably a few veiled threats later, when she'd regained her strength, but she was too exhausted to threaten me with immediate physical violence. A victory for me. Small, insignificant, almost unnoticeable, but still, a delicious and satisfying moral victory.
Lucy approached us, picking up one of her golden keys from the floor with still-slightly-trembling hands, her breath catching, her face smudged with dust and an expression of one who had aged about ten years in the last two hours. "Okay… that was intense. Very, very intense. How many mages does this dark guild have, anyway?! Do they never end? It's like a magical cockroach infestation."
"Fewer by an army now, apparently," I replied with a smug smile, gesturing with my chin towards the now-peaceful battlefield, covered in moaning, unconscious bodies, and in some cases, with very interesting haircuts, courtesy of Cancer. "A little more and we'll have to seriously consider opening a magical funeral parlour as a profitable side business for Fairy Tail. The market potential, considering our style of work, is… considerable. We could even offer discount packages for enemy guilds."
But, despite my bravado, my dark humour, and the apparent resolution of the combat, not everything was settled. I sighed, closing my eyes for an instant and feeling the faint but persistent pulse of the Lullaby's dark, dangerous magic still lingering near the station. He was out there.
(...I cannot, under any circumstances, let that lunatic with a death-flute, an ego the size of a mountain, and the pretensions of a performance artist run free, especially with the Guild Masters gathered like sitting ducks in a pond, waiting to be picked off.) The fun, unfortunately, was over. For now. It was time to get serious again. A little. Just enough to solve the problem.
The real hunt was about to begin. And I, to my deep and eternal annoyance and to the ruin of my plans for a quiet afternoon, seemed to be right in the middle of it. Again. As always. What a tiresome life.