Walking through the ruins of an ancient temple that was, quite clearly, in the midst of an active and dramatic structural suicide was, for me, only slightly more irritating than walking through a crowded market on an interdimensional holiday. And believe me, I've done both, and I can tell you the market is considerably worse, owing to the poor quality background music and the merchants' tendency to try and sell you cursed relics as if they were mere souvenirs. Chunks of the ceiling the size of particularly obese wild boars plummeted with a regularity that would be almost admirable if it weren't so… predictable.
They disintegrated into fine, harmless dust before they even came close to me, repelled by an invisible barrier of Qi that I maintained with less effort than it would take to blink or to formulate a sarcastic comment on the poor quality of the local engineering. The air was heavy, an olfactory cocktail of fractured stone, the dust of centuries being disturbed, of dying magic that smelt of ozone and regret, and, somewhere beneath my feet, the unmistakable odour of ice, fire, and a considerable amount of unresolved testosterone. Typical of a Fairy Tail adventure.
Finally, I reached an opening in the floor, an irregular and uninviting hole that led down to what appeared to be the basement or, perhaps, a VIP entrance to hell. I leapt without the slightest hesitation, landing softly, like an autumn leaf, amidst a scene that was, in its purest essence, a three-ring circus in full swing. On one side, Erza and Lucy were panting near the remains of a broken crystal mechanism that had probably been important a few minutes ago. On the other, the one who was probably Lyon, Gray's ice rival, was on his knees, defeated and looking as if his entire world had just imploded. And, right in the centre, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Natsu and Gray were in the middle of a post-victory argument that looked to be mere seconds away from becoming an irrational fight over who had been "cooler" during the battle that had just ended.
With a sigh that carried the weight of millennia of putting up with this sort of childish behaviour, I leaned against a wall that seemed minimally stable, crossing my arms to better appreciate the spectacle of immaturity. Erza, in her shining armour, noticed my arrival, and her expression, previously tense from battle, got straight to the point.
"Azra'il! Report! Where is Zalty?! Did you defeat him?" her voice was that of a commander awaiting a briefing, even though she was clearly exhausted.
I shrugged, a lazy gesture, as an equally lazy smile spread slowly across my face. "Let's just say we had… a small creative and philosophical disagreement on the nature of time and space. She decided she'd rather redecorate the temple using explosions and make a hasty exit. Rest assured, the masked threat is no longer a problem. At least not for now."
Lucy, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, blinked, the exhaustion on her face giving way to a confusion that was almost comical. "Wait, wait… 'she'? Did you say 'she'? Zalty was a woman? I didn't notice!"
My smile widened, now becoming deliberately, almost sadistically, mischievous and provocative, as my eyes discreetly fixed on Erza's reaction. "Oh, yes. Entirely. Turns out that under that hideous mask, that second-rate villain persona, there was… a woman." I paused dramatically, my gaze turning wistful, as if I were reliving a particularly pleasant memory. "And a very fragrant woman, at that. An excellent perfume. Jasmine, sandalwood, a hint of amber… A surprisingly refined taste for someone who dressed like an exotic scarecrow."
I continued, savouring every word and ignoring the temperature which, for some strange reason, seemed to have suddenly dropped a good ten degrees right beside me, exactly where Erza was standing. "And her voice! Ah, her voice. When she finally got truly angry and stopped forcing that deep, affected tone of a generic amateur theatre villain, her real voice was surprisingly melodic. A bit high-pitched from the rage, of course, understandably so, but… at the risk of sounding unprofessional, I'd even say it was… sexy." I touched my chin with a finger, thoughtfully, letting the implication hang in the air. "Honestly, it made me terribly curious. I kept wondering what the face under that ridiculous mask looked like. Whether it matched the delicious perfume and the charming voice, you know?"
Lucy looked at me with an expression that was a perfect mixture of shock, disbelief, and a hint of "are you being serious right now?". "You… you were analysing the enemy's perfume and voice in the middle of a deadly fight?!"
Before I could reply that yes, obviously, it was crucial to collect all possible data on an opponent, including their fragrance preferences and their charm potential, I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my side, like the pinch of a giant, armoured, and very, very jealous crab. I looked down and saw, out of the corner of my eye, Erza's gloved hand quickly moving away from my ribs. With a surprising speed for someone who had just fought an intense battle, and with her face a shade of red so deep it rivalled her own hair, she had given me a powerful, discreet, and murderously intentioned pinch.
"Ow!" My reaction was more one of genuine shock at her audacity than of actual pain. I stared at her, an eyebrow arched in pure perplexity. "What's your problem, woman? Lost your composure, Titania? Resorting to stealth attacks and pinches? How dishonourable."
Erza hissed, her teeth clenched, refusing to look at me directly, her gaze fixed on some indefinite point on the opposite wall. "Focus. On. The. Mission. Azra'il. And stop talking about other women. It's… inappropriate."
Lucy, who was watching the entire interaction with wide eyes, whispered to herself, at a volume everyone could hear. "Is Erza… jealous of the enemy? What the hell is wrong with everyone today?"
Erza, upon hearing Lucy's whisper, turned to the celestial mage with a tense, forced smile that was infinitely more frightening than any of her genuine glares of fury. "I'm perfectly fine, Lucy! Just making sure all team members are properly… focused and aware of the gravity of the situation!"
I rubbed the spot she'd pinched, which would probably leave an interesting mark later. A genuine and deep sense of amusement, the kind of pure joy that only the emotional chaos of others can provide, bubbled up inside me. (Ah, so that's it. It's not just irritation at my lack of focus. It's jealousy. Pure, primitive, unfiltered, and absolutely adorable jealousy. Delicious.)
With a new and refreshed interest, I turned my attention back to the main drama, which seemed to have reached an equally tense pause. The truth about Ur's sacrifice had been revealed by Lyon. Natsu, impatient and with his complete lack of sensitivity for dramatic moments, tried to move forward when he heard a strange sound.
"Enough of this chatter! The ice over there is cracking!"
It wasn't the sound of stone breaking or of ordinary ice shattering. It was deeper, more organic, like the cracking of giant bones being forced to move after an age-long slumber. Thin cracks, like dark veins, began to spread across the surface of what remained of the Iced Shell. And the cold in the basement, which was already considerable, intensified drastically, becoming a physical presence, a pain that stole the breath and burned the skin.
Even the boisterous Natsu was stopped, not by a blow, but by the deathly glare Erza shot him. I, on the other hand, unable to resist, let out a low chuckle, a sound of pure entertainment, which earned me an even more lethal glare from the redhead. How fun.
And then, with a deep, resonant fracturing sound that echoed not just in the cavern, but in the soul, the ice exploded outwards.
A crushing magical pressure, as heavy as a mountain, filled the basement. It was so dense that the air seemed to have turned to liquid lead, suffocating, making even the act of breathing difficult. A colossal shadow rose from the wreckage of its icy tomb. Deliora. The Demon of Destruction. I had seen demons before, in countless shapes and sizes. But this one… this one was different. It was a mountain of dark flesh and solidified hatred, with twisted muscles that looked like miniature mountain ranges and eyes that were completely empty of everything except an infinite, primordial desire for pure and simple annihilation.
The panic was instantaneous and palpable. Lucy took a step back, her hands trembling so much she could barely hold her golden keys, pure terror etched on her face. Gray's face was a pale mask of a re-lived childhood trauma and a grim determination, his eyes fixed on the monster that haunted his worst nightmares. Natsu, in a contrast that bordered on insanity, was now vibrating with pure, unadulterated joy, a manic, toothy grin on his face. "Finally! A real opponent! I'm all fired up!" What an idiot.
Erza, as expected, immediately assumed a combat stance, her sword in hand, her exhaustion forgotten, prepared to die fighting, to place herself between the demon and her friends. Noble. And predictable.
I was the only one who remained completely calm, leaning against the wall, still rubbing the side where Erza had pinched me.
[Alert: High-class demonic entity detected. Residual Ethernano levels collapsing in the immediate area…] Eos began her narration of the apocalypse, her calm, clinical voice a strange and almost comical dissonance amidst the general panic and suicidal excitement.
(Eos, please disable the obvious threat alerts. I have eyes. Run a full scan of vital energy flow and magical structural integrity on our big, threatening friend over there instead. And be quick about it,) I ordered mentally, with a slight tone of impatience.
While the others prepared for the fight of their lives, I activated my Six Eyes. The mundane world of shapes and colours instantly fell away. The dark basement dissolved into a sea of energy, a vibrant ocean of power, intent, and emotion.
Erza's aura was a scarlet sun, pulsing and burning with immense power, a will of steel, and a jealous fury that, I noted with secret amusement, was still smouldering in my direction like a small, persistent flame. Natsu's was a chaotic and uncontrolled furnace of pure, simple excitement and raw fire. Gray's, a glacier fractured by years of trauma, but solid, cold, and unshakeable in its pain-born determination.
And Deliora… Ah, Deliora. The great threat. The demon of destruction. He was, seen through my eyes, a beautiful and imposing… sandcastle about to be swallowed by the high tide.
Viewed this way, his massive and terrifyingly intimidating form was just a hollow façade, an empty shell. His life energy was a tenuous thread, a nearly extinguished candle flame, flickering pathetically within a gigantic, imposing structure. The pathways of his magic, the channels that should have been raging rivers of raw, uncontrollable demonic power, were corroded, collapsed, broken, dead. It was a puppet whose strings had been cut, whose puppeteer had long since departed. A magical muscle memory, an echo of power.
[Full analysis processed, Azra'il,] Eos's voice sounded, calm and efficient, confirming what my eyes already saw with a clarity that bordered on the comical. [Target's vital energy is currently at 0.01% of its estimated original capacity, and in exponential freefall. The integrity of its internal magical structure is completely and irreversibly degraded. Probable cause: prolonged exposure to an entropy-based sealing magic and the continuous transfer of the caster's life force. Conclusion, to simplify for your limited biological comprehension capabilities: the target is, for all practical purposes, clinically dead. The current physical form is merely a residual echo, a conditioned reflex of its former glory. And frankly, rather pathetic.]
I sighed, and a wave of genuine, deep disappointment washed over me. "So much work, so much drama, so much shouting… and all for a creature that's been dead for years," I muttered aloud, with the deeply disappointed tone of someone who has meticulously dressed up for a party only to find out it has been cancelled.
Lucy looked at me, terror still plastered on her face, now mixed with utter confusion. "Dead?! What are you talking about, Azra'il?! He's huge, terrifying, and right in front of us! Look out!"
As if to prove my point, and how ironic life could be, Deliora opened its colossal maw, which could have swallowed a small boat, to let out a roar that should have shaken the heavens, that should have made the very mountain tremble. But the sound that came from its demonic throat died before it was born, turning into a pathetic, wet hiss, like that of a punctured balloon.
He looked at his own colossal hands, the ones that had once brought destruction to entire kingdoms, as if he didn't recognise them. And then, with an almost graceful slowness, he began to disintegrate. Cracks of a cold, blue light, like the veins on an autumn leaf, spread across his gigantic body. And he dissolved into a whirlwind of dust and fine particles of magic, which danced in the air for a moment before vanishing completely into nothing, leaving only silence behind.
The shock that followed was palpable. Lyon was on his knees, dumbfounded, horror and understanding finally crashing down on him like an avalanche.
"So… the ice mage, Ur, didn't just seal him," I reflected aloud, a rare and genuine glimmer of respect in my voice. "She killed him. Slowly, patiently, over ten long years. She used her own body, her own life, time itself as her weapon, draining the demon's life force with the constancy of her own sacrificial existence. Hmph. An elegant strategy. Brutal, but undeniably elegant. And terribly sad."
The dust of Deliora settled on the floor. The mission was, for all intents and purposes, complete. Erza was the first to break the silence, her commander's voice returning, though still a little shaken. "It's over."
I sketched a yawn, boredom returning with full force now that the brief moment of interest had passed. "Great. So, can we finally go home? I'm terribly tired of stone, ice, dead demons, and other people's family drama. And apparently," – I cast a deliberately provocative and subtext-laden glance at Erza, who was still trying to process everything – "the company around here is very… 'prickly' and prone to unjustified pinches."
The stubborn blush returned to Erza's cheeks. She shot daggers at me with her eyes, opening her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but it was Lucy who intervened, the concern on her face overcoming her exhaustion.
"But… what about the curse?" she asked, her voice apprehensive. "We defeated Deliora… or what was left of him. But does that mean the villagers are cured? The purple moon is still out there."
Everyone fell silent. The victory suddenly seemed incomplete. Gray looked at his hands, Lyon was lost in his own regretful thoughts, and Natsu, for the first time, seemed to have run out of an obvious enemy to punch, which left him confused.
Erza, ever the leader, straightened her shoulders, her composure returning. "Lucy's right. Our mission doesn't end until we have confirmation that the villagers' problem is solved. Let's return to the village."
The walk back through the temple ruins and the silent forest was… strange. The air felt lighter without Deliora's magical pressure, but the tension within our group remained. I deliberately slowed my pace to walk beside Erza.
"You know," I whispered, my voice just a breath of air near her ear, "for a simple pinch, you have a lot of strength in those fingers. It shows… passion."
The only reply I received was the sharp sound of her armour creaking as she clenched her fists tightly and, visibly, walked faster, almost fleeing.
A genuine, satisfied, and perhaps slightly cruel smile spread across my face. The victory over the time mage had been… fun, in its own way. But provoking the legendary Titania, the Queen of the Fairies, my eternal Little Red, to the point of such transparent, such juvenile, and, frankly, such cute jealousy?
Ah, that… that was first-class entertainment.