Fairy Tail, as an institution, had always been noisy. A fact as constant as the rotation of the planets or Natsu's tendency to set things on fire out of pure and simple excitement. Even on bad days, in moments of defeat or sadness, there were always laughs that were too loud, stupid and entirely unnecessary brawls that escalated into mass destruction, too many people talking at once a chaos of life that was its most authentic signature. That guild, I discovered with a mixture of horror and fascination, simply did not know how to exist in silence.
Therefore, the silence that greeted us when we finally crossed the limits of Magnolia, after a long and tiring walk back, was… frustrating. Unsettling. And, to be honest, a very bad omen.
The guild building was still standing, which, considering recent events and the general constitution of its members, was in itself a small and impressive architectural miracle. The walls, which normally sported mission posters and, occasionally, a sleeping Natsu stuck to them, now displayed deep cracks. The windows, shattered. Black marks of destruction still stained the façade like tears. The floor was covered in the debris of tables, chairs, and probably someone's pride.
And then I saw them.
Erza and the group that had returned before us. Their image in the gloom of the destroyed hall was a living tableau of defeat. Several mages were injured, scattered around what was left of the great hall. Some were leaning on each other, limping. Others, like Macao, whose arm was wrapped in thick, blood-stained bandages, were being tended to with makeshift care.
I saw Elfman with several cuts and superficial wounds on his body, while his sister Lisanna, with a concentrated and worried expression, was treating some injuries on his face. Even Gray, who would normally show off his wounds with an air of defiance and a complete lack of clothing, was there, fully dressed, which in itself was an alarming sign that the situation was, in fact, very serious. And Cana… Cana seemed strangely, almost supernaturally, sober, her eyes focused and without their usual alcoholic glint. That was, perhaps, the most terrifying sign of all. There were low murmurs, stifled groans of pain, and that collective tension, heavy as a shroud, of those who still don't know if the worst is over… or if it's just taking a tea break before returning with full force.
My gaze instinctively swept the place, searching for a single silhouette amidst the desolation.
Erza was there. Standing, as always, in the middle of the chaos, like an anchor in a storm. Her armour was scorched and scratched in several places, her long red hair, loose, seeming darker in the dim light, and her expression… it was too hard, too closed, even by her standards of rigidity and self-control. There was a contained fury there, but also a shadow of… helplessness.
But, even with all the destruction, with all the wounded, there was someone crucial missing.
A cold, uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach.
(Eos,) I thought, the question forming in my mind, although I already knew, with a terrible clarity, the answer that would come. (Scan for magical signatures. Confirm the absence of a specific one.)
[Confirmed, Azra'il,] Eos's voice replied in my mind, devoid of any emotion or drama, which made the news all the more cold and brutal. [The magical signature of Makarov Dreyar has not been detected in the vicinity of this location.]
Brilliant. Marvellous. Perfect. An excellent start to the day.
I left Lucy with Natsu and Happy, the two boys now stuck to her as if they could, with their mere presence, prevent the world from crumbling any further, and walked with firm steps towards what was left of the destroyed bar, where Mirajane was helping to settle a younger mage, who was groaning in pain, onto a makeshift stretcher made of two chairs. She was different. This wasn't the smiling, teasing Mirajane with a mischievous glint in her eyes. There was something more rigid in her movements, a silent focus, a cold efficiency that I had seen before, in other lives, in other wars… in people who had been forced to learn too early that the world is not always kind, and that sometimes, the only thing left is duty.
"Mira," I called, my voice direct, without beating around the bush.
She looked up at once, like a soldier on alert. Her large blue eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw a crack in her façade of an efficient nurse: deep exhaustion, a gnawing worry, and fear.
"Azra'il," she replied, forcing a smile so fragile it wouldn't have fooled even a child. "You're back. And you brought Lucy back."
I didn't waste time with formalities. The time for that was over. "Where is Master Makarov?"
Her smile, which was already fragile, wavered. It didn't fall completely, Mirajane was too strong for that, but it visibly cracked at the edges.
"He… he was taken to Porlyusica's," she said in a low voice, as if the words themselves were too heavy to be spoken aloud. "It was all very fast. All in a hurry."
My body froze. My mind, however, raced.
"What, exactly, happened?" I asked, and my voice was the calm before a storm, already knowing that the answer would not be simple and would probably give me yet another reason to want to break things.
Mirajane took a deep breath before speaking, as if forcing herself to arrange her own traumatic thoughts into a logical sequence. "When we invaded their headquarters in Oak Town…" she began, her voice trembling but firm, "Phantom Lord was already prepared. It wasn't just an ordinary defence. They… they wanted us to enter. It was a trap." She clenched her fingers tightly on the fabric of the makeshift stretcher. "The Master went alone to the top of the guild, to face their master, José Porla. He told me to stay with Erza, to look after the other mages. And we were doing well, we were beating most of the Phantom Lord mages. But then, suddenly… we heard a loud crash, and we saw… we saw the Master's body fall, from the top of the guild to the middle of the hall, like a… like a rag doll. Limp. Without any magic." She shuddered at the memory. "Master Makarov… was hit by surprise by a strange magic. A magic from one of their Element Four, I suspect it was the mage named Aria. It was like… it was as if it were draining the very essence of the Master's magic, sucking everything out of him, leaving him too weak to stand, to even react."
That explained a lot. A draining magic. A humiliating, strategic, and cowardly way to defeat a mage of immense power. Effective.
"Porlyusica said it's not a common draining magic," Mirajane continued, her eyes lost in the memory. "It's something more… perverse. She's trying to stabilise his magic, but…" her voice failed for an instant, the pain and fear showing through her façade of control, "…it won't be quick. She doesn't know if…" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
I nodded slowly, processing the information, a coldness spreading through my veins. (Eos, analysis and confirmation.)
[If the mage in question is indeed Aria, known as Aria of the Great Sky, his magic is known as "Wind of the Void". It is not a direct drain, Azra'il, but a magic that forces the uncontrolled release of the target's Ethernano into the external environment. In simpler terms that your organic brain can process, it's like squeezing a sponge to the last drop, removing all its contents and leaving only the dry, useless husk,] Eos explained. [It is an attack that aims not just to defeat, but to… empty the victim.]
(So, it's not something that can be solved by simply breaking a few bones or tearing off a few of the caster's limbs. What a shame. And what an unnecessary complication,) I thought, feeling a pang of genuine irritation.
"Thank you, Mira," I said, with a sincerity that surprised her a little. "Good work keeping everyone safe so far. Keep looking after them. Get some rest, if you can."
She just nodded, her shoulders slumping a little, and I moved away. My gaze, however, followed hers, which discreetly shifted to Lucy, who was now talking in a low voice with Erza a few metres away. There was a silent worry in Mira's eyes, a worry I understood perfectly.
I walked towards them with determined steps. The moment of truth, of responsibility, had come for our newest, and most problematic, member.
Erza's gaze narrowed slightly when she looked at Lucy, not with anger, but with that intense focus of someone analysing an important piece on the chessboard of the approaching war. She knew something still didn't add up.
"Erza," I began, without beating around the bush. "Lucy. We need to explain everything to the guild. Now."
Lucy swallowed hard, her shoulders tensing even more.
"Phantom Lord did not attack Fairy Tail for territory, or for some old, stupid guild rivalry," I continued, my voice clear and resonant enough for all the nearby members to hear. "Their target, from the very beginning, has always been, and continues to be, Lucy."
A heavy murmur, like the growl of a wounded beast, spread through the guild, every gaze turning to the poor blonde girl.
Lucy took a deep breath, and I saw her fingers tremble slightly as she forced herself to speak, to find her courage amidst the guilt. "My father… my name is Lucy Heartfilia," she said, her voice low but clear. "And my father, Jude Heartfilia, he… he hired Phantom Lord. He put a bounty on my head, to have me brought back home by force." She looked at the shocked and wounded faces around her, and the tears finally began to stream down her face. "It was because of me. The attack on the guild, what happened to the Master… all of it… it's my fault."
The silence that followed her confession was thick. Heavy. The kind of silence that crushes the chest and freezes the soul. I watched the reactions spread across the faces of the guild members: anger, yes. Shock. Disbelief. But, beneath it all, something else was beginning to emerge.
And then… Mirajane, who had stood up and quietly approached, broke the spell.
She didn't say anything at first. There was no lecture, no empty word of comfort. Just, with a fluid and maternal movement, she enveloped Lucy in a firm, protective hug, the kind of hug that doesn't ask for permission but simply imposes itself like a wall against the world's pain. Lucy froze for a second, surprised, and then completely broke down, sobbing, clutching the fabric of Mirajane's dress as if it were the only solid thing in that moment, the only anchor in her sea of guilt.
"No," Mirajane's voice sounded, with a firm gentleness that echoed through the entire guild, silencing all the murmurs. "It is not, and never will be, your fault, Lucy."
Lucy was sobbing convulsively on her shoulder.
"Fairy Tail is a family," Mirajane continued, her voice now stronger, clearer, each word a promise, an oath. "And a family protects its own. Always. No matter the reason. No matter the price. And, above all, no matter who is on the other side, trying to tear us apart. You are one of us. And that is all that matters."
Natsu, who had been quiet until then, crossed his arms, and I saw the fire, literal and metaphorical, dancing in his eyes. "If a bunch of idiots think they can hurt us, that they can kidnap one of ours and get away with it…" he snarled, a low, dangerous sound. "…then they're in for the lesson of their lives. And the final exam will be painful."
And beside him, Erza clenched her fists tightly, the sound of her knuckles cracking audible even from a distance. And her aura, previously tense and worried, changed. It was no longer just anger. It was decision. It was the cold, silent promise of an inevitable retribution.
I watched everything in silence. And, inside, I smiled. Phantom Lord, in their arrogance and greed, thought they had found a weakness in Fairy Tail. They thought that by attacking our newest link, our family would break. Poor, foolish, and predictable idiots. What they had really done… was just to remind Fairy Tail why, exactly, they were feared throughout the continent.
(Eos,) I thought, feeling that cold, dangerous calm settle in my chest again, the calm that always precedes the storm that is me. (Prepare to collect data. A lot of data. This will not end with a simple and tedious apology. The fun is just beginning.)
[Understood, Azra'il,] her voice sounded, cold and precise, but I could detect a note of… anticipation. [The probability of an escalation of violence with mass destruction has just risen to an… extremely high and deliciously inevitable level.]
Perfect. Simply perfect. Finally, I can let off some steam. Phantom Lord has no idea of the misfortune they have just invoked. And I can hardly wait to make the proper introductions.
Fairy Tail was no longer silent.
After the revelation of Phantom Lord's motive, after Lucy's confession and the silent oath of retribution we all made, the guild entered a new state: that of a wounded family licking its wounds, but at the same time, sharpening its claws for the approaching war.
Erza remained standing in the centre of it all, a scarlet sentry, a pillar of determination that refused to fall, even though I could see the lines of exhaustion on her face. Her body, I knew, must still be aching from the battle, but she didn't show it. She didn't relax. She couldn't. Her attentive gaze swept the guild, assessing every wounded member, every need, every shadow of fear. She was Titania, and the guild, in its fragility, was her responsibility.
Lucy was sitting in a corner, near where I had left her with Mirajane. She was still hugging her body, as if trying to protect herself from the world, her eyes red and swollen from crying, the guilt still consuming her. And Mirajane… she didn't leave her side. Not for a second. She no longer smiled, no longer teased. She just sat there, beside the blonde girl, her presence a silent and protective wall. And in that moment, in that atmosphere of pain and uncertainty, Mira's silent presence was worth more than any word of comfort or empty promise. She was Lucy's anchor, the living proof that she was not alone in her guilt.
And I… I watched all of this from a dark, distant corner, my arms crossed over my chest, leaning against a support column that, ironically, looked like it had seen better days and was perhaps as cracked as the guild itself.
Makarov. His absence hung over the guild like an irritating and impossible-to-ignore ghost. A void at the centre of everything. No one said his name out loud; it was almost a taboo, a bad omen. But all of us, without exception, thought of him. Of the grumpy, short old man who had always seemed invincible, indestructible, a force of nature… until, suddenly, he didn't. And that realisation was, perhaps, the deepest wound of all.
It was then that it happened. Not all at once. Not explosively, like Natsu's attacks. No. It began subtly. Perversely.
First, a light, almost imperceptible tremor ran through the guild's floor. So subtle it could have been mistaken for my imagination, or the side effect of the last swig of one of Cana's suspicious drinks. A few people, the more sensitive ones, looked around, frowning, trying to identify the source of that strange vibration.
Then, another. Stronger. More defined.
A deep, low vibration that came from outside, that made the already-cracked guild walls tremble and the loose dust, which we hadn't had time to clean yet, fall from the ceiling in small, ominous grey cascades.
"Did… did you feel that?" Macao asked, his voice low and full of a sudden apprehension.
Before anyone could answer, before we could even process it, the ground truly trembled. With force.
Tables creaked in protest. Bottles, which were still left on some shelves, toppled and shattered on the floor. A deep, muffled rumble echoed in the distance, a sound too long, too heavy, as if something absolutely gigantic, something the size of a small mountain, was moving… was waking up and coming towards us.
"Everyone outside! Now!" Erza's voice sounded, sharp and immediate, breaking the spell of fear that had set in. She didn't shout. She commanded. And in Fairy Tail, when Erza commanded, everyone obeyed.
No one questioned. There was no hesitation. Even the wounded, with groans of pain, got up as best they could, leaning on each other, the survival instinct speaking louder than any pain or exhaustion. We pushed open the damaged guild doors and poured out into the street. The cold night air hit our faces, and what we saw made the world, reality itself, seem… smaller. Ridiculously smaller.
In the large and previously peaceful lake in front of the guild, where Natsu and Gray used to have their aquatic brawls, the water was churning violently, like an ocean in a full-blown storm. And then, something emerged from those murky waters.
A colossal shadow broke the surface, displacing tonnes of water in waves that crashed against the shore with the force of a miniature tsunami, making us retreat. Sharp black towers, massive metal plates that looked forged in the heart of an industrial hell, external gears the size of houses turning with a grotesque, continuous, and deafening sound. Magical runes, of a sick, purple hue, pulsed along the entire structure, illuminating the forming mist with a sinister and supernatural glow.
It was their guild. Or what they called a guild. A mobile fortress, a castle of metal and dark magic that walked on monstrous mechanical legs. The headquarters of Phantom Lord. And it was advancing slowly towards us, majestic and obscene in its arrogance, as if the very concept of subtlety and a discreet approach had been brutally murdered in the design phase.
The lake seethed around its base, the water bubbling with the magical energy that emanated from this monstrosity. The silence that fell over the members of Fairy Tail, over us, the survivors of the first attack, was no longer the weak, wounded silence from before, of the destroyed guild. It was a heavy, absolute silence, the kind that precedes something irreversible. The silence of shock.
"...Is… is this real? Or have I had too much to drink and am I having a very, very bad hallucination?" someone murmured, their voice trembling with disbelief.
I watched the mechanical monstrosity with a cold calm, analysing its defences, its weak points, its crude but effective design. (Eos, begin the scan,) I thought, my eyes already narrowed.
"It's real, alright," I replied, my own voice low and cutting in the night's silence, each word a shard of ice. "And they haven't just declared war. They've brought the war itself to our doorstep. To our home."
The fortress continued its slow, relentless advance, with an insulting confidence, like a big, stupid predator that knows its prey is too wounded, too cornered, to be able to flee. Every metre it approached made the ground vibrate again beneath our feet. The few remaining windows in our guild rattled in a frantic and desperate rhythm. The air, already heavy, became even denser, laden with a hostile magic and a promise of mass destruction.
And, on the front of that infernal structure, right in the centre, in a prominent position, where any minimally sane architect with a shred of aesthetic taste might have placed a statue or something decorative, there was a cannon. A gigantic cannon.
The barrel was obscenely wide, absurdly long, supported by metal rings covered in complex runes that pulsed at irregular intervals with a purple light, like the artificial heart of a mechanical monster. Thick armour plates encased it, and I could feel the defensive magic emanating from each of them, enchanted to resist direct impacts. That, with all the certainty of my vast and tiresome knowledge of interdimensional siege weapons and mass destruction magics, was not designed to hit mere people. That… that had been designed to wipe cities off the map. Or, more specifically, to wipe a certain guild off the map.
Natsu, beside me, took a step forward, his fists clenched, small flames escaping between his fingers, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "They… they're coming HERE?! With… with that?! Those bastards! I'll burn them to ash!"
Erza, ignoring her own injuries, advanced a step as well, standing beside him, no longer just a wounded mage trying to keep order, but Titania in all her contained fury, a commander ready for the final battle. Her presence, even weakened, was a wall.
I watched the fortress attentively. Not just with my eyes, but with my senses, with my soul, feeling the flow of power, the concentration of magic, searching for the weak points. (Eos, report on the structural analysis. Now.)
[Processing… Analysis complete, Azra'il,] Eos's voice sounded, cold and precise, a beacon of logic amidst the imminent chaos. [Preliminary conclusion: the fortress's structure is heavily reinforced with multiple layers of magical metal and intermittent defensive shields. It possesses multiple attack points distributed along its surface, of small and medium calibre. However, the main weapon, the Ethernano convergence cannon, codenamed "Jupiter", is the central focus of its energy. The fortress's power core contains a magical lacrima of gigantic proportions, which directly feeds the cannon. Apparently, they are betting everything on a single, devastating blow.]
Erza, with her own sharp S-Class mage's senses and her battle experience, seemed to reach the same conclusion the exact instant Eos finished speaking. Her eyes, which had been scanning the fortress as a whole, now followed my line of sight, fixing on the pulsating glow of the lacrima visible through an opening within the cannon.
"If they fire that cannon from here…" Lucy began to say, her voice trembling, dread growing in her eyes.
"The guild… our guild won't stand a chance," Erza finished for her, her voice low but laden with a terrible certainty. "And, depending on the power, neither will the part of the city right behind it."
The silence that spread through our ranks this time was different. It was no longer just the shock of the monstrosity's appearance. It was the cold, brutal understanding of what it represented. Phantom Lord hadn't just come to provoke us again. They hadn't come for a simple brawl. They had come with a siege weapon pointed directly at our home, at the head of our family. They had come to erase us from existence.
The fortress advanced a few more metres, its huge metallic legs making the ground tremble, and then it stopped, at a distance that was both safe for it and insultingly threatening to us. The waves in the lake began to calm slowly, as if even the water, nature itself, knew that this was the limit, the final line drawn in the sand. The moment of decision.
The tense silence was broken by a dry, metallic click. A sharp sound, magically amplified by some communication spell, that echoed across the lake like the cocking of a gun. And then, came the voice. An arrogant voice, but something about it was… wrong.
"Khh… khh…" a heavy, laden cough cut through the air before the first words even came. A wet, deep sound, too deep to be ignored, that made us all look at each other. "Cough… cough… "
The nervous murmur of Fairy Tail died instantly, all ears attentive.
The voice returned, drawling, distorted by the artificial echo imposed by the amplification magic, but unmistakably the same as before. "Pathetic… members… of Fairy Tail…" said the voice that was probably Phantom Lord's Master.
The intonation was arrogant out of sheer habit, I supposed, but there was something wrong there. The voice was lower than I remembered hearing in the tower, less imposing. Irregular. Every phrase, every word, seemed to require a conscious effort to leave his throat.
"I see that… against all odds… you are still standing. Khh… cough… "
This time, the sound of the cough was accompanied by something else. A forced clearing of the throat. A silence that lasted a second longer than necessary. And then… an unmistakable, guttural noise, even from a distance, even amplified. The sound of something thick, liquid, being forcefully swallowed.
(Eos,) I thought, without taking my eyes off the central tower of the fortress. (Status of our friend from last time?)
[Auditory signature and breathing pattern analysis complete. Confirmation of a productive cough. High probability of the presence of blood and fluids in the speaker's lungs or throat,] Eos replied with a clinical precision that drew a small, cruel smile from me.
Ah. So it was him. And my little "parting gift" was still having an effect. What wonderful news.
"I am José Porla…" the voice continued, slower now, each word an effort. "Master… of the glorious Phantom Lord guild."
The fortress seemed to respond to its own introduction with a low, threatening rumble, the external gears spinning a little faster, in a cheap show of intimidation. The front cannon, Jupiter, moved a few degrees downwards, like an accusing finger pointed directly at our guild. Not enough to fire, not yet. But it was enough to make it clear, to any idiot present, that it could, at any moment.
"I have not come here… to negotiate territory… or to discuss our past rivalries… Cough… cough… khh… "
This time, the cough was more violent. There was no attempt to hide the sound. It came heavy, wet, followed by a forced, wheezing breath that the magic microphone picked up with grotesque clarity. Someone behind me, perhaps young Romeo, held his breath in a small gasp of fear.
"I have come to take… what is mine by right. What I was paid to retrieve." The air around us seemed to cool by ten degrees. "Lucy Heartfilia."
I felt Lucy stiffen beside me, her entire body becoming a statue of fear and guilt.
"She belongs to the prestigious Heartfilia family. And Phantom Lord has been duly contracted… to take her back home. With or without her consent." There was a brief pause, long enough to be intentional, to let the threat settle. "Should you, stubborn insects, refuse to hand her over… Khh—!"
The cough came more violently this time. Long. Uncontrolled. An agonising sound of someone drowning in their own fluids. I could hear, clearly, even from here, the sound of something being spat out. And I didn't need Eos's confirmation to know what it was. Blood.
"…this fortress… this masterpiece of destruction… will fire."
As if to emphasise his words, the front cannon began to glow with a growing intensity. Not a full glow, not maximum power, not yet. But the purple runes along its entire barrel lit up in sequence, one after another, like a deadly timer, a warning of an execution being slowly prepared.
"The Jupiter lacrima is already fully charged, you fools," José's voice sounded weaker now, tired, but no less venomous, no less full of hatred. "Your pathetic guild… this miserable home of yours… and everything around it… will cease to exist. It will be just a smoking crater. A memory of your insolence."
Natsu took a step forward, flames already exploding from his fists. "YOU BASTARD SON OF A—"
"Hand over Lucy Heartfilia…" José's voice interrupted him, failing mid-sentence, but insisting with a feverish stubbornness. "And I, perhaps, in my infinite generosity… will spare… your insignificant guild."
Another coughing fit. Shorter. But more painful, by the sound of it. "Cough… cough… You… you have very, very little time to decide."
The magic microphone hissed with static for a second. "Choose… wisely, Fairy Tail."
And then, the sound ceased. Abruptly. No echo. No final word of threat. Just the continuous, threatening rumble of the fortress. The contained, pulsating glow of the Jupiter cannon. And the unbearable weight of the threat hanging over each and every one of us.
Lucy was trembling from head to toe beside me, tears streaming silently down her face. "I… I can go…" she began to say, her voice broken by guilt. "If that… if that's enough to save everyone… I…"
"No." Mirajane's voice came out so firm and so cold it cut the air like a blade of ice. She held Lucy's arm with a surprising strength. "Don't even think about it, Lucy. Family doesn't work like that. Family is not for sale, not to be handed over."
And, in front of us, Erza took another step forward, deliberately positioning herself between Lucy and the threatening fortress. Her presence, even wounded and exhausted, was a wall of pure scarlet determination.
I watched all of this in silence. A silence that was purely my own. And my gaze, slowly, rose, past the cannon, past the towers, and fixed on the central command tower of that floating monstrosity.
A slow, cold, and dangerously, deliciously, satisfied smile appeared at the corner of my lips. "Hmph. He's quite resilient, isn't he? To survive a kick like that and still have the breath to make speeches. Admirable, in a pathetic sort of way."
I crossed my arms over my chest. Phantom Lord had a giant cannon. It had a lacrima of immense power. It had a walking fortress. And it had a master who was, apparently, coughing up blood and probably needed a respirator.
José Porla, in his arrogance and pain, thought all this put him in a position of absolute control.
I watched the pulsating glow of the weapon, the runes spinning slowly like a hellish carousel, the energy being accumulated with that excess of magical testosterone typical of someone who desperately needs to compensate for something else. My eyes rose to the central command tower, where I knew he was, probably sitting on some tacky throne, breathing with difficulty, coughing blood into a golden bucket between each rehearsed phrase, and being sustained more by his sick hatred than by any still-functional bone structure I might have left intact. What a tragic sight.
With a sigh of boredom, I took a few steps forward, ignoring the surprised looks from Natsu and Lucy's worried whispers behind me. I stopped right at the line that divides the land from the lake below, the distorted reflection of the fortress moving on the agitated surface of the water. And, without raising my voice, without needing any magic microphone, but with a tone I knew he, up there, would hear, I began.
"You know… there's an old saying that's been around for many ages, as old as stupidity and arrogance themselves, that goes…" I began, looking directly at the colossal cannon attached to the front of the fortress with an expression of critical analysis, as if assessing a particularly tasteless work of art, "…the bigger the weapon, the more insecurity, the more… shortcomings… there usually are behind the one who wields it."
A few confused murmurs arose behind me. Natsu, certainly, didn't get the hint. Gray, probably did, and was holding back a laugh. Cana, I heard choke. And Erza… ah, Erza was probably already pressing her fingers between her eyes with an expression of a pure and absolute headache. And Mirajane, if I knew her well, had her hand over her mouth, desperately fighting a mischievous smile.
I tilted my head slightly, analysing the cannon with an almost academic air. "I mean, this is all really, really impressive, José. Truly. A walking fortress. A giant lacrima. And an unnecessarily large and phallic cannon pointed right at our faces…" I shrugged, with a casualness that was pure venom. "Individuals who need so much spectacle are usually, you know, desperately trying to compensate for some other… little thing."
The silence that followed my declaration was profound. And delicious.
(Eos,) I thought, with an internal smile. [Social and psychological observation confirmed, Azra'il. Target likely… very annoyed.]
"Perhaps, just a suggestion, of course," I continued, with a false and irritating consideration in my voice, "if you had stayed quietly in the hospital after that… little kick of mine to your tower… perhaps resting, breathing with the help of a machine, avoiding excessive physical exertion and, most importantly, grandiose monologues…" I smirked, savouring the moment, "…you wouldn't need to spend so much magical resource and so much precious energy trying to look so threatening to us now. It would be healthier, don't you think?"
The glow of the Jupiter cannon seemed to flicker for an instant, as if out of pure, absolute magical indignation. The very metal of the fortress seemed to groan with anger.
"But anyway," I added, opening my arms in a casual gesture of someone with no worries in the world, "please, feel free. Do the honours. Fire away. Use your new and noisy toy. Get it over with."
My gaze rose slowly, coldly, to the central command tower, where I knew he heard me, saw me, and was probably drowning in his own fury and, who knows, a little more of his own blood.
"Just don't come complaining later, with your dying man's voice, if you find out, the hard way, that in the end, size… never was, and never will be, synonymous with efficiency. And I, my dear fellow, am efficiency personified."