Krampus sat cross-legged on the balcony of the Fairy Tail guild hall, a steaming mug of milk in his hands. It was early morning, and the golden light of dawn bathed the streets of Magnolia in a warm, sleepy glow. From his high perch, he could see the first signs of life stirring below—shopkeepers unlocking their doors, the scent of fresh bread drifting on the breeze, and early risers heading to work with sleepy eyes and hopeful hearts.
He'd stayed the night in one of the guild's spare rooms—his first true roof in this world. It had been modest, with a cozy bed and simple furnishings, but it felt safe. It was the closest thing to home he'd had since arriving in Earthland. Still, he knew it was only temporary.
As he sipped his drink, his golden eyes scanned the city, taking in the timber-framed houses, cobbled streets, and the subtle hum of ambient magic that clung to the very air. Earthland still felt surreal to him—like a lucid dream one never quite woke from. The textures, the colors, the magic that underpinned everything—it was so different, yet somehow familiar. He was a stranger in a strange land, but Fairy Tail had taken him in with open arms, and that warmth had begun to seep into the cracks of his guarded soul.
Yet, even with that comfort, a need tugged at his heart—a desire for a space that was wholly his. A place where he could truly settle, train, experiment with magic, and reflect in peace.
Later that morning, Krampus approached Makarov, who was seated at the bar, flipping through a thick ledger with one hand and sipping tea with the other. The guild master looked up as Krampus approached.
"Master," Krampus said with respectful clarity, "I want to find a place to live. Something more permanent than the guest room upstairs."
Makarov raised an eyebrow and set down his cup. "Planning to stick around for a while, are you?"
Krampus nodded. "Fairy Tail has given me more than I ever expected. It feels like home. But I need a place to truly call my own. Somewhere I can sleep, train, think… and just be."
The old man let out a low chuckle and leaned back, smiling. "You've been holed up in this guild hall for too long, son. About time you saw more of Magnolia anyway. Talk to Laxus—he knows the town like the back of his hand. Grew up here, after all."
Krampus dipped his head. "Thank you, Master."
As he turned to leave, Makarov called after him with a grin. "And don't pick a place too close to the taverns, unless you like being kept up all night by drunk wizards and their karaoke!"
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That afternoon, Krampus and Laxus set out into town. Makarov had been right—it was time Krampus got to know the city beyond the stone walls of the guild. The air was warm, the streets bustling with cheerful chatter and the aroma of street food. Laxus, cheerful and full of energy, practically bounced down the streets, grinning like he owned the place.
"That one's the bakery! They've got jam donuts bigger than your head. Oh, and that place sells the best roasted nuts in winter. Smells awesome when they're cooking."
Krampus followed with quiet amusement. The boy had a strong spirit, and his enthusiasm was infectious. It reminded Krampus of how young Laxus still was beneath that burst of magical power.
They made their way to a music shop tucked between two larger buildings, its painted sign faded with age. Laxus grinned wide. "This is where I get my vinyl. Owner's a wizard too—enchants the records so they never scratch. You like music?"
"I'm usually into pop—catchy hooks, smooth beats, stuff you can dance or relax to," Krampus said, bobbing his head slightly to the music playing. "But this one's got a nice drive to it. I like when rock surprises me. Some tracks hit just right."
Laxus grinned. "Heh, didn't think you'd be into anything with distortion. I like mine loud—guitars that roar, vocals that punch through walls. That's Iron Talon, right there." He pointed proudly to a band poster plastered near the enchanted speaker system.
Krampus squinted at the poster, taking in the jagged logo and thunder-themed design. "Okay, not bad. Kinda edgy, kinda electric. I respect it. Still not trading my playlists, though."
They continued their exploration, sharing bits of themselves in passing. Krampus admitted his preference for herbal tea over coffee, his fondness for solitary walks under moonlight, and his interest in ancient languages. Laxus countered with his love of grilled meats, loud music, and a surprising fondness for spicy food.
"Ever had curry that makes your ears sweat?" Laxus asked with a grin.
"Not yet. But if that's a challenge, then now I must."
At one quiet corner of the district, they sat under the shade of a tree, munching on skewered meat and steamed buns. The laughter softened, and the topic shifted.
"So, your dad," Krampus began, tone casual but curious. "What's he like? Doesn't really hang around the guild much, huh?"
Laxus's smile faded slightly as he leaned back, staring off into the distance. "Yeah, Ivan's... well, he's a piece of work. He's still technically in the guild, just doesn't show up often. Keeps to himself. Always thinking ten steps ahead, but the way he goes about things... not exactly warm and fuzzy."
Krampus nodded, folding his arms. "Sounds intense. Kinda guy with sharp edges."
Laxus huffed a small laugh. "That's one way to put it. He's got these big ideas, y'know? Power, legacy, all that crap. Doesn't get people. Doesn't really get what this guild is about."
Krampus's gaze lingered on the road ahead. Inwardly, he felt a flicker of concern. Ivan's trajectory was already setting itself—one that would lead to betrayal and pain. He made a note to keep an eye on things, just in case. But for now, he just offered a quiet nod.
"Well, whatever he's about, you've got a better family right here. And hey, if he ever gives you trouble—I've got some magical chains with his name on them."
Laxus cracked a grin. "Heh. I'll keep that in mind."
Krampus nodded slowly, eyes distant. Inwardly, he felt a chill. He knew from his future knowledge that Ivan Dreyar would eventually betray Fairy Tail, get expelled, and form Raven Tail—a guild steeped in bitterness and vengeance. The thought of the pain it would cause Laxus—and Makarov—troubled him.
"Do you think he'll ever come back?" Krampus asked softly.
Laxus shrugged, expression unreadable. "Sometimes I think he might. Then I remember the last time I saw him, and… I'm not so sure."
Krampus placed a large, furred hand on the boy's shoulder. "No matter what comes, you have people here. Family isn't always blood."
Laxus blinked, then gave a short, appreciative nod. "Yeah. Thanks."
They resumed their house-hunting, but every apartment they toured felt too small, too crowded, too… urban. Krampus's frame barely fit through some stairwells. A townhouse above a bookstore had promise until a test spell scorched the wallpaper. A stone hut near the south wall echoed with emptiness, but even it felt confining.
Magic training had become a staple of their days. Laxus, still adapting to his Dragon Slayer magic, practiced thunder bursts and electric projection in open lots under Krampus's watchful eye. His raw power was undeniable, but it lacked precision.
Krampus demonstrated spells with grace—his Rule of Binding suspending trees in midair with invisible chains, and his Rule of Rending slicing through stone as if it were paper. But more than once, the aftermath of a session left cracked walls or scorched grass. The city simply wasn't made to endure their kind of training.
Eventually, they wandered toward the edge of Magnolia, where cobblestone faded to soil and woods took over. A gentle breeze blew, whispering through the trees, as birdsong filled the quiet spaces between rustling leaves.
Krampus paused, taking a deep breath. The scent of pine and fresh earth filled his lungs, grounding him.
"Here," he said softly. "This feels right."
Laxus looked around. "You mean the woods?"
Krampus nodded. "Quiet. Peaceful. A little apart—but close enough to return quickly. It's perfect."
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That night, Krampus stood at the forest's edge and rolled up the sleeves of his cloak—or would have, if it had any. He cracked his knuckles with a grin and got to work. Using his Rule of Binding, he began shaping the foundation, distorting the very spatial fabric beneath the forest floor. A soft hum resonated through the clearing as invisible chains twisted through the soil, anchoring a pocket of folded dimension.
With Script-based augmentation, Krampus traced glowing glyphs in the air, weaving symbols that danced and shimmered like golden snowflakes before sinking into the bones of the structure. Each flick of his clawed fingertip left behind a rune—stability, harmony, expansion—his magic layering like masterfully written code.
What emerged was a large timber cottage that looked, at first glance, like a rustic gingerbread house reimagined by a mountain druid. It had dark wooden walls polished smooth, a red brick chimney that always puffed gently like it was sighing, and scalloped roof shingles of slate and blackened steel. Twisting candy-cane-like columns (made of reinforced white oak) flanked the front porch, and glowing lanterns shaped like peppermint stars hung under the eaves. Wide windows framed with polished stone let in daylight and moonlight alike. The door itself was circular, marked with a glowing snowflake-shaped rune that doubled as a magical lock and alarm.
Inside, the cottage was a wonder of dimensional magic. Thanks to Krampus's folding enchantments, the space within was vastly larger than the exterior suggested. The main hall could easily fit a guild party, with vaulted ceilings that sparkled like the night sky thanks to embedded illusion stones.
Down a spiral staircase—chiseled from dark marble veined with silver—lay the training complex: an underground realm the size of a coliseum. It was inspired by the vast soul training grounds in Bleach and the simulation chambers from Dragon Ball, with enchanted terrain that shifted between desert, mountain, forest, and tundra at will. Gravity and pressure could be customized, elemental resistance toggled, and even magical constructs spawned for sparring. Everything was shielded with ancient runes to prevent damage from leaking outward.
The rest of the cottage was tailored to Krampus's needs. A lounge with overstuffed armchairs and a constantly crackling fireplace, where books old and new lined enchanted floating shelves. A bedroom where the mattress adjusted temperature and firmness and could lull the user to sleep with soft instrumental pop or ambient winter winds. A workshop glimmering with arcane sigils, warded against explosions and stocked with rare materials. A cozy kitchen whose cupboards stocked themselves with fresh ingredients, capable of preparing simple meals on command—though Krampus still preferred to cook when inspiration struck.
Hidden behind a magical false wall was a small greenhouse atrium, kept warm with gentle light spells and filled with rare herbs and winter flora. And above it all, in the attic loft, a personal music room with levitating instruments and a magical record player enchanted to sound like a live concert hall. There, Krampus stashed his collection of soothing pop albums and the few rock ballads Laxus had gotten him hooked on.
"This'll be my sanctuary," Krampus said, arms crossed with a proud smile, as Laxus stood slack-jawed in the entryway. "A place to rest, experiment, and train. And it's open to Fairy Tail whenever anyone needs a place to crash or blow something up."
Laxus whistled low. "You got room for a second bedroom? 'Cause I might just move in."
Krampus chuckled. "Plenty of space. You'll have to put up with my playlists, though."
That evening, they christened the training hall with a friendly match. Laxus fired bolts of lightning at summoned golems while Krampus dodged, parried with blades of rune-light, and sometimes just tanked the hits with a shrug and a grin. They pushed limits, traded tricks, and shouted over the echoes of thunder and magic.
And when the match ended, and both lay panting on the floor, sweat-drenched and grinning like fools, Krampus looked up at the glowing runes on the ceiling.
He didn't just feel welcome.
He felt… rooted.
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Later that week, Krampus found himself sitting in the training chamber beneath his new home, deep in thought. The cavernous room echoed with silence, disturbed only by the steady hum of ambient mana.
He thought about Acnologia.
Magic didn't work on the Dragon King. Only overwhelming physical strength could leave a dent. Krampus wasn't foolish enough to believe he was ready for something like that—not yet. And while Dragon Slayer magic could hurt Acnologia, Krampus had no access to it, nor did he want it. It didn't suit him.
Krampus flexed one arm slowly. His physique was already monstrous by human standards: tall, black-furred, and built like a divine warlord—hulking muscles wrapped in a sleek, proportionate frame. Any more bulk would tip the balance and reduce his speed.
"So," he murmured, "it's not about adding more… it's about refining."
He thought of One-Punch Man and how strength came from something as simple—and bizarre—as removing mental limiters. Could he do the same?
He activated his magic eyes, letting their full power flare. The air shimmered as his sclera turned glowing scarlet, and golden iris glowed while his pupils thinned into slits and turned red, all encircled by a ring of red. He focused inward.
There it was—his limiter. A metaphysical binding imposed on his form, a self-regulated wall between potential and reality.
Without hesitation, Krampus summoned a slender, glowing dagger—formed by the Rule of Rending—and stabbed it straight into his own chest.
The slash didn't draw blood. Instead, reality seemed to ripple, and with a silent pulse, the limiter was cleaved.
He exhaled slowly. There was no pain. Only the sensation of a gate swinging open.
He felt… limitless.
But raw strength without control was dangerous. So, Krampus wove another spell. Using the Rule of Binding, he conjured invisible, intangible chains that wrapped around his body in crisscrossing spirals. They didn't restrict him in daily life—but every movement would now feel like swimming through molten lead. They'd scale with his growth. A perfect 24/7 training device.
He smiled.
"I'll get strong enough to stand with the gods. And I'll do it without changing who I am."
Then, Krampus turned his thoughts to Laxus. Briefly, he considered rending away the boy's limiters—but the truth was clear: only the self could break that barrier. Still, Krampus could help in other ways. He had just cheated his own by using his magic, but the act of doing so still counted. It was his will, his choice, and his understanding that allowed him to wield the Rule of Rending that way. In that sense, the barrier was his to shatter. The same had to be true for Laxus.
He returned to the guild's magic library and pulled everything he could find on bodybuilding magic, thunder-forging techniques, and esoteric current-based body training. From there, he synthesized a new system—one that could bolster a wizard's physical form to ludicrous degrees without corrupting their essence.
He even made alternative versions for women—still powerful, still capable of leveling a mountain with a glance—but tailored to retain graceful lines and elegant movement. Mostly because he was considerate of the straight guys at the guild. He wasn't about to leave them out, even if the real prize, in his mind, was something else entirely.
Krampus leaned back with a nostalgic, slightly pervy grin.
"A future full of ripped, sweaty, muscle-bound wizards in tight shirts and no shame… That's the dream, baby."
He chuckled. "Thirty percent of the reason I went to the gym in my last life was just to watch the hunks lift and sweat. Sue me."
Outside, the stars twinkled above the forest. Inside, Krampus trained in silence—giddy with anticipation for the day the Fairy Tail training grounds looked like a bara calendar in motion.