I went and butchered a perfectly beautiful myth for fanfic, but I couldn't resist. I hope those who like the legend will still like this story.
The second part will be published the next week; it's not fully written, but I have it all sketched and I want to finish it before going back to uni.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima, and I only write this for my personal enjoyment and share it so others can enjoy it too.
Orpheus
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Gray chokes on tears and dust, on sorrow, closes his eyes, lets her go, and remembers:
What is gone cannot be brought back.
It's a lesson engraved on his flesh and written in his blood, a lifetime of sacrifices making it sure to be so. It spills over, makes him fight onwards even when looking back, and if sometimes he's bent askew, dark whispers of promises and wishes reaching his ears, no one says a thing.
Then the war ends, the battle is over and he learns from Zeref and Natsu and E.N.D. that all was a lie.
The harsh truths of life sound distant and distorted if doubted enough, and his grief and despair are far greater. What madness can incite outshines everything else, and he holds more than a glass of it, hidden as it is in the corners of his mind, for it to swarm.
He unearths Juvia, holds her hand as if she were alive.
What is gone can be brought back as long as you grasp for it, Gray decides, and he has had enough of blood spilled on his behalf, blood that curses through his veins now, to care about what the rules say.
Juvia spins around the nothing, around herself, keeps fear at bay, and remembers:
A life full of love is a fulfilled life.
It's the path she has chosen to walk on, the only one that has made her felt worthy, made the world around her felt worthy. It did so, too, giving her the best she could have dreamt of. There has been no doubt when living for love, and there has been no doubt when dying for love.
Yet, when she expected the unknown awaiting beyond her eternally closed lids, there is nothing at the other side.
"This is not what you have hoped for, I guess," someone says. "It's not what I've hoped for, at least."
Juvia turns, meets the most hollow eyes she's ever seen in a face she cannot get a hold of even if she tried. It's a thousand people and no one at the same time, men and women and beasts all together and all separate, blue and green and pink and red and none, and it glides in the nothing as if at home.
"Who are you?" Juvia asks, equal parts curious and afraid.
"This is Death, child," it says sweetly. "Many names I have been assigned, but I reckon your kind might know me as Ankhseram."
"Gray, this is madness," Natsu hisses, tries to stop him before leaving. "The dead do not come back!"
"And yet, here you are," he sneers, leers at the irony.
"And the price Zeref had to pay was too great," Lucy intervenes, all reason and good will; those are the last things he needs. "It created calamity after disaster after tragedy, not only for him but for the whole world; you cannot think it will work when it never did to begin with."
"I'll make it work," he answers with spit, with conviction. "I'll choose the price this time and really make it work. Don't stop me on this." Natsu glares at the warning, Gray growls. "You owe me, and you know this. I allowed you have your say when Zeref came clean even though you knew what I gave up in the middle."
They both flinch and retreat, their gazes mournful as Lucy sends him off. "Juvia wouldn't have wanted this."
"No," Gray concedes, a ribbon of regret slipping in his heart as he steps out the door. "But I do."
People murmur under their breath, glance from the corner of their vision at him when he asks about necromancy and forgotten spells and the blackest of magic. Research he explains, but there must be something on him, his stare or his words, giving away what he keeps inside. Though he ignores them all, ignores the way fear is mounting and piling, and marches on a quest many deem treacherous.
Gray doesn't waver when doors are shut in his face and books taken from him, doesn't slow down when a week passes and then another and then a month. He lives from the gold of menial jobs and lives for the obsession that never comes to fruition for only those who live in the night and the dark can tell its secrets, and so it comes the day he meets one of its inhabitants.
"I have heard about you." A man concealed behind a hood slices in the seat next to him. "Heard about your research and how enthusiastic you are about the death and the living," he purrs, a smile like a wolf's and a breath that stinks of putrid waters. "What if I told you I know about the gamble for you to play?"
Gray remembers a time when he still believed, when his mother would tuck him in bed and tell him tales as old as the world. Precautionary tales, warning tales that spoke about the Big Bad Wolf, the witch and the truant; about sharp claws, poisoned apples and hidden daggers. Gray still remembers, even after all this time, so he slicks away from the stranger with the sign of caution imprinted on his mind.
But Gray is also a desperate, broken man, and for such someone, this temptation sounds like the answer to all his prayers. A ray of hope that worms into hearts, twist souls and makes out of men fools.
He slides closer to the wolf, the witch, the truant; closer to the chance and the wish. "What do I have to do?"
"It's your sole fault you are stuck here, I dare say," Ankhseram hums, twists her face to his with interest. "Neither dead nor alive, what a fate."
Her throat parches, words dying in her tongue as her gaze spins out of focus when confronting the embodiment of all that ceased, building a pounding in her skull that cannot be quieted. She averts her eyes, fast, before she loses what little remains of her when looking upon a face with hundred eyes and hundred mouths.
"How so?" Juvia prods at last, breathing cut short. "And where's is here?"
"The Limbo is where we are and blood is the reason, you silly child." It snarls, its variety of features hideous when wrinkled. "Blood is not to be taken lightly, foolish child; it carries a power and rawness more potent than you can even comprehend, the base of magic and life, and you gave it all away to that man's of yours."
"B-but Juvia had to!" she protest, indignation rearing its head. "If she didn't Gray-sama'd have—!"
"Hush. I know."Ankhseram dismissively waves a hand that is young, then old, then a paw. "The point is, now you're linked to that man and he to you, and therefore you cannot quite die while he lives. So the Limbo, the nothing, will be where you stay as long as he breathes."
Juvia pauses at the words, looks around and finds nothing. Nothing but her and it, and her situation becomes clear at last, her dead heart wheezing before dropping to her stomach like a rotten fruit. She hugs herself with arms that hold no warm. Years upon years of this, the thought curls and twists and thrums through all her being, years upon years where she'll be alone, sustained by nothing but a link that holds a promise and a curse.
"I'm curious," Ankhseram comments idly, "so answer me if you will: do you now regret what you did?"
Juvia glares at the question and the mock behind its tone; straightens before the God of Death and Life.
"No. Never," she answers with the truth. "How could Juvia regret saving the person she loves most?"
"Ah, but do you fear what is to come?"
The smile directed at her is all edges and curves, ever changing and never still, much like its holder who cannot take a definite form, and the smile widens, sharpens, stretches when she blanches at her own weakness.
"Yes," she weeps. How could she not? "Very much so."
They walk to a cave hidden deep in the forest that has been rumored to be haunted since the beginnings of time, but it's still a simple, common cave, and Gray has the infuriating notion that he might have been played with. He glares at the strange, dark man that, now that he looks twice, in this light and that light, it might be a woman.
"Is this it?" Gray grits. "Is this the entrance?"
"Here, yes," the man-woman says. "I only have to open the path for you to walk in."
He (she?) pulls out a knife, sharp and lithe, and Gray steps back expecting the worst until, instead of his blood, it's the stranger's blood what drops from the cut on her (his?) palm. The stranger smiles at him, knowingly, cunningly, all sharp and blunt, and smears the blood on the rocks that form the mouth of the cave.
The ground shakes, the light dims and Gray watches, horrified as much as marveled, how the rock and the earth exhale as if alive, sift around, change form, turn back; the mud ascends and spreads while the grass withers; the darkness and the light part before his eyes, create a void; and then, the very world moans as everything settles back.
Gray watches how staircase that leads deep into the heart of planet shapes in seconds, how statues are created out of thin air, of men and women who seem grieving, who seem fearing, who seem dying of hunger, agony and disease. He watches how magic, the very essence of magic, works to open a path to the underworld, and shudders at the sheer power behind it all.
"How did you do that?" he demands, the gnawing in his throat making it hard to speak. "Who are you?"
"No questions, you promised." A shush, the deep cut in the palm is gone. "Now, do you remember the rules?"
"Don't eat. Don't drink. Don't take anything. Don't talk to anyone who isn't Juvia or the God of Death and Life," he recites, glowers when the stranger's smile broadens. "And never ever look back."
The man-woman claps. It rings out like scorn in Gray's ears.
"Good job. The place will try to tempt you, it always does, but fail and you'll never come back." The stranger pats him in the back, extends a hand in invitation and looks back at him with raised eyebrows. "Afraid?"
Gray shakes his head, no, and lies. He takes all the fears and trepidation and doubts, thrusts them into a box that is shelved into the depth of his mind. He imagines Juvia, joyful Juvia who gave her life in exchange of his without a hesitation, and his resolution steels in hot iron and shared blood.
"I want to do this." I want her back. "I agreed." I cannot go back, not this time.
"Indeed you did; thrice at that."
Gray closes his eyes, sees the future that could be if he managed to success. "I did."
"Good luck bringing back what you lost," whispers the man-woman, and Gray wipes his head to search for the sharp, blunt smile under the hood one last time, except there stands no one next to him anymore.
He gulps.
The first step into the underworld welcomes him with open arms.
"Tell, would you like another chance?"
Juvia pauses; her head lifts, eyes flickering to the god. Her mind rails, her body sags. She mouths the offer to herself, the words soundlessly dripping like honey, and then she frowns.
"What is the price?"she asks.
"Smart girl. Clever girl," Ankhseram praises with a pat in her head. "But there is no price, only a gamble, and the bet is, of course, your life."
"Juvia doesn't have a life that is hers to give."
"Foolish humans," it sneers. "There is more than one life for each soul, some are even eternal. I should know, I domain over all deaths and lives. This, what you suffer here? Nothing but the beginning of another life."
Juvia nods absentmindedly. Her thoughts travel to the possibilities: another chance to live, another chance to be with Gray, another chance to stand side by side with Fairy Tail, and her resolve crumbles a bit, her want increasing. She could get out of the Limbo, she could seize all she has ever wanted and live by loving the same way she's died by loving.
She can grasp a future she thought lost in the moment she saw Gray, his sword incising his abdomen by his own hands, and heard Gray, his words conveying all she needed to know. Her heart hammers, blood cursing under her skin, thrumming and warming, and a word seeps into her bones, the parting gift given by her dear Gray.
Love, love, love.
Her mouth twists upwards. She's always been a selfish, selfish girl.
"What is the bet?"
"You will know soon." Ankhseram says, shrugs at her frown. Then, smiles as it says, "I still need to prepare the game. Don't worry, however, all will be ready before long. What do you say?"
She closes her eyes, imagines Gray, aloof Gray who was ready to die with her. Her resolution siphons out in spades.
Love, love, love.
"Juvia would like it," she says, words brimming with hope.
The smile becomes a grin. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"A third time: even for the consequence you might pay if you lose?"
"Yes!"
"So be it."
The grin transforms into a snake's smirk, venomous, and Juvia stiffens under its weight.
Gray walks down a staircase that is endless, obscure and solitary. He cannot see, cannot hear, cannot smell, nothing except sense the touch of soil under his feet. His mind twists the shadows into something even darker, sinister; twirls the stranger's words into threats that lead nowhere, lies; converts his only hope into nightmares.
There is nothing, and then there is him.
He cries, and cries, and cries; his wits betraying his soul and his soul his feelings.
He wipes them all.
He continues to walk down the stairs and deep into where no living has entered.
Then, his stomach growls. There is light.
The room with an opulent banquet befitting of a king appears at the bottom of the steps. Chicken rice, shrimp, lobster and fries smothered in cheese; toast slathered with peanut and jam, monkfish liver with grated daikon and crispy, rice-batter crepes; fruit that is fresh and meat that is as red as it is delicious, fishes big and small, smelling of sea, all prepared and all inviting.
His mouth waters, his teeth clench and there is an emptiness in his belly that could only be filled with food.
Gray keeps on walking.
Don't eat.
His throat dries, and the next room is nothing but drinks and water; beer, cocktail and whiskey; orange, apple and melon juice; lemonade, wine and sorbets of all kinds and of all savors, and he is nothing but a thirsty man, begging for a drop to satiate the parchedness of his mouth.
Gray thirsts, and Gray keeps on walking.
Don't drink.
There is gold in the next room, and this one is far, far easier than the previous two. He cares not about rubies, diamonds and emeralds; cares not about tapestries ancient and jars valuable; cares not about books that hum knowledge and power and guarantee desires coming true.
Gray scoffs, keeps on walking.
Don't take anything.
The room full of mirrors reflect back what he has never hoped to see ever again. Ur smiles at him, perched in the full glass hanging from the roof: Gray, I heard things about you, how strong you've become, how you've finally made a home, tell me—
His mother opens her arms, motherly, bids him in the round mirror in the floor: Come close, son, I want to hear your stories. Tell me about friends and the happiness—
His father is last, in the looking glass next to the door, and he puffs his chest in pride: You won, as I thought you would, and you lived on. Tell me, I want to hear you, son, so tell me—
He stops for the first time, mouth open in an exclamation, words forming, bursting and wishing to be spoken. He watches these faces he loves so much, something thawing, cracking, breaking inside him, and remembers that this is still the land of the death.
Gray screams, weeps, but keeps on walking.
Don't talk to anyone.
Round, round, round it goes, and Gray snaps, snaps, snaps. He sweats and he rages and he gives up a thousand times before reaching the end, and once he does, he is too close to be gone than to be there.
He is brave, though, he is confident, and when his gaze lifts from the nothing, he sees Juvia, a blessing and a promise. She stands before him, a worried glint slithering its way into her dark, clean eyes, and he sighs in relief, in regret and in grief.
"It worked; it really, really worked," Gray sobs into the air, his lung rupturing and his whole body shaking. The blood in his veins is warm once again. "I was so sure, I was… Juvia—"
He extends a trembling hand to touch her. She recoils.
Gray frowns, quivers, doubts.
"Juvia?"
"Now, now," a voice says behind her. "You still have a game to finish, Gray Fullbuster. Don't be hasty."
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