Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto/Fairy Tail and do not seek profit from writing this in any way.
Tags: Manga/Anime Divergence. Pairings Unknown.
AN: Where Naruto and Sasuke went their separate ways after defeating Kaguya. Hope you enjoy it!
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Wanted
Prologue: The Fire of X759
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Two fists collided with a shockwave of intensity, sending ripples through the scorched land. The two arms attached to those fists were trembling with effort, each one trying to overtake the other with brute strength. Gildarts Clive strained with grunts and groans, directing every single bit of magic around his right arm, and it was all he could do to keep up with the shadow that was his opponent.
The lightning above and the rumbling below were the only sounds that sustained after the immense collision, the authoritative element; fierce and unrepentant, splitting the very heavens in a streak of blue. The birds had flown away at the first signs of smoke and rain, the fish had been singed from existence by the inferno of black flames, and the insects that did manage to escape from the mythical infestation had been scared underground. Beyond the eccentric wall of darkness that surrounded the battlefield, the boom echoed of the trees in the nearby woods with enough force to blow them from their very roots.
When the noise settled down, the two hands broke apart from one another. With a whip-quick step back, Gildarts opened some space between his assailant and himself. The space was crossed that same instant, and in the blink of an eye his opponent was driving a flurry of blows his way. Whenever he blocked, he was rattled by the intensity of the sheer power behind the attacks. Gildarts may have been sturdy enough to take the hits, with magic enhancement at least, but eventually his bones would give way. He had to work something else before that happened, already feeling the strain of the damage he'd already received. He side-stepped away from the next fist, then bent beneath the leg that followed as the man seemingly skipped. A third swing, a roundhouse kick from below, gave him the opening he had been looking for, and Gildarts tilted himself the bare minimum to just barely avoid the hit. The leg whizzed past his face and he felt the powerful vacuum of wind behind it as it blew his lengthy red hair from his face. He turned quick to counterattack, right fist gathered back and coming from under; with all the drive and power he could muster, aiming for the man's jaw.
In a show of uncanny proficiency, the man tilted his head to avoid the powered punch before seizing the mage's wrist and flipping around it. Gildarts grunted at the hold keeping his right arm detained as the man landed below him without a sound, throwing a punch at the mage's defenseless side without delay. Gildarts brought his unrestrained arm across his body, managing to stop the momentum of the attack with his bare palm; and though he couldn't grab a proper hold of his opponent, the mere threat forced the man to let go of his wrist as he sailed overhead with stylish maneuvers Gildarts couldn't hope to match. Still, the man was unrelenting in his pursuit, not giving him breathing room to perform magic or retreat, and the mage's forearm quivered over a knee as they began their dance anew.
The two were a blur of movements as the pair engaged in a furious exchange of punches and kicks, ramming into one another and generating echoes that left their surroundings distorted with craters and wrecked debris. Gildarts, like he had been for most of the fight, remained on the defensive; using magic conservatively for when his opponent slipped past his carefully maintained defense. While not a style he was accustomed to, the mage didn't have much choice; barefaced to admit he was completely outmatched. His opponent was an afterimage, never staying in the same place for long; completely overwhelming him in skill, speed, and power. What's more, every move, every breath, every action seemed deliberate with calculations in mind, and Gildarts struggled to keep up with such efficiency even with magic at his disposal. Truth be told, the mage was no match, and the only reason he was still in the fight were due to the many injuries his opponent had sustained before the fight had even begun.
Breathing harshly through his mouth, Gildarts instantly made to defend the attack from behind. Spinning with a speed he hadn't know he possessed, he put his guard up, feeling a searing jolt of pain as the man's heel connected with both his arms from above; and the spot he stood on sunk as he cushioned the momentum of the blow with his magic. His opponent flipped backward, landing softly on both feet. A blink, and Gildarts jerked back; the bottom of a black sandal scratching the underside of his chin; and just as quick, he lashed out with a bold thrust. Using the momentum of the preceding attack, the man performed a cartwheel backwards before he flipped over the mage as soon as he landed; proficiently evading Gildarts's blow as he continued backwards in a sequence of handsprings. Just as he made to land, he was upon the mage again. Gildarts was not alarmed, and he was prepared to meet the man this time. As the flicker neared, Gildarts threw his palms straight.
"Crash Magic: Force," he chanted, feeling the warmth of magic as it coated everything in front of his palms. The attack had been calculated with the target's speed in mind, but the flash of darkness was still too fast, still too perceptive—and no longer in the line of white. Gildarts looked down, eyes widening—freezing as he caught sight of the ethereal eyes, two puddles of cerulean, just as the upper cut connected with his jaw and took the whole weight of his body with it, the hard knuckles dislocating the sturdy assembly of bones. Suspended in the air, he could do nothing as the man kept spinning and struck out his leg, sending the mage rocketing in the earth behind him when the kick connected with his stomach.
The mage could taste blood, and even through the sound of crushing rubble overwhelmed his sense of hearing, he could still perceive where his teeth ringed in symphony. Gildarts hissed in pain as he finally came to a stop. Slowly, tentatively, he pushed with his arms so that his upper body was in a semi-reclining position in an effort to alleviate the burning at his back where concrete and debris had rubbed against it. His lungs were not doing much better, superseding him and forcing him to breath harshly. His eyes trailed to the sky above as blue flashed in his line of vision, the wisps of lightning bringing with it edginess. He wanted the rain, relished for it; it would wash away the smoke, stench, and any other evidence of the horrible, sinful things that had happened here.
Blinking away the reminders, Gildarts looked to where the man stood, bended pathetically on all fours, coughing and puking blood. The mage had no idea how the bastard had gotten injured, and he didn't care; he relished watching the man suffer. Bending at the knees, Gildarts forced himself onto his feet, stumbling slightly forward before managing to find his balance. The man heard him approach, slowly tilting his head up. The mage met those empty, holy eyes that raised in him an unquenchable thirst for blood, and his injuries didn't seem as significant as they felt. The bastard, even as wounded as he was, was giving him the beating of his life, leaving him no room to breathe nor a chance for him to fight back; and Gildarts hated just how weak and incompetent he seemed in comparison. And top it all off, he wasn't even using magic.
Before the man could get to his feet, the mage leaped to the air; intending on getting as large an area as possible. He hadn't wanted to erase the last reminder of the people who lived here, their village, but he didn't have much choice. Tsking with his tongue in a classic 'to hell with it,' Gildarts threw his palms forward, magic being the only thing keeping his arms stabilized, intending on ending this battle once and for all. A wave of pure energy sailed from his fingertips, and the charcoaled sky was suddenly whitened by a towering light. The noise was deafening as the earth collapsed at where he struck; Crash Magic nibbling at everything it touched.
As cool air rushed to fill the emptied gap his magic had created in the temperature, Gildarts landed with a thud; dropping to his knees in sheer exhaustion. The events of the day had wiped him physically and mentally; his body was struggling to keep up the pace the bastard had set, and he couldn't keep the images out of his head. The fire, the smoke, all the dead bodies… adrenaline was the only thing keeping back the nausea rising in his throat. Just as he made to stand up, he heard a rumble under him. Alarmed, he somehow managed to start away from the bloody fist that came out first, and then block the knee that followed, before he kicked out with his right leg. To his surprise, the attack connected with the man's forearms, sending him stumbling backwards.
Still, the man regained his balance quickly enough before darting in again. Though the movements were smooth, his opponent was nowhere near as fast as he had been in the beginning of the battle. In fact, he outright looked sluggish in comparison. The shadow's precise movements were still simply too swift for the untrained eye to catch, but the speed had lessened to such a degree that Gildarts could react. That theory proved true when the brutal impact came from his side, and Gildarts was sent twisting and writhing in the air. His forearm seared at where the arched kick had connected, but he paid it no heed; and when his unclothed back finally met the ground below in a smash, Gildarts pulsed with magic in a last-ditch effort to prevent the enemy from pursuing his attack. The earth erupted with movement, and a sudden barrage of debris and stones exploded from where he previously laid; honing in the opposite direction.
His momentum from the kick, coupled with the thrust from his own attack, had been exceedingly misjudged; propelling Gildarts through concrete, dirt, and rocks, toward the outskirts of the village. The heat was the first clue; the warmth of the encroaching wall dried all the sweat of his magically-enhanced skin with steaming severity. He immediately made to grab at whatever he could to slow his slide, managing to sink his whole arm in the earth to stop his movements completely. It had been close; he could feel the wall of black fire burning at his back, itching to scorch the mage like it had done to his favorite coat. Grabbing hold of a piece of concrete with shaking fingers, Gildarts dragged himself onto his feet, barely managing to do that. He was spent; entirely, woefully spent. He could barely breath, his lungs being practically fried from all the smoke he'd inhaled, and his limbs felt like jelly—watered down jelly. Though he was mostly intact somehow, it wouldn't take much more, he figured, for the slaughtered to put an end to this battle. Still, he would take the bastard down. No matter the cost, Gildarts would make him pay. Flexing his fingers to regain control of himself one digit at a time; to focus that fury and use it to attain victory, the red-haired mage waited for the dust to settle.
At the center of the collected dust and debris, there was a lone half-naked figure dressed in black; casually sitting on a mountain of debris while leaning an elbow on a bended knee. He was looking to the darkened sky, where the first telltales of a shower appeared. The little light the full-moon provided through the thick, charcoaled clouds seeped upon pale cheekbones and the high bridge of an arrogant nose, where the first raindrop of the night could be seen falling past long, raven hair to land on a pastel forehead. It rolled down through dark, lengthy lashes and wet lips before it trickled down the rest of his lean body, soaking into the dark fabric that was his pants and coming to a stop, staining red with the blood it had collected during its journey. Gildarts would've mistaken the man for some sort of vengeful deity if it weren't for the blood littering the slender figure from head to toe, blood that was indeed his own, especially on his chest area. Even he knew, however, that Gods didn't bleed—though he was beginning to doubt the man was completely human seeing as he was still standing despite his grave injuries.
That was just unnatural.
It wasn't just his looks either, as frightening and noble as they were, those purple eyes of his—especially the one with the commas, and the waves of power that seemingly consumed everything in their dark depths of hatred. Gildarts didn't think a human could attain such fearsome power, much less control it. What's more, the mage found he didn't want the man to be human. He didn't want to believe a human could really be so evil as to take so many lives; the mage didn't want to believe he would be killing a human this dreadful, horrific night.
"Did you know them?"the voice was silent, but it cut through the sounds of pellets of rain against pavement like a needle through a thin blanket. He then tilted his head slightly, and empty, grey orbs bore into the mage's own burning set, searching for an answer; with the rippled eyes nowhere to be seen. Gildarts halted at the sight, slightly affronted that the man would disregard him so easily despite making it that much easier for the mage to have his revenge. The mage scowled at the man above as the rain fell, replenishing the energy he had lost all the while. Seemingly having found what he sought, the raven-haired murderer shook his head, long bangs sticking to his face all the while. "No, you have no idea who they were. Their names… birthdays… favorite meals… you have no idea. In that sense, you're very lucky."
The temperature suddenly dropped by twenty degrees. The mage had been initially surprise at hearing the psychopath talk, him having not said a word since the mage discovered him standing among the dead, but the words served to only anger him farther. Gildarts turned his head to regard what remained of the village. Rubble in every direction; dilapidated, obliterated, somber rubble. Gildarts found himself amidst a town he had come to help, crumbled and burned—both from the man's psychotic ways and the many shockwaves from the mage's own power that turned the village into a crater. Though now it was surrounded with the smell of burnt fresh, vile and disgusting. He took a slow breath, unrestrained and free; forcing the screams to the back of his skull. Turning his head toward the man, neck snapping at the action, Gildarts faced those dead pools of silvery darkness.
"Why does it matter to you?" Gildarts asked with a calm face. His eyes, however, were anything but calm. They were filled with a storm of rage; alight with monstrous resentment. Anger and power poured out of his unflinching stare as he took in the sight of the village's attacker, the aura surrounding him projecting those same feelings.
"I suppose it doesn't," the man replied easily enough, rain slowly sliding down his hair as if the night was crying. Something flashed in his eyes, something akin to a memory. He then looked to the raining sky above as raindrops fell, eyes closing against the onslaught of water for a few moments before they once again opened. He wobbled to his feet. "The fact that they're dead isn't going to change either way."
The rain began as a whisper, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vertices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next. Small pellets of water quenched the scattered puddles that hid the ruts of dryer weather, stained with depravity. The torrent of water washed away the red, the stench—leaving the grass to wilt and for the story to go disregarded. Then lightning, like a keening omen of the carnage that would follow, ripped the inky sky, disrupting the falling, whirring noise of water walloping upon water. as if a signal from the Gods above, the rain became stronger, beating down mercilessly upon the earth as stillness reigned the battlefield.
"Before I kill you, tell me one thing…" Gildarts spoke softly, sure the entity could hear him despite the shower, breaking the silence as he looked upon the man who had done this terrible thing; the thing that could no longer be taken back. It was a dreadful, unforgivable act that had brought about the return of a wrath that had laid dormant for quite some time. And the man, spirit or whatever he was, didn't even seem like he cared. He had killed innocent men, women, and children…children—and he didn't give a damn.
The man looked down at him, a flexed brow raised. Gildarts got the very distinctive image of a demon looking down at a human.
"Why did you do it?" the words escaped him before he could stop them, and Gildarts couldn't even begin to understand why he sought the purpose of it. What would it change, after all? He would still kill the man, of that there was no question. Maybe it was some of that crap Makarov constantly spilled of everyone deserving second chances finally getting to him. Heavens know the older man repeated it often enough to be so. Or maybe it was denial; he didn't want to believe a human could commit something so wicked. Maybe that was why he found himself asking, "Was there a purpose to it all? Or is this just some kind of sick joke to you?"
The man said nothing in return, but Gildarts remained silent. He waited a moment longer, and just as he thought he wouldn't be getting a response, the man opened his mouth, lips barely moving but moving nonetheless. "Even if I told you why, I doubt it would change anything. For example, it could have been an accident..."
The mage shook his head in frustration as he looked at the man, as if in denial. The rain had washed away all the reminders, and yet still, he was so angry and he couldn't get the images out of his head. "Each and every person here had his or her own life. Whether that life was blessed or not, everyone is born into this world with a purpose in mind. They grow up, some people have family, others remain alone and the lucky ones get to go on to achieve their dreams. And yet, you…" The mage struggled with his words, swallowing the bile against his throat; and some might've mistaken the raindrops running down his cheeks with tears. "You ended everything for them!" Gildarts finished, his power a beacon of light against the darkness as the earth trembled beneath his power. The whole atmosphere seemed to flex around Gildarts's will, sucking the very oxygen of their surroundings. He wanted that man to feel helpless. In fact, he wanted this killer to feel every emotion the villagers had felt during the fire: helplessness, pain, and fear. First the first time in forever, Gildarts allowed his Crash Magic to remain unchecked.
The man simply stared for a moment. "You definitely talk a lot, but you don't have much to say…"
In the blink of an eye, the ground he stood on burst into pieces as Gildarts launched from his powerful legs, soaring through the air and water with fists incased in the silver of Crash Magic. He aimed for the man's chin, putting every ounce of magic he possibly could in the attack, trying to catch him off guard. It was no use; the man merely raised his right hand in casual indifference. The foreseeable punch was caught with an open palm without effort; the solid weight of the attack made impotent beneath the close grip. The knuckles had been stopped, but the resulting boom shook more than the sky above as the feral Crash Magic sought to dismember all in its way; the bright light going past the man, what remained of the village behind, pellets of water, and the clouds above, obliterating everything in the blink of an eye.
Though the magic had connected with the man's palm, he remained standing, and with a simplex flex of his hand, he tossed Gildarts's captured hand aside; the force of even such a simple movement knocking the entire magicless enhanced arm attached to that hand out of its socket. A knee was raised; the harsh, solid bone of the knee colliding with the stiff connection of lateral oblique's—then the hard-resistant bone beyond that as a resounding crack echoed all around with repeated sharpness. His mouth was overcome by a forced, but subdued groan of agony, and then he was flying. Gildarts slammed clean through one, two, and three and then hit a fourth wall within what remained of a building, being firmly shoved into it and cracking the burned blackened solidity from top to bottom. Pinned to the wall, Gildarts gave another stern grunt of pain; the magic he'd managed apply at the split second to guard his ribs had been overcome in less than an instant, and his favored upper limb; though not completely useless, would be hard-pressed to withstand his Crash Magic. The initial rush of wind slinging across his body is what alerted him of the presence quickly approaching, and Gildarts immediately started chanting as his aura danced wildly around him.
"Crash Magic: Explosive Wave!"
The terrain burst; shattered remains evaporating and flattering into vapors, and the whole earth seemed to tremble under the spell's might. The large sphere of energy that seemed to have devoured the Crash Mage grew larger in size; the grounds below and heavens above compulsorily parting in order to accommodate the demands asked of them. The airstreams and precipitation were the first elements to stabilize; droplets of rain reaching the weary mage in epicenter of the crater the spell had bent the earth into. If the Magic Council hadn't known beforehand of the encounter currently taking place, Gildarts thought with dark amusement dancing in his brows, they certainly did now.
He had hoped that the remote village was far enough away that those damned fools would keep their prying nose out of his business, but now he couldn't even find in himself the need to care anymore. It had been a long time since he had been forced to go all out; and he found the exhilaration and respite of having finally done so something he just couldn't ignore. Not that it mattered, the Crash Mage decided as he turned to face the man who had seen through the attack and distanced himself. Though the man of unidentified age had escaped almost intact, there was a lot more red to be seen; blood-stained water flowing down the man's right arm and staining the dark material of his pants. His hand and chest, Gildarts could see, were inflamed where his magic had connected, and he was visibly struggling to stay upright.
Though, the man didn't appear bothered the least with that fact.
There was a garner of interest in the previously empty eyes; alight with the promise of something long kept from him, and the bastard was staring at Gildarts with something akin to respite. The mage seethed, blood boiling with his rage. The man shouldn't be happy, not after what he had done; he should be begging for his life. More than a little infuriated, the mage took that time to attack, moving like a flash to close the gap between himself and the psychopath.
A second lunge from Gildarts, this time faster; the firm fist of his right arm aimed for the man's chest with a roar of aggression. He felt his wrist being batted aside by the back of his opponent's hand, and Gildarts increased the quantity of ethernano surrounding his fist, causing the air and water molecules between the two combatants to disperse in a white wave, heading straight for the man. He missed his mark, his opponent tilting his head to the side in the last possible second, but Gildarts kept his momentum, and just before his shoulder would have collided with the man, he felt the sole of a stiff sandal at the front of his chest, crushing him against his broken ribs and throwing him off with ease. After arcing through the air, he skidded flat on his back, leaving a thick trail on the concrete and debris that was as wide as his shoulders. Gildarts sprang up from the crater, numb to the exhaustion and wounds, quite ready to attack a third time.
"How does it feel?" the quiet voice murmured, this time with a sadistic flair in its depths that sounded more sinister then any lightning Mother Nature had delivered thus far. "That there wasn't anything you could do to stop me…" the man grinned with sadism, alighting the mage's eyes with rekindled rage. "It must be like a nightmare…"
Gildarts was in no mood to humor such a demented individual. His inner rage was growing, to the point where fear and caution no longer mattered; all he could hear were those haunting screams. The earth below rattled with steady vibration, crackling and waving before several chunks of concrete broke loose from the few structures left holding them together with solid snaps, water struggling to fill up all the space. Gildarts was trembling with the might it took to control all the weight of his power, but the bastard was unimpressed; he did not blink, and he did not cast his gaze as the place he stood upon split in cracks of various sizes. He didn't even seem like he was breathing.
"Disappointing," the murderer muttered in derangement, shaking his head and the water that flowed on him. "I had hoped for you to resist a bit more than this. At this rate, you will not be leaving this battle alive."
Gildarts watched as the man took a step, the water parting and flowing around his feet. With that, he was upon Gildarts within a moment, and he aimed a closed fist toward the mage's unguarded left side. Gildarts moved to block, but he was unable to properly match the speed of the unexpected attack. He felt some of the wind taken from him, and though one of the toughest blows he'd had to endure in his twenty years of life, it wasn't nowhere near enough to completely rob him of his defenses, and as the man's injured left fist neared, Gildarts instinctively raised his forearms in front of his face, momentarily robbing himself of eye contact with the enemy—a fatal mistake if there ever was one. Using that moment created by his perfect feint, the man dropped onto his back with a splash of water, sweeping his leg to knock the mage off-balance with a heavy impact against his heels. Right leg taken from under him and momentarily stunned, Gildarts could do nothing as the expert hand-to-hand combatant continued his onslaught, driving blow after blow his way. Two punches impacted his ribs, breaking at least three, three struck his face; completely robbing him of his vision and then, somehow, he was sent skyward. Gildarts felt no pain as he went plummeting to the ground by a crushing downward kick from above; ruining the perfect bowl he had formed with his explosive wave as he crashed right in the middle of it.
Everything felt surreal as he opened his one eye still functioning, merely staring as the bastard landed before him, breathing harshly through his mouth as he visibly struggled to remain upright. The man thrashed on his feet; and his arm hung numbly at where Crash Magic had touched as he moved step by step closer, those same dead, empty eyes staring blindly ahead. A heavy, wet sandal collided with his wet chest, his body sinking into the mud, and the man looked down at Gildarts. "I can see it in your eyes, how much you desire my death…" the mage struggled to make out the voice through all the overwhelming sounds currently encompassing him. "Unfortunately, killing you now would serve no purpose."
That was when everything went dark.
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Wanted
Chapter 1: The Dead Walked
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X784
"I'm still looking for answers…and still wondering why. Until I find that reason, I can't abandon hate. If I did, there would be nothing left of me."
— Sasuke Uchiha to Naruto Uzumaki
His vision was blurry, his skin sliced, and his hair was scorched onto his scalp by the licking black flames of Amaterasu surrounding him. It was consuming everything, and he could only watch as life was squashed by a power he could no longer control. All at once, he felt like that powerless little boy that ceased to exist centuries ago. He wanted to cry, but there were no more tears to be shed. He wanted to scream, but his throat was seized by subjection. Again, he tried to move his legs, but they would not listen. There was nothing in front of him but misery, nothing behind him but death, like it had always been his whole life. He looked to his hands, dark and bloody, and a single raindrop fell upon the rough skin to wash away a caked layer of filth…
The burst of sound and motion that seemed to come from every direction awoke Sasuke Uchiha from the memories as he had awoken a handful of times before; in a confused and a hazy state of mind, numb and bedridden. He looked around, expecting to see the usual residue of his own makings in his eternal damnation of darkness, prepared for the dead that awaited him. Instead, what greeted him was…a glowing light? His surroundings were cold, but the raven-haired man wasn't flinching under the icy dome. All he could do was stare blankly at the etherealness of it all, unsure if the sight in front of him was really real. He wanted to bask in the fresh coldness that was a soothing reprieve from the harsh darkness and hollow atmosphere he had been subjected to in the emptiness that had been his prison, but Sasuke found that he could not do it.
In that moment, he couldn't dwell on the amount of time that had passed since he last felt the cold flying over his face, its neutral howl tickling against his skin and lips with perfectly spread stings and pinches. Nor could he dwell on the sudden pain in his eyes as they met the brightness head on; all of the rhodopsin breaking down into opsin as the pupils contracted until his lids forcedly shut, and for that brief second of darkness, fear stroked him. Fear of what awaited him in the darkness. No, he didn't have the luxury to dwell on anything but the sober screams plaguing at the back of his skull.
Sasuke was in a state of half-life, kept alert by the sensations as they slowly ate at him, as they peeled back his surface and gave breaths to the layers beneath, and made him relive the massacre over and over again with no end in sight. Which of the two massacres, he did not know, and he didn't think it mattered; both had been his fault either way. He gasped for air at the mere thought of it; heart thumping too fast to be healthy as his rebellious lungs fought to remain empty, crushing against his ribs as they shriveled and cracked. In those few precious moments, his heart was beating with something that went beyond vengeance, something beyond hate—it was almost certainly worse than emptiness; guilt. He was hardly a stranger to the sensation; often having blamed himself for the death of his Clan, and he had continued to do so until he discovered Konoha's hand in his family's demise. Now, it was for an entirely different, if not similar, reason. Sasuke fought to stay calm as the very air became his enemy in his state of shock, and he struggled to keep the memories in check.
The cave he found himself in silenced as the shinobi ceased hyperventilating, finally able to get a hold of his own consciousness after it tried so hard to escape. "Damn it," he murmured weakly at his predicament, and he coughed through his dry throat at the action. Breathing slowly through his mouth, the last Uchiha remained calm as he studied the deep and narrow grotto of Lacrima that was his prison. It took him a few minutes longer to gather his bearings; to force the blood and screams to the back of his mind and focus on the present. He had learned long ago that they were never going to truly leave, and once he had accepted that, it became a much easier process to silence them. When he finally managed to do so, he jogged his memory for the answers he sought. Where was he? The answer resonated almost instantly in his mind as he drudged up faces picture-clear of the old fools that had dubbed themselves the Magic Council, the mages that maintained order in the land of Fiore.
Sasuke remembered every wrinkle and bald patch those oldies had simply because they reminded him so much of the band of fools that kept the Hokage's power in check. That and the fact that they really thought their outlandish crystalized cave, which they had boasted at the impossibility of escape, could really hold him forever. He had told them the same, that they would be unable to escape from him no matter where they fled. The raven-haired shinobi had every intention of keeping his word, but that would have to wait seeing as he was not completely free yet. With that in mind, the last Uchiha focused on the echoes that ominously rocked between stalactites above as another wave of tremors rocked the place.
He needed to get out of here fast.
"Damn it," Sasuke repeated with venom as he tried to move his upper body. It was no use; he was stuck, suspended gingerly across a carved pentagon attached to the crystal flooring that seemed to have encased his body in a way that reminded the Uchiha of Orochimaru's lackey, Guren, and her outlandish Crystal Pentagon Prison technique. Orochimaru revered the Kekkei Genkai enough and with good reason; the resilient element was almost impenetrable. The block, walls, and cell bars he could make out above him were built of the same material, the whole level a complete another story under the Tower of Heaven to keep the prisoner better contained.
As the terrain trembled below, Sasuke closed his eyes, letting out a calm sigh. He would have to find a way to solve this problem. As per usual, the first few solutions that crossed his mind were entirely unusable. Scorch the crystal away with Amaterasu? Demolished it with Susano'o? Teleport himself out of it with Amenotejikara? It didn't really matter which method he decided to attempt, because the end result would still be the same; Sasuke would still be in the Lacrima when the Tower of Heaven came down. Any of his ocular capabilities would have him out in no time, but because of his lack of chakra, all the tens of thousands of Jutsu he had mastered became but useless knowledge, at least for the time being. Which, of course, also meant that the Sharingan and Rinnengan were entirely out of the question, especially since he didn't know if they were useable after his reckless use of Izanagi and Amenotejikara, what got him in this mess in the first place, and his failure at the Outer Path reincarnation jutsu, the Samsara of Heavenly Life Technique.
A frustrated sigh escaped him. Just as he appeared to be close to achieving his goals, a blink away from attaining that which he desired, something always seemed to get in his way. More often than not, that something was usually tied to the Uzumaki. This time was no different. If hadn't been for Naruto, that so called God would've been dead the moment he came face to face with the Uchiha. If it hadn't been for Naruto, Momoshiki wouldn't have gotten as powerful as he did. If it wasn't for Naruto, Sasuke wouldn't have the blood of children on his hands…
It always came back to that.
Another explosion sounded off above him, and he knew he didn't have time to ponder over what had already come to pass. Not now, anyways. Which begged to question, what was he going to do? Physically force his way out? The crystal was alike only in appearance with Guren's Crystal Release; it was nowhere near as sturdy seeing as he could still move. Still, that option was as useless as the rest. If he had been in tiptop condition, then it wouldn't take much. After Momoshiki absorbed the Nine Tails, Taijutsu and Kenjutsu had been all he had to defend himself against his remnants for years since, just like their real body, they were immune to Ninjutsu. Having had to rely on the pure prowess of his own body had been difficult, but being an Uchiha; he was nothing if not adept, and his body had grown considerably sturdier because of it. Now, however, after an unknown number of years in imprisonment, he would be lucky to even get one limb to stir. His body was still in a state of hibernation, after all, even as immortal as it was. Sasuke considered for other alternatives, mind going completely blank a he felt for his surroundings, knowing he was running out of time.
That was when he felt it.
Instantly, his eyes ripped open, mind entirely focused on that energy he could feel; tremendous in its quantity. It was everywhere—above, below, and even inside him, but even more so, he could feel an overwhelming amount up on the very top of the tower, confined and just waiting to be used. If he reached for it, he could envision the two rather pitiful presences going at it right beside the Lacrima, with an ever weaker one just observing the proceedings. They reminded him of the man he had last fought; the foolish man who had believed that he could kill him.
He could clearly recall that the red-haired man hadn't been using Chakra, neither had those mages from the Magic Council; which could only mean they had used this same energy. He had done it before too, he thought with a cringe, when he had first arrived in this strange world, even if it was entirely by accident. What had they call it again, Magic? Nevertheless, it shouldn't be too difficult for him to replicate those actions. If he could harness the magic from atop his prison, then he would even be able to destroy the barrier surrounding it, and leave this place for good. Yes, that was the best course of action at moment. Then he could rest to recover his chakra; as much rest as he could get while staying awake anyways. Sasuke was never one to like sleeping.
But first and foremost, he had to escape the crystal.
He opted for the magic approach; Sasuke flexed his left hand, not feeling it but knowing for certain it was there. After a few moments of continuous stretching, he could hear the crystallized substance start to give way to pure force; the hand molded into a fist. Even severely weakened, the Uchiha's strength proved too much for the crystallized 'coffin' to handle. Still, those darn mages were smarter than they had looked; and soon he felt resistance against his hand as the matter augmented. He was relieved he had elected to conserve his energy and only use one hand, otherwise he wasn't sure he would be fast enough in his current state.
Swiftly, he pushed himself to continue scrapping; his nails screeching as he drove it into the cracks he had bent, fast enough that it wouldn't be able to recover. With a momentary path cleared with his left hand and the pillars beginning to move enthrallingly overhead, preparing to collapse as the quivering continued; he made his move. He gave a simple flex of his hand just as three of the pillars gave way and debris came falling, launching his left hand from the cold, slick material with all the strength he could muster. Just as one of the spikes made to pierce through the crystal, the fingers of his left hand wrapped firmly around it, stopping it in its entirety; the other two continued their decent, inputting themselves in the weakening flooring. He looked to the material at his hand, slowly gaining feeling. Yes, fire should do the trick.
Small pebbles of crystal cuffed against the surface surrounding his face consecutively drew his attention as the tremors continued, each one bigger than the one before. Suddenly, he heard a sound—and explosion, from way above. The telltale sign that the whole tower would be collapsing sooner rather than later. Drawing upon the strange energy in his surroundings to his left hand quickly, he fueled his system with magic and re-called the feeling of when Amaterasu had burned through the screams, cries, and stench, as he stood in the middle of it all. He had been trying to contained it, but it had all been in vain; the buildings, adults…the children, they all still burned.
This time, it was different. He could gradually feel energy being born in his hand, and he swiftly converted it into fire. All the oxygen from the cell was suddenly sucked in as a scorch of flames coursed through his hand, dissolving the pillar that he had been holding. Sasuke tried bending the flame to his will; the heat slowly decreasing in potency before it suddenly exploded in a flash of darkness. Surprised, all the Uchiha could do was watch as his encasement was instantly vaporized by the tremendous energy of Amaterasu in his hand. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he wasn't safe, Sasuke moved just as the cells bars above finally gave way as the residues of the explosion of his fire manipulation continued eating away at anything that came its way.
The whole tower shook for a short second before everything came falling.
He hadn't expected the overwhelming power behind the attack, nor that he would even summon Amaterasu, but he had no time to question it as the collapsing parts of Lacrima neared. The crystals had piled up neatly enough, and while an inexperienced ninja could find a dozen and a half ways to die along the straight carved path the Uchiha's perceptive eyes could make out, Sasuke was on a completely different level. It was like time had come to a complete stop as the Uchiha leaped from one footing to another, becoming nothing but a blur of movement as he cleared through the lower floor that was his cursed cell. He dashed around one of the larger debris while straining to control the energy at the sole of his bare feet, flipping from the falling structure to scale against the wall. It wasn't easy to maintain control, but chakra had been a whole lot more difficult. Sasuke figure it would pose no problem for him once he got used to it. Still, control had never been one of his many gifts, and though he had perfect control with Chakra and didn't need to worry about it as much due to his large reserves, the same couldn't be said of this strange Magic. He was running on empty as it was, so he had to hurry.
The heaviness of his legs, the exhaustion, and mental fatigue were all but nonexistent as adrenaline coursed through his body, freedom in his grasp as he continuously pumped his legs, straining them to continue moving one leap after the other. Just a little more, and the power he needed to escape the memories would be his. With resolve, Sasuke verged closer and closer upon the three presences he could now clearly make out with no conscious effort on his part.
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"Nngh," Erza hissed as her fingers were quickly scorched with pain and she was forced by instinct to pull backwards. Once that proved fruitless, her other hand moved to clutch at her captured arm, gripping it tightly in an effort to distract her from the throbbing. Further and further she sank, her right limb already swallowed whole by the unflappable substance of Lacrima. She gritted her teeth before she forced her eyelids open, blinking carefully to keep the sweat from getting behind her lids. When she looked forward, she saw caught a glimpse of her own reflection. This time there was no armor to protect her, to hide her weaknesses and insecurities, and all were clear as day. Sweat was running down her entire body, from forehead to neck to chest to stomach to thighs to ankles. Her hair was rough and muted, the bandages that covered her modesty were coming undone after all the abuse they had been through, and the black fabric of her pants were charred at the cuffs.
Erza couldn't find in herself to care, though, not as the image of the young girl she despised came to mind. Eight years had passed since she had last been here, in this tower, but it felt like so much longer—her whole life, and perhaps what even waited after, went by via the dark abyss that always seemed to swallow her whole. A dark abyss filled with regrets and nothing but, all oat the cost of this horrible tower. Suspended in time, that was the best way she could put it; that was her life. Erza may have grown in stature, but as she looked at her reflection, she could see nothing but the little girl that had been powerless to save her friends. She was different, Erza wanted to believe, she had to be. She no longer feared death, not if her friends would get to go on living instead. The little, fragile girl of seven years ago had been terrified of her own surroundings, but that was no longer the case…right? Surely that counted for something?
And why the hell was she shaking so much…?
"Erza…" came a faded whisper from behind her, and she turned in alarm. Natsu had managed to crawl his way through the debris where he had fallen, and drag himself to his knees without her notice. She was so wrapped up in her fear that she had almost forgotten that Natsu was nearby. Hearing her name was enough to drag her out of her self-loathing, at least long enough to look at him. At first glance, as she studied that stupid expression on his face, she was reminded of the little boy she recalled from the past. The sight was a bit funny to her—growing up, she was often annoyed by Natsu and Gray and the ill-mannered habits they had developed of intruding in her personal space. At first, she had been incredibly irritated by the two along with Mira. She had wanted to be left alone, to drown in her own misery, but without her ever knowing, she began to look forward to their interactions each and every day. As she looked at him, that little boy was all she could see.
She stood speechless in front of him a second longer, and then she finally found her voice. "Natsu…" the red-head said to him with appeasing sincerity and a smile, bringing her free hand at her cheeks to haphazardly dry the tears that she couldn't hold back. She didn't know if the tears were of regrets or happiness. She was still trying to disappear in the Lacrima, but she kept a half of a side-long gaze tilted toward the pink-haired mage.
"W-what are you doing…?" Natsu replied perplexedly, head slanted at an odd angle at seeing the odd sight of tears sliding down Erza's left cheek. Erza was the strongest person he knew, and seeing her cry made him feel like there was something wrong with the world. And Natsu made it his duty to make things right when Erza cried. Black eyes slowly trailed down her face, shoulders, and then to her arms to see if he had failed at protecting her from further harm from the blue-haired bastard. His confusion only grew when he noticed her arm in the substance that was said to be capable of reviving Zeref, the Black Wizard. "Why are you sticking your body into the crystal?"
Erza hesitated to answer, but she felt wrong for trying to hide the details, especially given that Natsu would be so disconcerted about the whole thing. She took a slow breath through her nose. "This is our only chance of stopping the Etherion," she responded simply, still smiling despite the pain. She looked him up and down and was glad that though he had a few injuries, he would be fine. A bruise beginning to color beneath his jawline, a bloody lip, a tenderness in his legs that caused a slight limp. It would all heal on its own. Not bad, especially considering the fact that the boy had just fought one of the Ten Wizard Saints. Natsu truly was amazing. Then again, she already knew that.
There was silence, because Erza stopped after that and Natsu couldn't figure out what to say as he waited for Erza to elaborate—to bark orders, or say something, anything, as she usually did in her know-it-all, bossy-like demeanor. He found that he didn't like when Erza was either crying, quiet, or sad, especially when she had that look on her face—that somber, crushed look that struck something in him. It wasn't the Erza he knew. Confusion still clouded his eyes as he looked up at her, but now there was a linger of fear. "Stopping the Etherion?" he asked as he moved to sit on his knees, one of his eyebrows raised in question.
She nodded her head. "The Etherion energy within the tower has gone wild, it's about to cause a gigantic explosion." The stillness hung palpably in the air as Natsu struggled to put two and two together, lips turned into something flat and neutral rather than the perpetual frown she knew he would have once he figured out her plan. If, she corrected, he managed to figure out her plan. She smiled briefly at his naivety, never having failed to impress her and her own shredded view of the real world. It was the faintest tug of her outer lips, barely enough to be called a smile at all before the strings were cut and her mouth sagged back in melancholy. "But if I can fuse with the Etherion and seize control of that power…" Erza took that time to explain as the Lacrima started consuming her legs, hissing in pain through gritted teeth. "I will be able to stop it."
The Dragon Slayer's eyes widened considerably as her words registered in his mind. "You idiot!" the pink-haired boy cried, the depths of Natsu's affection and respect for Erza was plumbed, but in that short moment, he would insult her foresight since she was clearly going insane. She could hit him later for his words, but Natsu wouldn't be staying quiet. Why was she so calm about this? He couldn't understand. He braced his right palm against the uneven flooring as he curled, straightening his legs to get up from his seated position, leaning forward in an all too sudden rush. "If you do that, you—" he made continue, but he was still too weak from recklessly eating away at the Etherion earlier and the tower trembled, and before he could finish his sentence, his face crashed against to the ground with a painful thud as he lost his balance.
For Erza, hearing the concern in his voice was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. It was heartening to hear that someone truly cared for her, and that she had—even if only a tiny bit, done some good with her measly existence. The comfort was usually mingled together with worry; a fear of making mistakes. No matter how much time she had spent with Fairy Tail in their private little world, Erza still sometimes felt an unrelenting pressure somewhere within her—it was nervousness, or insecurity; some unnamed feeling that always reminded her that she couldn't really be a part of Fairy Tail, not completely. She had always been afraid of what they would think of her if they knew of her past; fear of Jellal wasn't what kept her silent. It was all her. It was why she forced herself to have a preference for loneliness and by doing that, she was able to abandon the clutches of the people around her.
That was what she told herself anyway, because Erza was too weak to face the truth. She succeeded in avoiding their questions, she succeeded in avoiding their judgement, but she utterly failed at distancing her feelings; at being drawn in everything they were. Erza tried to remember a time before she felt such a powerful pull towards the group, because she didn't deserve to be happy; not when she had failed to save Rob, Jellal, Simon, and the rest of the children that had fought at her insistence and phony assurances. But she had come to care for Fairy Tail, with everything that she was, and she could never bring herself to regret that.
"Erza! Get out!" Natsu's worried, desperate voice made it to her ears as she winced through the pain as the Lacrima fully consumed her arm. He stood there with his hand out, suspended in stillness from the moment he had fallen. He seemed hurt, confused, and angry, but he was still too weak to do anything about it.
A shallow breath. "Don't worry," Erza looked away, the pool of red hair behind her head served as a wall while she hid herself from Natsu's gaze. She lowered her lower half, too, trying to accelerate the process as the tower became even less stable. "I will stop—" Erza was interrupted as a tight grip suddenly squeezed her wrist, and before she even realized what was happening, her incased body was out of the Lacrima with a pull too strong to resist. Everything was in slow motion—she heard herself wincing in pain, the shrieking panic involuntarily escaping her mouth as she stumbled backwards, eyes catching a brief glance of Natsu attacking a dark figure as she struggled with her balance. The terrain was too uneven, and just as she thought she had regained control, the follow up places her feet landed upon gave away just as easily as her first step. Although she made a valiant effort, she eventually succumbed to the disjointed ground and hit the surface with the left of her hip. She did not land flat on her back, though; catching herself by curling her weight and kicking up her legs, landing on both heels and skidding to a stop with the barest of movement.
After a gasp of breath and a short wobble of imbalance, Erza sternly looked forward as her dual katanas came to existence. The sight that met her eyes was not what she was expecting; the man standing in front of her was most definitely not Jellal. Tall, considerable, and confident, the figure was staring at the Lacrima, his bare back uncaringly turned towards her, with a steady posture, an arm extended towards the Etherion. On his other arm, dangling by the loose collar of his robe and scarf, was Natsu, clearly unconscious at the palm of the man's hand. Erza allowed her gaze to wander the man's body. The male was not visibly armed, though that in no way indicated he was not dangerous, with flawless pale skin, raven hair, and plain dark pants that looked ancient even for someone as old-fashioned as she was. Fortunately, the man was no mage. Of that, she was sure.
"Let him go," she stated with the slightest of winces in the corner of her eyes, a pointed blade directed at the man considered an enemy until further information could be concluded. She wanted to demand for answers, especially considering the fact that he was seemingly absorbing the Etherion clean of all its energy. However, she was in no position to make demands. Not when Natsu was clearly at his mercy. "Otherwise we will be having some problems…"
The man gave her a blank glance in return, faded eyes calmly regarding her. His aristocratic features were twisted into a frown. Something wasn't right about the way he looked at her. His emotions were smoldering and befuddled—and in that single glance, Erza was invaded by fear. He said nothing; thought nothing, and he defeated her with that single glance.
Erza felt all of her veins harden against her skin as she was forced to abandon all the hostility, bravery, and strength as fear overwhelmed all else in the face of such palpable killing intent. Her guilt, hatred, fear—it wasn't the thing consuming her anymore. All the blood in her mind, that was the image that clouded her every waking thought. Her death, Natsu's death, and everyone else she cared about. All too suddenly, she wasn't the same Erza. Instead, that scared little girl from eight years ago took her place—trembling to her knees as tears sought to escape her. Erza forced the images back, teeth crisply grounding together behind closed lips and her hands were clenched tight at the familiar kilts of her katanas that were now at each of her sides. The individual knuckles were cracking rhythmically as she tried to work off her face memories without howling aloud.
The man hummed. He seemed indifferent to her threat, but he had gotten his own point across—Erza had learned not to test him. With that, the man let Natsu fall to the ground carelessly. Erza didn't dare move, though. He still hadn't taken his eyes off her. "Erza, is it?" At her cautious nod, wondering how he knew of her identity, he continued. "You are truly clueless," he said after a pause, just as the tremors in the tower completely ceased as the last of the energy left the Lacrima and entered the man's body. "Death isn't something to take lightly, especially when you have a reason to keep on living."
Erza was speechless as the man looked at Natsu with something akin to regret.
"Don't be so quick to throw it all away."
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AN: So yeah, the idea just came to my mind like two days ago and I didn't really have time to edit it since I'll be going on a trip soon. If you, the readers, like it, then I will continue it. I'm not really good at writing and English is not my first language (I have only been speaking it for a couple of years), so give me some pointers. I would love for some criticism. Oh yeah, for why I picked the Tower of Heaven Arc. I hated the fact that Erza survived, utter bullshit when it was supposedly certain death.