Disclaimer: Fairy Tail belongs to Hiro Mashima
A/N: I've decided to write another story and it's a pretty sensitive subject and at the same time, an interesting topic to delve in. Mind you I am not doing this to discriminate, blame, go against, convict, condemn—and whatnot— anyone from any race or religion. The plot itself is purely fictitious as it centers around fictional characters, but the places, dates and other historical events are based on the truth. I do not intend to sugarcoat what happened during those times but rather I want to present something which could be understood by everyone and at some decent point—for entertainment.
Rated T for: Violence, racism/discrimination (for the plot alone), death (at some point). Rating may go up depending on how I deliver the situations but for now, it will be as is.
Things you might need to know before reading:
Auschwitz-(place in Poland)concentration camp/extermination camp, divided into three main camps the base camp, extermination camp and labor camp
Birkneau-extermination camp
Monowitz-labor camp
SS/Schutzstaffel-military org under Hitler/Nazi in charge of the camp
On with the story then :D
In A Heartbeat
—because if he could, he would. And he'd do it in a heartbeat. AU
Fatal Encounter
Late November 1941
He pulled out a cigarette stick from his breast pocket and flicked the lighter to ignite a small spark. The nicotine and smoke sending comfort and heat surging through his body almost immediately; he stared at the sky and watched the frozen, solid white pellets fall like ashes, piling up unevenly around the whole campsite. He crushed the remains of his cigarette after a few quick puffs with his combat boots and the seemingly foreign material blended well with the snow as they both appeared a shade darker than white.
He wearily sighed and ruffled his ultramarine locks to rid of the snow that gathered on top of his head. The fully-dressed and operational soldier turned on his heel and headed towards the compound where hundreds of innocent souls were tortured. A stoic expression was plastered on his face as the same coldness remained present in his eyes.
Time to get back to work.
The halls inside of Auschwitz reeked with the heavy scent of death and torment. He'd gotten so used to it that the smell was almost welcoming; it was amazing how the young man could withstand something so gruesome and dreadful. The scenario itself was also a faint and suffocating reminder that he was a German SS officer that contributed greatly for cleaning and ridding the world of its Jewish impurities.
He reached a certain sector in the building and smiled at the rising excitement and vigor flowing in his veins.
Block Eleven.
This was where he relished the harmonious sounds of agony and pain—the cries of anguish and choir of pleas and screams.
A sweet, sweet lullaby.
He settled for a particular spot on the section with a solid steel door. The blue-haired man slid the small steel window of a metal door, allowing only his hunter green eyes to pierce into the darkness. The room is small, tight and sealed, apart from the tiny opening he had provided.
"What is your name?" a low and cool voice asked and a figure shifted slightly from the foreign sound. The clank of iron was a sign that the person inside the cramped space was bound in chains, and handcuffed to the wall.
A hoarse sound broke out from the prisoner's lips who apparently knew the dialect that the high-ranked officer used.
"S-Simon…" his bleak tone and horrid coughs told the German that he wasn't going to last much longer.
His deathly sea green eyes and partly visible red tattoo lit up with amusement as a wonderful idea crossed his mind. The German SS fished for the metal lighter in his pocket and admired the soft flares of the tiny flame. He crumpled a few sheets of paper that were inside his double-breasted coat—supposedly written reports—engulfed them in flames and tossed them inside the sealed chamber and nonchalantly whispered to the dying captive.
"Auf wiedersehen, Simon."
The fire danced as it gobbled up the remaining ounce of his oxygen. Simon hacked as he tried his best to get on his feet and extinguish the fire as soon as possible, but the way he was strapped and bound to the wall made all his efforts futile; soon he found himself choking and gasping for precious air. The last thing he saw was the blurred image of the firelight before his body slumped lifeless on the hard, steel floor.
The ruthless and impervious officer turned to a soldier who was obviously on duty.
"Dispose his body." he first stiffened at the command of his superior before complying with his order. He stood rigidly in place and saluted the blue-haired demon.
"Ja! Captain Jellal Fernandes!"
Early January 1944
Two years. That's how long he had been serving and aiding Germany in war and killing thousands of their enemies who dared to go against the Führer. Jellal Fernandes, who in the preceding years was only coined as captain was now promoted as major of the Schutzstaffel. He craved for the position so badly. He craved for power so desperately—just so he could protect the ones he loved at the expense of others. He really didn't care much about the prisoners of war, or the deaths of the innocent majority. He cared less about that, in fact their deaths meant the safety of his dear ones and it fueled him to keep on going. He willingly sold his soul to the devil just to keep his loved ones safe from harm.
"Ah Jellal." a low voice greeted the blue-haired man who apparently snapped out of his reverie.
"Laxus." it came out as dull and distant, but was enough to pass on as a greeting.
"I have to report to the higher-ups. And since you're already here, why don't you take charge?" the burly blond pulled out a tobacco stick and placed it between his lips before continuing. "Zero's pretty busy dealing with bodies in the morgue, and between you and Zancrow, I really prefer you over that sadistic arsch."
"You and I are equals." the lean soldier pointed out; his tone was cold but never sinister.
"I know, I know." the scar-faced officer raised his hands up in defeat but still tried to convince the uninterested comrade. "It wasn't even an order. It was a request." The playful features of the blond officer turned serious and almost sullen—and guilty?
"If I leave this to Zero, he'd probably experiment on everyone and Zancrow might kill everyone without even sorting the prisoners out. At least between the four of us, we both still got our humanity intact. Fairly loose, but still there." he puffed out a ring of smoke and faced him. The look on the ultramarine's face was unreadable, but he could see the faintest hint of realization on the tattooed and stoic façade he had.
"Fine…" he merely replied and ultimately got a huge slap on the back from his fellow soldier.
"I'll be going then." Jellal merely gave a curt nod and the moment Laxus headed out, the sound of the train signaled the arrival of the captives—who were usually Polish Jew civilians—a bunch of criminals and some others who were randomly turned in by the Nazi soldiers. The large group was contained on the cold fields of Auschwitz lined up and surrounded by the Wehrmacht dressed in their winter uniforms.
Jellal viewed them as tiny little ants gathered up all in one place, the grim lines returning eventually on the contours of his face. The blue-haired officer couldn't help but wonder why he felt excited and gloomy at the same time. It was a horrible combination of emotions; it was like fire and ice, water and oil. He vaguely remembered what Laxus had said.
We still got our humanity. Fairly loose, but still there.
He bitterly smiled at himself at the event that had happened two years ago when he mercilessly killed a chained man, slaughtered hundreds of prisoners by any means necessary and tortured thousands of innocent civilians through forced labor. Jellal donned his crusher cap and immediately made his way out of the building.
He did all those inhumane acts for the sake of his loved ones—for the sake of protecting them, but he knew he was anything but human anymore.
The field was an absolute frozen wasteland and Jellal could feel his fingertips freezing even with his thick gloves on. He signaled the soldiers to start the selection because the sooner his work finished, the sooner he could go back to Monowitz and the sooner he could warm up in his barracks.
As expected, the selection went fast and fluid. He expertly sorted the ones who were capable from those who were beyond help. It was when a sudden change in the line caught the blue-haired officer's attention. A scrawny looking guy cut his way through the rest, only to complain to the sergeant administering the list of captives. His pleas came out like a broken mantra in a foreign dialect that left the army furrowing their brows in confusion.
The man's desperate cries were replaced by horrifying screams from the prisoners when a deafening sound of a gunshot shattered the rising commotion on the open field. The body of the Polish man fell heavily on the snowy ground. The bullet buried deep within his skull and a lush, rich vermillion flowed out generously, melting the snow at the sudden contact and painting a lively color on the dull surroundings.
"Scheißkerl." a low and menacing voice sent the crowd whimpering in fear that even Jellal's fellow soldiers had gone rigid from his sudden outburst.
We still got our humanity. Fairly loose, but still there.
"Those who dare speak a word shall answer to this!"
The tattooed high-ranked SS held his revolver high enough to be in level with his chest to fairly emphasize his point. He pulled the trigger once again, sending a Polish citizen crippling to the floor.
"That one goes to Birkneau. He's useless now." he barked at the soldier who was recording to fill in the list.
We still got our humanity. Fairly loose, but still there.
"And anyone who dares to fight back shall die. Like this!"
Another bullet sent a body thumping hard on the ground, ridding the target of its life.
We still got our humanity.
"My, my. As ruthless as ever eh, Major?" a shady looking man with bloodshot eyes appeared behind Jellal and the foot soldiers gave a quick salute to another highly respectable person that had joined them on the field of the base camp.
"Zero." the loathe in the ultramarine's voice was evident, indirectly stating that he didn't like the surgeon to join him.
"Why don't you get back to your camp and I'll take—"
"I'm in charge here." he lowly growled at the old man and glared at him with burnt olive orbs, flaring with hate and disgust.
Fairly loose, but still there.
The surgeon raised his hands defensively and shrugged.
"Tasks aside, the Lieutenant Colonel would be visiting Monowitz. Did you forget?"
Jellal uttered a string of curses for forgetting such an important occasion and rubbed his temple to ease the tension that had already built up. He reached for the pocket watch inside his double breasted coat and sighed in defeat.
"Understood. I leave them in your capable hands." he stressed the word 'capable' just to warn him about going for his fatal attractions and fetishes. Jellal was practically glad that his anger was dissipating with every passing second, thanking the negative temperature that played its part of cooling his head. He wearily sighed as he remembered Laxus' words once again.
We still got our humanity. Fairly loose, but still there.
He was now sure that what little he had left of it was now gone.
He made it safely back to his camp and from there on out, he busied himself with loads of reports and private sessions with the Lieutenant Colonel. It didn't take and consume most of his time as he had expected, so he decided to make the remaining hours of the day worthwhile by doing something progressive.
"Private," he called to the startled soldier who responded with another salute. "How much more time do we have before the new set of laborers come?"
"An hour sir." the young man merely answered as his commanding officer made no hesitation to tell him his motive.
"I'll take over. You get your rest for now." Without another word, the soldier didn't argue and left the clipboard onto the hands of his officer clearly gratified.
The prisoners assigned to Monowitz mostly consisted of bulky men and a few healthy women who headed for the labor camp's entrance. Jellal eventually started listing their names alphabetically as he asked each one of them for information.
"Name?"
"Erza."
It was a female's voice. A smooth and virile voice as the ultramarine would have coined. He lifted his head, apparently intrigued by the tone.
The first thing that registered to mind was the color of her hair. It was the same color that haunted him every night, the same hue that was ever present on the battlefield, the same shade that smeared and tainted his whole being, the same tinge that plagued his years of existence.
Scarlet.
"Surname?" he shook his head as his thoughts got derailed in a split second of the sudden flashback.
"I have none." her reply came out clipped and laced with fury. It wouldn't take a genius to tell that the woman had deep hatred for the man in front of him. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she would admit that she hated every single pet of the Nazi in the whole vicinity.
Jellal tapped the pen on the wooden clipboard and glanced at her. His eyes widened when she inexplicably bared her neck to him, pointing at her throat and taunting him to bury the bullet of his revolver into her system. Instead of drawing his gun and sending her to the gates of hell, he kept his cold and intimidating façade, making the red tattoo on his cheek prominent and glow in the icy snowfields.
"Number?" he asked, this time holding her gaze.
"19526."
He motioned her to join the rest of the workers and she silently passed by him. His shamrock eyes followed her figure blatantly until she made it to her destination. He stared at the numbers long and hard after she disappeared and smiled to himself. It was a long, long time since he smiled genuinely and sincerely like this. He was glad that he hadn't done it. He didn't pull the trigger. He didn't plunge a bullet into her neck. He didn't kill her. And he was instantly overjoyed and confused at himself at the same time, because for the first time ever, this was the closest he got to understanding and knowing himself.
We still got our humanity. Fairly loose, but still there.
Prisoner 19526 Erza.
He frowned instantaneously when he thought he would have a problem with the alphabetically arranged list, seeing that she didn't have a last name. He could have them arranged at chronological order but that would take too much of his precious time. He sighed in frustration for the mistake that he failed to foresee. He closed his eyes, and tapped on irritably to signal the next prisoner.
When he finished recording all of the captives' information he settled to take a quick break inside his barracks.
"Prisoner 19526," he muttered to himself. "Erza."
He could still recall the woman who was either too stupid or brave enough to challenge him of all people.
"What am I going to do with you?" he smirked at the still present problem he had at hand when he suddenly thought of a brilliant idea. He quickly grabbed the paper that held the important data and let his fountain pen work its magic through the smooth surface of the filled sheet.
He admired how his calligraphy made the letters come alive.
Erza Scarlet, Prisoner 19526.
Scarlet.
That way he wouldn't forget.
Scarlet.
The color of her hair.