A/N: Let's see how this progresses, shall we?
It was not uncommon for the clatter of a carriage to be heard resounding along the narrow cobblestone streets of Magnolia's alleyways. From within their homes the denizens of this historic city would raise their heads slightly as the racket grew in volume, creeping in from between the beams of tightly barred shutters, almost mocking in its jolly rattle. Some would exchange glances and occasionally attempt to peek through the thin cracks between the wooden panels and catch a glimpse of the dark procession; others would turn their heads away from the boarded windows and pray to whichever gods would listen to them, murmuring pleas of safety for their members of their home and sometimes for the wellbeing of the passengers within the carriage.
It was not unusual for the whinny of a horse to be heard late in the evening, when the stars watched silently from behind their clouded veils, and the light of wrought iron lamps served as beacons to the weary traveller, revealing the way through the dark. With the crack of a whip, the horse would carry on its way at a hastened pace, and the mean seated behind the reins would let out a loud, sighing yawn as the vehicle bounced along the street. Turning his head to the side, the driver would exchange a few quick words with the men assigned to escort his carriage that particular night, their hushed whispers loud and deafening to the deserted road. They would speak for a short time, and the men would draw their coats around their cold bodies tightly and fall back into step on either side of the carriage, blocking its barred windows from sight with their burly forms.
It was not at all strange for the driver of the small, boxy construction to grow tired with his work, and for his watchful eyes to cloud over as he envisaged a warm fire crackling before his feet and a plush leather armchair to rest his aching back in. His wife would hover over him, inspecting his appearance with wide, concerned eyes as he narrated the dull tale of his work. She had long grown accustomed to the late hours his employers forced him to keep, and had adjusted her own sleeping schedule to match his. If she was unhappy with the arrangement, she said nothing of it. He worked to make their lives comfortable, to keep them safe. And so she understood. Some way behind the driver, the four men accompanying him during his late-night travels would scan the outlines of sloping roofs and the shadows in unlit alleyways, keeping a wary eye out for anything strange. Ordinarily, they did not put a lot of effort into their jobs; no citizen was allowed outside past curfew, and so no signs of life ever appeared during these ungodly hours, apart from the odd stray cat or two. However, they had been ordered to take particular care of this carriage and its contents - they were transporting a dangerous criminal to a high-security prison they had built on the outskirts of Magnolia, and they were to make sure this mission was carried through to completion. Nothing could go wrong. They would not permit it to.
All of these proceedings were, for the most part, perfectly common. What wasn't common at all was the fact that this small, woeful procession had an audience, one who did not stare out meekly from behind their shuttered windows but instead shadowed it from the rooftops. Agile in their movements, the silhouettes leapt from shingle to shingle without uttering so much as a whisper. These were the delinquents who had the potential to hinder their plan. Bandits. Rogues. Criminals. They were of one breed yet had a variety of titles, all of which meant the same. Over the past six months their activities had diminished so much that they'd completely ceased to be referred to by anything; instead, they had become the butt of the jokes of officers who spent their nights skulking in smoke-filled bars and chortling with each other as they downed pitcher after pitcher of beer. Their reputation was that of a laughing stock, and so, the guards who strolled casually beside the carriage with their hands hanging idly by their sides and a whistle playing upon their lips, were completely at ease, and the bandits continued unnoticed by the party below.
"How's it looking, boys?" yawned the driver, scratching his nose with the back of his hand, reins clasped tightly within his grip. His voice reverberated violently through the night, and the carriage clattered eagerly in the background.
"Everything looks good," a voice to his left grunted. "Seems like a quiet night, tonight."
"It always is," another chimed in. Peeking his head round the front of the carriage, he raised his voice slightly. "Say, how much do you think we'll get paid for delivering this guy to the prison?"
"A lot," said the driver immediately. Checking himself, he added, "At least, from what I've heard, you folks make quite a pretty penny from these jobs. Not that you'd need it, with what you get already."
The men seemed oblivious to the bitter edge in which he'd ended his statement, and they chuckled as they inwardly agreed. "Money's still money, in the end," said one. "I'll take as much of it as I can. That's why I'm here. The heavens smiled down on us the day the Master took control of the city - you should be grateful to him, you know. Even someone with as simple a job as yours can live comfortably if the boss allows it."
"I suppose they could," replied the driver vaguely, flicking the reins reflexively. "Go on, Strawberry, let's keep it up." The horse age a slight neigh and increased its pace, its own thoughts wandering every now and again to the sweet tang of sugar cubes and carrots. "Just don't get cocky, you lot. Anything could go wrong. I don't know who's in here - they had a black hood tied round 'is head on his way in - but we'll be in trouble if he gets out."
"What's the worse he could do? Fight us?" All at once a bout of voracious laughter encircled the driver and Strawberry, and they both flinched involuntarily at the noise. "Whoever he is, he's completely powerless. Couldn't fight a kitten if he wanted to."
Their steady march continued onwards, and the homes of innocents receded into the distance as they came upon the warehousing district of Magnolia. They were making good progress, and would have gone on further had a sharp cry not emerged from behind the vehicle. "Stop! Watch where you're going, you idiot! There's something up there!" Startled, they driver pulled back on the reins, and his horse let out a violent whinny before the carriage shuddered to a halt. Peering into the darkness, he spied with a trained eye something glittering across the path - broken glass, perhaps? As he climbed down from his seat he started to mutter under his breath about 'damn irresponsible drunks', and stopped short when he realised what was actually barring their path.
"Well, I'll be damned - it's ice!" he breathed. Indeed, it was a solid, twisted contortion of ice, a miniature blockade reaching from one side of the road to the other. Easy enough to walk over, but had Strawberry accidentally stepped on one of the spiked tops, serious damage would have ensued. "That was a close call! Sorry, boys, I'm clearly not in my right mind tonight. How on earth did you spot it?"
Quietly, he awaited an answer, but his muteness received no response. "Eh? Boys?"
All was still except for his heart, which hammered away loudly within his chest. He turned around unhurriedly, his movement similar to that of a man who knows not what he will see yet dreads to see it. They stood around the carriage, all of them, motionless and pale as wooden soldiers in need of a fresh coat of paint. Hesitantly, he reached out to touch the sleeve of the one nearest to him, all the while avoiding meeting the man's ghastly stare. His fingers were greeted with the hard, numbing feel of ice, and with a start he snatched them back, terrified by the realisation that in the short time it had taken for him to stop the carriage, they had been frozen solid. They stared at him blankly from the confines of their bodies, unaware of their state.
"Oh, lord have mercy," he whispered fearfully. Stumbling towards his horse, his limbs insensible from the panic which was beginning to take its hold, he slammed into a shadow almost a head taller than himself. The cloaked stranger was holding onto the reins of a frightened Strawberry, who stomped up and down and snorted in distress. Without so much as flinching, the stranger threw them into the driver's face, uttering a single word as he did so.
"Go."
The driver didn't need to be told a second time - propelling himself off the ground with strength he never knew he had, he clambered onto his horse with a mad, scrabbling motion, and rode away bareback into the night, never once looking back. The stranger watched his hasty retreat until he was long out of sight, remaining still until another figure stood by his side.
"That was awfully kind of you, Gray," it commented.
"He wasn't wearing the same grunt uniform as the rest," replied the mage, drawing back the hood of his clock, "which means he wasn't another one of those lackeys. There wasn't any need to stop him, too."
"Fair enough," said the figure, mimicking his actions. A shock of white hair greeted the night, and the glow of the lamps nearby reflected in a narrow, slanted pair of eyes. Turning his face toward the sky, Lyon took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. A small smile found its way onto his lips. "Nice night to be out, isn't it?"
"Feels like it's been years," said Gray. He stretched his arms high above his head, and with a satisfied sigh let them swing back into place.
"Will you two please focus?" begged the third of their team, her voice ringing uncomfortably loud in the evening's eerie silence. She was perched atop the creaky carriage, eyes surveying the surroundings for the slightest movement. "Can one of you guys just get Jura out of there? We don't have time for this! Once the guards at the prison realise no-one's coming, they'll start looking for him - and we have to be long gone by then!"
"I'll get it open in a second," said a gruff voice. His statement was followed by a horrendous CRASH, and the yelp of a startled girl who leapt from her post onto solid ground. Her glowering eyes turned to the dragon slayer, who held a wooden door within a brawny hand, and then casually tossed it aside.
"LAXUS!"
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
"ARE YOU A COMPLETE IDIOT?!"
All three exclamations came at once in the form of restrained hisses, and the blonde merely blinked at them, completely unfazed by their reactions to his little thought-out performance.
"What if someone heard?" asked Levy, her pupils rapidly scanning the scene. "You could have just picked the lock!"
"We didn't have time for that," said Laxus.
"Thanks to you, we don't anymore!" said Gray. "There's no time now - anyone could have heard that! Get him out now!"
"Is he conscious?"
Lyon's question went unanswered by Laxus, who had stuck a large arm through the gaping hole in the woodwork and pulled out a well-built individual dressed head to toe in rags. His hands and legs were shackled and linked together by a thick steel chain, and a sack of black cloth hid his face from them, corded tightly ad the base of his neck.
"Who knows," Laxus finally replied. "Wakey wakey, Jura," he said as Lyon went to work on the restraints, which were no match to his magic. Within a few seconds he'd pulled them apart, the once strong links now dull, frozen and useless. Laxus tugged at the cords around Jura's neck, and pried them off with minimal effort. "Rise and shine, sleepy he-EAD?!" He got no further in his sentence, rendered speechless by the iron pillar which struck him beneath his chin and sent him flying into the air. He collided with the wall of a nearby building, the impact causing it to rumble unsteadily on its foundations, and fell to the floor with a thud, his descent followed by a shower of pebbles and stone from the crater in the wall.
Jura - or at least, what they had believed to be Jura - rose slowly from the ground, and with a rough yank he ripped the black cloth from his face, revealing a pair of deep crimson eyes and a face studded with iron piercings. Long black hair flowed from the cap and flew around him wildly, and his lips twisted into a vicious smile.
"Well, look who it is! Leftovers from Fairy Tail! And," he added, passing a disinterested glance over Lyon, "friends!"
The feared dragon slayer folded his arms across his chest, drinking in the distressed expressions of the fugitives with wicked glee. "A little birdie told me the nimrods in our guild hadn't gotten to some of you just yet. I'm glad - it's been pretty dull around here these past few months." They knew who this was - while none of them had encountered him before, they had long since acquainted themselves with the leading members of Phantom Lords through the rumours spread by the populace and the painful remembrances of their fellow fugitives. He was powerful, and he was dangerous. Their scheme, one born out of haste and desperation, had no contingency plan - they were not prepared for this. They'd taken a chance, decided to believe the hearsay which had found its way underground to the ears of antsy mages, mages who couldn't tolerate sitting around and doing nothing day in and day out. The information could've been wrong, it could've been inaccurate, yet still they had gone along with it. And now, as they stared into the blood-red eyes of the man before them, they realised just how rash they head been.
"What's the matter? Not who you were expecting to see?" asked Gajeel, his tone laced with derision. "Jura was too busy to come out and say hello - looks like you'll have to play with me instead."
"Go to hell!"
The snarl came from Laxus, who had recovered from his collision and was upright once again, steady on his feet, if a little bit dazed. A sliver of lightning streaked across his torso, and he launched himself at Gajeel. Drawing his fist back, he aimed straight for his opponent's face - instead, his blow was met by a gleaming metallic arm, and the other fist, which had struck out automatically, was repelled in the same manner. Immediately, the blonde leapt back, creating a wide gap between them.
Laxus's actions drew his comrades out of their stupor. "Let's get out of here," Gray began, but the blonde didn't seem to be listening - infuriated, he started running at Gajeel, and did not slow his pace even once, not when the iron dragon slayer slid into a defensive stance and happily braced himself for the next onslaught of attacks, nor when a strange, thin shadow rose from the ground before Gajeel's feet, getting in his way of a clear shot. Before he could even register the presence of this second character, he found himself bound tightly within the coils of an unnaturally flexible man.
"Oh non non non, we mustn't waste time!" the snake-like man chastised his comrade.
"Damn it, Sol, do you have to butt in now?" Gajeel groaned.
"We have our orders," said Sol, slinking his arms around his still-struggling prey. "Do you have it?"
Grunting unhappily, Gajeel produced a small black stone from his pocket and tossed it into the bespectacled man's waiting hands. "Do it yourself, then."
Finally gathering his wits together again, Gray yelled out at the two members of Phantom Lord, "Oi! Lunkheads! Let him go!" The air about his hands fogged up menacingly, and beside him his former classmate did the same. Levy took the same stance, an array of dangerous words poised upon her lips. They had been undecided until then - back in the safety of their hideaway, the four had agreed if anything were to go wrong, it was every man for himself. But that wasn't the spirit they had kept up in the olden days of their guilds, when they'd been complete and still roamed the surface. They couldn't just run away and save themselves. They wouldn't.
However, their companion, after thrashing about in a vain attempt to escape his bonds, realised there was no chance of escape.
"Scatter!" he yelled out. That was their code word, prepared in the event of emergency - they were to flee in different directions, and allow not a single glance back until they had reached their hideout. His brashness had cost him his freedom - he wouldn't let it cost them theirs, too. He couldn't save Jura, but at least, with one order, he would save them. And that would be enough.
They stared at him, firm in their stances, yet unsure in their resolution. "We can't just leave you!" Lyon cried.
"I SAID FUCKING SCATTER!"
If any of the inhabitants of the nearby residential area had managed to sleep through the noisy events of the night, his roar would have ended their peaceful slumber once and for all. The rumble of his yell allowed room for no argument - the desperate plea buried within the tremors of his voice had the desired effect - with their hearts in their throats and regret stinging their eyes, they fled the scene. None of them knew what happened to Laxus afterwards, but from the hot flash of light which emanated from the abandoned site, his fate became clear. He would live - whether captured or released, they did not know. He would live, because their enemies had rendered him powerless to anything else.
He would live, because they stole the very essence of his being, and without it, he was nothing.
His magic was no longer his.
It belonged to them.