"WELL, SWEET MOTHER THERESA ON THE HOOD OF A MERCEDES BENZ," I FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER WFWEEEEEEE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT EEEEEEEEEE-
my lovelylovely potatoes -er, readers/reviewers, thanks muchly for your patience. and your DELICIOUS PRAISE!
also, just so you know, the profanity -insanely- has actually *increased* in this chapter. and, likely due to a marathon run-through of both 'attack on titan' (GREAT SPATULAS WHAT A FABULOUSLY SUSPENSEFUL-HORRIFYING STORY) and the corresponding (genius!) abridged version of the same show (ilu, teamfourstaaaar~), there's some...gruesome-ish violence. and not much in the way of redemption for gajeel in the aftermath.
you have been warned.
['the last group thought it'd be funny, to shove a corncob, up a trainee's DISCLAIMER. and you know what HAPPENED?! they were asked to leave politely. and it was AWKWARD for everyone.' -th101]
Rookie fuckin' mistake, Gajeel will later reflect, when he inevitably replays this portion of the fight in his mind after a few rounds at the pub.
Absorbed as he is for a single fucking instant by his baffling concern for the Shrimp's well-being, he registers the soft tenor of her voice (at first) only insofar as it verifies what his nose has already confirmed, which is that she's fit as a fuckin' fiddle, and none the worse for the wear after teleporting outta the way of his last attack. Half a second later, she reappears -on the opposite side of the alley, hands flung out in front of her and a spell on her lips, a fibrous 'SMOKE' hissing from her fingertips and -for the second time this evening- explodin' in a thick, impenetrable cloud to conceal what he irritatedly presumes is another escape attempt.
Fucking unbelievable, he mentally grouses, wishing she'd stop and fight him already.
Before he can move one fuckin' step in pursuit of her, he takes at least thirty goddamn sucker punches -to the face-- in roughly the span it takes him to fully appreciate the fact that he's been hit at all, and by the time he finally maneuvers to strike, the assault abruptly ends, and his unseen assailant retreats back into the fog. At the same time, solid, stabbing vines break through the earth on either side of him, and immediately begin coiling and constricting around his arms and legs to hold him in place.
He smirks. Sneak attack. He's actually proud, a good deal less pissed off to discover she hasn't bolted after all. This's a feint, another trap. A poor one, obviously, since these are some of the flimsy-shittiest restraints he's ever encountered, but for the moment he remains intentionally still, because he's curious to see what else she's got up her sleeve.
As the smoke begins to clear, he can see the outline of another beside the Shrimp, and his nose suggests there's probably one more he's not seeing. That's when he gets socked again, this time in the gut. Which, actually, is far more painful for his as-yet invisible attacker than for himself, since his full torso and now his arms and legs have morphed into metal. He hears the belated, agonized yowl across the alley, and the smoke finally thins enough for him to make out the shapes and faces of the Shrimp's -er, bodyguards? Boyfriends? Entourage?
One's got a freakier hairdo than she does, some kinda tapered, whippy tail-lookin' shit -and the other's hunched over under his hat, holdin' his wrist and grimacing, clearly the one whose fist had just connected with his iron stomach. He cleared the length of the alley in seconds. Speed demon, he concludes, rolling his eyes. Any fuckwit with half a Jewel* could buy a two-bit token to perform basic speed magic. At least that explains how a Script Mage managed to 'teleport.' He pans his gaze back to the first male, whose magic -earth or flora-centric, if the plant bondage offers any indication- is every bit as useless and ridiculous as the fish ass attached to the back of his head.
"You okay, Levy?" The one with the stupid hat and the hopefully-broken wrist asks.
Levy. He rolls the name around in his mind once or twice, committin' it to memory before he's had a chance to consider why he'd bother.
"I'm fine. Really." Then, lower, with an edge of anxious reprimand to her grateful relief, "Took you guys long enough." The squinty-eyed shit in the furry hat cracks a pained grin and offers a quiet apology for not respondin' to her 'FLARE' sooner, while the other runs a cautious hand through her hair, smoothing it over where it'd been ruffled into disarray. Where he'd grabbed her.
"Did he hurt you?" Fish-ass demands to know, something damn near imperceptible changin' about his posture. Somethin' in the way he looks at the Midget makes Gajeel wanna punch the freak right in his stupid fuckin' haircut.
She doesn't respond directly to the question, 'cause the answer's fuckin' obviously, but she sure as hell ain't willin' to admit as much in front of him.
He approves of her pride.
Gravely, "I pretty sure that's the point."
"What? Why? What'd you ever do to him?"
"This isn't about who I am or what I've done." She focuses a hard glare at him from all the way down the alley, remonstrative. He grins back at her, feral. "This is about Fairy Tail. He's here to start a war." She swallows, looks between her buffoons with a watery smile. "I think I'm just the convenient means to that end."
"Gihik." He laughs derisively, confirming this conclusion. "There's plenty enough pain for two more, Shrimp. Ain't gotta be stingy." All eyes ping to him, and he flexes his muscles experimentally, gauging how much strength he'll need to rip himself free in one go. Not fucking much, he perceives, now thoroughly unimpressed with both of her lackeys.
"You can still leave." Levy tells him, gaze leveled with bemusement at her headband, pulled tight over his knuckles and tailing out of his right fist. "This can all end right now, Gajeel." Her stooges flinch visibly when she names him, and there's an interesting measure of raw anger underlyin' the more prominent pants-shitting terror now splashed across their faces. He doesn't fight the proud smirk that follows. Notoriety's fuckin' keen.
"Don't be gettin' cold feet on me, now." He's talkin' to her, to Levy; fuck if he gives two fat, flamin' shits about the sacks of meat she brought along for back-up. Far as he's concerned, they're set decoration. Collateral damage. Short Stuff's the only one packin' heat. Hell, she's already scored a couple good shots, and they ain't even technically started yet.
-he crashes through her surprise 'WALL' with a curse and the coppery taste of his own blood filling his mouth, and rankles with angry shame at the sight of her whirlin' whip-quick 'round the corner, a radiant blur of color dissolved into darkness, leavin' behind her only the impression of a cock-sure, patronizin' smile bright as the fuckin' sun-
"I'm not afraid of you." She brazenly lies, shaking him free of whatever insanity'd just pulled him away from the present. His first instinct is to challenge her to prove it, or at the very least to reassure her he means to remedy her (clearly false) bravado, then rip himself free and make with the fire-starting. But, for the first time in a long, long-ass time, he ignores his first instincts -and then his second and third instincts, too.
Instead, like the fuckin' mongoloid-lunatic he might actually be, he just stares at her, usin' these final moments 'fore he never sees her again to take her all in: the slow, even rise and fall of her chest as she breathes (which is still fuckin' baffling, because he's winded as all hell from their high-speed chase), the low, loose bend of her knees (her weight's in her feet: it's a ready stance, but one that indicates she's waitin' on him to make the first move, which is both noble and rarefied-fuckin' stupid), the high color of her cheeks (the only clear evidence of the toll of her exertion), the rigid set of her jaw and the wide, anxious alertness of her eyes (subtle braces against mounting fear), the wild whorls of blue damply clinging to the margins of her mouth...
She responds to this point-blank scrutiny by chuckin' her chin up at him, defiant. Then, deliberately, she pulls her gaze away from his; offers brief, meaningful nods to either of her useless minions; threads small, pale fingers through said minions' much larger hands; and finally, in what looks like ritual fuckin' fashion, her idiots stoop at the waist and tender their cheeks and he watches in inexplicable horror as she pecks the both of 'em, for luck or as a show o' solidarity or maybe 'cause these two dipshits really are the Midget's boyfriends.
Whatever the reason, this revolting display makes the headband in his fist feel suddenly leaden, melts away the very last of his misgivings, and steels his resolve (particularly where Fish-ass and Furry Shit are concerned: he intends to make their pain last).
The trio of Fairies perceive the shift in mood almost immediately; they seem to understand that the time for parley's passed, that their brief respite's about to come to an abrupt, agonizing halt. Furry Shit grimacingly lowers his bum hand and curls his good 'un into a fist. Fish-ass tenses, and the vine-shackles around Gajeel's arms and legs constrict in kind. And Levy...Levy looks a fuckin' Valkyrie, wild wrath on the warpath.
Showtime.
With a low, rumbling growl, Gajeel tears himself easily free of his bonds, and surges into action.
The three of 'em -surprisin'ly- actually put up a fair amount of fight, though that's mostly on account o' Levy. They've got a cozy rhythm worked out: Short Stuff n' Fish-ass launch an unrelenting offensive from a distance, while Speed Demon darts in for short bursts of close-range combat and then just as quickly darts away again. Problem is, Levy's stooges're too damn predictable; her erratic blend of deadly spells n' cheap parlor tricks is the only thing keepin' him on his toes, and even that only lasts as long as it takes him to finally catch hold of her limp-wristed friend.
"Jet!" She shrieks, at the last second purposefully misfiring a high-pressure 'WATER' spell to avoid accidentally blastin' her teammate. Which he immediately makes an exercise in hilarious futility, since he wastes no time metin' out the hurt: Gajeel clotheslines Twinkle Toes when he tries to make a break for it, spins before the punk has a chance to recover his breath or manage to stop himself from chokin' on his own damn saliva, and delivers a swift, flat-footed jab to his knee with a leg now wrapped in steel. Furry Shit's leg snaps back like a fuckin' twig, and the sound of it breaking echoes somethin' powerful in an alley suddenly death-quiet.
A sideways peek yields an image of Levy, lookin' on in horror, frozen in place on the other side of their impromptu battlefield. Speedy's wearin' a similar expression; 'pparently he ain't fully registered what's just happened to him yet. Won't be the first time Gajeel's seen dumb shock overwhelm pain; he knows that'll pass, though, and sooner rather'n later at that. Graciously, he decides to help the agony along, and gingerly shifts his weight to break the fool's other leg.
He's interrupted, though, when the stupefied mage abruptly sags and and begins to collapse under the irresistable influence of an effervescing mist that briefly reads 'SLEEP' before it explodes in a shower of short-lived knock-out sparkles. At the same time, Fish-ass attacks with a handful of monster-wide plant appendages, pullin' 'em up outta the earth and layers of packed dirt n' stone and snappin' 'em toward Gajeel like a carriage driver crackin' the reins to get his mares marchin'. He leaps away to avoid bein' smacked through a wall or tossed into the air (he'd had his fuckin' fill of that chasin' after the Shrimp), lets Levy's mangled nakama slump to-er, just above the ground, where a fast-loosed, glowing 'FLOAT' holds him briefly aloft, and then deposits him a great deal more gently than Gajeel would'a preferred.
He meets Short Stuff's furious glare with the most winsome grin he's got.
"One down," he announces, smug.
With their lead offensive fighter outta commission, it doesn't take him long to win his way through to 'Droy,' as Levy calls him. All the Earth Movers he's met have been fearsome opponents -really, most all elemental mages are (himself included). But Fish-ass ain't an Earth wizard, and he's definitely not a worthwhile adversary. This Fairy's full of flowers and over-chunky stalks n' stems, and for all Levy's obvious intelligence, she's sure chosen a shit battleground for her tree-huggin' teammate to mount an effective assault. The alley hems 'em all in, and they're surrounded by stone and brick and metal; it takes too much effort to force the vines up to the surface, and Gajeel can both hear and feel the earth movin' under his feet as the plants are punchin' their way through it. Damn near impossible to land a hit when your foe knows exactly where your attack's comin', particularly when the weapon you're usin' is loud as a fuckin' freight train and only movin' half as fuckin' fast. What's more, Fish-ass's got shit control over his power: the plants he's wieldin' are too cumbersome, and he can only make 'em go in one damn direction at a time, and not nearly quick enough; without Speedy dancin' every which way to run interference, dodging Flower Boy's flacid onslaught's a fuckin' cake-walk.
And Levy's attentions are split between keepin' an eye on her fallen nakama and stavin' him off long enough to give Peon: The Sequel a decent chance of either wrappin' him up again or scorin' a critical hit -either o' which seem backwards to him, 'cause Fish-ass ain't got the firepower or the wherewithal to bring him down, but she might stand a better chance if she'd drop her lead-fuckin'-weights and go at him head-to-head.
He experiences a fleeting moment of irrational anger at these weakling shits she clearly depends upon to cover and support her when they just as clearly fucking can't. Levy's smart, resourceful, and clever enough by half, but -to his unending fucking bafflement- she seems to rely on and genuinely care about these freaky little fuckwads when even she must know they're holdin' her back. But, he reminds himself, easily duckin' under a spring-loaded weed aimed at his head, her flawed tactics and obnoxiously poor choice of partners are mysteries for pullin' apart later; for now, he's got a Fairy to grind into the dirt.
A Fairy who's put himself riiiiight within reach.
Gajeel charges right through Levy's blistering 'FIRE' spell, unscathed in his metal skin, and shoots off a single spear in her direction. It misses her, but he only meant to get her outta the way, not to actually hurt her -yet. He's savin' her for last.
While she's retreating, he rockets himself into the air right in front of Fish-ass, jumpin' clear of the next wave of grasping, feckless plants, and then fires a volley of Demon Logs with his left hand as he comes back down, transfigurin' his right arm into his signature Dragon's Sword to finish the pansy freak. Fish-ass throws up a wall of green that manages to halt or deflect all but one of the Logs, but even a single spear inflicts significant damage: it tears all the way through the meat of his thigh and impales itself in the rubble behind him, and he starts hollerin' immediately. No merciful shock to hold the pain at bay for this Fairy.
Levy's runnin' toward 'em, flingin' spells like a madwoman, but he's moving too fast -he hits the ground and rolls, arm extended to one side to keep from snaggin' his blade in the debris. Flower Boy's strugglin' to summon his strength in time to dodge or fight back, but in vain; every move he makes has him cryin' and screamin' bloody murder. (To be fair though, his leg looks like fuckin' hell.)
Spare seconds later, he's closin' in, and the Shrimp's yellin' somethin' at him -a plea, a threat?- and a spell hits him in the back -without effect- and he's already bringin' his arm up, ready to put this moron outta his misery, to remove this nothing from his fight with her-
"NO!" At the last possible second, she's there, between them, arms flung wide, braced to take another's death, and it's-it's too late to stop the momentum-he's about to snuff out his Spark -FUCK-! "SHIELD!"
-his sword-arm clangs hard against her last-minute defensive spell, and sends her crashing back, into her still-caterwaulin' teammate. The force of his blow totally mangles her shield, and he can tell she's injured; the spell may've stopped the cutting edge of his blade, but it's done shit-all to diminish the impact of his strike.
Still, she's alive, which -disturbingly- counts for a fucking lot.
Gajeel waits for her to regain her feet; in battle-time, it takes for-fucking-ever. But eventually, she does pick herself back up, her neck and shoulder already purpling with one singularly ugly-ass bruise. He tells himself the pinching discomfort in his gut's everything but remorse. Prob'ly that copper pipe snack from earlier comin' back to bite him...
By this point, Fish-ass's howlin' has tapered to a pathetic, mewling whine, set to an infinite loop. A once-over reveals he's in a very bad way. He's losin' a whole helluva lot of blood, and he's already lost a fist-sized chunk of flesh and muscle; Gajeel can see shredded strings of tendon danglin' along the clean edges of the wound; grimly, unaware the Fairies have a Porlyusica up their sleeves, he figures it'll be nothing short of fuckin' miraculous if Flower Boy's ever able to use that leg again. One thing's certain for now, though: Sidekick Number Two's out of the fight. Now it's just him and her again, which is all Gajeel'd fuckin' wanted in the first place.
"Afraid yet?" He wonders, actually curious.
"Yes." She answers, without hesitation. "But if you think that means I'm going to beg-"
"Don't want you to beg, Levy," her name on his lips feels deliciously impertinent, "I want you to fight me." She looks non-plussed at this, but then draws in a deep breath and nods once, curt acquiescence.
"Fine." She presses a hand to her shoulder, already swollen to twice the size it'd been a couple minutes ago and currently turning an ominous shade of black. "But whatever happens when this is finished, Jet and Droy are no longer a part of this. Agreed?" Her protectiveness is sickening. The rumors were definitely fuckin' right about the Fairies' disgusting affection for their nakama.
"Ya' ain't exactly in a position to be negotiating-"
"All the same." She interjects. Gajeel snorts. "You want a war, I'm more than enough to get one started." It takes him a beat to put it all together -the hollow desperation of her expression, her uncompromising determination to spare her morons further injury: she thinks he means to kill her. He supposes he hasn't really given her any reason to believe otherwise, but truth be told, while he wouldn't'a lost any sleep over 'accidentally' shufflin' off her goons, he'd never seriously intended on takin' her out. Takin' her down, sure, but not killing her...
"Levy...no..." Droy manages to murmur between wheezing sobs, apparently entertainin' similarly morbid thoughts on the aftermath of this contest.
"Quiet." She commands, with gentle authority. She follows this up with another sparkly 'SLEEP' bomb, and he watches Fish-ass sink under instantly, goin' boneless and droopin' against one of the many piles of rubble they'd both helped make.
Then, turning back to him and chokin' back her pride, "Please, Gajeel. Please spare them." This time she is pleading, but not for herself.
"Tch, have it your way." He holds out his sword-arm, pointedly morphs it back to skin and bone. Almost cleavin' her in two affected him more than he's comfortable admittin' to. "But if ya' ask me, you're fuckin' better off without 'em." She blinks at him, not sure what to do with this opinion. "Ready?"
"Would it matter if I said 'no?'"
There's no humor in his face or voice when he tells her, "Not fuckin' likely."
She fights tooth-and-nail, and he doesn't go easy on her because she's a girl, or because she's pint-sized, or because she's physically and emotionally exhausted, 'cause he feels he'd be doin' her a disservice to underestimate her. As he'd expected, when it's down to the wire, her magic actually packs one helluva punch. Words've never given him so much damn trouble in his whole life, mostly 'cause he's never bothered to pay 'em any special mind. And before now, he's never needed to. But Levy's words are deadly.
Even without her teammates, her spell-casting's as rapid-fire as ever, and every bit as random: one second she's dousing him with what his nose identifies as a shit-sucking ton of reeking, viscous 'OIL,' and the next, while he's tryin' to move in close enough to grab her and end this, she's dancin' outta reach and executin' an elegant flick of wrists and fingers and whisperin' 'Darkness,' a spell that plunges him into black so thick he can't even see himself. Then comes the 'NIGHTMARE' that flashes once behind his eyelids, blood red, and forces him to relive that most horrible of moments, when he realized his Old Man was gone, and this time he wasn't comin' back. Even fully aware that it's been nearly a decade since that hateful fuckin' day, that this isn't real -the nightmare's fuckin' vivid: he feels his world breaking apart, shattering, all over again.
And it hurts, more'n any blow he's ever taken.
It ends as abruptly as it'd started, and he emerges from his very own personal hell just in time to catch a disembodied 'FIST' right in the kisser. It barely hurts, but it does send him sprawlin' backwards over Speedy, which makes her hesitate to attack just long enough for him to recover and strike back -and after that 'nightmare' stunt, he's seein' red, so he strikes back hard.
She's spry, he'll give her that. He comes at her full tilt, and she dodges, rolls, lobs a desperate spell or four from point-blank range, but it's not enough to stop him. It's just fucking not enough. She's finally startin' to flag, and she's wounded, distracted by her concern for her comrades, and though it takes him longer than it should, he finally rips through the last of her language barriers to stand before her, and he doesn't hesitate to raise his arm to strike-
There's a quicksilver moment, in the split-second before his fist cracks against her cheek, that he experiences a painful flash of intuition, warning him that this will somehow become the thing he will most regret for the rest of his sorry excuse of a life. But it passes, as all his previous misgivings have passed, because this is who he is and what he does, because this is not yet a person he knows or cares about, because 'Levy' is just the name of a puny Fairy, a novel, tenaciously clever enemy who nevertheless never stood a chance against him.
He's ready to be done with this. And the sooner, the fucking better.
Levy crumples at his feet, a knotted tangle of ruptured plants and fractured stone breaking her fall -and possibly the very same shoulder he'd damaged moments prior. She cries out, a sharp peal that twists up his insides, and he's ready to walk away, call it a day. It's finished; Phantom'll have its war and he'll have his go at the Salamander.
Except Levy apparently ain't done -she drags herself to her feet with a strangled cry, and fucking shit but her arm's a mess.
He doesn't have long to dwell on the sight of it -she throws a 'FIRE' straight at him, clearly hoping to put some distance between them, but he just ducks and rolls himself to one side -cursing when he smells the distinctive odor of burning hair- and whips his arm into a solid pipe, instinctively reacts to her attack by flingin' her against the opposite wall of the alley, which promptly buckles and crumbles all around her.
After several long seconds, when there's still no sign of movement, he crosses over to fish her out of the debris. It's the work of only a handful of seconds, the original length of time he'd allotted for both catchin' up to and bringin' her down. It's been nearly fifteen minutes since she'd first dropped him into a hole and bolted, which is a whole helluva lot longer than he'd anticipated he'd need to get this job done.
When he pulls her out, he feels himself grimacing and doesn't fight it. Her body's busted all to hell: one of her eyes is already swellin' shut, her left arm and shoulder look fuckin' worse than ever (and yes, that arm's definitely broken), and he thinks he might'a cracked a rib or two when he threw her, 'cause he discovers a suspicious give when he probes at the bruise-darkening skin around her rib-cage. Plus, she's bleedin' from all manner of tiny cuts and abrasions, and she's covered from head-to-toe in ash and dust.
The sick, wrenching tug in his belly at the sight of her all smashed up is briefly dispelled when she -impossibly still conscious- lifts her head and...spits at him, hits him right in the eye.
"Heh," she laughs, wincing, "got'cha." Then, before he has the chance to come up with a suitable comeback, she goes limp in his grasp, passing out.
What he feels is...relief, that this is finally over.
And also a confusing measure of disgust, that it happened at all.
Gajeel doesn't know when he'd dropped her headband, but he recovers it before he carries her off to string her up next to Speedy and Fish-ass, and carefully secures it back where he'd first seen it, a bright band of orange and yellow against a sea of blue.
When he thinks on the encounter, he'll remember the soft, supple weight of her in his arms, small and broken and helpless, and the cool, silken feel of that fucking headband, the incongruous sensation of it against his calloused palm as he stared her down, inviting whatever retribution she could muster.
Otherwise, except in fleeting, inebriated moments, he does everything in his power to stop himself thinkin' on this night, or the little blue Fairy who helped him start his war.
Though for the life of him, while he's bolting Levy to a tree and magickin' his guild's seal onto her bare midriff, he can't seem to remember why he ever wanted the fuckin' war in the first place.
*Jewels - currency in the Fairy Tail 'verse.
THIS CHAPTER CRUSHED MY THUMPY-THINGY. ToT
hence, because i very desperately want to like gajeel again, i'm definitely going to be writing a fourth (and final) installment, post-timeskip, in which i will force gajeel to FREAKING APOLOGIZE, which really he should ALREADY HAVE DONE IN THE MANGA BECAUSE JEEBLES HE KNOCKED THE STUFFING OUT OF THREE INNOCENT PEOPLE AND FAUX-CRUCIFIED THEM AND EVEN THOUGH I LOVE HIM THAT'S DEFINITELY PSYCHOTIC AND GERMANY CHRISTMAS WHY IN FRUNKING HILLBILLY HASN'T HE EVEN SO MUCH AS TEXTED SHADOWGEAR A 'LOOK GAIS, I'M TOTES SORRY LOL' YET?
but i digress.
chapter four, coming soon!
possibly with make-outs.