"Come on you pussies! It's three on one!"

Gajeel span like a dervish, grinning like a madman. Reedus' blow was sent parrying back on him. Gajeel swung low and to the right, reversing the grip on his sword to intercept Warren's downward swing. With his other hand he grabbed Warren's wrist and threw him into Max, sending both men to the ground.

"I yield!" Three voices cried in the same instant. Gajeel pouted, sheathing his blade. It had been a good workout while it lasted. Max and Warren scurried off at the first chance they had, but Reedus hung around momentarily, clearly wishing to talk, but a bit nervous.

"What?" Gajeel spat.

"Um…I just wanted to return this. I found it in my room." He proffered the book that Levy had left behind. Gajeel took it wordlessly, frowning in remembered annoyance. He turned away, already having dismissed Reedus from his thoughts. The book reminded him of his earlier annoyance and he flicked lazily through it, as all the gibberish washed over him.

Wait! What was that? He flicked backwards until he found a page that was different from the rest. It looked like the letters had been pushed around the page, shoved into the corners, while one stood out in bold relief in the centre.

"Wuh…ah…tuh…eh…er," he said very slowly, trying to remember the correct way to enunciate these letters. Wuhateher? W..a..t..e..r! He smiled in sudden realisation. It said water! He felt so goddamn proud that it took several seconds for his brain to kick in. Was this to do with Shrimp's magic? But the book was not a runic item…it could not allow her to channel.

Oh well, this wasn't his area. He'd bring it up later.

Gajeel returned to his chambers, vaguely planning to change back into his tunic, but in the end simply disrobed. It was getting late, after all, and his chambers were his fortress. In this space, he did as he pleased. Nothing went here without his - was that flowerpot always on the dressers?

He turned as he heard Levy enter the room, the door slowly closing behind her. He grinned, expecting her to become flustered with his admittedly fantastic physique. But she just looked a bit deflated, as if she'd had a very hard day. His eyes widened…was that a bruise on her face? And her clothes were ruined…

Why the fuck did she make him feel this way? He'd hit her, for crying out loud! But seeing her so dishevelled made his heart sink. Why?

"Oi Shrimp, are you alright?" He asked, not particularly kindly. She let out a long suffering sigh.

"Yes…it's just that it was so hard to see my father again." Her hands went to her chest. "He scares me so deeply into my heart. All I can remember of him is as he looms over me, grinning at the thought of hurting me."

"He…hurt you?" Gajeel's brows furrowed as if this was hard to understand. As if this was the complete opposite of what should happen.

"I'm alright," she said dismissively. "But I'm tired. Is it alright if I just go to bed?"

"S…sure," Gajeel mumbled, lost in thought. He stayed awake that night, and for the first time in their relationship he felt Levy snuggle into his side. He looked down at her face, made peaceful and beautiful by the serenity of her sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, Gajeel had already gone.

Levy's mother waited in fear for her husband to awake in the morning light. He had come home in an unusually sullen mood the previous night. She was fearful now of the conversation that morning would bring, though she herself rarely spoke any more. She'd learnt not to.

"Motherfucker," came the indistinct voice of her husband. He appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sore head. He glared at her for no reason, but she simply raised a shaking finger and pointed to the other occupant of their house. He sat in a chair, arms and legs crossed. Levy's father's face went a pale green, and he shook in fear.

"It occurs to me that I don't know your names," Gajeel began apropos of nothing, "but I also don't care. I'm gonna call you Shithead. So, Shithead, know why I'm here?"

The most terrifying thing was how calm he was. How quiet. He didn't shout or rage, but that anger was clearly there, held in check.

"Um…is my daughter unpleasing to you?" He asked feebly, wringing his hands.

"Watch yourself," Gajeel hissed, façade slipping.

"Uh…I mean, are you pleased with Levy?" He wheedled.

"Yes, despite all expected outcomes. She tests me so, but I find that perversely enjoyable. Now stop stalling. You know why I am here. Less than a month ago, I made a purchase from you. Now I find you damaging property that belongs to me."

"Ah! I didn't think of it in those terms. As her father, I simply wanted to-"

"Quiet!" Gajeel barked. Silence fell in an instant. "Why did you strike her?"

"As I was saying, I was simply trying to correct her behaviour."

"And what improper behaviour was she displaying?"

"Um, well…she was disobedient to me."

"I'm glad. She should be disobedient to you, Shithead. You no longer own her. So, I ask again: what was she doing wrong?"

"Well…I…uh…she was giving away charity – spending your money! Yes, that's it: she was spending your money!" He latched onto the words like a life preserver. He needed to worm his way into this man's good books. Gajeel was having none of it, though.

"I gave her that money to do with as she pleases. She is not accountable to you. Or…do you believe that your word carries the same weight as a knight's?"

"No…No! Of course not! I simply misunderstood the situation! I am terribly sorry!"

"Oh, Shithead? You misunderstood the situation? Well, tell me this – this is something that I am struggling with: Is it right for the strong to impose their will on the weak?"

"Of course, my Lord. The powerful, such as you rule over the poor like us."

"Poor? Didn't I give you ten gold? Where has that gone?" Gajeel asked archly.

"Um…"

"Stop saying 'um' and 'uh'!" Gajeel shouted. "Speak plainly!"

"I-I gambled it at the cock fights," he admitted, his head hung. "I lost it all."

"Jeez, I hope fiscal responsibility doesn't run in the family." Gajeel sighed deeply. This was going nowhere, and in truth it wasn't like he really understood what he was doing here. But then the image of Shrimp's bruised face came to his mind again and he felt his ire rise. He didn't understand these feelings, but sweet baby Jesus was he going to act upon them.

Gajeel was sitting in a chair about two metres from the man he knew as Shithead. His arms and legs were crossed.

One second later, his fist was driving into Shithead's face, and the man went over on his ass, screaming in pain. Gajeel loomed over him, trying to formulate some kind of impressive sounding threat, or badass one-liner. Nothing came to mind though, and he turned on his heel.

"Your daughter belongs to me now. You are nothing to her anymore. If you lay a finger on a single strand of her hair, I am going to kill you. But not before I beat you mercilessly. I will flay your skin and snap your bones. You will die a pitiful death, wracked in pain as the blood leaves your veins. Do we understand one another?"

There was a pitiful acknowledgement from the floor. All in all, Gajeel supposed that had been an impressive enough threat. Gajeel glanced over at Levy's mother, watching the procession mutely. She was what Levy would one day have been: quiet from being repeatedly broken. When he thought on Levy's fire and spirit, it made him glad that she was not like this pitiful wretch. He didn't want that in a wife.

Gajeel felt a little bad to leave this woman with this man, but he didn't really care. He wanted Levy's past in the past. And despite popular opinion recently, he was no hero. Still…

"Oi, wench." She looked up like a deer in the light of a lantern. "If he hits you again, feel free to stop by the castle and inform me. I'll beat the correct behaviour into him."

With those words, a small mercy in a large and uncaring universe, Gajeel left the dingy hovel.

Lines of men worked away with hammers and chisels, desperately trying to complete work far too complex and delicate for them. But that was alright: if only one in a thousand lacryma was correctly prepared, they would soon have enough.

Lacryma. A word for an inert object inscribed with runes that gave it some function. But they did not require a user to impart magic due to a trapped residue of magic installed upon crafting.

Laxus lounged on his newly gotten throne at the very heart of Phantom Lord and held a perfectly crafted lacryma in one hand, imparting a measure of his lightning magic to it. Yes, indeed things were moving at a fair pace, even if he would expend this cities' inhabitants to achieve it.

The doors flew open and Fried entered, followed by a gaggle of workers carrying heavy metal objects. Laxus' face split into a wide grin as he recognised them for what they were. He had ordered the master runesmiths here to forge him a new suit of armour. Ebon platemail inscribed with golden runes. He donned the armour piece by piece. Over it went his yellow tabard, with the black symbol of a lightning bolt striking an anvil.

Fried watched as Laxus activated the experimental device. As magical power flowed through the armour's runes, Laxus was wreathed by lighting. Then he simply vanished. Fried span, eyes wide as his Lord was right behind him. The armour worked! He could utilize it to travel as a bolt of lightning!

"Yes! Body reinforcement magic!" Laxus crowed. "Think of the possibilities: water users turning into liquid, for example. Of course, only those who are loyal and bow a knee to me would get such an item."

"My Lord, are you certain that you wish to enact this plan?"

"Having doubts, Fried the Dark?" Laxus asked. "Let me be clear: there will be revolution, the strong conquering the weak. Which side will you be on?"

Fried bowed. "Of course, I will always be with my Lord. Any who oppose you will die."

"Oi, just remember: there is one person you cannot kill, no matter what."

"Of course. You will be the new king, and Lady Strauss your queen."

That's right. The strong lived. The weak died. That was all that there was to life. And Laxus would prove it. He would once more bring war upon Fairy Tail. In that crucible, the strong would be forged and those that perished would be cast from his heart altogether. Soon, England would have a new king.

He smiled.

King Dreyar would die.

Long live King Dreyar the Second!