Innisfil stank. It was putrid when he was a boy and still now as an adult; the only difference was that Jellal could put name to all of the peculiar smells. Roasting meat made his stomach cramp. Vinegary bile made it roil. The pungent stench of cigarettes brought him back to a time when he hung off the craps tables and took his chances with rich men and women just because he loved to win. Never mind that he usually lost. The one percent success rate was always, always worth it.

His shiny shoes kicked through detritus, garbage and the first few leaves shaken from their trees. He'd been in Innisfil too long; it was time to move on again. Leave home behind. The thought was startling, but absolutely true: this place above all others belonged to him. He'd lived here the longest and it would always have a piece of his heart. A tiny, twisted and rotting, yet integral piece.

The streets got darker, first the odd street lamp without a bulb. The number increased exponentially until the only thing that dared to light this poisoned part of the city was the moon, and even that looked dull, yellowed in a way that seemed malevolent. Buildings twisted, reaching for the ground like old men with broken backs, brick façades stained with age spots.

Jellal hung close to one such building, ducking down a narrow rubbish-filled alley. Erza reached for his hand, wanting to keep him nearby in case anything strange was about to happen. "What are we doing here?"

Jellal didn't answer for the time being. Not until they were inside. He walked with purpose all the way to the end of the grey alley, "Lantos." Bricks groaned, peeling back to reveal the sentry. It was the same man as it ever was; even when Jellal was a boy. He never looked any older, hair still bright blonde, eyes still cuttingly blue. Who knew if he was even a man and not just a golem erected to protect this passage?

Jellal waited, the correct words on his tongue, however, instead of the usual spiel, the man said, "Be gone from this place."

"I don't believe those are the words."

"They are when you're no longer granted access to the Basement. Be gone," the man maintained.

"Who says?" Jellal asked. "Anyone that knows the moon and her sisters—"

The man's mouth went flat. "Leave. The Basement is not a good place to be. Not this evening."

Jellal shook off Erza's hold and got closer to the sentry. Years of habit made him expect the other man to flinch back, but it had been a long time since he'd been in Innisfil. These people didn't know to be afraid of the leader of Crime Sorciere. They didn't know that when Jellal Fernandez deemed you unfit, you were counting down to your last seconds. You can show him.

Magic was in his hands, the ruthless kind.

Are you going to kill a man for baring your way? Yes. But not without some warning at least. "I need to see the priest. Don't block my way and you won't be harmed."

"Mr. Fental is no longer doing business in this city," the sentry said.

Jellal grinded it his teeth, annoyed. "Stop these lies."

The man waved his hand in front of the wall and a scene unfolded. There was the priest's tent, hungry fire tearing through its canvas walls. Though they were still a kilometer away, Jellal could smell all of the things burning inside, flesh and fur and chemicals to preserve body parts. The destruction was awe-inspiring.

"What happened?"

"Madam Genève is purging the city of all that won't state their loyalty—and all that won't give their loyalty to her."

Jellal met the man's eyes, knowing well enough what that meant if he was still guarding the entrance. He asked anyway. "And where do your loyalties lie?"

Erza missed the dangerous note that came into Jellal's voice, too busy observing the destruction inside this conjured gateway—the lower part of the city was razing. People were racing into the tent to gather up anything they could, hoping that there would still be value in the seared objects, all the while the fire was spreading, leaping from one vender to the next, until a row of them were caught in a vicious blaze. a man dared to dart into the tent just as one of the support poles gave out and he was trapped beneath a blanket of fire. His scream was muffled by the sentry's voice. "My loyalties are with whoever pays me to protect the Basement."

"Predictable," Jellal drawled.

The sentry didn't apologize. "Innisfil is hers, and she will crush anyone that opposes her. You, for instance. Many people know your face now, Mr. Fernandez, and her instructions are clear. If you will not conform…" He drew his fingers over his throat.

"I see."

Erza barely saw the flash of Jellal's knife blade when he drew it from his pocket and swiped it over the man's throat, and for two whole seconds, she thought he missed. Then the blood gushed out, pungently smelling of copper. She didn't have time to voice a protest before the man fell to his knees, a wet and wide smile in his throat. Jellal's hand was soaked in blood, the look on his face terrifying. Pleasure. Panic. Glee.

"Gods." Erza unfroze, sort of coming to terms with the events that just took place. "What did you do?" The question seemed inadequate.

Jellal looked up from the mess he'd made. "He was one of Madam's. He would have killed us." His voice was near expressionless, except for that muted thread of joy that made Erza feel dizzy and sick. No. No. There wasn't anything to be done for the sentry now, but that didn't mean that more people had to suffer without much cause. She approached cautiously and reached for the knife. Jellal held it firmly, reluctant to let it loose.

"Let go, Jellal."

"Why?"

Why? How did you tell the man you loved that you didn't trust him? That he scared you? That he was sick and you worried that he'd never get better? "Please."

"You're afraid."

There was no hiding it, she shook like a leaf, her armour jittering loudly with every quiver. "Just give me the blade."

He searched her eyes, looking scared himself. "I protected us."

She got between the pommel and his palm and worked it free. As soon as she was able, she opened her armoury and dumped the knife inside where it could do no harm. "If we need a blade tonight, I will draw it."

"Erza…"

She didn't know what else to say. "Tell me he wasn't a good person." Like Jellal was judge and jury and executioner.

Jellal's response came without hesitation. "He wasn't a good person. He was Madam's, Erza, and given the opportunity, he would have killed us. He was just waiting for the right words."

See? It didn't feel like enough. However, Erza moved methodically, grabbing the fallen man from beneath the arms and dragging him further into the alley. It felt like what she was doing—covering the crime—was so, so wrong, but she did it anyway. Not only did she hope that Jellal was right, the man would have been a threat, she also wanted to protect Jellal.

With the body safely tucked in amongst the rubbish, she sent a silent apology and prayer to anyone that was listening, then asked aloud, "What's next?"

Jellal pressed against the alley wall. It was solid as solid could be, the sentry's gateway long since vanished. "I believe what the sentry showed us was real." Which meant that the priest was either dead or he'd moved on. He didn't think that a man such as Mr. Fental would be caught off guard by anyone Madam could send, so he had to believe the man had taken everything that was important to him and disappeared to build his fortune elsewhere. Annoying, but if Mr. Fental was on the run, he wasn't selling tiny hearts to Julian York to make a profit. You can hunt him down later and destroy him. For now, Gomorrah and Genève were waiting for him.


It was impossible for Jellal not to finger the lacrimas as he walked. They hummed in his pocket, their bodies full of all the magic they'd eaten. He came into Gomorrah without regard for the blood staining his hands, as unapologetic now as he'd ever been. Erza kept pace with him all the way to the elevator. He jammed the button and waited impatiently for the metal trap to arrive. Smoke coiled around him, players at the slots puffing frantically, watching their money whirl past and line Julian York's wallet. Jellal wondered if they knew the vicious cycle they were in. Not likely, not while their fingers were on the levers and the numbers were spinning. He knew from experience that it was a fantastic state to be in, holding your breath, losing, losing, losing, and then the big win made it all worth it. Even if you didn't win back all of your money. The validation was real.

A blonde waitress sauntered by. She wasn't bare from the waist up like those in Noir, but her clothing left very little to the imagination, a tight fitting, low cut black dress. These beautiful people Julian employed were designed to make the customers want to stay even longer, tip even better. She paused and tugged a handkerchief from her pocket and used it to clean the bloody button on the elevator, the mess left behind by Jellal's fingers, then handed it to him.

"Here, Mr. Fernandez."

Jellal took the cloth numbly. "Thank you."

"Mr. York said that if you should return tonight, we were to ask if you've retrieved the lacrima like Mr. Tase requested."

"I have," he replied hesitantly.

The woman nodded, short golden curls bobbing. "Then he says wait in your room and he'll send for you when he's ready. It should be shortly."

Jellal didn't know how to ask if Haya had been cleaned up. "Before we left…"

"She has been removed. If it makes you uncomfortable, though, you can have a new room."

"No, that's fine." It wouldn't matter, he wasn't going to be in Gomorrah past tonight if all went well.

"Excellent." She smiled, lips glittering with some shiny lip gloss. "Mr. York also would like to know if you required room service? Our chefs are quite skilled."

All Jellal could imagine was Haya's decapitated and violated head. "No, thank you."

The waitress directed her attention to Erza. "Miss Scarlet?"

Erza looked almost green. "No. Thanks."

The woman smiled tightly. "A drink then?" Erza declined, so she offered a fluted glass of champagne to Jellal. He took it mostly to calm his nerves. The whole way to the casino he was stuck thinking on the way Erza had looked at him. Her fear was so potent. Aside from that, he kept thinking about Madam Genève. Soon he'd see her. He'd hold the tainted lacrima and discover if what Madam did was truly magic, or if he just loved how broken she made him. He'd let Julian ask his questions. And then the doors would close and he'd kill her. He'd cut her throat and watch her bleed. He'd watch her become human and relish every moment until all of the life left her body. Maybe he'd cry. Maybe he'd scream. Maybe he'd laugh.

"And how about a cigarette, sir?" The waitress offered him a crisp white cylinder.

Jellal traded the soiled handkerchief for the cigarette just because. It gave him something to do and something to focus on other than his circular thoughts. Beside him, Erza was looking at his still mostly red hands holding the smoke, wearing a look of disapproval. Apparently there were a lot of things that he did that she didn't like.

So be it.

The waitress held out a lit lighter and he puffed the cigarette's cherry into existence, surprised all over again when his lungs didn't reject the pungent smoke. It would be so easy to fall back into his habits. Innisfil and all of her sinful glory wanted him to come home.

The elevator arrived before any of his other bad behaviours could make themselves known.

"Enjoy your evening," the waitress said. Jellal stepped in, Erza at his side, and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. The doors closed Gomorrah out.

The destination was reached in silence, the only sound the elevator humming along on its tracks. Jellal drank all of his champagne and wished for more. He flicked his cigarette and smoked. Smoked and flicked, the ash landing on the floor. He wasn't sorry for it, mind elsewhere. The elevator dinged, doors slipping open, and deposited them on a floor whiter than cloud. Gomorrah's brightness hid well all of the things that went on behind closed doors. The only thing to sully the gleam was Scarlet Lake's red tinge.

Jellal led the way to their room, flicking on the light beside the door. He didn't know what he expected as he stepped inside. Blood smears? A torn Abaya? Some sort of evidence that Haya had been there. Instead the room looked as clean and clinical as it had the very first time he'd stepped foot into it, the evidence of her suffering completely washed away. Jellal went to the balcony to be certain. Sure enough, even that was completely clean, as if Haya had existed not at all. It made him sad and it made him happy. It obliterated the guilt he felt, knowing it would have been kinder if he'd just been brave enough to take her life away instead of letting Madam keep and torture her.

He turned away from the scene of the carnage and found Erza. She was doused in Scarlet Lake's glow, beautiful in red. She slipped out of the eerie light and into the washroom, taking her discomfort with her. He left her to her own devices, going to the kitchenette where he crushed his cigarette out on a plate he found in one of the bright cupboards. Sullying the black rose design gave him great pleasure, knowing they were her favorite flower. He tossed it on the counter and washed his hands thoroughly, getting the remainder of the blood out from beneath his nails. Even when his hands were clean, it still felt like he was drenched in it. Mainly because he wanted to be. He went looking for the decanter of scotch Julian kept topped up. There was no sipping for enjoyment, just downing the burning amber liquid to still the shake in his hands, quiet the vicious voice in his head. The effect was immediate. He breathed easier and even distanced himself from Erza's frightened gaze.

He could hear her in the washroom scrubbing her teeth in an effort to get the sick taste out of her mouth. He supposed the civilized thing—the kind thing—to do would be to ask her if she was okay, but he was afraid to start that conversation. She'd turn the question around on him and the answer was no. He was frustrated, unused to waiting whenever he wanted to kill someone. And there was the fact that it was Madam Genève. He hardly felt capable of doing the deed as it was, but to wait and give himself time to waver? That was just asking for a disaster.

It's fine. You won't balk. Erza won't stop you. He'd been sure about that an hour ago, but after he'd killed the sentry? He was going to kill you if you didn't say the right things. There wasn't much doubt in his mind of that truth. He just wished Erza would see things as plainly. Nothing was so black and white for her. He placed his hand into his pocket again and pulled out the tiny lacrima. He took two at random and clenched the rest, wishing they'd break but knowing that no amount of regular force would do it. Two went back into his pocket, the remaining five into the pocket of a black suit inside the large walk-in closet.

Soon. He'd visit with Madam, come back and retrieve these remaining magic-eaters, and then Innisfil would be behind him. And you can go back to making things normal again.

If he could.

If he wanted to.

Crime Sorciere will need someone to lead them once more. Once you fall into your old routine, everything will be more manageable again. As long as he didn't spend all of his free time trying to sneak away from his group to slice up any he deemed worthy, dumping their bodies in some other lake, like he could recreate Scarlet Lake's sinful glow. Erza will help if you let her.

In the mean time… He started looking for a suit appropriate for taking Madam Genève's last breath from her lungs. He didn't know he was being watched until he turned and saw Erza there occupying the doorway. She'd changed into a simple long sleeved grey dress coupled with a pair of tall black boots. She'd had enough time to wash her hair and pin it back in a complicated braid (had so much time passed?). Her face was clear of any makeup, eyes bright and calculating as they studied him. She said nothing and he was afraid to break the silence, so he went on his way, choosing something to wear. He settled on a navy blue pant and vest coupled with a shirt that was funeral black. He discarded the thin tie, knowing that it would irk Madam to see him so dishevelled. If Erza knew why he was taking special care, she didn't call him on it. He started to dress, removing his soiled shirt and pants and replacing them. When it came time to do up the shirt's buttons, Erza was there to do it for him.

"I don't think killing that man makes you unredeemable." As far as first words went after an hour of silence, they were enough to take his breath away. "If you say he would kill us, I believe you."

"Being with me puts your morals in jeopardy, Erza," Jellal replied eventually.

She folded down his collar. "That was something I've always known."

He searched for regret in her eyes and saw none. The true test was to lean down and kiss her. Her mouth tasted like toothpaste and scotch. Apparently she too needed fortification. Whether despite that or because of it, there was no hesitation in her returning kiss. No regrets that he could see. He touched her body, unable to help himself, feeling the lacy bra she'd put on beneath her outfit. "You love me?" Knowing the answer didn't mean he didn't want to hear her say it again and again.

She grasped his wrists, forcing him to remain grabbing her. "More than I've loved anyone."

"Enough to let me do what needs to be done?"

"Enough to recognize what's best for you."

So no. He squeezed her harder. "You heard Natalie. We'll question Madam, then the doors will close."

"With you and me inside that room, and you will watch me do what needs to be done," Erza said lowly. Saying the words loudly felt wrong. "I will free her of her sins, and you will get the validation you need."

She was as unyielding as ever. The anger he felt was only somewhat tempered by her mouth seeking his again. He kissed her as she wanted, knowing in his heart how this night would end. She could be furious. She could find him wanting. She could hate him afterward. It would be nothing new. His reflection in the full length mirror came alive. 'You're so selfish. Willing to throw away something good for a few moments of vindication.' Jellal again ignored his other self, knowing for a fact that his hatred was a well that ran deep. It would never dry as long as Madam Genève were alive.

"Someone will be here to collect us soon."

Erza didn't miss the way he avoided responding to her, or the way he distracted her. She allowed it to continue, partially because her head was fuzzy, dull with scotch, partially because his touch was comforting despite the stubborn gleam in his eye that told her he wasn't going to be compliant. "Soon."

His mouth left a burning trail down her neck and along her sternum. Diverging, he clamped his teeth around her nipple through the dress's material. Her worries faded some. His hands abandoned her breasts for the hem of her dress. Sliding along her thigh, he grabbed her behind and held her tight, forcing their bodies together. Like this, she could pretend that nothing was wrong, but knew deep in her heart that it was nothing more than a façade.

Banging on the outer door was so startling, Jellal froze before he took his mouth away, coming to terms with his shuddering heart, his skin trilling with goose bumps. This is it. This is it. He was so nervous he could die. He was so giddy he could laugh until his throat was raw. It was Erza that had to step back from his embrace. She swiped at the corners of her mouth and wiped away the wet spot he'd left on her dress as best she could. As soon as she started to move, Jellal found he could as well, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up short.

"Give me my knife, Erza."

Her answer was short and without remorse. "No."

He clenched his free hand into a fist. "Please." He felt so empty without it.

"No, Jellal."

Through gritted teeth he said, "Being without it won't stop me from killing her."

Her shoulders tightened. "We'll cross that road when we come to it."

Jellal did a very poor job in masking his annoyance. It didn't matter, though, because being without a knife didn't mean he was without means to kill Madam. Almost anything could be made into a weapon. And if that failed, he had spells to do the work, but it was so… impersonal. He wanted to hold her as the life fled her system. He wanted her to know that it was her own greed that betrayed her. Her own cruelty that cut her time short.

The pounding on the door started again. Jellal broke away from Erza, wanting to get there first. Eli waited when he pulled back the door, Natalie at his side. He was still in cuffs. Behind him was a tall dark haired man with a not-so-concealed gun on his hip.

"Hey, buddy," Eli greeted with a false grin and immediately tried to go rooting through Jellal's mind. Jellal put his hand into his pocket and squeezed the lacrima. They got hot with the effort it took to block Eli's magic. They were poisonous little things, but useful. Eli stopped trying to get in. His smile grew. "You got what you were looking for, eh? And you didn't die."

"You could have told me that the vault they were in had a trap on it."

He shrugged. "Why? Did you get a surprise?"

"We were almost killed," Erza interjected angrily. "If you knew about the trap, you should have said something."

"Don't take out your frustration on me because your boy's all fucked up," Eli told her. "If you weren't smart enough to think she'd have them trapped, well… You know what they say about cleaning out the gene pool."

He just had this way. Jellal watched Erza make a fist and knew she was about to punch a handcuffed man. An annoying man, definitely… but… He stopped her before any drama could ensue, taking her by the shoulders and holding her in place. "Are we ready?"

"As soon as you start sharing those lacrima," Eli said.

Reluctantly, Jellal took a lacrima from his pocket and handed it over. The man accepted it awkwardly with his hands cinched together. "Get these off for me, Natalie."

Natalie reached into her white blouse and removed the handcuff key again. She showed no signs of hesitation unlocking Eli. She was a fool with a trusting heart if Jellal had ever seen one. The cuffs ended up on Jellal's floor, the key back in her bra. The muscle at her side was less trusting than she, unclipping his gun's holster.

Eli clapped the man on the back. "You know Julian said we were supposed to be best friends now, right?"

"You're a devil with no loyalty," the man replied unashamedly.

"You're hurting my feelings."

"Can we just go?" Jellal demanded.

"Easy tiger. Where're the other lacrima?"

Jellal put on his most stubborn face. "This is it."

Eli's dark brow went up. "One for you, one for me? What about the boss man?"

"I guess he doesn't get to go in the room," Jellal said.

"Julian is going to want to be in there very much," Natalie said.

"Looks like you're handing over your lacrima, Jellal." Eli held out his hand.

Jellal clenched his lacrima tightly. If he gave it up, how was he supposed to withstand any magical attacks from Madam Genève? How was he supposed to resist her if she could in fact tempt him? I won't be a slave. I won't. "No."

"Then I guess you don't get your revenge. Seeing as how you helped Celia out, I could give Madam a smile for you. Here?" Eli drew his fingers over his throat. "Or is disembowelment more of your thing? Who am I kidding? You don't have a type."

Jellal knew Eli was just pushing his buttons. That didn't mean he wanted them pushed. Making a fist and punching the man in the face wasn't part of the plan, but seeing Eli's front soaked in blood was liberating. Satisfying. Behind him, Erza drew a breath, Natalie yipped, and the man at her side had his chrome gun pulled and trained on Jellal in less time than it took Jellal to register that his knuckles ached.

Eli swiped his hand over his face, mopping up the blood on his black sleeve. He looked at Jellal with a manic gleam in his eye. He wanted to fight. Jellal waited and waited, aware of the gun, aware of Erza talking, aware of Natalie's fawning, but deaf to it all. Jellal reached into his pocket, enticing the man with the gun to engage the hammer. Erza was changing her armour, getting ready to settle things with her sword.

The lacrima Jellal brought out had a milky quality to the stone, like maybe the heart used to create it wasn't quite pure. He grabbed Eli's hand and pushed the crystal into it. "A true devil would never hide. I will face Madam without it and she will know the monster she's created. My wrath is the only protection I need."

"You're alright, Jellal," Eli said after a moment. He took the lacrima all the same and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

Natalie elbowed the man beside her. "Put your gun away, Sam. And you, Erza. Your sword."

Jellal realized Erza had traded in for her purgatory armour. A little overkill, but that was Erza. She took in a breath, and another. "Do we need this man?"

"He's here to keep us safe," Natalie said.

"Really? Because it looks like he's here to shoot whoever he wants," Erza sniped.

Natalie chewed her cheek. "I can't get rid of him. Sorry, Erza."

The redhead looked like she really wanted to argue. In a show of great control, she dismissed her sword and came to Jellal's side. Her hand went into his, reunited after their disagreement. He knew she'd always be loyal for as long as she could possibly be; that was Erza's gift. "Let's go then."

As the last one out, Erza closed the door. The sound echoed down the hallway. She kept her hand firmly in Jellal's. "What room is she in?"

Natalie responded. "Seventy-five."

On the first floor, one above the casino. Jellal squeezed Erza's hand so hard it hurt and tugged her into the elevator a few doors down from their room. Erza gritted her teeth against the pain as Eli, Natalie and their guard crowded into the elevator as well. The door closed, the machine hummed to life and brought them to the first floor, just one above the casino. Opening again, the elevator left them in a hallway that was loft-style, showing off the casino below.

In coming out, Eli dropped to the back of the group to be by Erza's side. He leaned into her and whispered in her ear. "You afraid, sunshine?" His breath was hot and smelling like cigarettes.

Jellal didn't seem to notice their exchange, too busy focusing on whatever it was that he focused on when he got that distant fucking look in his eye. His eyes were ahead on Natalie, trained between her shoulder blades and dropping every once in awhile to her behind. Erza dismissed a faint jealous pang and asked just as quietly, "Why would I be fearful?"

Eli's hand landed on her waist, touching the skin between her sharp bits of armour. Nothing ever fazed him, not blood, not the potential for harm. He was fearless in the way only those who cared little about their lives were. "Jellal's gone a little… off the tracks, no?"

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. His nose was swollen and so blue she almost couldn't see the light dusting of freckles that kissed his skin. He would have been handsome aside from that. Oh, and if he weren't such an asshole. His eyes were a hazel that bordered green, gold flecks marring the center, his five o'clock shadow suiting his face well, giving him a rugged look. Coupled with an unkempt suit that said he sort of cared but not really… well, she could see why women like Natalie might be drawn in.

"You're going to make me blush if you keep thinking like that," he said with a smirk. "You know, there are other reasons I got the name Iblis. If you want… we can sneak off into one of these rooms and I'll show you."

Flushing, she released Jellal's hand to pick Eli's off her waist. The other man still didn't seem to notice. Erza could only imagine he was gearing himself up for the coming confrontation. Or he was being made to be indifferent. There was nothing stopping Eli from fussing around in his head now. "Get your hands off of me."

She felt Eli's mouth curl up, it was so close to her skin. "Is that any way to talk to me when I'm just about to offer you a solution?"

She stopped trying to dislodge him and faltered back a few steps. Keeping her voice whisper quiet she said, "A solution?"

"Yeah. I can fix him, you know? Well. Maybe. If he wants to be fixed."

"What?" She came to a complete stop, leaning against the white balcony.

Eli settled in too close to her, his hips just inches from hers. He also didn't seem to care about things like personal space. "Jellal. He wasn't always this way. And he doesn't have to stay this way. Someone was in his head fucking things up for a long time. He's twisted. There's a chance I can bend him back into shape, if he wants to be."

Erza stopped Eli's hand from creeping into her side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean… a little tweak here, a twist there… he could be as good as new again. This blood fascination…" He snapped in front of her face. "Gone."

It seemed glorious. And a little too easy. "What's in it for you?"

"Jellal took Celia away from Madam like he said he was going to. He gave her a second chance. I guess I can return the favour."

"You expect me to believe it's from the goodness of your heart?" As much as she wanted to… Erza had been raised to be a skeptic.

"I'm a fucking genuinely nice guy," Eli said. "I don't know why everyone thinks I'm not."

"You have the mark of Madam Genève's enforcer tattooed on your face, Eli. Did she give you that because you were being kind to people?"

He fingered the tattoo in question. "Yeah. You know, you gotta wear different shoes for different jobs."

Erza rolled her eyes and attempted to worm out of his grasp. Eli grabbed her arm. "Wait." Something in his voice made her stop. Looking back, she saw he was as serious as she'd ever seen him. "I saw into York's head. He's about as fucked as they come, but he's no kiddie molester. There are a few things he wants. His girls with big tits and a mouth that can go for days, drugs, money, but he's not sadistic like Madam was. That's cool by me. He can pay me exorbitant amounts. I'll fuck the girl he loves, take the cash, and be as good as a glory hole, right? I just gotta tell him when people are thinking of checking out without paying, and I gotta keep the rich in their seats in the casino. It's not that bad of a gig. I go when I want, do practically anything I want. Celia's safe. It's a no brainer, right? So… I think I can do Jellal a solid, if you make sure those lacrima stay where they are when you go on your way."

And there was the clutch. Erza didn't care as much as she thought she might. She was thinking about other things. Like what it would mean for Eli to root through Jellal's mind to put him right again. If you say yes, does that make you no better than Ultear, taking away his freewill?

No. This would be returning him to himself. "And if it doesn't work?"

"He's just as cracked up as before. No harm, no foul, right?"

Right? The decision should have been hard to make with Jellal's life and his mental health in her hands. She was tempted to just say yes. Because of the severe lack of hesitation, she said, "I need to ask him."

"That's not what you're thinking, Erza."

She clenched her jaw. "It's his mind." As much as she would like to, she didn't have the authority to just say go ahead. Jellal trusted her. That didn't mean she couldn't do her best to pressure him into it. "If he says yes, when?"

"As soon as we're done with Madam Genève." He searched Erza's eyes. "You know stopping him from killing her is only holding him back, right?"

Erza shook her head. "It's all he thinks about. It's unhealthy."

Eli reached between them and trapped her temples between his palms. Effortlessly, he slipped a memory into her head, one that wasn't his. A young Jellal sat on the ground, hands and ankles bound, tears streaming out of his eyes. There were whip marks on his back and handprints all over his body, punishment for being unwilling to do something so perverse, Erza's mind immediately rejected it because no one would ever ask another human being to do such a thing. He sobbed as a large and very naked man approached, Genève at his side.

"Do you want to see what happened after?" Eli whispered.

Erza gripped the railing at her back, only somewhat aware of Jellal twenty meters ahead and Gomorrah's casino ten feet below. "You know?"

"I know almost everything about him now," Eli responded. "Let me show you why he wants to see her insides on the out, Erza. Why he, above the others, wants her dead. Remember, he was her favorite. He always screamed the nicest, he always did the most perverse, even if it took hours of punishment to convince him it was worth it. Let me tell you, she loved every minute of it, he was always the most apologetic when he was bad."

Erza's mouth was dry. "I don't want to see."

"Really? It's right here—"

"No." Erza did what she could to steady her shaking hands. "If I let Jellal kill her…"

"You'll be letting a demon get some rest." Eli took a knife from his pocket, one long-handled and made of bone. He grabbed up her hand and placed it into her palm. "Let him be an Iblis one more time before we put him to bed."

A commotion downstairs stole Erza's answer away. She looked over the railing to the casino ten feet below and saw a familiar looking blonde girl twist out of the grasp of a familiar looking redhead.

Eli voiced what she saw. "Celia."

Celia, screaming like an animal. Celia, clawing mercilessly at her arm, trying to break the skin. Celia, who had turned red and frothed at the mouth.

"Celia!" Eli called. The pajama's the young girl wore stuck out in amongst all of Casino Gomorrah's high rollers and only served to make her skin look all the redder.

"What's the matter with her?" Erza demanded.

Hearing Erza's panicked voice, Jellal looked back over his shoulder, finally realizing that he, Natalie and their guard were ahead of the group. "What's going on?" He sounded like himself there, worried but cognizant, not focused on only one thing.

"Celia!" Eli's voice only picked up in decibels and panic. "Celia! Don't!"

Erza watched the blonde girl tip her face up so she could look at her brother. The expression she wore was apologetic. Eli was reaching with his magic, Erza felt the familiar tingle, but it was too late. Ten feet below, with a wet face and a rueful expression, Celia stumbled away from a swearing Sienna into the centre of the casino. There, she tipped her face to the heavens, praying, Erza imagined, and closed her eyes.

What she used as an ignition source wasn't anything of a physical nature, but magical. The bomb she started beginning somewhere beneath her skin. There was no stopping the explosion from coming, the only thing to do was duck and hope for the best.


A/N: As is usual, I am a filthy, filthy liar. Horrendous. One wordy motherfucker. One more chapter, friends.