1400 REVIEWS! You guys are amazing! I can't believe this story hit that many reviews before chapter 40! I'm soooooo sooooooooooo lucky to have awesome readers like you guys. I'll keep writing as long as you guys keep reading and reviewing! Deal? GOOD.
Now, enjoy some kickass fucking awesome Erza.
Erza's first priority was getting Jacob away from the front door. And after several failed attempts to get him to abandon his post, the relief that came for her when he finally stepped off the stairs of the wraparound veranda was euphoric.
She took immediate action, darting forward out of the brush and flipping open the switchblade in her hand as she ran. The cool air of the night slid over her exposed face and upper chest like a caress and the deep calm she always sought before a fight settled over her.
Her adversary prepared for a head-on assault, readying himself, though not yet going for a weapon. Erza resisted the urge to engage him right then and there, darting past him with a swipe at his arm to show she was serious, and to lead him away from the building's entrance. Her mission was more than just engaging the enemy. If the guard from the front gate saw them fighting, that could snowball into a much bigger problem.
The man in the suit took the bait; she could hear the swish of the grass against his boots as she dashed around the side of the house at a sprint to gain some much needed ground.
Erza used her lead to turn toward her opponent, switchblade at the ready, stance stable. Sometime in their jaunt through the yard he had armed himself with two very serious looking combat knives, larger than any she'd seen before. They actually could have been hunting knives. Her eyebrow went up at that. Was this guy skilled? Or just wanting to look that way? It was a lot harder to handle a knife like that. His heavy five o'clock shadow had her leaning toward the latter.
The man halted several feet from her, but did not take his own stance. Instead he spoke to her.
"Please, take a moment and catch your breath. You wanted my attention, and you have earned at least that, however annoyingly."
"Why would you do that?" she retorted, still poised for battle.
"It is the honorable way to fight. You led us to a space where we can properly fight, and engaged me honorably head on, so I will allow you to a moment of preparation before I defeat you."
Erza cautiously took the opportunity he presented, with a polite nod of acknowledgement, and unclipped her katana from its place on her belt. The porch surrounding the house was a few feet off the ground, but the railing was held up by large wooden Xs, so she found a part of the diagonal that was the right height and, loosening her sword in its saya, she leaned it where it would be easy to grab, should she need it. When it became obvious that he was keeping to his word, she took the time to shake out her arms and adjust the tightness of the straps on her gloves, stabbing her open switchblade into the wood of the railing while she did so. She refused to give up any advantage he foolishly gave her.
Seeing that Erza was taking his words to heart, the man removed his own suit jacket to reveal a deep purple fitted turtleneck and waited patiently, both his blades held comfortably in a forward grip, his arms relaxed. Each of his blades were at least nine inches long; almost twice the length of Erza's switchblades. He took a moment to stretch his neck as she stretched out her hands and reclaimed her switchblade, looping her pinkie through the ring on the end.
Finally, she grabbed another switchblade from her cleavage, exposed by the low neckline of a triangle cut-out in her otherwise completely black-clad body. She tripped the catch to release the blade and adjusted it into a reverse grip, retaking her stance with a nod of appreciation and respect at her opponent.
His gaze darted to her not inconsiderable cleavage with a wrinkle of his nose, and he nodded back, flipping one of his blades to a reverse grip as well, sinking into a fighting crouch.
They both seemed to realize that their stance was identical at the same moment. A small smile slid onto Erza's face.
They preferred the same knife fighting style. Perhaps they were more similar than she had first believed. Polite, prepared, honorable. Between that and the stance they had mirrored in each other, she would bet that he too believed in the ways of bushido she so loved. Her gaze glanced over her katana with speculation. She didn't see a sword on him, but that didn't mean he wasn't trained with one. Her greatest asset may have just become a liability.
Their eyes met, their breathing synced, and the fight began.
Erza made the first move, darting forward quickly to take a decisive mid-section side-swipe at her opponent.
He somersaulted under her swipe, regaining his feet, and came at her spinning low in a crouch, arms flung wide. His knives slashed at her with each turn, forcing her to retreat several steps to avoid being minced. Her foot slid on the slightly damp grass and he took advantage of it, rising to his full height, lifting both of his knives, and bringing them down at her with full force.
Erza blocked the strike with her switchblades, the force of his attack reverberating through the bones of her arms. He was incredibly strong.
But so was she.
Her adversary immediately pulled back and struck low again, slashing inward from the sides with his knives, going for her legs. Erza leapt above them, using her vertical momentum to strike down with one of her blades from above. The man managed to block her attack just above his piercing gaze. He leaned into her blade, attempting to leverage her back, but found staunch resistance instead.
Erza felt the increased pressure and leaned forward, using the moment with his knives engaged elsewhere to kick the stooped man in the chest. He fell back, but rolled backward into a standing position again, wasting no time as he lunged forward, lashing out in a quick sequence of slashes from each side.
He was relentless as he attacked in earnest now, barely giving her a moment to breathe. Erza blocked half of his blows, dodging the others. She had to duck and roll under a particularly wide slash, but ended up behind her enemy. She slashed at him with the weapon in her left hand, passing a hair's breadth above him as he dropped into yet another backwards somersault. She was starting to think he just woke up and somersaulted out of bed every morning. He was beginning to feel predictable.
She didn't expect his kick at the end of the roll though, and it met her chest solidly, forcing her onto her back. Swiftly taking in air to replace the breath he'd knocked from her lungs, she sprang back up and countered her opponent's next series of slashes.
Erza was just growing used to his style, meeting his strike for strike, when he switched it up, stabbing down with his reverse-gripped blade instead of slashing. She stepped back and caught the downward movement with her crossed switchblades, his larger weapon notching one of her knife blades and effectively locking them together.
She dodged as his other knife slashed from the side, leaning against their locked guards at an odd angle. With a metallic crack, the notched blade snapped right off the hilt of her knife. With no time to grab one of her other concealed weapons, she immediately dropped the now useless hunk of metal, adjusting her stance to that of a single blade defense.
The trained assassin she fought barely give her a moment to breathe, following up on his advantage with another series of slashes from each side, alternating with breathless speed. Erza jumped backward to buy herself some time and space, but found herself backed up against the porch, the concrete platform hitting just below her waist. He stabbed at her again and she sidestepped, grabbing his wrist with her free hand.
The sharp edge in his other hand came at her, attempting to force her to release him, but she blocked the incoming attack with her blade before counterbalancing herself with the arm she held as she twisted, kicking him in the hip and then chest. She let go of his arm at the last minute to send him stumbling backward, buying her a moment of time to maneuver.
Erza leaned back under the massive 'X' of the porch railing and pulled herself through, kicking out with one leg as her opponent moved to follow, catching him solidly on the jaw and forcing him back for another crucial moment.
With one final heave, she made it onto the veranda and regained her feet, pulling another switchblade out of the strap at her waist and flipping it open. Her opponent followed her, leaping up onto the edge of the porch on the outside of the railing, clutching the wood to keep his balance. Erza sprang back into action, executing a series of stabs on the railing trying to force the hand that steadied him, still grasping his knife, off the railing. His other hand worked double time to block the stabbing cuts that he couldn't avoid.
Eventually, he leaned forward, releasing both hands and slashing out at Erza to force her backwards. She stepped back to avoid his strike, the edge of his knife whistling past within inches of her throat. Her adversary took the moment to roll over the railing on his back, landing on his feet, ready to take on Erza's next attack.
They paused there together, both breathing deeply, but not yet panting. Erza felt a trickle of sweat roll down her temple and made a mental note to wipe the drip the first opportunity she got. The last thing she needed was sweat blinding her at the worst possible moment.
But she didn't have time to do more than shake off the moisture, because he came at her again, spreading his arms wide and lunging forward. He cut inward from both sides, one high, one low, going for the kill.
Erza jumped into the air, going horizontal in a practiced move a high-jumper would be jealous of as she managed to barely dodge both blades. One caught the end of her black stocking cap, however, ripping it from her head. Her long red ponytail swung out, twirling around her as she spun and landed flat against the concrete porch floor, catching herself on her forearms. She hastily rolled away from her opponent. He pursued her until she reached out a hand and grabbed his ankle, yanking it out from under him and sending him sprawling.
She quickly found her feet and leapt at him again, gaining momentum for another downward swing of her knife. The combination of the unshaven whiskers along his jaw and his fall into the shadowed area of the porch combined to cover his face in darkness as he managed to achieve a sitting position just in time to block her swing with both knives, twisting them violently to snap another of her switchblades. His eyes seemed to glow out of the blackness, the pale sheen of his receding hairline the only other area of his face distinguishable. Those eyes told the story of a man who had seen his fair share of death and wasn't afraid to face it.
Erza gritted her teeth and lashed out with her remaining blade. He blocked her wild attack easily and returned with a vertical strike, aiming to slit her from nose to navel.
She dodged, but the blade caught the fabric of her shirt, slicing through it easily and exposing her bra. She threw herself further back, rolling to gain some distance between them. A nasty red scratch appeared down her torso, raw, but only beginning to bead with blood. Quickly, she shrugged the now useless garment off of her shoulders, returning her gaze to her opponent.
She did not expect to find her fierce adversary averting his eyes from her body, prepared for attack in a defensive stance, but not venturing to attack her in her moment of weakness. One of her eyebrows raised at the uncharacteristic reluctance to attack. Perhaps his morality was to thank?
Both of their breaths came in heavy pants now. Erza adopted a similar defensive stance and held it, just catching her breath, naked blade in her hand, the other clenching and unclenching as she tried to shake the vibration of her blade snapping out of her hand.
She was going to need to commission a new arsenal at this rate. Maybe her opponent would share his supplier's name. He seemed to have excellent taste in steel. She saw her remaining intact blade out of the corner of her eye and frowned. Was arming herself another switchblade even worth it? He could see the strap holding half a dozen around her waist now, and she had others in her pockets. And strapped around her calf. And in her boots. But her opponent had proven his ability was more than an accident. He could very effectively snap them apart one by one, so why waste the steel?
Which left her with one option. Precious seconds ticked by as they stayed frozen in place, waiting for the other to make the first move.
Having made her decision, Erza saw no reason to wait. It just wasn't her style. In a burst of speed that belied her labored breathing, she dropped her remaining blade and darted to the railing. Jacob reacted to her movement and moved to meet her, a mere second behind.
The almost topless redhead leaned over the railing, wincing as her wound met peeling paint. She grasped the handle of her katana in one hand and its saya in the other, and drew it in a clean motion, just in time to block the downward swing of her opponent's double knives.
This time, his blades collided with her sword without so much as scratching it. The rippling pattern of the steel, folded countless times and tempered in an irregular flame pattern, more than stood a chance against his previously superior weapons.
With a fierce grin, she attacked in earnest then, flicking her sword around her enemy in a graceful but deadly dance. Erza always felt at ease with a sword in her hand. Finally gaining the upper hand, she disarmed him of first one blade then the other.
He turned and ran then, with Erza in pursuit, but threw her off as he used his forward momentum to jump, boosting off the railing with one foot and grabbing a support beam above him to swing himself around and back into Erza.
The hit connected, knocking her back. Her elbow hit the concrete, instantly numbing her arm and jarring her sword from where she gripped it. A small cry of surprise left her at the sensation just before the full weight of his body landed on her and they rolled, each trying to gain the upper hand in an inelegant grapple.
After several minutes of struggle, he ended up on top, holding down Erza's arms and straddling her torso, locking her knees in place with his own ankles. She squirmed under his weight, yelling in frustration as she tried to free herself and reach one of her knives, to no avail.
The man towering over her transferred her wrists to one hand and reached back into his boot to grab another knife, smaller but just as sharp.
The light of the moon streaming in under the cover of the porch glinted off the knife, flashing the cool light into Erza's eyes as he moved to hold it hovering over her neck. Her struggling actions stilled, hyper-aware of how easily he could take her life, should he so choose.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here, Red? Who are you working for? Why am I forced to put down a true warrior such as yourself?" Jacob accompanied his words by flipping her ponytail away from her sweaty chest with the knife he held. He seemed to notice for the second time that her upper half was uncovered except for her black racerback lingerie, dragging his eyes back to her face as he got slightly flustered.
Erza stared back, admitting nothing. Her heart pounded in her ears as she faced what could be the instrument of her death.
That is, until she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Quickly changing tactics, she glared at her opponent and spoke.
"I'm here for Lucy. That's all. She's a friend and I've come to bring her home. I will fight anyone who stands in the way of that goal," her fiery words captured his entire attention. He stared down into her eyes speculatively.
"My employer wants his little girl to stay where she is, and you are trespassing on private property carrying an arsenal of weapons." He leaned back, drawing his blade with him in order to deliver what she assumed would be a lethal strike, and froze as her katana's blade snaked its way across his throat, resting lightly against his carotid. Careful not to move, his eyes rolled sidewise to take in the figure of a man outlined by the moon, his eyes the only part of him showing, with a hat and mask covering his face, and dark clothing concealing the rest of him. The figure spoke in a deep, even tone, but an undercurrent of powerful, barely-chained anger was simmering just below the surface of his words.
"Drop the knife and get off of her."
Lucy pulled up short, causing Gajeel to run into her back and bite his tongue simultaneously.
"Hey! A little warning wou-"
He was cut off by Lucy's hand slamming over his mouth, her eyes warning him to shut the fuck up before she kicked him to the moon and back. His eyes narrowed as he ran the injured appendage over the inside of his teeth, but he nodded nonetheless.
The petite blonde spun back around and gestured to a door beside her. It took him a moment to understand what she was getting at, but eventually he also heard the muffled sound of voices on the other side of the door. Facing each other, Gajeel and Lucy placed their ears against the door and held their breath.
"...unacceptable Hades! What am I paying you and your team for if you are unable to protect me and my property from a simple home invasion?" Lucy swallowed hard at the first voice, her heart racing through its beats like it was keeping time with an overeager high school marching band without a drum major: unsteady and rushed.
Gotta be her shitty dad, Gajeel thought, picking up on the emphasis the cold voice put on his 'property'. Was he referring to Lucy? His own fucking daughter?! His jaw clenched at the thought and his grip tightened on the crowbar clutched in his fist. Sure, his dad hadn't been father of the year, by any means, but compared to what he'd heard of Lucy's poor excuse for a parent, his old man had been a fucking saint. The man on the other side of the door deserved a good knee-capping.
"Mr. Heartfilia, explosives are hardly a regular part of a simple home invasion. And I must insist you refer to me by 'H' while there are an unknown number of hostiles present on the grounds." The second voice was condescending while somehow remaining submissive. Jude didn't seem to pick up on the tremor of annoyance hiding in Hades' even tone though. And who the fuck named their kid Hades? That's just asking for him to turn out a fucking psychopath! Gajeel rolled his eyes at the thought. He shouldn't be surprised. Idiots named their kids all sorts of stupid shit.
"Unknown?! I didn't have those idiotic looking solar-powered security cameras installed in my wife's ancestral home, at your insistence, for you to tell me there are an 'unknown number of hostiles'!"
"Agent L is non-responsive. And the power in the gatehouse takes a moment to flip to the backup solar power. We believe she has been taken out and the gatehouse is occupied by one of theirs. I do not have a spare operative to retake the location as of this moment. Not with two of my best people babysitting your precious property."
Lucy flinched at the word.
Definitely referring to her then.
"I have no doubt she is the reason for this attack. It is vital that her new friends are not able to drag her back to that wretched town. Your best agents will remain with her."
"If these attackers are your daughter's friends, why don't you get her to tell you who the hell they are and what their plan is? She's nothing but belligerent to anyone but you, so go ask her yourself."
"Don't take that tone with me. And if you haven't anyone to send after your guard dog on the gate, then go yourself."
"I am needed here to coordinate the defense."
"Then what's the discount Poirot over there for?!"
A voice with a thick French accent piped up. "Non,non,non! How dare you! Poirot is a Belgian! Un Belge! I am a Frenchman born and bred Monsieur Heartfilia, merci beaucoup!"
"Oh shut up S. I'm fed up with all of you. H, retake that guardhouse, or find a new job, I don't care how. I want to know who exactly is going to pay for this inconvenient disruption. Just get it done H. I'm going to have a word with my daughter." There were padded footsteps and the sound of a door slamming before the voices of H and S resurfaced, quieter than before. Gajeel and Lucy automatically leaned heavier on the door to catch what they said, as though that would make any difference.
"What's your plan then, patron?"
"I'm going to check on L. Just do your job and take out their communications. You were recommended for your tech skills, but so far, you're nothing but a disappointment. When Z gets back from wherever the hell he wandered off to this time, tell him to keep an eye on Heartfilia. I'm not so sure this is all about his daughter. Something isn't sitting right." A door slammed directly after that, leaving one man by Gajeel's count left, muttering to himself.
"Imbéciles. C'est la dernière fois que je fais une faveur à José"
Lucy and Gajeel locked eyes. Now was their chance. Ever so quietly, Lucy reached for the knob, turning it cautiously and leaning into it.
But nothing happened.
She pushed harder, the knob in her hand clicking softly against the lock holding it closed. She looked up, frantically at her companion, gesturing that the door wouldn't open.
The wild-haired tattoo artist adjusted the headband keeping his mane out of his eyes and hefted his crowbar with a smirk in the light cast by her flashlight. It was a look that would scare the shit out of anyone with sense.
The involuntary heiress grinned viciously back.
"Ok, so how many are we talking then?" Natsu whispered from his place behind Weisslogia. Gray slipped across the hallway they'd just passed and fell into place behind Natsu. The muscular blonde man who'd led them into the manor hummed to himself as he counted, ticking them off on his fingers.
"Hmmm, we've got B, F, H, I, J, L, S, V, Z and myself. But you took out Fukuro, and Vidaldus wasn't on the back door anymore, so I assume they're both out of the equation, which leaves 7 left to deal with, not counting me of course." He put down three fingers.
"We've got someone on the guard at the front gate, and Erza's probably giving the dude on the front door a run for his money by now, so that's down to five. Where is everybody else? This place is fucking deserted."
"The servants will all be in bed for the night, so it's just us security staff up and around. Heartfilia's got Ikaruga and Brandish guarding your girlfriend's door, and Sol's up in the safe room, 'cause it's got power. Hades and Mr. Heartfilia are with him. Last I knew Zancrow was guarding Jude, but he's got a tendency to disappear at inopportune moments, so he could really be anywhere, which is why we're keeping a low profile. I'd prefer to avoid letting them know I've gone traitor in case I need to get us out of a sticky spot."
Both of his male companions nodded in acknowledgement, before Gray turned to Natsu.
"So, Lucy first, I assume?"
The pinkette scratched under the edge of the hat he'd pulled back over his distinctive hair and nodded.
"Yeah, as much as I'd love to let her dad know exactly what I think of what he's doin' to Luce, she's the first priority. We've got to get her out of here. Her heart's been going a mile a minute since we got on the train. She's scared of something here pretty bad."
Gray just nodded. He figured as much. Weisslogia frowned, confused.
"How the hell do you know what her heartbeat is like? Is that some sort of new Apple watch feature or something?"
"Something like that. I'll explain it later."
"Ok...well, the ladies guarding your girl are two of the best fighters I've ever seen. And they're armed. We're gonna need a plan."
"Well, there's always plan T!" Natsu chirped out with a grin. Gray groaned.
"Plan Take-'em-by-force is not an actual plan you incendiary idiot."
"Psh. Hasn't failed us yet."
"Yet being the key word."
"Bite me, ice dick."
"Make me, mozak plamena."
"Stop insulting me with words I don't understand!"
Weisslogia's wheezing, as he attempted to keep his laughter in, finally reached them and they paused in their bickering to look at him incredulously. The older man took a minute to get himself under control.
"Oh man, kid, you haven't changed at all. Still the little shit Igneel just had to take home all those years ago," the newest participant of Operation True Freedom finally offered in explanation.
"Hey, who ya callin' a little shit, you limp-dicked geezer?!"
"You, dumbass. Because you were a little shit," Gray shot back on Weisslogia's behalf.
"You asking to get punched in the dick?"
"You asking to get punched in Lucy's ovaries?"
"What the hell does that even mean?!" Weisslogia felt like he was in a foreign country. Nothing they were saying made any sense.
"Don't worry about it!" both boys fired back. He held up his hands in surrender.
"Ok, fine. But as amusing as is to listen to you two throw nonsense at each other, we've got a damsel in distress to rescue."
They all sobered up at that, falling back in line to follow Igneel's old friend through the vast hallways of Heartfilia Manor, with only an occasional shoulder shove to express their general lack of appreciation for the other's opinions.
One such shove sent Gray into a small door in the wall that popped open to reveal a small, whitewashed corridor. Natsu stopped to glare at Gray (even though it was really more his fault) and Weisslogia went another ten feet or so before figuring out they were no longer behind him. Looking back, he found the two boys walking through a doorway blackened against the comparatively light hallway, lit by the tall windows. Cursing, he turned back.
"Dammit, where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Hey Weiss, what the hell is this?" Natsu's voice echoed a little against the hard bare plaster of the seemingly endless hallway. Weisslogia shone his flashlight down one side of the hallway.
"Servants' passages. The house is riddled with 'em."
"Soooo….why aren't we using them?" Gray asked, his eyebrows scrunching up as he looked suspiciously at their guide. He fingered the collar of his shirt absentmindedly.
"Because they're really hard to navigate. I've never been in them myself, but a couple of the guys got lost once. Took them beating on the walls for us to know where they were and have one of the staff go to fetch 'em. We don't have the kind of time to risk it."
Natsu eyed the passage again, but stepped out and closed the door behind him. "Yeah. Too bad we can't use 'em though. A secret passage would be pretty handy about now."
Gray nodded in agreement. He wondered if Lucy knew her way through them. Maybe they could use them to make their escape.
As they all set off down the more richly furnished passages again, the noirette couldn't help but get distracted by the splendor surrounding them. His companions didn't seem to notice, the blonde assumedly used to it, and the pinkette pretty dense to status and wealth in general, but Gray found himself a little overwhelmed by it. His fingers unbuttoned and re-buttoned the flaps on his cargo pants, trying to resist the urge to rid himself of the clothing that was starting to itch. His therapist had told him time and again that it was a psychosomatic symptom, but the result was the same: when he was nervous, excited, or upset, he lived in a hair shirt of his own making. He really hoped they could get Lucy with a minimal amount of trouble and get out of there. That would definitely be the best case scenario….
But a part of him was also revved up at the thought of a decent fight.
His fidgeting hand went to the gun holstered under his arm, the feel of the cool metal calming him a bit. An even smaller part of him looked forward to an opportunity to pump some lead into one of these bastards.
Which scared the shit out of him. That was something he never thought he'd find exciting. Not after what happened to his parents...
"Dude, you okay?" Natsu's whisper broke him out of his thoughts, the pinkette leaning into his line of sight to look him in the eye. He blinked, realizing he'd pulled the gun out and stood looking down at it in his hands. He swiftly re-holstered the weapon, cleared his throat and nodded.
"Yeah, let's just get this over with, yeah?"
"Yeah. Let's go get Lucy and get the fuck outta here."
Gray looked at the pinkette, noting the gleam of defiance in his eye. He sighed.
Natsu had had the same look in his eye when he'd found Lisanna bruised and bloody after a run-in with bullies. He'd been suspended for beating up the culprits and burning all their clothes in a bonfire in front of the high school.
And he'd had the look again when he'd overheard one of the other frats on campus were hazing their pledges in humiliating and dangerous ways. He'd gotten that glint in his eye right before he'd blown up their door and gotten into a fistfight with their president.
It was actually kind of a miracle he'd managed to get through school so far without getting expelled now that Gray thought about it.
"Before or after you kick the shit out of her dad and/or burn his house down?" Gray intoned wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Weisslogia stood by eyes wide. Natsu's face got hyper serious then, no twinkle of mirth evident in his eyes as he answered his best friend.
"After. Definitely after."
Gray sighed again. Some things never changed.
He really hoped Lucy wasn't attached to her family's house. Because it'd be a miracle if it was unscathed come morning.
Jacob, or as his crew called him, 'J', hesitated, katana held to his throat as he gauged whether or not he could bury his knife in the newcomer's chest before his opponent was able to act. He kept one hand wrapped securely around the wrists of the beautiful redhead and his grip tightened on the knife in his other.
As though the man in black could sense what he was thinking, the blade pressed more firmly against the skin of his throat, causing tiny beads of blood to well up where it had broken the skin. He hadn't even felt the sting of the cut until the blood was already trickling in a rivulet down to his collarbone.
It wouldn't take much more pressure for a blade that sharp to reach his carotid and bleed him out in minutes. If that happened, there wasn't an ambulance in existence that was fast enough to make it all the way out to the estate in time to save him.
Well-played.
Jacob dropped his knife, raising his hands in the air and backing away from Erza as he stood. Unfortunately, the distance he'd been hoping to buy himself by surrendering never appeared. The cold steel of Red's katana followed his slow ascent perfectly, not giving him the moment of hesitation he'd been hoping to capitalize on. His eyes stayed on the masked man as Erza got to her feet. The mysterious third party held the sword expertly, as though he had been born to it.
But it turns out Jacob was watching the wrong target, because the next moment, the buxom redhead drew back her fist and punched him solidly in the stomach, somehow, knocking him unconscious instantly. By punching him in the stomach. Because she's Erza. And the rules of physiology don't apply to her. Apparently.
Mystogan lowered the katana and turned to his redheaded girlfriend, eyes sweeping over her for signs of injury. His eyes lingered on the exposed skin of her torso and the blood that had already clotted and dried there. He handed her the katana, stripped off the hoodie he wore, and offered the article of clothing to her.
She took it with a nod, sheathing her sword and reattaching it to her belt before donning the garment. It was a little big for her everywhere but the chest, but it was warm with his body heat (and, she found, with a covert sniff, it smelled just like him).
Erza glanced up at him and smiled, a little zip of appreciation going through her at seeing his exceptionally fit arms exposed by the fitted black tank top now exposed. There was something weirdly sexy about seeing his arms without being able to see most of his face, the muffler/hat combo he was wearing covering all but a slit of space for his eyes.
Her soulmate had pulled a set of black handcuffs from his pocket and started cuffing the unconscious man in front of them, dragging him back into the shadows of the house, and hooking the radio to his own belt. Erza stood watching him, stretching out her limbs like she'd just been through a particularly enjoyable workout. When he was done and had rejoined her, she asked the question that had been ruminating in her head since he'd shown up.
"How long have you been studying swordplay?"
"Who says I have?" he replied, turning to stare out into the moonlit yard. A bat took off from one tree flying to another and he followed the movement with his eyes. The quiet wildlife surrounding the house seemed unaware of the violence going on within.
"I do," she said stubbornly, confident in what she'd seen. He sighed.
"I haven't really. Swords were never my thing. I learned a little when I was choosing a weapon. I vastly prefer a quarterstaff. That was all years ago though. I haven't touched a weapon since I graduated high school. Just didn't have the time." Erza noticed he said it stiffly, as though the topic made him uncomfortable.
And it did.
Mystogan stood there for a beat more, waiting to see if she would question him anymore. He could tell she was dying to ask, but silently prayed to every god he could name that she wouldn't. He wasn't ready for her to know about that part of him. And like everything involving Jellal, it was bound to upset her somehow. Especially if she learned that he was the real swordsman of the family.
As though his prayers were answered, she dropped the subject, stooping to pick up the intact switchblade she'd dropped, clicking back into its harmless state and tucking it into one of the pockets at the small of her back. She stood next to him again, silent, before reaching out and offering him her hand.
Like some kind of apology for even asking the question. Like somehow...she already knew.
And who knew? Maybe the weird bond between them meant she somehow did. No matter what she really meant behind it, Mystogan took her offering thankfully and brought it up to his lips, kissing the soft skin on the back of her hand. It contrasted so sharply with the callused palm of a fighter that met his own.
"Let's go," he murmured against her skin, and she nodded, leading him cautiously around the porch to the front of the house. While they went, she pulled her phone out and put the earbud back in her ear. Mystogan stopped her from speaking though, explaining about the hacker Levy had been arguing with.
"How are we supposed to communicate with everyone then?" she asked, instantly annoyed. The blunette shrugged in response, amused that the redhead could amp up her temper so quickly.
"Beats me. What do you think we should do now? Go for Natsu's girl or see who needs backup?"
Erza's gaze vacillated between the door to the house and the path through the trees that lead to the guardhouse at the gate. Her heart wanted to dash right in and find Lucy, but her head told her the boring path was where she was needed. It was her duty.
"Let's check on Loke. If the 7-way phone call is unusable, then he could be in trouble and no one would know."
"Well, er….actually, I'm pretty sure he's got it under control." Mystogan tried not to think about the scene he'd witnessed exhibiting the ginger's magnetic sexual charisma. It felt like a violation of his privacy or something. Which was stupid considering the circumstances. "He, um, clearly had it well in hand right after you ran off."
Erza's eyebrows went up, but she didn't comment. Maybe she hadn't been giving the playboy enough credit... "Ok, so, into the house to regroup with Natsu and Gray then? Or Gajeel? Who shall we go rescue?!" She tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. Erza loved saving people.
Mystogan decided not to rain on Erza's parade and tell her that none of those people probably needed rescuing, instead going with the safe and responsible choice. How had he ended up the safe and responsible one of the group? He felt about a million years old all of a sudden.
"Why don't we patrol the grounds and take out anyone who leaves the house? We don't want the other side to discover their guards have been taken out and secure the exits with all of us inside."
Erza visibly deflated and wrinkled her nose, but nodded. "You're right." She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "If Loke's got the gate covered, let's start double checking on the garden and back of the house."
Together, they left the porch and blended into the trees around the edges of the immediate lawn area.
With the crack of splintering wood, Gajeel and Lucy busted through the locked door into her father's bedroom, Gajeel wielding his crowbar like he was ready to bash in some heads, and Lucy double-fisting it with the twin guns he'd taken off the guard at the back door in the most badass bust-in since Connor and Murphy MacManus fell through the ceiling guns ablazing (A love of the movie The Boondock Saints was a point on which Lucy and Gajeel could always agree).
They immediately turned toward where Lucy said the panic room entrance would be, stopping in their tracks when they saw a thin bespectacled man with deep green hair and a small mustache frozen in the act of biting into a Cheeto as he balanced on the back legs of an antique dining room chair, surrounded by steel and light. His fingers and mustache were almost completely orange with a dusting of cheese powder, the tiny grains floating down from his facial hair like dust motes in sunlight.
The room crashers and the French techie just stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Neither could tell who was more shocking to the other; the wiry hacker, mouth hanging open to reveal a gelatinous blob of processed orange chum waiting to be swallowed as he swayed on the abused and creaking wooden legs of a chair that had probably been made by the family of a revolutionary hero in the 18th Century; or the wild-black-haired behemoth halted mid-swing with a chipped-up beast of a crowbar and his petite blonde sidekick holding a pair of almost comically large guns straight-armed in front of her as though she were preparing for a Lara Croft meets Clint Eastwood-worthy Mexican standoff, wearing much too large red striped pajama pants and a wispy pink silk nightgown.
Then a rickety leg of Monsieur S's chair snapped beneath him and the bubble of stillness popped.
Gajeel and Lucy jolted forward as the man in the panic room scrambled to get to his feet and reach the button that would send a solid three inches of steel and bulletproof glass out of the wall to seal him in and secure his safety. Time seemed to go in double time as Gajeel raced ahead of Lucy, holding his crowbar out in front of him as he ran. Lucy ran for the bedroom door, locking it and shoving a chair under the doorknob for good measure.
Monsieur S was on his feet and hitting the button just as Gajeel slid the length of metal into the way of the barrier. The hydraulic door started to close and met the crowbar with a screech, locking into place with the crowbar cutting the entrance in two. The whole configuration shifted with another screech, and Gajeel withdrew his arm, in case the door would win the battle of strength instead of his weapon of choice.
But it held.
The thin man on the other side of the doorway froze, wide-eyed and panicking.
"Come on Lucy, let's get that information you need," Gajeel growled with glee over the success of their stunt. That really shouldn't have worked. Like at all.
He turned, grinning, expecting to find Lucy right behind him, but was stunned to see her once again adopting her pose from the end of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly from more than a dozen feet away, staring into the opened door, and shaking. "Oi, Bunny Girl, we don't have time for this! Get your head in the game!"
His snappy remark seemed to at least get her attention as her eyes shifted from the propped open doorway to her best friend's boyfriend.
But she still didn't move.
Carefully, Gajeel moved so that his body blocked both her view of the panic room and Sol's escape route and took one of the guns from her trembling hand. Her eyes met his and pleaded with him. Something was completely terrifying her about that room, but he just didn't have the time to coax it out of her. He'd taken long enough already, which became clear when the man behind him started speaking.
"Emergency assistance requested! Panic room compro-"
The Frenchman's call into his walkie talkie was cut short by Gajeel grabbing the device through the doorway and crushing it under his boot. Then he leveled the gun he'd taken from Lucy at the panicking panic room occupant.
"Alright, we were gonna do this the easy way, but since you've gone and done somethin' unbelievably fucking stupid, we're gonna have to go with the hard way." Gajeel kept his eyes and gun trained on his target as he carefully and quickly stepped under the crowbar wedged across the doorway. Once inside the room, he hit the button on the wall that Sol had hit to close the door, hoping it would open it wide again.
It didn't. Gajeel cursed internally. Why couldn't anything just be fucking easy for once!? He moved closer to the green-haired techie, placing the barrel of the gun carefully against his temple, keeping his finger far from the trigger. Gajeel had no intention of becoming an accidental murderer. But the smaller man in front of him didn't know that.
"Reopen the door shithead."
"Well, name calling is simply unnecessary Monsieur…?" he trailed off, seemingly unfazed by having a gun to his head.
Except there was a slight bend of his body away from the gun. Gajeel grinned and leaned with him, forcing him to bend more.
"You can call me Mr. Black. Now, please, fucking open the door before I shoot your ear off, Mr. Shithead."
With a little more grumbling, the Frenchman leaned carefully over the keyboard in front of him and entered a code. The door slid back open, the crowbar dropping to the ground with a clank. With that issue resolved, Gajeel forced Monsieur Fancypants further into the room and away from the door mechanism, talking back over his shoulder at Lucy. He stooped down to pick up his crowbar, setting it on the desktop inside the room.
"Listen Lucy, I don't know what your deal is with this room, but you gotta get over it. Because there are definitely guys coming to respond to his call. We've got access to your shitty dad's personal files, and a computer expert who can find what you're looking for held at gunpoint in a room that can't be entered easily once locked. You're not gonna get a chance like this again. So, get over your shit for the ten seconds it will take to get your ass in here! You can break down and cry or whatever when we're safe." Just as he was finishing his little speech, they heard someone trying the bedroom door. "Come on! It's now or live under his thumb the rest of your life! Make up your fucking mind!"
Lucy stared at him through the doorway. It was so close.
Too close.
Too easy, but too hard.
She didn't want to go there. She never wanted to see the inside of that room again. She never wanted to relive what he'd put her through. What she'd seen.
What she'd done.
It was all her fault.
But Gajeel was right. She didn't have a choice. Someone was coming. She had to be brave. She had to buck up. Her old security guard Stier's voice rang in her ears then, like it had every time she'd fallen down and skinned her knees.
"Buck up Buttercup!"
Ten seconds. All she needed was ten seconds. Her heart jack-hammered, her vision tunneled. All she could see was the entrance to that room.
A gunshot went off outside the room and the door moved an inch or two inward, catching on the chair.
Lucy took off like a shot dashing into her den of nightmares just as the door burst open.
Gajeel hit the button and the heavy metal door slammed shut behind her.
Ok, so I was REALLY trying to get to Natsu's next bit in this chapter, but I'm pushing my deadline and the upcoming fights will take me a while, so sorry for yet another chapter without that badass Natsu action I know we're all looking forward to. It should definitely be showing up next chapter! Aaaaaaand, sorry for the cliffhanger. I'm an addict. I'm basically enabling myself now.
Disclaimer: I am NOT a fighting or weapons expert. However, I am aware that some of the things I do with fighting and weapons in this chapter are probably completely impossible. I can't say for sure, because things like "how easy is it to break a switchblade?" don't yield helpful Google results. So, for the purposes of this story, these fights happen in the equivalent of a movie universe; where mid-air fighting moves actually have force behind them, the properties of metals fluctuate to fit the scene, and crowbars serve whatever purpose the plot needs them to.
I have to give credit to a fight scene from Bad Blood for the knife fight in this chapter. It started out very similar and evolved from there. If you want to see what my brain is envisioning for that fight, hop over to youtube and check out the Bad Blood knife fight.
And now, vocab and references!
Saya-the scabbard of a Japanese sword
folded countless times and tempered in an irregular flame pattern- I recently attended a local panel put on by an amazing couple who run a dojo in Iowa. Anyway, they walked us through what the different patterns of tempering (the line down the steel that you see on katanas and other Japanese single-edged weapons) show. A straight line of tempering, created by spreading a specific mud over the edge of the steal while heating, is actually the weakest version of tempering. Tempering is used to harden the edge of a blade, so that it is less likely to break or crack under pressure. The more "breaks" in the pattern, the more opportunity to absorb that pressure without breaking. The wave pattern (the one that is an even, controlled wavy line like you'd find on a trig graph) is much stronger and a little easier to do than the strongest, which is the irregular flame pattern. This pattern is spiky and unmeasured, allowing lots of places for the steel to flex and absorb vibration and pressure. They brought with them a beautiful sword over 700 years old that had that pattern of tempering. Anyway...just me nerding out here, but HOW COOL IS SWORDSMITHING?! I wish I had the free time and funding to learn it!
"Non,non,non! How dare you! Poirot is a Belgian! Un Belge! I am a Frenchman born and bred Monsieur Heartfilia, merci beaucoup!"-This one's pretty self-explanatory, but he's basically saying, No,no,no! Then decamping Jude's reference to Agatha Christie's Poirot, a finicky Belgian detective who was often, to his annoyance, mistaken for a Frenchman, "Un Belge" is just "A Belgian" in French, and then ending somewhat offended and sarcastic with "Thank you very much!"
Patron- boss in French
"C'est la dernière fois que je fais une faveur à José"- French for "This is the last time I do a favor for Jose." Special thanks to blargolp who checked the translation on this for me!
mozak plamena-flame brain in Croatian
Noirette-not technically recognized as an official word in the Oxford English Dictionary, but Urban Dictionary defines a noirette as a person with black hair, and I LOVE it, so I'm using it from now on. HUZZAH NEW WORDS!
"when he was nervous, excited, or upset, he lived in a hair shirt of his own making"- a "hair shirt": a shirt made from coarse fabric or itchy animal hair, worn for the purposes of penance and mortification of the flesh. The use of a hair shirt in certain sects of Christianity as penance is thought to predate recorded history. In this context, Gray's mind subconsciously punishes him for the guilt he feels by making his clothes itch. I rather like this explanation for his stripping habit...it fits so beautifully with Gray's tendency to feel guilt for everyone who had sacrificed themselves for him in canon.
"in the most badass bust-in since Connor and Murphy MacManus fell through the ceiling guns ablazing (A love of the movie The Boondock Saints was a point on which Lucy and Gajeel could always agree)."-I'm referencing the epic moment in The Boondock Saints movie where the brothers are sneaking through the air vents going to kill a bunch of mob bosses and accidentally fall through the ceiling, getting tangled up in ropes and rotating upside down as they shoot all the bad guys. Obviously, this is not half that badass, but Lucy and Gajeel feel like it is. Because my headcanon says Stier (Taurus) totally would have shown young Lucy that movie. Even though it is definitely NOT kid friendly. But he's irresponsible and disrespectful in canon all the time, so I'm doing it.
"Lara Croft meets Clint Eastwood-worthy Mexican standoff"-Lara Croft obviously from Lara Croft the video game/movie franchise, and referring specifically to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly when Clint Eastwood and his co-stars end up in the most famous Mexican standoff of all time. No idea why they call it a Mexican standoff. I assume it has something to do with Mexico. EDIT: An Amber Pen went above and beyond in her review and looked it up! : "someone on Urban Dictionary referenced a story from 19th century Mexico about two carriages who tried to pass through a narrow street at the same time going in opposite directions, and apparently they met in the middle but each refused to back their horses up to get out of the other's way for several days until authorities forced them both to back up." So, there you have it folks. Just a big ol' game of chicken!
"her pose from the end of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly"-oh look! I actually explained it in the text for once! Go past me!
Phew. Long reference explanations this chapter. So much juicy knowledge! See y'all next week!
Riot out.