A/N: Hi guys, wolfie is back with a random one shot I didn't think I could write in a few hours, but apparently I can surprise myself.
This fic is 100000% inspired by Jackson Wang's "100 Ways" MV. I 10000% recommend watching the mv BEFORE reading this fic because A) IT'S A GODDAMN WORK OF ART SUCH A BEAUTIFUL MV SO MOVING AND SAD AND DARK AND JUST AMAZING and B) because then the plot of this story will make a lot of sense. Jam out to Jackson before immersing yourself in Jerza.
And FYI, this fic is a FUCKING mess. I literally wrote this in a couple hours. It is unedited. I don't even know if half the story makes sense. There's probably 5 million loose ends. I don't care. I just need it out, and done, because if I edit this any more it'll either come out to 10k words rather than 3k, or worse, become an actual story, WHICH I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR. Oh woe the days I used to be able to write drabbles- WHERE DID THEY GO?
Tell me what you guys think! Enjoy!
Don't waste your love, just let it last
'Cause once it's gone it's never coming back
~0~
There's a simple tombstone that lies in the middle of the dead forest, standing proud and lonely amongst the scraggly trees guarding it. The grave is unmarked save for the lonely soldier, the memory of who rests there is gone from the hearts of many. Fog surrounds the resting place, lying low to the ground and covering it in a veil of wispy sadness. Nothing stirs.
Footsteps echo through the empty woods, and a young man pushes his way to the gravesite. He carries a torch in one hand, and he raises it towards his face, illuminating the dark green of his eyes, the pink hue of his hair. There's a raised scar on his cheek, and he wears the finest armor that glints sharply in the firelight. He doesn't speak a word, just turns his head and nods abruptly behind him. Rustling follows, and three more men step out into the light.
One is tall and well muscled, wearing similar golden armor. His black hair is shaggy and falls over sharp black eyes. A silver cross glimmers in the crook of his throat, and when he runs his hand through his hair, a jagged scar running over his brow is revealed. He comes to stand by the pink haired man, dropping a sack down to the ground that clatters as it lands. Then he looks to his companions. The other two men are stark contrasts of each other: One is blond with a lightning shaped scar on his eye, and the other has a lion's mane of thick, black hair and iron studs decorating his cheeks. All the men are dressed in the same armor, and one by one, they come to stand in a circle around the grave.
The fog thickens, and the pink haired man sticks the torch in the ground. It flickers weakly, and the fog comes creeping around it, slowly engulfing the flame in it's curtain. The light dims.
Simultaneously, the men begin to dance, weaving their arms in wave-like movement, their bodies jerky and fluid at the same time. Their feet stamp in time to the clapping of their hands, the beating of their hearts, the cadence of their breath. They move like one person flowing to the beat of their own soul, and come to a halt with the same breath, their hands pointing at the grave. The fog stills, then sweeps away from the grave in a single moment.
A head begins to rise from the mist, followed by a torso, arms and legs. The individual is wearing tattered brown robes, strips of fabric hanging from his arms. The light picks up, illuminating closed eyes, deep blue hair, and a maroon mark decorating the right side of his face. His body is still, like a living statue, but then he opens his eyes and breathes.
~0~
The reek of death and decay fills his senses, and the stench of blood is strong on his hands. He's surrounded by the deafening chaos of war- the screams of horses dying ringing in his ears and the calls of men crying for their loved ones engraved on his soul. The katana in his hands feels so heavy, like the blood of each man's life he takes is too much for the sword to bear. His robes are in tatters, and blood runs down his arms, rivers of life that drip into the sand below.
A wounded warrior comes screaming up to him, hefting a battle ax that cries for blood. He blinks and comes to life- dodging his enemy in a graceful whirl, whipping his katana around like an extension of his arm and slamming the deadly blade in the man's unprotected back. The blade sings as it slices through flesh, and the man doesn't even flinch when the warrior's blood splashes him in the face. Like trophies, he bears them grimly, and pulls his sword from his enemy's limp corpse, whipping around to face the next dead man to cross his path.
A breath of wind kisses his face, and he whips around just in time, raising an arm to take the brunt of a club before it takes his head. The man holding the club has a crazed look in his eyes, blood running down his face like warpaint. The soldier grunts from the pain and drops his arm, letting the club fall as he dodges, letting his ruined greaves fall from his arm. He drops to a crouch and grips the katana with his good hand, rising in one smooth movement to bury the blade into his opponent. The club-bearer drops without a sound.
So goes the spoils of war.
In the moments between, the soldier ponders his life. He thinks about what could have been, in the quick breath before he takes another man's life. How happy they could have been, if only he had stayed.
~0~
It's too bright. That's his first thought when he opens his eyes. The world before him is a kaleidoscope of colors, vibrant hues washing over his visions for the first time since his world had gone dark. He looks around his surroundings, then upon himself, taking in his ratty robes, his missing armor, the grit marring his skin.
"Jellal," a voice says, and he turns towards the sound. He's not used to his body moving; it's been so long since he'd been in physical form-in any form really- and it takes a few seconds for him to get accustomed to everything. Sight, sound, colors- it's all too much for someone who's been in stasis for so long.
His eyes finally land on the man with the black hair and the scarred brow. The young man stares, eyes hopeful. He stares, and his eyes take in the familiar armor, the scraggly black hair, before coming to rest at the cross on the young man's throat.
~0~
A scream tears its way into his thoughts and he whirls, seeing one of his companions pinned to the ground, an arrow sprouting from his left shoulder. The man- a young boy really, barely in his teens- is screaming in pain, trying in vain to block the warrior standing atop him, sword pointed down at his chest.
He moves before he can process the entire situation, shoulder jabbing into the enemy and pushing him off his comrade. The warrior goes screaming into the throng of writhing bodies, and he spots another boy- this one with pink hair and eyes on fire- throw himself onto the enemy, knives flashing.
He turns back to the boy lying on the ground. He kneels and yanks the arrow from his shoulder, wrenching a scream from the body below, and throws the weapon away, an arch of blood following its path. The boy pants, and he notes the gleam of silver that dances in the hollow of the boy's throat. It's a cross, he notes, before reaching down to pull the boy to his feet.
"Are you okay?" he asks, tearing a strip of linen from his tattered tunic and swiftly binding the boy's shoulder. The boy nods and stares at him, and he grips his unwounded shoulder. "Be brave," he says. "We can win."
He turns and slashes with his katana, slashing at the arrows singing a death path towards them. A few hit their marks, and he sees fellow comrades fall under their morbid shadow. The boy with the pink hair cries out as an arrow carves its burning groove in his cheek, but then turns and slashes down another enemy warrior.
They're in the trees. He hefts his katana, looking down to make sure the scarlet ribbon is still tied around the handle. His eyes soften for a moment as he stares down at it, deftly winding it around his fingers before tightening his grip on the blade. He looks back to see the boy with the black hair staring at him with determination, ignoring the blood running down over his brow. In order to make sure this boy lives, he needs to find the archers in the woods. He has to.
He hefts his katana and darts into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole.
~0~
The boy is older. You can see it in the way he carries himself- the lift of his jaw is stronger, more confident. His body is taller and fuller, less lanky now that he has grown into himself. His eyes are harder and wiser, filled with experience, but also with a sense of peace that stirs something within. A type of peace that he'd only felt before the war.
It's the boy from the woods. The one with the arrow in his shoulder. The one he sacrificed his life for.
He stares, and the boy- man now- steps forward and clasps his shoulder. "Jellal," he whispers. "It's me. My name is Gray."
Gray. He thinks. Gray is his name. He stills, then, Jellal. That's my name.
Gray turns and nods to the man with pink hair, and Jellal recognizes him as the other soldier from that battle, the one with fire in his heart. He, too, is older, and Jellal can recognize the arrow path gored across his cheek. "This is Natsu."
Natsu.
Gray gestures to the other two men. "This is Laxus and Gajeel. They were also at the battle that day."
Jellal stares, then slowly turns his head back to Gray. "Did-," he coughs, barely recognizing the voice that leaves his own throat, which is scratchy and hoarse from disuse. "Did... we-we win?" he grunts out, his voice as unfamiliar to him as the surroundings.
Gray nods. "Yes," he says quietly. "Thanks to you."
~0~
The harsh pants of his breath echoes in his soul as he creeps through the silent forest, the trees themselves holding their breaths. In the gloom, he can barely see two feet ahead of him, so he relies on his other senses to guide him through the murk. She always taught him to utilize everything around him. The steady drip of water against the ground. The whisper of wind through the branches. The harsh hiss of steel in the air-
He drops to the ground as an arrow screams past his head. He holds his breath and listens. A whisper, an intake of breath, a cough. Three men before him. Two more arrows fly over his head and he hears soft cries in the distance. Two more comrades down. He needs to end this.
He winds her ribbon once more around his hand. He remembers the soft light of her hair, the glint in her eyes, the press of her lips against the rough pad of his cheek, pressing the ribbon into his hand before he rides off. I love you, I miss you. He feels those words. Please live for me.
I'll come back to you, he remembers promising. No matter what, I'll find you again.
It's your words that give me the courage, he thinks, closing his eyes. In his mind's eye, she's standing before him like the day he left, her scarlet hair coming loose around her face. Her eyes, warm and brown brimming with tears and love. The press of his lips to hers before leaving. Holding the ribbon close to his face, inhaling the scent of vanilla. He'll cherish her forever, and that's why he fights. So she'll never have to face the perils of war, the dangers that arrive with it. He does this for her.
He rises and flies forward, his katana extended in front of him. He hears cries from before him, and he hears the men struggle to nock their arrows. He moves, faster than light, faster than-
An arrow hits him in the leg, causing him to cry out. He grits his teeth as the pain sings a path through him, a burning cold that rocks through him in waves. He grunts and forces himself forward, finding the first enemy. With one blow with his katana, the man is incapacitated, and he turns, making his way to the next two. Another arrow flies at him, burying itself in his gut. Another finds its way to his shoulder, but he doesn't feel the pain, killing the next. The last enemy screams and unleashes a barrage of arrows. He doesn't care, throwing himself forward, barely feeling the arrows landing in him. The enemy falls a moment later, gurgling as his throat opens to the ground below.
He pants and looks down at himself. He's filled with arrows, and he begins to feel a numbing cold taking him over, starting in his feet and working its way up his body. His katana drops, and he feels himself fall to his knees. His eyes land on the scarlet ribbon at his feet as he collapses. He tries to reach for it, but he can't move his arms. His vision blurs. He tries to keep away, because he promised her he'd stay alive, but the pull of darkness is too much. With a heavy heart, he closes his eyes, and he knows no more.
~0~
The harsh reality of his death settles on his shoulders. He remembers the pain of the arrows, the pull of quiet as he died, the nothingness that followed, but he knows not of what happened after. Gray whispers the story of the battle afterwards, how they'd won, how they found his body in the woods, surrounded by the enemies he'd given his life for. They'd buried him there, and left to tell his widow of his death. Gray tells him how his wife had mourned for years after his death, finally succumbing to her grief. They buried her not far from here, in a grove of cherry trees.
Gray tells him of the ritual they found that brought Jellal back to life. It could bring his beloved back, that way they could be reunited in death. Like he'd promised.
I'll come back to you.
They bring him to the grove of cherry trees and he sees her grave, a tall, ivory headstone. He stares, transfixed, as Gray and his companions do the same ritual dance they'd performed over his grave, hands clapping and legs stomping. His breath catches in his chest as the headstone glows, and suddenly she's rising from the earth, eyes closed and hands clasped before her, wild red hair framing her face like a glowing flame.
Her eyes open and-
He flies forward, arms encasing her. She collapses into his arms and gasps, hands coming to grasp his. He closes his eyes and buries his nose in her hair, inhaling her familiar vanilla scent.
"Jellal," she breathes, face buried in his shoulder. "You're here."
He can feel the tears pouring from his eyes. "Erza," he gasps, pulling away to look at her face. "My love, Erza, I'm so sorry-"
She leans forward and kisses him, cutting him off. He inhales into her kiss, pulling her close into him, so that there is nothing separating them. They are two people, wound so close to each other, so close that they are one, and he doesn't know where he starts and she ends. Just like it's supposed to be.
"I promised you," He whispered against her mouth. "There are a hundred ways to leave someone, but even if I left, I would come back. Nothing could stop me from coming back to you."
She looks at him. "I never doubted you, not even for a moment."
He stares at her, before turning to look at Gray and the others. He holds Erza tight and nods. "Thank you, Gray," he says. "We're ready."
Gray nods, and they circle around him. He holds Erza close and she closes her eyes, burying her face in his neck. "We'll never be apart again," she whispers. He nods and closes his eyes, and hears the clap and stomp of the warriors' dance. There's a sudden numbness that is taking him over again, and he pulls Erza tighter as it engulfs them.
Then there is nothing at all.
~0~
It's the final curtain call
But if you're ready I will give my all
For you, for you
~0~
A/N: So the backstory is based on a theory of Jackson's MV. The theory states that Jackson is a 'soldier' for a war, he left his beloved wife but promised to comeback, but sadly he died. While waiting for Jackson, his wife also died out of grief. With the help of his comrades, Jackson rose from the dead to find his beloved wife, found her and finally fulfilled his promise to her to come back, and returned to the land of the dead together. I was totally inspired to create this same tale using Jellal and Erza, because why not.
I've decided that I'm going to update Starcatcher and Sparks Fly next, although when that'll be I have NO IDEA. I'm hoping it'll be soon, but you can never tell when the inspiration strikes *ahem*thisfic*ahem.
I hope you guys enjoyed this. Please let me know what you think!
Love,
Wolf
PS. I HOPE YOU GUYS ARE ALL STAYING SAFE WITH THE CHAOS IN THE WORLD RIGHT NOW. PLEASE STAY HOME TO KEEP THOSE YOU LOVE SAFE AND SOUND. I HOPE YOU ARE ALL DOING WELL.