A/N: Oh hi there. We're getting into the realm where I actually have major scenes written, so (fingers crossed) I might be able to jump this sucker up to the 50k word mark by the end of March. No promises, though.
Thank you so much to those who took the time to review! You're amazing.
To the mysterious Guest who keeps leaving wonderfully long reviews: Dude. Send me your email and come beta my nonsense. Also I have a whole chapter written that was basically fueled by Hozier and red wine, but it's not for a while in the story line.
TRIGGER WARNING: DOMESTIC ABUSE.
Please fave/review/smoke signal/etc. I am more than happy for any and all feedback. 10 points to those who catch my silly literary references.
"Does anyone actually remember where that dang clearing is?" Talia whined as they made yet another turn through the forest of Tenrou Island. The four S-Class mages of Fairy Tail—Gildartz, Mirajane, Erza, and Talia—were all unceremoniously dragging carts behind them, each packed tight with food, blankets, tent sets, and everything they could possibly need for a three-day island getaway. But heaven forbid any of them have useful magic in this situation. Talia would've killed for a teleportation mage right now.
She was melting, sand was stuck everywhere, and—most mortifying of all, yet completely expected—her bathing suit top was a good two cup sizes too big. Naturally, she had none of her own and was forced to borrow one of Mira's. The Deamoness had smiled sweetly when Talia squawked about the fit and promised that she had another for Talia to try at the bottom of her pack.
"It's not far, now," called Erza from the front of the pack, being perfectly accustomed to lugging around exorbitant amounts of luggage, "We should break into the clearing any moment."
And so they did. Through the low shrubs and wide-leafed monstera, the clearing opened up before them. Talia could hear the freshwater stream nearby murmuring in pleasant conversation with the whispering tree leaves. As irritated as she might have been by the balmy climate, she was glad of the quiet seclusion—even just a few days back in the city had sounds uncomfortably rattling around in her head. But they stilled alongside the rhythm of the sea and chirping chatter of the sea birds. It was nice to feel the heartbeat of the earth again.
They set to work in comfortable cohesion. Talia and Gildarts set to work on the tents and structures, as they were the tallest of the group, while Mira and Erza set to unpacking and making the place comfortable. This was Talia's favorite part of the trials: the glorified summer camp atmosphere. Sitting around a campfire, staring up at the stars; surrounded by her friends roasting marshmallows and laughing. Mira had already started setting up the makeshift kitchen, and had the ingredients for a stew laid out about her. Feeding fifteen people was no small feat, and the mass of food around her attested to that fact—especially when you had dragon slayers in the mix. Natsu alone could empty out the guild hall's kitchen on a bad day.
Slowly the camp came together, and with only a few pieces left to set, Gildarts offered to finish up and let the ladies relax on the beach before the exam participants arrived.
"I've got a communication lacrima here," he said, "I'll come get you all when I get the call from Gramps."
Talia scurried over to Mira's bag and fished through it to find that extra swimsuit.
"It's the blue onepiece with white polka dots," called the white-haired mage as she gave the stew one more good stir, "There's a pair of jean shorts in there that should fit you, as well."
"You know I would actually die without you, right?" Talia joked as she pulled out the blue fabrics and made her way into one of the tents to change.
"Yes, well, we'll have to get you a semi-sustainable wardrobe when we get back. You can't exactly wear my clothes forever."
"I can try!" called the sound mage, the words slightly muffled on the other side of the fabric. Mira rolled her eyes.
"I've got a cute little bubblegum-pink dress that I'm sure you'd love."
Talia walked out of the structure and playfully grimaced, sticking her tongue out in feigned disgust. "Ok maybe not, then." Her smile returned quickly. "This one is much better, thank you."
Erza came over with a handful of towels, and they set off toward the shoreline. They were all in need of a quick dip to wash off their sweat.
It was atrociously hot on the beach. Sweaty, sandy, and far more sparsely clothed than she was usually comfortable with, Talia glowered at Mira and Erza from within the shade of an overhanging rock formation. The two other women were sprawled out on beach towels, soaking in as much of the sunshine as they could before the exam participants arrived.
"Why," Talia hissed, "must we be on an island. And especially the one island where it is always summer." She continued glowering, especially at Erza.
"Come one out!" Erza laughed, "The warmth of the Sun is divine." Talia just glared harder.
"You're supposed to be on my side, darn it," she nudged farther into her shadowy crevice, "We're both redheads. How do you not fry to a crisp like I do?" she whined. Erza shrugged.
"You're blonder than me. You get more colors, you get more burnt. Seems fair."
Talia just huffed. It was bad enough that she had to borrow one of Mira's swimsuits, but the idea of fighting whilst sunburnt wasn't appealing in the slightest.
"When we get back," Erza began, "I vote we take a real vacation; not just one day in Hargeon, as lovely as it was. Hot springs, massages—"
"Attractive men waiting on our every need," Mira chimed, and Erza's face turned scarlet.
"W-well maybe not that, b-but it would be n-nice to—" the more she thought about it, the redder she got. Mira laughed and Talia broke into a grin.
"Calm down, we're not suggesting anything untoward—" Talia's eyes twinkled with mischief from her hiding place in the shade, "or, at least, not much."
Erza's jaw opened and closed like a carp as she stumbled for words, but Mira and Talia just kept going, enjoying their game.
"I don't know, Mira, I'm pretty out of practice with guys. You might have to remind me of some of your tricks." Talia's grin turned into a maniacal smile as she could practically see the steam coming out of the other redhead's ears.
"Mmmmmm, it's been forever since I—"
"T-that's enough!" Erza stuttered, trying to keep her calm. She knew she was being ridiculous—they were barely insinuating, for heaven's sake—but a certain blue-haired mage kept popping into her mind, and she didn't like that she had absolutely no control over her thoughts. Nor the idea of him shirtless. . . or massaging her back, getting deep into the muscles to find every tender point. . . She squeaked in alarm, and quickly clamped her hands over her mouth.
Mira and Talia roared with laughter, the latter rolling sideways onto her towel.
A low giggle from the bushes to her right caught Talia's attention. One eyebrow quirked in irritation. She closed her eyes and focused on the sound of the waves.
Smack!
The bush suddenly howled in pain: "Talia! You're so mean!"
She just rolled her eyes and huffed. "Don't be a creep, Gildarts." Mira and Erza sat up and watched as he sulked out from the bushes.
"I came by to say that basecamp's all set. You ladies might want to start meandering toward your respective tunnels."
Talia bounced up and shook out her towel as they all started walking to the tunnel junction. Everyone seemed ensconced in their own thoughts. Finally, it was time for the real fun. She off-handedly wondered who would wander into her little web. Cana and Lucy? They'd be interesting to fight. Haven't really gone against many holder mages. Or Grey and Loke? Ice and . . . Talia had to think for a moment. She couldn't actually remember what Loke's magic was. She shrugged to herself. Whomever walked down her tunnel, It would be a fun challenge in one way or another.
Talia sat on the edge of a stone protruding from the water. She drew circles on the surface with her toes and watched the ripples dance. Above, the sun shone bright and warm—she'd have to get back into the shade soon If she wanted to avoid getting burnt. But she had a few minutes left, and she was enjoying the warmth against the cool of the water. She had been assigned the last tunnel—no doubt due to her own late arrival in the planning process—and she wondered idly who would come walking into her little web. Well, won't have to wonder much longer. She heard the faintest of footsteps in the distance. They had come.
Freed and Bickslow had chosen the farthest route from the others, hoping to either preserve their magic on a serenity route or be able to knock out another team in combat. With any luck, they'd have a while for Freed to riddle the place with enchantments before anyone else even stepped onto the island. They walked quietly, carefully taking note of the tunnel's shapes, alcoves, and potential weak spots. They could hear water up ahead, which posed problems in their setup against potential opponents. Water meant fodder for Juvia and Grey, and potentially an avenue for Lucy's water spirit. Freed silently debated his options as they came to the end of the tunnel, the sunlight blinding them both.
"Why hello there, boys." They could feel her smile and it chilled them to the core. Any other time, they would've welcomed it, but not now. Not today.
"God damn it, Freed, I told you we should've taken route C," Bickslow complained, his dolls comically mimicking "C! C!" It only made her smile wider.
Now that their eyes had adjusted to the sunlight, they could see her in the center of the lake. Her retro, blue and white polka-dotted one-piece swimsuit and jean shorts making her look as if she was more prepared to go back to the beach than fight two of the exam's heavy hitters. Her legs dangled off the rock and toes dipped into the water, arms stretched out behind and supporting her torso. She seemed entirely relaxed. The two men walked forward cautiously. She eyed their wariness and threw her head back in a laugh.
"Goodness, what am I, a pit viper? Come, sit with me, I didn't get to catch up with you two nearly enough this week. We can talk a bit before we get to your test. Besides," she gave a wink, "I have a feeling you gave yourselves a bit of a head start."
Freed and Bickslow exchanged glances before relaxing their tensed shoulders and accepting her offer. She wasn't the type to be deceitful—especially not in this situation. She hopped off her rock, splashed into the knee-high water, and gestured toward a grassy patch in the shade of a large deciduous tree. The three plopped down in various poses of comfort, and the men let out a sigh of relief, even if the respite was only momentary.
"So," she began, "I heard you two got into a bit of trouble while I was gone." So much for respite. Freed flushed and ducked his head a bit, Bickslow winced.
"Just a bit," responded the sieth mage, "How much did Mira tell you?"
"Not much, honestly. She didn't seem to want to dwell on it. And you know her, once something is resolved, it's like it never happened." Talia picked up a fallen leaf and twirled the stem between her fingers. "Care to enlighten me?" She looked only at the leaf. Bickslow might be silly enough to be goaded into attacking his comrades, but Freed was not. She was definitely missing something.
"Well. . . where to begin?" Freed said quietly. Talia clucked her tongue.
"At the beginning. And when you get to the end—" she looked pointedly at Freed—"stop."
He gulped. He was going to get verbally and then physically reprimanded today. This was not going to end well. He took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on his hands folded in his lap.
"It probably starts about three months after you left. Laxus was restless, and the Thunder Legion was continuously taking jobs. Just one after the other; by the time we came home from one, Laxus would wave a new ad in our face and we'd be off again. We finally convinced him to take a week off to relax, but it only made things worse." His hands were continuously fidgeting, reflecting on the past year made him uncomfortable. He didn't like the person he had been, and it brought him great shame to recall his arrogance. Talia did not push him, simply waited silently and focused on her leaf.
"He had apparently spent the entire week training, and demanded that after the next job, we all do the same. We did as he asked, and we all improved greatly—" he looked to Bickslow, who nodded slightly, "but he became obsessive. Strength was the only quality he valued, and any sign of weakness needed to be stamped out . . ."
Bickslow picked up where Freed had trailed off: "He was so set in his pursuit of raw power, that he convinced us that it was the only determiner of worthiness. And we had all become so strong—we didn't see how wrong he was. We were strong, and those who were weaker deserved scorn." At this, Talia perked up and glared at the two.
"Where in the world did he get such a ridiculous notion? Power is not the be-all, end-all. And there are many ways for even a weak mage to overcome a strong one. Why would he obsess over something as fickle as strength?"
Freed finally met her eyes. His voice was quiet: "Because he couldn't protect you."
Talia opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out. Anger, pain, and sadness flickered over her face, but she pressed her lips together and furrowed her brows. She picked her words carefully.
"How much. . . what do you two know of what happened?"
"Not much for certain, but we've worked a few things out," Freed replied gently.
Bickslow was uncharacteristically somber: "We know it wasn't a dark guild attack. We would've found them by now if it had been." Talia nodded. She never really expected anyone to believe that line, but Master had been adamant.
"The blast came from inside the house—I remember noting the pattern in the rubble, myself," Freed followed. She glanced at him in acknowledgement, her lips still pressed in a taught line. "Your—the injuries were. . . odd," it was his turn to furrow his brows. He wanted to remember the injuries correctly, and it had been a while.
"Even though you were by far a stronger mage, you were the only one with obvious bodily harm. You had been S-Class for, what, three years by then? Dimitri's trade was 'interrogation'" he practically spit the word, as if it were acid on his tongue, "but he wasn't a fighter. He was a manipulator." She nodded again.
"We. . . everyone knew he was hurting you, Tal," Bickslow said. Talia couldn't remember if she'd ever heard his voice so gentle. "You tried your best to hide the bruises, but they slipped out more than a few times."
She closed her eyes tight and tucked her head away from her friends. The bruises were long gone, but she remembered them. She remembered how he somehow convinced her that she deserved them. And she hated all of it. All the time wasted. All the love she gave and pain he returned. All the worry she brought her family. She shook the thoughts out of her head and looked back at the two before her.
Talia let out a sigh and shuffled until she was flat on her back, staring up at the leaves whispering in the branches above her. Her hair glinted in reds and golds as the sunlight sifted through the tree. "I've learned a lot about my magic in the past year," she started, "I learned that the Old One is not the only one who dwells beyond my consciousness." She flexed her fingers among the blades of grass, entwining and untangling every few seconds. "And that, in very rare situations, my consciousness isn't always the one in control."
It had been a long job—a whole month away from home—but the pay was great, and it had been good to work with the Thunder Legion again. Talia exhaled through an open mouth, watching the warm vapor rise in the frigid air. It spiraled prettily and dissipated into the evening. Street lights were just turning on around her as she walked the last few blocks home. It was a plain house—flat redbrick with black window frames and a black front door. In the summer, the flowerboxes would be overflowing with mint and basil and deep purple sweet potato vines. She had brought the large rosemary in out of the cold before she left so the poor thing wouldn't freeze. And it was too late in the season for pumpkins, so the entrance was uncharacteristically barren. She'd fix that well enough this week.
She pulled a jingle of keys out of her jacket pocket, picked out the proper one, and unlocked the front door. It was dark inside the house, so she flipped on the switch for the lacrima lights. She kept a cozy home, pillows lined the couch and a woven basket of large, plush blankets lay beside it. There were logs in the decorative fireplace, and a large mirror above the mantle. The place could do with a good cleaning, but that could be handled in the morning.
"Dimitri?" she called, as she unbuttoned and shrugged off her coat. There was a light on upstairs, and she followed the steps up. She turned at the top landing, following the light from the bedroom. She walked into the room snow-flushed and with a smile. "There you are, love. I've missed you!"
"Did you, now?" he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and hadn't even glanced her way when she walked in. He just stared out the window into the darkening square. She could feel the irritation in his voice and it confused her.
"Of course I did. You know I don't usually go on long jobs like that—"
"No, it's been a while since you've done a day-job, hasn't it?" he spat back, finally turning to look at her. There was malice in his eye and she caught her breath. Please, no.
"It-it hasn't been all that long. But I can try to find ones closer to home, if you'd like. They just don't pay as well."
"I don't care how well you're being 'paid' to go off with that harem of a team of yours." His fists were clenched as he stood from the bed. Talia froze and took a mechanical step backwards.
"I've t-told you, that's not how-how the team works."
"I don't care what you've 'told' me!" he bellowed at her. She flinched and took another step back, avoiding his eyes. "How many times do you think that line will work?" She felt him step toward her and she instinctively took another step back. "You're finding an awful lot of jobs that require that specific team and hotel rooms."
"Why are you always accusing me of something?" she swallowed and forced herself to look him in the eye. He was only a couple feet away now, and bloodlust dripped off of him.
"Because there always is something!" he growled "Thunder Legion-this, Fairy Tail-that. I've seen how they all look at me, like I've stolen something from them." He was yelling now, and every few words had Talia backing up further down the hall. She was starting to shake—the memories of previous outbursts replaying in her mind.
"Please—please calm down, Dimitri," her voice shook, "There's nothing going on. It's just-" she yelped as his hand flew out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers closed painfully tight, and he twisted her arm at an uncomfortable angle.
"I'm done with the shit, Talia," he spat. But there was something off. Talia felt her mind take a step back from the situation. What was this argument even about? But she was snapped back into reality when he pushed her roughly into the wall behind her.
"Why do you do this? Don't you know I just want to love you?" his voice was still raised, though their faces were inches apart. But something still felt off. His eyes. The bloodlust hadn't gone away. His words seemed concerned, distraught even, but his eyes held no such kindness. They were steel in a blizzard, and no warmth could survive there.
"Why don't we just—" He gripped both her arms and slammed her back against the wall with anger. The air left her lungs and she stood, frozen. Her head rattled from the force of hitting the wall.
"No! I'm tired of your excuses!" she flinched again. This is not good. She needed to move, to get out of here before he went past just pushes and shoves. "Why am I never good enough for you, Talia?!"
"Tha-that's not—" she couldn't finish her thought: his fist slammed into her abdomen and she curled in on herself from the pain. But he still held her up against the wall.
"Then what?!" he shouted, "Am I not strong enough? Not skilled enough?" He requiped a steel gauntlet onto his right hand; the fingertips sharpened into claws with wicked points. His hand shot to her throat and held it in a crushing grasp.
Talia tried to scream, but no air could escape his hold. She felt real, true panic burn through her veins as she struggled to free herself. Her eyes were wide and she tasted her own blood. Kicking and wriggling, she tried to break free, but nothing helped. She was starting to go dizzy from lack of oxygen and the world seemed off-kilter. She pinched her eyes shut.
A sound wave pulsed out from her chest, knocking him backwards and off of her. His shoulder slammed into the doorframe and he recovered his feet, wincing from the pain. Free of his grip, she fell to her knees and coughed, the air pricking her throat like a thousand needles. She could see fresh red splatter on the rug beneath her.
"You said you'd never use your magic on me," he hissed. It was true—she never intended to use any magic against him, ever. She would never want to hurt him. She turned her head to look toward him again.
This is not the man I know. Even the thought was shaky with terror. His grey eyes were fixed on her, livid and savage. The look of sheer cruelty on his face terrified her.
Yes, it is. Echoed a sharp voice from inside her own mind. Her eyes went wide and she caught her breath. She didn't know this voice. This was not her Old One.
Dimitri took her hesitation as an opening. In two strides, he was back to her and pulled her up roughly to stand. His harsh movement brought her back to the moment, and she flinched away from his touch. She tried to step backwards, away from him, but she was stuck between a wall and the stairs. He glanced down, realizing the same, and a ruthless smile spread across his face.
His steel-clad hand was back to her throat again, and he pulled her in close. "If you want out so badly, then leave! I knew you never actually cared about me, anyway. Go back to your adulterous fucking team." His talons sunk into her neck, careful to avoid major arteries, and she screamed from the pain. The gauntlet was enchanted to break a prisoner in an interrogation, and it manifested this time into a toxin that burned through her skin.
She just wanted to get out, that's all she could think. Just, please, let me go. The pain twisted through the delicate skin of her throat and she could feel hot tears streaming down her face. She felt him lift her off the ground, squeezing even tighter around her neck. The pain was blinding and nauseating, and she couldn't think clearly enough to do anything about it.
His arm flexed, and he threw her down the stairs, allowing the gauntlet's points to peel through her skin as gravity and inertia tore her from his grasp. The crashes and thumps of her body tumbling down the stairs sent a powerful thrill through him, and he watched as she crumpled on the landing below.
Everything hurt. Her neck was burning and she could feel the hot, sticky blood oozing out of the shredded flesh. She curled into herself, sobbing. This is not what she wanted. She just wanted to make him happy. She heard him descend the stairs, but was too paralyzed to move. His boot made sharp contact with her side and threw her into the molded corner of a wall. She wailed from the pain, but didn't retaliate, just curling farther into herself and wrapping her arms around her sides in a useless defense.
He leaned down to her fetal form and dragged her back to standing, pushing her against the wall he had just kicked her into.
"P-please," she sobbed, "please, j-just stop." He won't, came the licorice voice in her head again; sharp and tight between her ears.
Dimitri smiled maliciously and lowered his lips to her ear—she was shaking.
"No."
Everything stopped. Time froze and Talia felt something shift within her.
And then it wasn't her anymore.
A pale hand snaked to Dimitri's own throat and held it in a vice grip. His eyes went wide and his hand loosened on her own neck. His shock and surprise turned to terror when he met her eyes. They weren't the frightened green he knew—these eyes were red. Bloodletting-red. And they harbored only anger.
"You," Talia's sweet voice was gone, and it was replaced by something older—something echoed through the tombs of mountains and battered across war-bloodied plains. "I have watched you strike and thrash my Tithe. I have heard you lie and cheat your way to her affection. I have felt your malice. And I shall suffer it no longer."
She threw him backwards and he crashed into a wooden table, shattering and splintering it across the floor. Dimitri regained his feet and stared down this red-eyed woman. Her steps were slow and purposeful as she closed the space between them. Though tear tracks remained on her pale cheeks, her face was determined and quiet. Blood ran rivers down her throat; skin puckered and discolored around the angry lacerations. She would not flinch, would not submit to this little horror of a man.
He stood to his full height, tying courage together with the loose threads of his fraying sadism.
She halted before him, eyes unblinking. Her right hand rose, and she saw him flinch as she placed her fingertips delicately on his chest. He cocked his chin upwards stubbornly and sneered down at her.
"She'll never forgive you if you harm me."
Her head cocked to the side slightly, red eyes still holding grey.
"You underestimate her, as always."
His eyes went wide when he felt it—pulses resonated from her hand and into his chest—battering his heart from all directions. He tried to breathe, but couldn't, tried to move, but stayed frozen. Tighter and tighter the convulses squeezed his heart, the pain red and real throughout his body.
Her eyes didn't change as she watched him die, slowly and painfully, heart battered within its own, bony cage. She felt one atrium collapse beneath her fingers, the other desperately sputtering and drowning under the pressure of its own blood. His eyes slowly lost focus, and she felt the irregular attempts of his failing heart. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. The body twitched as the last nerve impulses desperately tried to fire and fight their way back to life. It stilled, and the house stood quietly.
This will be difficult for her to bear, came a weathered and worn voice inside her head.
"It was necessary," she responded aloud coldly, but in truth she did regret the pain Talia would be in, "Between the ache of a once-broken heart or the ragged shards of a broken spirit, the heart is vastly more mendable." She opened her hand and studied the lines on her palm, "It will just take time." She closed her eyes and felt her way through the shift back—she was unpracticed and the change wasn't streamlined.
Green eyes opened to a familiar living room, but Talia was not where she remembered. The pain returned with a vengeance, knocking the breath out of her and sending her into a coughing fit that doubled her over. And that's when she saw him.
Her scream pierced the city. Windows rattled and walls shook from the pressure. And somewhere in the Mangrove neighborhood of Magnolia, a house collapsed.
"I remember screaming," she said quietly, "I remember the house shaking and beams cracking. And I remember wanting to die under the falling bricks."
She had wanted to die. The sight of Dimitri's body broke something within her—she wanted to crack reality in half and be swallowed up by the darkness.
"It took a while for the news to reach us," Freed said, "Bickslow and I ran to the scene as soon as we heard, and Evergreen flew off to find Laxus. With his lightning teleportation, he arrived just minutes after we did."
"I just remember waking up in the infirmary and . . ." she put a hand to her throat, her fingertips tracing the scars lightly. She rolled her torso back up to face her friends. "I'm sorry to have worried you both so."
Freed still heard her screams in his nightmares. The pure terror laced into the sound sliced through his body even from the far side of the infirmary. She awoke in a fit, sputtering and gasping for air; Laxus and Mira rushed over to her bedside. He vaguely remembered hearing Mira call for Elfman. But Talia's eyes were panicked and feral in the barest sense of the word. She tore at the bandages on her throat, the barely-healing coagulations came apart and the wounds re-opened, red rivers running down her neck again. Elfman had appeared and helped Laxus pin her down to the bed.
'Talia! TALIA!' Freed remembered the desperation in Laxus's voice—it felt like an icy lead weight on his bones. "Breathe! You're safe. You're at the guild.'
Laxus's voice sounded almost foreign to him that day—he had never heard so much fear in him. And it terrified Freed as well; the sight of his friend, battered and bloodied on the table, panic in her eyes. His comrades had been injured before, but this wasn't just bruises or cuts or broken bones, this was trauma—visceral and red-blooded. And seeing it affect even a mage as strong as Talia was deeply unsettling to him. He slipped out the door unnoticed and went to the bar for a drink.
"We just wish we could've helped," said Bickslow, breaking Freed out of his memories. Talia's eyes were soft and she gave a sad smile.
"I wouldn't have listened—I didn't listen. I've thought back on it a lot this past year, and I hate how much I didn't listen to my friends. It's so unbelievably stupid to think that I believed him over the word of my family."
"How did he even weasel his way in?" Bickslow's question and irritation weren't intended to be so pointed, but Freed flinched at his bluntness. Talia sighed and looked up at the branches of the tree. Light filtered through the knots and leaves, and it reminded her of the Willow in her soul.
"He. . . said the right things at the right time," she said simply. She didn't have an explanation other than that. Drilled down, that really was it. It was simple, and she put too much stock in too-small things. And as her first serious relationship, she didn't see the signs. She had convinced herself it was normal, or that she had somehow taken actions to provoke him. But it was so obvious now. "I don't know how to apologize to you all enough—you tried so hard to get me to see the truth and I just snapped at you."
Bickslow gave a goofy grin, "You could give us a pass on the exam!"
Talia laughed and felt the warmth of her friends and family around her. The whole island hummed with their love and dedication. "Not sure I can quite go that far," she said cheekily, playfulness returning to her eyes. She worked her way back up to her feet and the boys did the same.
"I'll tell you what, though. You don't have to defeat me."
Freed raised an eyebrow, "But?"
Her smile widened, "You just have to not forfeit or be knocked out. I'll even give you a time limit."
"Hell yeah, we can do that!" cheered Bickslow.
Freed broke a smile, but he knew she was still holding something back. "And what's the catch?"
She smiled wickedly. "Fight me for as long as you'd like, but you'll not pass without surviving thirty seconds of my new form."
"Thirty seconds? That's it? And then we move on?" Bickslow's tongue rolled out of his smile.
"Well, yes. Considering I can't hold it for more than a minute," Talia's hands were on her hips, happy to goad her friends into this fight.
Freed smiled, ready to rise to her challenge. He drew his sword and pointed it menacingly in her direction: "Shall we begin?"
A cold wind wrapped its way around the three mages, an echo of a scream riding its chill. Talia's irises turned molten silver behind her quickly pearling eyes. Silver tendrils wrapped around her, the tattered, bone-white dress forming to her body. Her hair caught the wind and undulated along the sounds it brought. She raised her arm, silver magic power dripping down and dissipating before it hit the grass at her dirty, bare feet. Her hand was open—"Come."
Freed and Bickslow quickly jumped back, they knew her too well to try to rush her immediately. With a wave of his long arm, Bickslow called his souls around him and fired their beams in her direction. A dust cloud exploded about Talia, only to be quickly wrapped up in a passing breeze. The silver orb around her caught the sunlight, it glinted and shimmered in different arcs. She hadn't moved, but her head was tilted at an odd angle and her smile looked too-wide for her face, like the skin of her lips might split.
"Toys toys, you've brought me toys," she sang, her half-dead eyes catching Bickslow's, even behind his helm. His eyes may have the power to steal souls, but hers could freeze his veins. "Would you like to try that again?" she purred.
Bickslow glared and clenched his fists, "Baryon Formation, babi—" his voice caught in his throat. His little, colorful casks were bouncing oddly and his connection to them felt. . . frayed.
Talia cocked her eyebrow over her freakish smile. Her hand was still outstretched, palm to the sky. The tips of her fingers bounced in an odd pattern, digits curled loosely. It didn't take him long to notice the lightly shimmering spheres around each soul-vessel as they bounced in accordance to her fingers.
"Wh-what did you do to them?" he squawked.
"A Banshee, it seems," she began, her intonation peaking and swelling at odd points in the speech pattern, "is not simply the keeper of a death knell." She took a couple steps forward and watched gleefully as she juggled the painted casks in the air before her. They bounced off her sound pulses and floated haphazardly through the air. "She is the keeper of the half-world, the Fae."
"And therefore can manipulate creatures and souls of the in-between: those stuck in limbo or between our world and the other side," Freed finished through gritted teeth.
"Shit. When did that happen?" Bickslow's voice was unsteady as he frantically tried to think of a way to extricate his babies from her sonic spheres.
"The Old One has shown me many things this past year," she hummed. Her outstretched hand flicked in their direction, and Bickslow's babies were rocketed back toward him, all thudding dully against his chest and falling into his hands. "The realms of Lost Hope, Seven, and the Plains of Blackened Stars: the lands of her kin." Her hands raised out on either side, fingers outstretched.
Shadows twisted around her; wails, howls, and echoes of emptiness seemed to gather in the darkness. Freed and Bickslow felt the hairs on the back of their necks prick—this was bad. The shadows twisted themselves into the brushstrokes of forms, wisps dissipated off the back of a large black dog beside her, and the flutter of raven wings danced in the air. None of the forms were solid creatures, but each seemed to be spun out of branch-shadows and tricks of light that made a man walk faster on his path at night.
Freed and Bickslow caught each other's glances. Anything they thought they knew about fighting Talia was useless. She may as well be an entirely different mage. The creatures faded into the wind around her and she lowered her arms. The torn ends of her skirt danced against her calves in the breeze. Her gaze caught Freed's.
Her smile faded and the playful glint left her pearled eyes. "You have much to atone for, Scribe of the Thunder Legion. You have threatened our guild and tormented Mirajane. You may have satisfied the others, but my toll has not been met." Freed felt his skin prickle at her words. He was about to be physically reprimanded for the Battle of Fairy Tail.
In a flash of silver, she was in his face, red hair swirling around them both. His eyes were wide and his body tense with fear. Her eyes were dead and unyielding. She slowly moved her lips beside his ear.
"Endanger my family again and I will personally drag your soul into the next realm," she hissed.
Her fist collided with his gut, and a sound pulse blasted him back away from her. He twisted in the air and landed heavily in the grass on the far side of the clearing.
There was suddenly pain at her back. A searing shot of blue and white magic that burned and shredded her flesh. She let out a howl of pain and threw a slice of a sound pulse behind her, knocking Bickslow's babies out of the air. She turned to the sieth mage, her tongue running over her teeth.
"Very good. But-" she launched toward him, a pulse knocking him off his feet and sprawled onto his back. "What to do when it's just you, my puppet pet?" She loomed over him menacingly, but she could feel Freed behind her readying an attack. She spun on her heel, throwing another punishing pulse in his direction.
"Dark Ecriture: Silence!"
The magics met and shattered against each other in the air. Talia's smile grew and something almost proud flashed in her eyes. Her silver met Freed's dark eye, and she nodded in recognition of his growth.
"A new trick for Talia. Tricks and toys my boys bring me!" her laugh rattled like a cup of dice. "Once more, try again."
"Dark Ecriture—"
Her hand raised in his direction, long fingers extended gently.
"Pandemonium."
"Silence!"
Silver threads wrapped about him, fraying and falling against his spell. But, unfortunately for him, more and more came, twisting and spinning. He was losing. More and more frantically he repeated his silence spell, but the sphere wrapped around him steadily.
"Fyke Formation!"
The soul casks floated in a circle as they hovered in the air, and shot around Freed's form. The force of the blasts untangled the sound spell enough for Freed to explode outward with a massive silence rune.
Freed stood, uninhibited, if panting heavily from the exertion. Her pandemonium spell had failed.
"Dark Ecriture: Absolute Shadow, Wings." Freed's armor molded to his skin, the robotic helmet veiling his face. Purple wings appeared at his back and lifted the rune mage into the air. Bickslow came to stand beside him, supported airborne by his casks.
"You may as well use that new form. Fighting you here will only drain our magic power," called Freed, his voice metallic.
Talia lowered her head, a curious smile playing at her lips. It was smart on their part—they had already played long enough to know that she outclassed them. Any more time like this would simply be a waste if they knew something worse was coming. Better to get it over with and pray they could survive the 30 seconds.
Freed arced his armored hand through the sky, and a time appeared above them. "It will count down whenever you say."
Talia nodded, still not looking to them. She needed to focus to find her path.
Through the darkness of her mind she strode. Following the war-torn path soaked with blood. The clatter of sword and scream reverberated around her. The rattle of chariot wheels, the heavy thud of a catapult launch. They propelled her forward.
Talia's eyes opened. She looked up to Freed and Bickslow as, now black, wisps of sound wrapped around her. Her eyes were red. Punctured-artery red. Even through their helms, Freed and Bickslow felt the power of those eyes. They knew they weren't here to win—they were here to survive.
The blackened sound molded to her skin as the white dress dissipated into the air around her. A slit of pale skin stretched wide from her collarbones and narrowed down to a point at her sternum. Bleached raven skulls stared out from dead sockets on her shoulders, yet the gaze of each was clearly felt. A triple coat-tail caught the sound waves behind her and undulated elegantly upon them. But what was most striking were her wings. Massive black raven wings materialized at her back. They caught the afternoon sunlight and shimmered iridescent greens and purples at the slightest movement.
Talia stood tall and stretched her wings, they were still new enough to have some stiffness, and the breadth of them was massive. She rolled her shoulders. Her voice was slightly lowered, and the sound broke into triplicate:
"Begin."
The clock began to count down.
With one beat of her wings, Talia had closed the distance between her and Bickslow, the latter having no time to react. She slammed her shoulder into his chest as she flew through him, letting the energy take its course. She felt the air tickle her back—her black covering leaving her skin bare from her shoulders, in-between the grounding of her wings, and ending in a sharp point at the small of her back.
Bickslow rocketed into the tree line from the force and didn't get up.
The time ticked.
28. . . 27. . .
Panic began to set into Freed's bones, but he tried desperately to strategize. Maybe I can draw out her attacks. The timer is my only chance. He could feel her gaze on him once more.
"D-Dark Ecriture: Pain!" he threw the attack experimentally toward her. She hovered on the edge of the clearing, massive black wings beating forcefully to keep her aloft. She waved the attack away with her bare hand.
24. . . 23. . .
"You will not last beyond 15 seconds," her voice still fractured, but Talia's teasing came through. Freed had a moment of relief in the reminder that he was still fighting his friend.
"We'll see about that—Darkness: Breath!" his breath attack slammed into a sonic shield that Talia had automatically raised in front of her. It split the attack straight down the middle and left her utterly untouched.
20. . . 19. . .
He would need to do something drastic.
"Dark Ecriture: Death."
His runes flashed purple in the air before exploding into shining projectiles, all locked on her form and with enough magic to kill an average mage. But against her, he just hoped it would be enough to give him a few seconds of advantage. She crossed her arms before her in defense, and he saw the glint of her shield.
The attack blasted against her sound, and he could see her bracing against the blows. But her shield held against the barrage. She suddenly exploded the sound shield outward, the silver pulse detonating or careening the rest of his attack uselessly into the ground and trees. Her red eyes met his, a cocky smile on her face.
That was. . . my most powerful attack. . . and it barely phased her.
17. . . 16. . .
Talia smiled menacingly. "My turn."
Her hands came together before her, flat-palmed, the fingers of one just touching the heel of the other. She closed her eyes. Her magic swirled, coalescing into a black magic circle that spun in the air at her hands. She felt the sounds—in and out, in and out—and held one point in the center still. Her eyes opened and the words hissed out from between her teeth:
"Keener's Cry."
That still point shot forward, the rest of the sounds dragged behind in its force. It cracked through his shoulder, shattering his armor and baring his terrified face to the world.
Freed felt the attack like a frozen bullet. But what followed was so, so much worse. That point pulled through him, catching a piece he didn't know he had. Something integral. Something precious. And then it ripped it out of him. It knocked the breath out of his lungs and replaced his blood with ice. He crumpled to the ground.
The timer stopped at 14 seconds and dissipated into the air.
Talia felt her power fade around her as she returned to her standard self. She gave a cocky smile and her hands perched confidently on her hips. She waited a moment for him to get up.
He didn't.
"Shit," she snapped at herself and ran over to him, dropping to her knees as she reached his side. "Freed? Freed!" She put her hand on his chest and tried to gently shake him back to consciousness. "C'mon, man, wake up." His blue eyes finally flickered open and she let out a sigh of relief. "For gods' sakes don't scare me like that."
Freed groaned and sat up slowly with Talia's help. Bickslow finally re-emerged from the tree line.
"I have a feeling we didn't make the cut this year," joked Bickslow as he rubbed the back of his neck. He plopped down next to the two of them, his lanky legs seeming to fold twice as many times as anyone of a normal height.
Freed gave a light, if painful, huff of a laugh. "Afraid not."
"You gave it a dang good shot, though," Talia added, "I was seriously impressed that you two broke my Pandemonium spell. I don't think anyone's ever done that before."
"Speaking of firsts, that new form packs quite the punch. What was that spell? 'Keener's Cry'?"
Talia nodded and gave a broad smile. "Thanks for being my guinea pig!"
Freed stuttered and his eyes went wide, "Tha-that was you first attempt?" Talia nodded.
"Yep. Probably a good thing I missed, too, from the looks of you."
"You MISSED?" Freed squawked and looked at her incredulously.
Talia looked sheepish, "Yeah. . . Oops?" Freed flopped flat to the ground again and stared blankly at the sky.
"I guess I should be glad of that," he said, "Don't think I'd be moving for a while otherwise."
"What was it like? What kind of spell is it?" considering Bickslow had missed half the party, it seemed he wanted to catch up.
Freed put his hand on his chest. He could still feel the chill under his ribs, that icy emptiness slowly melting.
"The Old One never really explained it explicitly—"
"Since when does she?" Freed joked half-heartedly.
"But I think it temporarily disjoints the soul from the body."
Freed closed his eyes and thought about that for a moment, exploring and feeling through his body. It made sense, really. That feeling of something being torn from him, the cold nothingness that filled the vacuum it left. His body felt mostly unharmed, just the bruises and traumas from earlier in their fight lingered in soreness. But there was an ache, a stretch too far, somewhere deeper.
"If it was or if it wasn't, it's truly a debilitating attack, Talia," Freed turned to her and his eyes were serious. "Please promise me that you will not be reckless with it."
Talia's smile turned melancholy, and she put a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder.
"Of course."
She helped him up—he was weak, but steady—and together the three of them limped toward basecamp.