Edinburgh, Scotland Present Day

The monster was awake.

The hunger would not be denied.

A beast that slumbered peacefully when it was well fed and satiated, but became the devil's own worst nightmare when it awoke. Nothing would stand in it's way, it could not be stopped much in the way that nature could not be halted. No one would be stupid enough to walk out into a blizzard, convinced they could tame it. In the same vain, no one could possibly hope to stand in the path of the starved monster and expect to survive.

His throat burned, desperate for the only thing that would soothe the raw and ragged flesh. He tried to clear it, to fight down the raging torrent of flames that made him want to tear the very flesh from his bones. To peel away every layer of skin, muscle and sinew until the clean white bone came into sight.

Zeref had abstained for too long – he knew his limits but had pushed far past it on this occasion and he was now paying for that foolish error. He should know better than to continue to press his luck, this was his lot in life and unless he wished to take that last step into final oblivion, he had to obey the rules.

His vision swam from the vibrant colours of his room to everything being entirely crimson soaked in seconds, and he knew his eyes would be of the darkest red. His normally large black orbs mutated to a hideous red and bloodshot, irises blown wide and the pupils slit-like that sought to shut out the surrounding light.

Thump!

Zeref clutched at his chest, rocked onto the tips of his toes at the thunderous impact of his heart banging against his ribcage. Even his body cried out in need, the organ would start to fail without the subsistence it craved. It beat against his breast, the warning call to act, and to act fast.

It was true that he had felt this agony in the past, the numerous unsuccessful attempts that he had made to master his weakness coming to mind. But this was the first time in more than a century that he had gone for so long without blood.

How many days had passed since he stole that meagre amount from the accommodating man at the front desk? Zeref struggled to recall how long he had spent at The Balmoral, it was difficult to have any thought other than the drive that was hounding him incessantly. The great beast roaring its fury, an almost imaginary mouth filled with razor-sharp jagged teeth snapping and biting at him.

Five days…

One moment of clarity presented the answers he sought, it had been five days since he had taken up residence here, and only one day since his disappointing meeting with Ultear. It was likely that his irritation from that fruitless conversation had caused the beast to awaken with such vigour. His turbulent emotions fed it in a way that only led to further destruction and chaos.

The raven haired male couldn't risk taking anything further from the accented chestnut haired concierge, not this soon after his first feeding. The man would still be recovering from the slight blood loss, completely oblivious but the possible anaemic effects would worsen if he took a second sip. He also could not risk using another staff member, it would become far too suspicious and force him to find alternative accommodation when he was perfectly settled in the beating heart of Edinburgh.

Could he control himself if he were to venture out?

He shuddered at the thought of the carnage he was capable of bringing upon anyone that he met whilst in this condition. Zeref scrubbed a hand down his face, annoyed beyond words at his own stupidity. A white-hot pain ripped at his gums and he knew that his canines had lengthened to descend past his lower lip.

Wood splintered beneath his grip on the corner of his mammoth four-poster bed. Slivers of the brutalised wood pierced at his palm as he watched the sluggish drip of blood slide down his wrist, his body trying desperately not to lose any more of the precious fluid.

With every ounce of arcane power and knowledge he had gained, he blanketed the monster. Zeref threw the entirety of his mighty willpower behind the smothering attack. Chanting promises of a feast to pacify its ravenous want. It was the act of a truly desperate man, a last-ditch attempt not to allow the monster to devour him whole.

It had left him weakened, his body sagged to the plush carpet beneath him. He would be vulnerable for a time, but at least his mind was his own once more. It wouldn't last. His time to do what he absolutely must do would be limited, and that thought allowed for his weight to be lifted once more.

~.~

Zeref found himself in what would later become a freak snowstorm.

The snow was starting to fall with fat white flakes that clung to his black lashes and the shoulders of his long overcoat. It was almost midnight and the streets were devoid of activity, even the normally bustling bars and restaurants were quiet and almost empty apart from the staff that stood around to chatter amongst themselves.

His nails dug deep grooves into his palms, close to piercing the skin but not quite as he dared not to provoke the temporarily placated monster within. His mouth was parched, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth in the most unpleasant way.

How easy this could have been if he had simply sought out a meal sooner.

He may not like what he was forced to do, but he always found it surprisingly easy to seek out a willing victim. Zeref was an attractive man and such a mystery that he often found men as well as women that would approach him in the hopes of unlocking his secrets.

They might discover the fearful truth of his nature, but they would never remember. He would remain a dark stranger that had sparked longing that led to moments of madness, the meeting of mouths and the wander of hands, but mostly nothing more.

He didn't kill, not now.

In truth, the first year of his new life had been a difficult one filled with experimentation as he discovered the limits of the human body and mind. There had been unfortunate casualties but never had he purposefully drained a person to death. It was very important in Zeref's mind to distinguish the difference between deaths that had been accidental, and the ones that were most definitely with intent. Without that clear distinction, he would have likely lost himself to madness a long time ago, and no God would have enough mercy to grant upon a world where that happened.

The raven haired male had more than enough control to pull back from the killing blow these days, never taking more than they could give without serious harm. Did he have that same level of control right at this moment? He wasn't sure, and he shrank back for a second as he formulated a plan.

Zeref was a master at manipulation, a skill that he had gained long before his transformation. His vampiric essence had only served to enhance the power, making it easy to sink into the mind of his victims and planting false memories and emotions. It was almost child's play at times. The door to the precious human brain was thrown wide by the simple stroke of his finger, granting him access to things that he should not be privy to.

It was a power he could use at will, however, the connection of a blood link only deepened his control over it. He had let it be known to his little 'helpers' that it was no use in keeping secrets from him, lies whispered to him, and it was only a partial lie of his own. Fear kept them in check, they knew that their Dark Lord Zeref had no patience for liars or time wasters. It was demonstrated often enough when members would disappear, never to return, being replaced with others that were deemed more worthy.

He might have found it funny on another occasion, how very few ever met with him personally. Zeref was more a bogeyman than a real physical threat, he had no need to liaise with such lowly creatures when he had his select few that he could usually entrust with most matters. The rules were simple; scour the land for clues pertaining to certain practices and people, use whatever means to achieve the end, don't get caught and most crucially, the slaughter of innocents would only bring about their own death in the most painful way imaginable.

The warming scent of vanilla mixed with something he couldn't quite place filled his head, and his eyes bled to crimson as he sought out the source. The snow was getting increasingly heavy, it lay upon the icy ground and became the perfect death trap for anyone not minding their step. Wind sped the flurries through the air, and most would find it rather difficult to see through the blinding white-out but not him.

His instincts carried him forward as his body roared to life. This felt different, strangely carnal and the beast whimpered like a kitten. Zeref had no idea which part of Edinburgh he was in, all he knew was that the most enticing smell was leading him on a merry dance, winding this way and that through tight wynds and down narrow steps.

Did they know they were being pursued?

He didn't think so, he wasn't close enough to have been detected and there seemed no trace of fear or panic to linger as he continued ever onwards. Something dark and primal within was enjoying this, the chase had never felt so good as he dragged in great lungfuls of the frozen air. It burned his chest, and he liked it. Wanted to feel more, feel anything that wasn't the despair that haunted him like the hand of death on his shoulder.

With the collar of his thick black woollen overcoat popped up to hide more of his face, his pace quickened. His nimble steps avoided the patches of snow that he knew to have ice hidden beneath, almost a dance where the only music was of the thrum of his sluggish pulse, the whistle of the wind and the crunch of snow under the foot of his prey.

A spark of golden blonde hair snared his attention, eyes pivoting to the corner it had scurried around. The scent was leading him in that direction, could this be who he sought out? Was his prize merely around the next corner?

Zeref fought down the temptation to become a part of the wind, unsure whether his slowly slipping control and sanity would afford him the luxury of choosing his destination. There was every chance that it would carry him in the opposite direction, and that would only infuriate him and the purring monster.

He rounded the corner to find a figure moving far ahead, not running but certainly travelling faster than a normal pace. Even from here, he could make out the feminine shape despite the heavy cream coloured coat. Fangs descended in his mouth, the pressure built to the point that he wished to bite into his own arm to quell it, but he hurried on as he refused to acknowledge the tingle of his gums.

She was much shorter than him, and he was strangely grateful that her brown leather boots were not heeled enough to present a problem in these treacherous conditions. How odd for him to care about the welfare of the unknown girl that was about to satisfy his thirst. He was hardly entirely uncaring, but that level of scrutiny he deemed rather inappropriate.

The raven haired male was gaining on her, eating up the distance with his long strides as he eyed her closely once more. He memorised the outfit she wore; dark blue denim jeans that were tucked into her boots, the heavy cream coat with white faux fur that trimmed the cuffs and collar, and a black scarf that blew over her shoulder in the storm. She looked frozen, he could see the faint shiver of her body as he approached.

Her smell was decadently intense now, it permeated his every sense and it reminded him of making cakes as a child, a rare treat reserved for the most special of occasions. That pure thought sparked a flicker of light in the remaining scraps of his withered soul.

Zeref would never have described himself as a lustful man, yes he enjoyed the pleasure that could be found in the comfort of supple skin and heated embraces, but he did not seek it out often. At this moment he lusted after the girl, hadn't even seen her face but he knew it would be worth the wait. His tortured heart beat a staccato rhythm, a hand reached out just as she turned another damned corner. The hand grasped at nothing but thin air, and the warning growl was low and ominous in his throat.

Again he followed after her, not paying attention to his surroundings or the body that slammed into him with a force that sent him to his knees as he caught the person that had toppled him. His furious gaze found the terrified face of a young brunette girl.

He muffled her scream with his large palm pressed painfully against her mouth. Her hazel eyes begged for mercy, he had none left to give. Caramel skin became tinged with pink as his eyes glowed that visceral carmine. That poor girl, her luck had most definitely run out on this fateful night, her destiny sealed as Zeref dragged her to the nearest shadowy corner.

The bloodlust was too much, he was overwhelmed with the desire to drink this pretty girl until she was nothing but a husk. He gave no consideration to her comfort or fragile state, the buttons of her blue padded jacket were ripped as he bared her throat and neck until it strained under his steely grip. The jump of her wild pulse excited him, the beast rumbled its hideous laughter as the girl cried and struggled futilely.

That first taste and Zeref felt the worst of the madness lift. It was confounding to try to describe how it felt to take someone's blood, although he had tried many times whilst writing in his personal journals. The hot flow of life that would fall down his throat like rapids in a raging river. It was as if he could taste the person's soul on his tongue, weighing how pure a person was by the flavour and depth of their blood. That old saying that virgin blood tasted all the sweeter certainly held a certain amount of truth to it, but Zeref had never cared for linking the purity of one's soul with the denying of an act that should represent the sharing of love.

He knew he had appeared as an absolute monster to the girl that he clutched to him in the shadows which obscured his wicked actions. They would look like two lovers that had become too amorous on their way home, not that anyone was around to see. To her, Zeref's crimson eyes and snarling mouth was only the beginning of her misery. She slumped in his arms, her delicate constitution unable to maintain her consciousness as he fed on her in long draining pulls.

Zeref pulled his ravenous mouth from her neck, it had taken him more willpower than usual to release her and he watched the trickles of blood to flow freely from the nasty bite he had inflicted. He had the ability to bite with precision, only using his fangs to pierce the skin, but on this night he had left a savaged wound that would take longer to heal.

Despite that nagging voice that had chided him to finish her off. To have mercy on the poor lamb and end her suffering, he had stopped well before she would be too greatly injured. Slipping into a seated crouch with the limp girl draped over his lap, he sighed at the mess he now had to fix. All because of his own stupidity. All because he refused to believe that he was chained to his need, although he clearly was.

His mind slipped back to the sight of that blonde, the memory of her scent was branded on him and he swore an oath to seek her out in better circumstances.

For now, it was time for damage control.

~.~

Glencoe, Scottish Highlands 1679

He thought he might die. His body was ravaged, and his already slim figure was now close to starved. Zeref had no idea exactly how many days had passed since he had set out on his journey. His journal remained untouched after the tenth entry, his exhaustion was too much to allow him to write when he could be sleeping instead. This was by far the furthest he had ever travelled, and he was not looking forward to the prospect of the return trip if he survived to make it.

The legend of a woman that granted the wishes of young men had sounded like a complete fantasy, a fairy tale even, but his obsessive desperation had him willing to believe in literally anything if it meant returning his family to him. Zeref was now twenty-eight years old and had spent the last sixteen years without his parents and his younger brother, enough was enough.

His youthful face belied his years, and often he could pass for a teenager if he dressed appropriately. Acting younger tended to gain him more freedom to pass under the nose of the law. If his crimes were discovered, he would surely be put to a swift death, but that knowledge did not scare him in the way that it would most. It was not the thought of losing his life that kept him fearful when passing through larger villages and towns, it was the idea that he would never reconcile with his family. If Zeref were to die before he could find a way to bring them back then he was most certainly not going to meet them in whatever nice afterlife there might be waiting on the other side, Zeref was going to hell and he knew it.

As far as he was concerned, his crimes were entirely justified. He had not slaughtered anyone innocent, had only reaped a terrible vengeance on those who had wronged him, and brought death to the doors of people who were far more evil than he ever could be. Even so, he was cruel and wicked with little to no remorse for what his hands had done.

He had ventured to many parts of Britain in his search for answers, had hit many dead ends and promising leads that turned into crackpot old fools who claimed the power to do things that they had no right to even speak of. This was the first time he had travelled into Scotland, and although the scenery was a marvel, it had been a treacherous journey.

The trek from where he had set up his base of operations in Oxford to his destination in Glencoe was roughly four hundred and fifty miles. Sitting in the dank room he rented from a man that had more than once tried to force himself upon the young man, he had planned in his journal how long it should take for him to get there.

A gleaming dagger clutched in the palm of his free hand as he made calculations and prepared as best he could, one eye ever vigilant on the door that was barricaded shut. Zeref had packed all his meagre belongings, he knew he would never return to here, and on the morning of his set off, he had slipped into the bedroom of his monstrous landlord. His faithful dagger had found its mark, striking directly upon his black heart as he pressed the pillow from under his head to cover his face until the flailing had finally ceased. Zeref Dragneel refused to allow anyone else to suffer from this man, this perverted wretch. He feared no repercussions as he would be miles away before the body was even discovered, and that thought brought a twisted smile to his lips.

The plan had been to walk for as many hours as he could each day, stopping only for necessities such as eating and sleeping. He had calculated that he should be there in around twelve days without overexerting himself.

Zeref had not taken twelve days to reach Glencoe.

Oh no, it had taken him the best part of a month to finally be standing where he was. He had not accounted for the weather in the Highlands, nor the deadly conditions of the paths that he needed to follow. Despite the compass and the crude map he had managed to procure once he had set foot over the border into Scotland, he still got lost more than he cared to admit.

The craggy hills and deep ravines that ran along the west coast of the country were barely passable at times, and he had backtracked a few times in search of easier routes. His frustration had flared with each subsequent setback and he was sincerely glad that he had met very few people on the trek.

He had often had to brave the elements overnight as settlements were few and far between the further north he went, and his very limited funds were close to dry. The raven haired male had taken to bathing in the freezing streams and had on occasion found hidden waterfalls. Such places had felt almost mystical, secrets that only a few were ever privy to, but he could not feel lucky when his burden was so great. Zeref had to weigh up being able to buy food or having the comfort of a roof over his head, and his poor body was slowly starting to fail him.

His feet were utterly ruined, blood pooled in the only shoes he could afford, blisters rubbed painfully with every step he took, but stopping was even worse than forcing his feet onward. The first steps were always the worst, it wasn't until his mind was drunk on the pain that he would become numb to it. The muscles of his legs were strained too far past their capacity, and he was lucky to have avoided any falls as they would have likely killed him. Not from impact, but it would have been unlikely that he would be able to seek out help, perhaps fate was looking out for him after all.

It may be considered deep into the summer months, but it had still been very cold on the majority of the days. The wind that whistled through the hills he navigated had stolen into his core and leached every last drop of heat from him, it was enough to make him irritable even in the face of such beautiful scenery.

Had Zeref been a painter, writer or poet, he might have found this place as his greatest muse, but that was not his field of expertise. He failed to appreciate the miles of green fields that stretched out before him like the most stunning garden that could only have been the property of a God. He hardly acknowledged the sight of mighty hills that were shrouded in mist, obscuring the peaks and giving the sense that he was on the very top of the world. None of this mattered when he had a specific goal in mind, what did he care for such beauty? When had beauty ever brought him anything but pain?

The sight of the small inn was a welcome one, he could sob as a sign swung from a rusted pole 'The Glencoe Inn'. It felt a little on the nose, but he wasn't one to complain when the prospect of a warm bed loomed so close. It was a small building with a thatched roof and an even smaller stable attached to the side. Horses would find this terrain rather difficult to traverse, and he could already note that it was indeed empty. White walls that were dirty from the elements was the stark relief in a landscape of greens and browns. On the other side of the inn stood Lochleven, an impressively large body of water that was calm and peaceful at present.

He had enough coin left for probably only two nights stay and one meal, and he considered offering his services to the inn if they would only allow him room and board until he was ready to leave. It was something he would consider, but right now he needed warmth.

A roaring fire dominated the main wall of the inn. The inside seemed even smaller than it had from outside, but it felt skin searingly hot and that was all that mattered. No one appeared to be at home as he made his way towards the bar and sunk onto one of the three stools that lined its length. His shoulders shook as he released his bundle to the ground and slumped over the oak bar top. If he closed his eyes for longer than a second he would fall sound asleep.

"Whit like are ye?" a deep voice called out. Zeref sat upright and watched a tall man as wide as an outhouse appear from a side door. He was unsure how to respond, what kind of question had the man asked of him? The accent was indeed thick and he knew he was going to struggle with anyone who could only speak Gaelic.

"Sorry?" he replied earnestly. His own Welsh accent had mellowed over the years, something he had worked tirelessly to achieve. No longer did he wish to be associated with the place he had once called home, now his accent was a rather generic English one that held no indication of where he had been raised.

The man gazed at him with a friendly smile, his green eyes and flaming red hair were rather striking to look upon. His hair was long and tied with a leather strap at the nape of his neck, and he wiped his shovel-like hands on a rag, coming to stand directly in front of the much smaller male.

"Nae fae round here?" the giant gestured with his hands and the raven haired male got the concept of the question after a quiet moment of contemplation.

"No, I'm from England. I'm searching for something," he offered, debating on how much to say at this point. "Do you have a free room, this is all I have left?" Zeref emptied his small pouch onto the counter, the coins clattered and tried to roll away but were stopped by the man's hand.

The man scratched at his stubbled chin, eyeing Zeref and clearly trying to get the measure of him. His cautious gaze must have found nothing to be concerned over as he clapped a hand to the smaller man's shoulder, almost buckling him from the stool. "Let me feed ye, yer nowt but skin 'n' bone."

~.~

Zeref had been more grateful than he could ever express at the generosity he received whilst at The Glencoe Inn. The giant male had been named Hamish, and he had met his wife Clara and their baby, Heather that first night. The family had been incredibly welcoming, offering him seemingly endless bowls of the most delicious meat stew and platefuls of potatoes. He had almost stuffed himself to the point of sickness, it had been so long since he had eaten this well and he never knew how long it would be until the next time.

Three days had passed since he had first arrived, Zeref still held tight to his small coin purse as Hamish had been happy to keep him fed and heated for the return of some help around their small lands. They did not see guests often, the pub was visited by the few locals that lived within walking distance, but the rooms were unused apart from his own.

He was slowly getting used to the strange accent and slang that they used in favour of what he considered to be proper English. There was a beautiful rhythm and cadence to the speech especially when two fluent in it would converse. They spoke so rapidly that it was hard to follow, but it was truly riveting to try and listen.

Zeref had quickly gained the trust of the few locals that visited and had even dared to ask questions about this mysterious female entity that was meant to grant wishes.

"That'll be Baobhan sith yer after. Ye dinny wanna go messin' wi her laddie," the elderly man had refused to be drawn any further on the topic, but from bits and pieces, Zeref had managed to paint a picture in his head.

The legends told of a beautiful woman who would appear before young men that spoke their heart's desire out in the wilderness at the midnight hour. The clock on the mantel struck the hour, and he made the decision then and there that he would attempt to find her tonight.

He dressed in the cleanest pair of trousers he owned with a simple grey tunic and bundled under the heavy green cloak that had been offered to him by Clara. The cloak was lovely, and he had been rather touched by the kind gesture. He had tried to refuse it at first, and not until the red headed woman had puffed her chest, cheeks ablaze and brow drawn into a severe frown had he relented. He wouldn't admit it, but under that terrifying gaze, he had felt like he had under the hawk-like stare of his own mother.

As the midnight hour approached, all was quiet in the inn as he crept towards the door.

~.~

Had he known at the time what lay in wait for him this night, then perhaps Zeref would have turned on his heel and marched back to bed. Yet, knowing Zeref Dragneel that knowledge might have only driven him to seek out his fate all the quicker…

~.~

The raven haired male pulled the hood of the cloak up to protect him from the chill that ghosted over the quietly rippling surface of the loch. Tendrils of mist danced to their secret melodies as he strode for the thicket of trees to his left.

On entering the densely wooded area he paused to collect his thoughts. Zeref took a deep breath and emptied his head of all thoughts but the one that was most important to him.

"Please let me bring back my family," he chanted over and over in his mind. He walked a slow path for what felt like close to an hour and no other sound other than the twigs that snapped under his feet could be heard. His eyes swung like a pendulum from right to left, scanning his surroundings for any minuscule sign of movement, but there was none. Not even the animals of the area scampered, hidden away in fear of the pulse of magic that drew near.

Feeling foolish he retraced his steps until he could see the water in the distance. He stepped from the treeline and froze in place. There on the shoreline stood a woman facing the water. As he halted she looked to him and beckoned him closer with the gentle wave of her white hand.

His feet moved even though his brain screamed at him to run in the opposite direction. The mist that had danced upon the water was slowly coiling around the female, playing with her hair and stroking at her bony hands.

Zeref had never seen a woman as beautiful as this one.

Her hair was a deep auburn, so dark that appeared almost black until the moon shone upon it to highlight the crackling embers that were there. It fell around her shoulders and over her back in rippling waves, the ends reaching far below her waist. Her skin was of purest snow apart from the apples of her rounded cheeks which were a rosy pink. Emerald eyes sparkled like jewels as he finally stood by her side, his gaze refused to move and he couldn't recall the last time he had even blinked, so hypnotised was he.

She wore a gown of dark emerald, it matched her eyes and complimented her hair exquisitely. It was a rather revealing gown that left her shoulders bare and dipped low on her body, revealing the valley between her bountiful breasts and the smooth planes of her stomach. Zeref swallowed as he took her in, mouth dry and eyes as round as saucers.

A crown of twisted thorns adorned with raven feathers rested low on her forehead with what appeared to be a large ruby set deep within it. This was no mortal female, was this the Baobhan sith that the old man had spoken of?

"You called for me Dark Prince?" she whispered and Zeref could not contain the shudder that shook his bones at hearing her speak. Her accent was faint, and her voice was so alluring that he stepped closer before he could stop himself.

He did not speak, could not find the words that would do justice to the form in his sights. A coy smile played on her rosebud lips, "your wish is much harder to grant, and for this, I am sorry. All I can offer is that you are in need of a witch. A powerful one whose bloodline flows with the mystic soul magic."

As the meaning behind her words filtered into his befuddled brain, he frowned and cast his gaze on her ethereal face. He could feel the wash of her magic, the way it twisted and writhed within him to keep him docile and the veil of her deceit peeled back a little. The beauty of her face twisted into something dark and haunted, hollow eyes that sunk into flesh that was rotten.

A hand fell to his own and the spell was back in place. He recalled nothing of what he had glimpsed as she threw even more weight behind her powers, needing every ounce she yielded to deceive one as strong as Zeref.

"Let me soothe you, Dark Prince, let me hold you whilst you weep for your lost family," she cooed in his ear. He had not been aware she had moved but found himself held tight within an embrace that he knew was somehow wrong. Her velvet gown was soft against his cheek, and he nuzzled into her chest even though he knew he shouldn't. That niggling voice in the back of his brain calling to him ever louder as the seconds ticked by.

She shushed him as if he were indeed crying, kissing his cold cheek with a soft reverence. He touched his face and felt the wetness that was present, his stomach turned upside down as her arms tightened until they were painful against his thin form. "Such power, I feel it deep in your soul. You could be so great, mores the pity," she hissed, her voice turning from the soft lilt to a fierce hiss instantly.

Her head reared back and Zeref was rocked with the lancing pain of his neck being bitten. He felt the pressure of razor-sharp fangs that sank deep into his flesh, piercing it until the blood poured from the wounds and flowed into her awaiting mouth. His eyes bulged at the pull against him, the agony of his life force being ripped away.

No.

No.

NO!

Zeref clutched the dagger that he had held palmed since leaving the inn, his fingers were icy around the hilt and his mind clouded from her magic.

Images of his mother smiling whilst she cooked in the family's ramshackle kitchen, and his father patiently teaching him how to use a fishing line, followed by memory after memory of his brother assailed him. Natsu's mesmerised face as he told him stories by the fire. Natsu climbing into his bed for warmth and brotherly embraces. Natsu clutching his hand tightly on his first day of school. Natsu resting his forehead against his own and swearing they would be together forever.

The strength came from the very depths of his soul, the will of his convictions pushed him into action. The love that he continued to hold for his family saved him from her control. He did not know what made him do it, what madness had washed over him, but his own teeth latched on the wrist that held him ensnared. The long canines passed down from his father serving to puncture the paper-thin skin until blood that was inky black and so viscous that it resembled slugs as it emerged from the wound.

The Baobhan sith howled and snarled. She shook him, trying to release the grip of his mouth that continued to savage at her wrist. His stomach roiled from the nasty taste of her blood, it slithered down his throat but he held fast. His dagger aimed blindly and found the soft yielding curve of her chest.

The beast screeched her fury and with a blast that threw Zeref fifty feet in the air, her veil fell entirely. The haggard and sallow-skinned face revealed, the sagging body of an ancient crone that lured her victims in with promises of wishes that she would grant only to steal their blood and their life.

She vanished, gone in the blink of an eye whilst the gravely wounded raven haired male fell back to the earth. He hit the ground with such force that he could tell that several of his bones had shattered upon impact.

Zeref lay in the gently lapping shallows of Lochleven, blood continued to pour from his torn neck and as he slipped into unconsciousness, he knew he was dying.

"Natsu, I'll find you. I promise!"

Zeref Dragneel lay dying as the sun began to rise over the hills.