Yooooooo; it's your resurrected CoffeehouseSpadille! I just finished publishing my first My Hero Academia story, Heart, Check, and now I've decided to post for Fairy Tail! So, I wrote this back in high school - I was around fifteen or so... This is probably my most experimental work, with themes of Fairy Tail itself, of course, Marvel, and some others that I cannot think of.

A note for geography: I've mixed our world within the Fairy Tail Earthland continent. Literally, I just put the two maps into each other and squashed in where shit didn't fit. So, for example, Fiore is America and some of South America, Russia is Pergrande Kingdom, China is Bellum and south Pergrande Kingdom, Minstrel is Africa, etc. I mainly use the Fairy Tail labels, so don't worry too much about that. The only main character born elsewhere than Fiore is Rogue, so... I respect Mashima for creating the world and characters, but I do not stand for some fallacies within his plot - for example, the Grand Magic Games' Natsu & Gajeel versus the Twin Dragons fight. So, I happily made that fight end in a four-way draw (meaning, all their dumb-asses knocked out at the same time)!

Lastly, like all my stories: just go with it and enjoy! Throwing shade is super ineffective; I am a Shadow Dragon - I eat shade everyday. But I answer questions in PM, if need be!

I own only the new plot and the OCs.

**This series is in the same realm as my shorter story, Hybrid Mutt. Takes place when Sting is settled into the Sabertooth throne and the guild is rebuilding itself.

Please R&R, but more so, ENJOY!

Happy Valentine's Day (and happy birthday to my fic's Rogue)! And Happy Lunar New Year!

With love.

UNTAMED

Book One

Hiding

Ch. 01: Trimmed with Black Rogue

Second-generation dragon-slayers.

An idea so broad, so elusive, it seemed impossible. The thought of injecting dragon lacrima into a human-being brought nothing but an undying yearn for more than lamentable power. The myth-turned-reality that a person could possess large quantities of power at will in exchange for an unpleasant aftertaste. A flurry of tests of the human body's natural endurance, of how far a man could be pushed until he broke. As for the unbreakable, they were severely damaged. It was immoral, heinous—but for me, all too familiar.

During earlier tests, centuries ago, the unimaginable happened. A man-made dragon-slayer walked the Earth within hours of the procedure, flaunting artificial power from his fingertips. He was a god in the eyes of the public—that is, until they got bored of predictable success. Such boredom manifested into suspicion, then fear, until it festered into discriminative scorn. Experimenters tested more than a hundred subjects, but only a microscopic amount survived.

Why not implant lacrima into those already trained by dragons? Why not breed the ultimate slayer and enhance their magic to limits unknown? A constant series of why-nots conceived what is called the third generation. Or as we call it, true dragon-slayers. We're hybrids, mixed-bloods, mutts. We're greedy petri dishes of unstable magic with time bombs attached. We're the monsters of monsters, they said only moments after the final result was recorded.

Following the Frigid Massacre in the year 760, the Council of Fiore and bordering peninsulas passed the Reassurance Act, an ironic name for such a harsh law. Any slayer—any dragon-slayer, they meant—convicted of any felony, no matter the weight, will suffer a harsher punishment than the average citizen and mage. That's not the worst part. It legalized the immediate detainment of slayer-offenders. The death penalty is certain for treason and murder, no matter the degree. Sometimes without a proper trial. They look at us, all the generations, as animals in dire need of cages, especially the unheard of, blasphemous third-gens. If the slayer is deemed unworthy of rehabilitation, it will be exterminated, regardless of age, sex, occupation, etc.—Section IV: the most widely-known, as well as the most abused. That, and another. Section VI: A slayer can face execution for assault charges, especially if in light of a previous felony on its record. Notice the choice of wording. Are we that below the population that we are referred to as objects?

My question was answered as I winced at the sight of a lacrima-implant-gone-wrong victim thrashing about, his wrists scorching red from the restraints. The injection was given minutes ago; my heart stopped. His name was Kiernan Ackles, 34, convicted of 3 murders. He burnt down his house with his family trapped inside. I found him bashing his head into a tree last night around 11, driven mad beyond hope of recovery.

For unknown, perhaps hopeful reasons, I brought him to Sabertooth. In accordance to recent study, the rich title of dragon-slayer as well as the bursts of magic the body experiences is enough to drive a man insane. You don't need reports and repeated trials and errors to know that. I saw that then, watching that man struggle and froth, sharp and jagged teeth bared. Jiemma called for a gathering so that everyone could witness the execution. Not a word was said amongst us.

"Master Jiemma," someone in the back asked, "what…is he?" The disgust in her tone was binding.

"A failed project," Jiemma replied simply, arms crossed. Even though the one-way mirror, Ackles's bloodshot eyes were haunting. I looked away, at my shoes, at the dirt stain on my pants. Anywhere away from those eyes that looked far too familiar for comfort. He took a moment before speaking again. "A careless act," he watched the man suffer like a daily program, "a necessary disposal."

"'A careless act, a necessary disposal,'" I scoffed under my breath, causing Sting, my brother, to look at me. "Right." I had never seen anyone die that way. I'd seen brutal, messy deaths. Slow, hesitant deaths. But never like that. A life is a fragile thing—something that should be cherished. Everyone should have the right to live, especially if the crime committed wasn't even their fault. Another part of me screamed that Ackles should be executed for multi-murder, given that most lacrima experiments are voluntary.

I'm still conflicted to this day.

"Step forward, Rogue." My breath caught with blood running cold through every artery, every vein in my body, chilling every muscle to numbness. Sting growled beside me. Frosch tried to pull on my pants so I wouldn't go, and Lector stood in my way. But I had to go. What I had coming…it couldn't be avoided. Every Sabertooth member knew that.

At my first step, Sting snatched my arm. "Ro," I shook him off. Not to drag himself into this. The sea of people parted, defining the path to the throne. I bit my tongue, kept my head high, and trudged that long trudge. The sound of my boots pounding the tile floor echoed. Minerva caught my eye, watching me closely. Rufus threw me a taunting smile while others murmured snide remarks as I passed. One guy purposely bumped into my shoulder. I heard Sting push to the front moments after I had arrived at Jiemma's throne. A chill penetrated through my soul. To the left, Ackles's chest rose and fell at a slower pace. His eyes were cast upwards, distant in stare, emptying. It was the opening of stage 3 of the poison—the poison cripples the host for a limit of 10 minutes. I was stupid for letting it go this far. I should have stepped in sooner. I took a deep breath and said, "It wasn't his fault."

"Would it have changed the outcome if it wasn't?" Master glared at me. I looked at him, then looked back down, both of us ignoring the near-corpse on the other side. "That's why this is necessary. If he had any sort of dignity, he'd be trying to fight it."

"I guess," I muttered.

Jiemma frowned. "You guess? A mage—hardly a mage—who is incapable of controlling his own power is nothing more than a speck of dirt on the side of the road."

I winced, hearing that. My voice wasn't mine. It was desperate and almost begging. "But is it too much to give him a chance to—"

"The guild shouldn't need to deal with things like this." He stood, and it stopped my heart, fearful that he might strike me. "It was stupid to bring him here, Rogue."

"I understand that. What I don't understand is why you cannot find it in yourself to show mercy." Everyone was deathly silent. "Look at him."

"Enough!" The room shook with a great force at one pound of his fist. His magic glowed off his skin for an instant. I feared he was preparing to kill me at this point. "Mind your words, Cheney!"

Whether or not it was smart to go on, I did, taking a step back. "Master, I just thought there could be a way to—" I jumped when he slammed a hand down on a table again, cracking it. I heard Frosch whimper, Lector gasp, and Sting silencing them before they too merited the master's fury.

"You foolish mix-breed! Sabertooth is a guild, not a rehabilitation center!" I ducked my head in time for a cup of wine to fly over it. The glass shattered right behind me, shards shooting for my legs. "You've wasted my time! You've violated curfew for that pathetic trash! And you dare question my methods?!"

Without a breath, I hurry to say, "I was not questioning."

"Speak. Up—"

"I was not questioning, Master."

"I don't need your excuses." That word always stung worse when he spat it. Sting and I have been referred to as mutts or hybrids since the day we became the Twins. "You're becoming soft. Don't tempt me to condition you again." I could feel Sting's rage spiraling out of control. Jiemma took a step forward, and I shivered and clenched my fists. The last time he conditioned me, I ended up with a nearly broken hip. He knocked me from wall to wall after Sting and I tied a match. In front of everyone—our guildmates. Our comrades. The only ones who truly cared were Frosch and Lector. The four of us—all we had was each other. Whatever punishment he had for me, whatever pain or humiliation I had to endure, I had to bear through it head-on. So I kept my face stoic, but my heartbeat reverberated from ear to ear. "You are to scrape that off the chair." He pointed dismissively at Ackles. The injection forced corrosion-like deterioration of the skin, making him almost melt until the very last second. "Every speck of him, gone."

"Yes, Master," I replied, completely stone. I flinched hard when Jiemma's eyes slit in a harder grimace. He wanted an apology. A proper one, in his authoritarian eyes. Swallowing my pride, abandoning morality. I fell to my knees, already hearing Sting yelling at me not to do what I knew I had to. With hands planted on the stone floor, I bowed low in repentance, ignoring the repellant effect it had on his still composure. My disgusting hybrid presence disturbed people on an everyday basis. It would've been wasteful to dwell over such a reaction. "I'm sorry, Master," I said, forehead almost touching my hands. The words slid out in thick masses, rancid in taste. "I have disobeyed your rules and did something stupid. I am deeply s—"

His foot planted on the back of my head and pressed it to the filthy floor, crushing my nose to the piercing cold marble. "You should be. You're a fool and have displayed weakness." It felt like he was slowly crushing my skull. Inevitably, I cringed, but I kept an entirely straight face. Of course, that didn't mean he was to be spared one of my signature death glares. "You're to report back here once you have finished." Jiemma slammed his scepter down hard just inches from the bridge of my nose, the iron sound ringing through my ears with my speeding heartbeat. "I don't want you thinking you're getting off easy."

"That thought never came to mind, Master."

There was a long moment of chilling silence. Every ounce of Sting's rage could be felt in the cracks of the stone, in the particles of the thick air. Jiemma chuckled mockingly and stepped back. Tentatively, I lifted my head to look at him. Turning on a heel to leave, he said, "Don't lose your head, boy." To everyone else, "dismissed."

My voice was merely a whisper. "Yes, sir."

It was a wasteful order. Foolish for sympathy, huh? It seemed we, third-generation, should have been restricted of feeling any emotion other than bloodthirst, considering that's all we're good for, apparently. But it did not matter to me then. Like everywhere else, Sabertooth was not home. I saw Sting hesitate as the crowd dispersed. Like the good boy he is, Frosch took his hand and tearfully wheedled him to leave me be, his actions moving Lector to follow suit.

Jiemma, as if overly excited to condemn me, returned not long after the room cleared. I hadn't moved an inch, paralyzed, and for that he only grew angrier. He's never beat me that hard—he punched me until I bruised, stomped on me until I screamed, kicked me until I couldn't stand. I've never seen him that livid, and I've never been the source of such rage. When the pain became too much, I gripped his ankle in the blind hope of stopping him—or fighting him, I'm unsure—but he snatched my hair and launched me across the room. My hip popped out, so my first thought was: how am I going to show Sting I'm all right if I'm limping? He grew tired of me after five minutes, but those were one of the longest five minutes in my life. I lay there on my face, slowly fading into darkness, when he scoffed at my bruised body, "One more slip-up." That slip-up came during the Grand Magic Games. The four-way Dragon fight that ended in a three-way knockout.

As he left, I lifted my eyes again just in time to see what remained of Ackles's body. I forced myself to get on my hands and one knee…to see his skin melting on the stone floor. Guilt overcame me; I ducked my head—this was all my fault. I truly thought I could help him. I thought I could do something to save him. But I'm a third-generation dragon-slayer, a weapon of destruction. And that is all I'm good for.

"Rogue." That was what I was trained for. Even without my magic, it is rare that a person survives me. "Rogue?" Jiemma's Sabertooth fades to a verdant park with a soft blanket, blue, green, and yellow fabric sun-kissed to a gentle synergy of color. I reach my hand out to find cold marble become warm wool and silence replaced by a light crinkle of grass under my palm. A thin hand warms the chilled skin on my face, making me leap. Kagura. The picnic. I follow the pale hand to her golden, usually sharp eyes that are softened with curiosity. "What's wrong?" She tilts her head to the side, and I get a good look at her. She looks nice today—bangs swept back by a plated headband, wearing a yellow sun dress with white sandals. A pink lipstick applied delicately on her lips, a few brushes of mascara adorning her bright eyes, a light coat of powder on her radiant skin. "Babe?"

"Oh," my face flushes. "U-uh." I scratch the back of my head. "Sorry."

"I asked about your little public display with Black Steel this afternoon."

"Yeah," I start, "right. Enjoy the show?"

She takes my sarcasm for legitimacy. "Well, it was interesting."

"Hm."

"Don't let him get you all worked up. It was just a small disagreement."

"I won't."

"That's what siblings do. They fight." I roll my eyes. Sting and I fight; Gajeel and I slaughter. "I'm sorry." She giggles, and it almost makes me swoon. Fixing my collar, she goes on, "But I'm happy to see you opening up to him."

"Even if it was forced..."

"Even if it was forced." She smoothes the fabric down with the grace of a thousand angels. She's known me for years and has grown accustomed to my bad attitude. But that doesn't mean I've grown accustomed to every move she makes. "I'm sorry I made you two share a soda."

I fight back a smile and turn away. "Mm."

Kagura tugs at my arm, laughing lightly. "Hey, I said I'm sorry. You know you're not really mad at me!"

"I'm pretty mad."

"No, you're not."

"Absolutely livid."

"Rogue."

"Livid." She tickles me on the ribs, so I tickle her back harder before she gets the pleasure of drawing a laugh from my throat. She screams at the top of her lungs like a beautiful banshee and shoves me on my back. Our eyes connect, and so do our souls, captive in each other's presence. "You started it, so don't get mad when I retaliate." I smirk.

"You love me," she smiles back.

I fold my hands behind my head. "Doesn't mean I can't be mad at you." She bites her full bottom lip and chuckles. I crane my neck and steal a kiss, softly. "Not for long, that is." Her eyes seep shut when I take her cheek in my hand, deepening our kiss.

"Bitch," she sneaks out with a tone unrelated to the word.

I smile, our noses touching, and close my eyes. "Harsh."

"Rogue!" Frosch comes skipping over, excited and eyes full of want. "Rogue!"

"Yo Fro," I hoist myself up on my elbows, grabbing my beer. Kagura straddles my hips and flips her hair to one side. "What's up?"

He places two persuasive paws on my arm. "Can I go to Floyd's with Happy and Lector and Carla and Lily?!"

"Uh—"

"I want cream cheese with chocolate banana ice cream!"

It's from some exotic ice cream parlor around the block. Imagine a brewery that regurgitates flurries of random flavors from different course meals and serves it all with a base of ice cream. They call it dessert, but it's realistically a recipe for stomach cancer. "That sounds appalling," I say." When he pouts, I give in and extract money from my wallet. "All right, fine. Nothing that will spoil your dinner, understand?" Or your stomach, for that matter.

He nods quickly, only interested in getting my money. "Uh-huh." I hand it to him, he hops up, and hugs me tightly around the neck. "Thanks Rogue!"

I pet his head and nudge him off to go with his buddies in the distance. I'm just glad he's fitting in. That's the best thing for him. Hard to believe he's so big now. He was barely a year old when I first met him, and I'll never forget the event. Imagine strolling through the forest one humid evening to see a green, anthropomorphic kitten seated upon a stone near a pond with a family of frogs hopping along. He was clueless and swore he was a frog, too. I knew he would not survive long by himself. But then he followed me. Sometimes I wonder why he chose to stay with me. I never forced him, never asked for anything. He just…stayed. Who would he want to live with a potential monster? Who would want to risk his own life for the sake of friendship? I've thought—maybe Frosch is just incapable of making smart decisions. Maybe he's half dumb. But I've come to realize that he has such a kind heart that he's able to tolerate me.

Kagura slowly averts her eyes to me. "Babe?"

I've considered disappearing before and just giving everyone the luxury of abandoning their memories of Rogue Cheney. Contemplating when I'm going to do that is the hardest. I commit to one day only to then swear on another. A delayed process that might just lead to destruction—of me, of them, of everything. Skiadrum once warned me that my magic can end this world as we know it. I can declare myself the Antichrist, and people won't know the difference.

That's why I set my mind to forcing Sting to end my life if I fall that low. He's my brother—meaning he'll refuse—but I have my own methods of persuasion to get what I need. If I have to force his fist through my sternum, I will. If I have to attack him, commit treason in the highest degree to feel his magic obliterate my soul, I damn well guarantee it will be done.

"Rogue!" Kagura is touching my arm. I'm startled back to reality and look bemused at her. She's off me, braiding her hair in the middle of the blanket. "You're shaking."

"Oh," I bring attention to my hands. They shake violently, but no chill has bitten the skin. There's a purplish-black tint on the tips of my fingers. I clench them into fists, but the rattling does not subside. "It's kind of cold here."

"You've been acting strange lately. Is something wrong?" I tilt my beer to the side, watching the condensation trail down the glass. Pretending not to listen. "You know, if you need to talk, I'm here." I look at my hands. "Yuki and Sting, too."

"I know."

"You're still shaking."

"And you're still staring at me." I sigh, taking the bite out of my tone. "Sorry. I'm sorry." My hands are indeed shaking, twitching violently. They're buzzing, as if blood is crashing through every vein after incomplete circulation. Kagura takes my hand in hers and rubs them together. She doesn't see the black. "Please say something. I'm sorry."

"Babe," she cracks a smile. "It's okay. Really. You don't think I'm immune to your sass by now?"

"Uh…yeah. Okay." I sigh deeper. "Ready to go? It's a little cold." But the wintry weather is the last thing on my mind right now. She nods. After finishing my beer, I stand and help her to her feet. "I'm going to turn in early."

Kagura cuts in quickly. "Yeah. Mind if I crash with you?"

"I said I'm going to sleep, didn't I?"

"And you can." She gets close, feeling up my body, and nibbles once on my ear. Goosebumps attack my neck and back. "But that won't stop me."

More goosebumps invade my arms and my entire person fluctuates in heat. "Let's get the hell out of here, then." She winks and bends over, intentionally hiking up the skirt of her dress, giving me a sneaky look. She gets the basket while I fold up the blanket. Wonder what's gotten into her. It's not even spring yet. Why am I trying to figure this out when I could be getting to bed? Before I realize it, Kagura's pulling my arm towards Gajeel and Levy. I give a small tug to get her attention. "I want to go back to the guild."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be a baby. I'll get to you eventually." She wraps her arm around mine and throws an arm up. "Hey! Levy! Gajeel!"

Levy perks up. "Hi again, lovebirds!"

I blow at my bangs, making her jab me in the rib. "We're heading back to Sabertooth so this big baby can go to bed early."

When Gajeel's sharp eyes shift to me, all the pride in my soul drains to zero. My face heats up. "Kagura."

Levy, thankfully, changes the subject. "So do you guys think I should curl my hair for Gajeel's birthday party? I would ask him," she nudges Gajeel in the stomach, "but he says he doesn't care." She sighs dramatically. "Rogue, just cut off your hair and give it to me."

"My hair is straight," I say.

"No, but when you don't straighten it, it's wavy, right? So hand it over!"

"Ha. Hilarious." Kagura elbows me again and hisses at me to stop being cynical.

Gajeel finally speaks, crossing his arms. "It's your hair." You'd think someone with as much hair as him would have an opinion on that sort of thing. "You look nice either way."

Levy turns cherry-red and claps her hands to her cheeks. "Aw, Gajeel!" She throws her arms around him, and, as selfish of me to say, I force a swallow of underlying jealousy down my throat and turn my attention to a rock on the ground.

No. Stop it. You should be happy; you have a girlfriend. The important thing is she's always there when you wake up. The important thing is she's here now.

"No way, you've totally got Black Steel on a leash!" Kagura laughs. Subconsciously, I touch my neck, tracing the indents of the trachea.

Levy's eyes switch to me, so I pretend to stretch out a kink in my back and turn from the conversation. "We should do this again soon," she says, either politely ignoring my awkwardness or forgetting about it all together unlike Gajeel, who stares boldly and intently at me. "You two are perfect for each other!"

"Yeah, thanks. I'm going home." Kagura shoots a look at me—a look meaning I'm so going to pay for my rudeness tonight. Maybe I should have waited a moment before cutting in so sharply like that. Well…it's too late now. I turn to Levy, "Would you mind telling Frosch where I am if you see him?"

"Okay. I'll make sure he gets to you." Her tone is careful and a tad sympathetic. "Rest up."

"Thanks." Risking my neck and my pride, I eye my once long lost, biological brother.

"Yeah, I'll let him know in case the shrimp forgets." Levy returns with a quick smack to his chest.

"Thank you," I say, standing and bowing my head in gratitude. When Levy turns to Kagura for a separate conversation, I wish she didn't. Gajeel stares at me, eyes unreadable and menacing even though we're not fighting. "Uh, so, Gajeel…I was wondering—" I stop. Asking him what he wants for his birthday probably wouldn't end well. Without anything to say—or too much and not enough gumption—I awkwardly shake my head and turn on my heel. "Never mind. See you later." He grunts in question.

After sneaking a kiss on Kagura's cheek, I take my leave, feeling that awkward chill around me. People staring at Gajeel and my public display of in-affection follow me with their burning eyes. The distance between my own brother and I is as wide as the land itself. Following the end of the Grand Magic Games, there were only two or three people who knew we were related. I never expected him to spread word, so I didn't.

It's not important to him, so it's not important to me.

Out of nowhere, the thought of murdering some unfortunate soul finds its way into the corners of my mind. I can smell the blood, feel it between my fingers, sense my magic surging through me. And it's morbidly enthralling, offering an addicting compulsion to kill more, compress beyond mercy, rampage on for another, sink my feet into pool of thick, warm blood. Lost in the serene environment of mass slaughter.

I check back into reality in a halting gasp to see that I'm leaning against a wall back at Sabertooth, halls away from everyone else. I must have taken a longer time walking home, as the sun has already disappeared for the day. My hands are tucked against my stomach and legs grow weak and nervous. I inspect my fingertips again. The black hue has spread beyond the second crease.

I jump with a start at Juvia's, a mage from the allied guild, Fairy Tail, voice, "Rogue? What's the matter?" I nearly forgot; she's visiting Sabertooth with Gajeel and Levy. Still, I don't speak to her much. "Did you hurt your hands?"

I shake my head, hiding my hands. "No. I mean yes." Damn it, Rogue. Stay calm. "Excuse me." The closest door, luckily, leads to my room. I hurry in and close the door behind me. I'll apologize later to her for the door to the face. The darkness with the exception of moonlight fragmented on the carpet is not helpful in any fashion right now, seeming to only add to these sinister thoughts. Without undressing, I climb into bed and put my head under the blankets to block the world out. Being alone to my thoughts is dangerous, but it might be what I need to take ahold of this problem. To be able to do that, I can't risk gazing into that thing's eyes. I can't risk committing a crime while at an allied guild tomorrow either. I reach into my nightstand and handcuff my wrist to the bedpost and almost automatically my heartbeat steadies to a rhythmic, even pace.

Frosch will have to sleep with Lector on Sting's side of our divided room. I have the sliding wall closed for a reason. This reason. After making the mistake of catching the reflection of the monster inside me in the mirrored closet door, I keep my eyes slammed shut until the absolute last second sleep seizes me.

And that doesn't happen until 3AM.