Chapter 62: The Blood of Battle
The Courtyard:
In the decrepit courtyard of ancient ruins, a gambling wizard faced off against an angel. They glowered at one another as the battle raged on around them. The Excalibur Family and Resmond's slaves steered clear of the wizards, as if their very presence and the sensation of sparking magical energy was enough to create a wide berth.
"Alright, angel-cheeks, who rolls first?" Piper asked, one hand in his pocket, fist gripped around his signature red dice.
"Don't insult me with your gaudy nicknames," Sorano snapped in response, with one hand resting pompously on her hip. "You are in the presence of a divine being, so watch your tongue."
"Sorry, doll," Piper gave a noncommittal shrug, "I really ain't that good with formalities. Or formal anyt'ing for that matter." As if to back-up his point, he ran a hand through his gelled hair and messed it up.
"I don't have time to waste on a lowlife like you," Sorano put her nose in the air and made to stride past him, toward the door the others had gone through.
"Not happenin,' babe!" He threw a handful of casino chips at her side. She whipped around in time to dissolve them in midair with an orb of white light. She scowled in annoyance.
"You really do want to die by my hands, don't you?" She smirked. "Fine. I'll let Racer and Sânge take care of your friends. I'm not opposed to making you suffer."
Piper's eyebrow twitched. "What is up with you's Oracion Seis bastards and the sadism thing? You's guys musta had really screwed up childhoods."
She narrowed her eyes. "You don't know the half of it."
Piper rolled his dice around in his fingers, and cocked his head to the side. "I swear I ain't tryin' to prolong this thing, but… how's are you going to fight me anyways? Mac told me you's was a celestial wizard, but blondie got your keys. Seems like you're pushing your luck facin' off against a wizard without any real magic, you's know?"
Sorano was clearly offended by the insinuation. Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tapped impatiently on her hip. "Don't mention that blonde bimbo in my presence!" she snapped. "And as for my magic… It's true I was once a celestial wizard. It was foolish, really. That magic never quite suited me—and celestial beings are not as divine as I was lead to believe. No, I've discovered a magic far more fitting for me." Her scowl turned up into a smirk. She held a gloved hand out, fingers outstretched toward the sky. "Would you like a demonstration?"
Piper tensed, but met her smirk with his own. "Ladies first."
"You are a gentleman after all," her smirk widened. Light emanated from the space above her hand as two golden coins materialized in the air. She tossed the coins into the air. "For the cost of twenty, I summon you, Hammer-Angel!"
Piper braced himself and took a step back, as a spirit materialized behind her. It was a tall, muscular man with four arms, a beard and wings. In its right arms it wielded a giant golden hammer. It white eyes glared viciously down at Piper.
"The hell is that thing?" Piper took another step back as the entity lifted the giant hammer.
"He's an angel," Sorano answered, with a tone of reverence. "A pure, divine being, here to wipe away the sin that stands before me."
Piper held his hands up defensively. "Hey, what's this stuff about sin? I ain't a bad guy!"
Clearly, neither Sorano nor her summoned angel cared for his defense. The angel brought the hammer down with massive force, directly where Piper was standing. The blue-haired wizard conjured his magical roulette shield, barely catching the strength of the hit in time. The hammer bore down on the flickering shield as Piper struggled to maintain it—his teeth gritted hard at the effort. The force was enough to shove Piper downward, creating a crater in the courtyard ground. Just before the hammer could crush him, he released the roulette shield and rolled out of the way, barely escaping the blow.
The angel lifted the hammer slowly once more. It prepared to strike again, but not before Piper had thrown a deck of cards in its direction. The cards circled the angel, the numbers glowed bright red, and bullets shot from each of them, barraging the creature from all sides.
There was a strong gust of air as the angel was defeated and transported back to the place it was summoned from. When this happened, Sorano doubled over and cried out in pain.
Piper frowned from the other side of the crater as he watched this happen. "You alright, angel-face?" he called out.
She winced and righted herself. "That is the cost of summoning a holy being into this rotten world," she said, proudly, even though she was panting for breath.
"The cost…" He blinked. "Using your own magic hurts you's, doll?" He wiped sweat from his brow. "That ain't right!"
"I don't need your pity, cretin," she snapped. She leaned on one leg, putting her hand back on her hip, totally casual. "This is a game to you, right?"
He stretched his arm and cracked his neck, limbering up for the rest of the battle. "Evert'ings a game to me, babe."
"In that case," she smirked. "It's your turn."
Piper grinned. "A'right! It ain't often I finds a dame who likes a good gamble." He began to unbutton his dress-shirt.
Sorano raised an eyebrow, a frown settling on her lips at the unexpected sight of him taking off his shirt. "Is it necessary for you to undress?" she said, in a tone of disgust. "Are you that desperate for my attention?"
"Don't flatter yourself, angel-face," he tossed the fabric to the ground. "I'm sick of havin' that fancy material stickin' to me. If you's and me are gonna play serious, I don't need any distractions." He smirked as he pulled out his dice, yet again. "But hey, I won't blame you's if ya need to take off all those itchy feathers. Bet it ain't easy to battle with 'em on."
She raised her eyebrows, pale eyes twinkling with amusement. "I thought you said you don't need any distractions."
Piper laughed. "I like you's, angel-cheeks. I think we're gonna have lots of fun."
With these words, he rolled the dice.
The remaining group members climbed a stone staircase that would hopefully lead them to the tower. Gajeel insisted that this was the right direction, and the occasional pink teardrop on the ground verified it. Dreamer prayed that Sorano was wrong. She prayed that they wouldn't run into anyone else on their way to save Syllestra. Maybe they would be lucky. Maybe they would take a path that would steer them clear of opposition, they would find Syllest safe and sound, and they would be able to extract her quickly without even seeing Resmond.
She had not, in any way, prepared herself for seeing him again. In fact, the thought of it nearly made her stop running. It nearly made her turn and flee in terror. It would have, if not for the fact that Syllestra was on the line. She would do anything to save her—even face her personal demon once more.
The staircase opened to the left, leading them out onto the wall of the castle ruins. The wall was a straight shot to the tower, though part of it had decayed and crumbled with the wear of time. The moment they stepped out, Dreamer did stop. Her eyes immediately fell to the ground, far below.
Macbeth yanked on her hand. "You don't have time to be afraid, Dreamer," he snapped.
If only it were that easy. She was frozen, every muscle in her body tensing as she stared at the drop. One wrong step and she could fall. The wall could crumble and they could all plummet to the ground.
Macbeth cursed under his breath and suddenly scooped her into his arms. Instinctively, she buried her face into his coat, squinting her eyes shut so that she could imagine they were on solid ground.
He led the pack forward, choosing his footing carefully on the unsteady stone bricks. They made it halfway across the wall, halfway to the door of the tower, when they were stopped yet again.
A figure landed gracefully before them, wings of dripping blood outstretched at his sides. It was a visage Macbeth recognized from a battle not long ago—but there was something different about Sânge, now.
The snowy-skinned man stood tall and elegant as always, his red eyes all consuming. But those eyes did not hold irises of blood, rather, they were complete crimson. No whites, nor pupils. Just pools of red. He wasn't in the refined robes he'd been dressed in before. Now, his torso was exposed, revealing a blood-streaked chest and stomach. And, in the center of his chest, was a jagged hole—as if claws had dug away skin and bone to reveal a gushing chest cavity. In the place where his heart should be, a ruby-like lacrima pulsed. Fleshy tendrils encircled it, glowing brilliantly with every pulse as the stone flooded his veins with magical power. Enchanted blood glowed abnormally as it drained from the wound, staining his stomach and pants with streaks of rouge.
"Who's this asshole?" Gajeel asked, as he stepped forward to stand at Macbeth's side.
"Sânge," Macbeth answered. "The blood-dragon slayer."
Dreamer whimpered, unable to tear her face away from Macbeth's cloak to look at their attacker.
Sânge bowed low. His wings splashed to the ground in pools of blood, which were quickly absorbed back into his body. "I appreciate the introduction, Macbeth." There was the same majestic lull of his voice, but even this was distorted. There was a demonic edge, mixed with the undeniable quaver of excitement. Bloodlust.
"A dragon-slayer, huh?" Gajeel bared a canine before cracking his knuckles.
Macbeth calculated quickly. He and Jezran were able to pull off a victory against Sânge before, but just barely. And he was tangibly stronger now. His magical power had obviously increased, which meant that Jezran and Macbeth alone could never defeat him. Maybe with the help of Gajeel and Pantherlily they would stand a chance, but… That was time and energy they couldn't afford to waste.
"I am terribly sorry," Sânge said, as he stood upright. "I cannot allow you to traverse beyond this point. Nor can I practice mercy on you or your comrades." His gaze rested solely on Macbeth. "This is my only opportunity to test the limits of my new power—and I am sure you understand, Macbeth, I must reach my fullest potential if I am to achieve my dream."
Macbeth instinctively took a step closer to their enemy, but Dreamer's grip tightened on his coat. He scowled, unwilling to set her down, but also powerless against the threat.
Gajeel strode past him, forcing the other dragon-slayer's attention away from Macbeth and Dreamer. "So, you eat blood?" He folded his scarred arms over his chest. "And I thought the poison-swallower was nasty."
Sânge lifted one of his hands. He drew his fingertips up his own stomach, smearing the blood that streamed from his makeshift heart. He then held those fingertips out in front of him and watched as the blood rose into the air and swirled under his control. "There is nothing 'nasty' about blood, Black-Steel Gajeel. It is the life-force of all living things. It is untainted. It is perfection." He sniffed the air. "None of you are shedding it. Surprising, given that you must have faced Jacque, Giseld, and Angel to have made it this far. But no matter. Your precious blood will be spilled soon enough." The blood he was holding suddenly shot at them in the form of burning bullets.
Dreamer screamed as Macbeth lifted a hand to reflect the blood away from them. Gajeel deflected it with an iron arm. Pantherlily took flight, and Jezran maneuvered quickly out of the trajectory.
"Let me handle this bastard, Beth," Gajeel said, once the attack had ended.
"He'll kill you," Macbeth replied, without missing a beat.
"Nice ta know my best friend has some faith in me," the iron-slayer laughed out loud. "You really think I can't handle this pansy?"
Macbeth deadpanned. He didn't answer for a long moment. He met Gajeel's eyes. The friends shared a long look, unspoken meaning transpiring in the gaze. Macbeth gave a slight nod. Gajeel smirked.
Suddenly, in perfect sync with one another, they both cried out an attack.
"Spiral Pain!" Macbeth twisted his fingers in a crushing motion.
"Iron-Dragon Roar!" At the same time, Gajeel issued a metallic blast from his mouth.
Immobilized by Macbeth's spell, Sânge was unable to evade Gajeel's roar. He took it with full force, and was thrown from the wall, high into the air by a tornado of magical shrapnel.
"Get the hell out of here!" Gajeel gave Macbeth a hard shove in the spine. He repositioned Dreamer in his arms and ran for the door.
"I will stay and fight with you, Gajeel!" Pantherlily declared with absolute loyalty.
"No, Lily! Go with Beth! They might need you to fly them up to the kid!"
"But Gajeel—"
"That kid is first priority, you got it?" he interrupted, harshly.
It took Pantherlily a moment, but finally he nodded seriously. "I have faith in you, Gajeel." Then he started after Macbeth.
Sânge recovered in midair. His blood wings erupted to catch his fall. When the air cleared, he hovered there, without a single scratch on his body. He tucked his wings and lunged for the door to the tower, but Gajeel met him with an iron sword. He swung it like a bat, knocking Sânge back away from the target.
At the doorway, Macbeth glanced back to look at him.
"Gajeel."
"Huh? What's up?"
"Don't die." His lips pulled up in a smirk, though his eyes shimmered with the smallest hint of tears. "We have to practice next week."
Gajeel grinned. "Hell yeah, we do!" Their red eyes gleamed at one another. "Go get 'em, Beth."
With these final words, Macbeth carried Dreamer into the tower. Pantherlily flew in immediately afterward. Jezran paused momentarily.
"His magical energy is flowing from his heart, dear me! If you focus your attacks along the heart meridian, you will render him useless! I recommend the Lesser Sea or Spirit Gate!"
"I don't know what the hell that means, but leave it to me, Pops!" Gajeel braced himself as Sânge dove again. This time, he leapt to meet the blood-slayer with an iron fist, which was caught in Sânge's open hand. Sânge's blood-stained fingertips burned Gajeel's skin, taking him off guard as the white-haired mage swung a kick into his side.
They plummeted back to the wall together and faced off. Blood versus iron.
"I will stain the stones of these ruins with your blood, Black-Steel." Sânge's voice quivered with excitement. "I will prove to Kobolse that I am strong enough. I am strong enough to earn her love!"
The Storage Room:
"Poison Dragon Scales!" Erik swung his arms, sending scale-shaped masses of poison in Giseld's direction. She cried out in pain as the masses hit her in the dark. The poison seeped into her skin. Now, it was her turn to laugh.
"Foolish peasant!" she cackled. "It stands to reason that I'm immune to your poison as well! My magic will not hurt you, and yours will not hurt me. We are at quite a standstill, aren't we?"
She struck quickly, jabbing the heels of her shoes repetitively into his stomach until he caught her ankle with his hand and yanked. She fell, slamming the back of her head on the stone floor.
"We'll just have to beat the shit out of each other, I guess," he said.
"You shouldn't…" she swiped her foot under his legs, "hit a woman!"
As soon as he hit the ground, snakes coiled around him. Large boa constrictors immediately began to tighten their muscles around his torso and neck. Giseld stood up and brushed her dress off.
"Let's end this quickly so that I can return to my King's side." She lifted her hand and slowly squeezed her fingers into a fist. "Crush him, my pets. Then devour him."
The snakes hissed in response, as they curled even tighter around the man.
"You're kidding me, right?" He scoffed, throat slightly restricted. "Poison-Dragon Roar!" He expelled a gush of poison from his mouth, with enough force to immediately fling the snakes from him. The cloud of poison hit Giseld head on, and she cried out as the force threw her against the opposite wall and she crashed down on a crate.
He listened for her in the dark. Listened as her snakes quickly slithered to her side to check on her—to protect her.
"I can hear them, you know?" He walked carefully forward. "The souls of your 'pets.'" He was baring a sharp canine as he walked, eyes still closed tightly. "They'd serve you loyally even if it killed them. Even though you use them like tools to do your bidding."
"Don't talk about my pets like that!" She hissed angrily, as she got weakly to her feet. "I love them!"
"I'm starting to think you don't really know what that word means," he said, continuing to inch forward. "You love your 'pets' the same way your King 'loves' you." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But like I said. It's none of my business. Poison-Dragon Twin Fang!"
Two waves of poison sliced through the air from his crossed arms. Giseld lifted a hand and blocked the strike with a conjured snake.
"Resmond loves me!" she shouted, hysterically. "I'm his queen! We're going to rule the new world together! The two of us and our princess will be the rulers of a new kingdom!" Her eyes flashed green in the dark room, as she conjured a tiny snake in the palm of her hand, no bigger than her pinky.
"Whatever." Erik continued forward. He heard a tiny rattle from the thing on her palm, but he could not hear her thoughts to know what she was planning.
"You can hear souls, can you?" she hissed, wildly. "Listen to this, then! Rattle my pet!"
The tiny snake lifted its rattle into the air and began to vibrate, with a rattle so thunderously loud that the walls of the ruins shook, crates burst, rubble collapsed from the ceiling.
Searing pain shot through Erik's body. He cried out in agony as the sound ripped through his sensitive ears. It was louder even than Natsu's roar, the roar that had incapacitated him on Nirvana. He fell to his knees and covered his ears but could not ward off the splitting pain. It paralyzed him, and he felt the very real sensation of his eardrums rupturing suddenly, sending another wave of excruciating pain through his body.
The snake stopped rattling and dematerialized in her palm. She stood laughing at the sight of Erik keeled over, completely useless.
"Oh, you poor thing," she mocked. "Your ears are bleeding! I wouldn't be surprised if you could never use them again!"
Erik tried to lift his head, but the agony… Tears streaked his cheeks, an uncontrollable bodily response to the torture. Cold blood drained from his ears, dripping from his chin onto the stone floor.
"Play dead," she lifted her sharp heel and jabbed his forehead. He collapsed onto his side in response, eliciting another loud cackle from Giseld. "My King will be so proud of me! Maybe I'll drag your body up to Sânge so that he can drink your blood. At least you'll have served some purpose then."
Erik couldn't hear her. There was only an endless ringing, ricocheting through his skull. He was deaf to her voice, deaf to anything but the horrible ringing. He wanted to move but couldn't. Even though the rattling had stopped, his body was still paralyzed by pain—pain beyond anything Zero had ever forced him to endure.
What if… I never hear her voice again?
Kinana. Cubellios.
He would rather die than be deaf to that voice.