Chapter 63: The Power of a Pure Heart

Storage Room:

The snake-woman flicked her wrist, and all her pets dematerialized, leaving only the two of them in the cold storage room. She stared down at the fallen dragon-slayer in mock pity. "Hmph. Destroying a peasant like you was just too easy." She turned and started for the staircase.

At first, the click of her heels on the stone was quick and purposeful. But halfway to the staircase, she began to slow. Her heels began to drag.

Erik still couldn't hear. The ringing in his head was endless, the pain still searing through his entire body—and yet… he could not contain a smirk. He had calculated this out perfectly, and that meant that just about now, Giseld would begin to fall.

She stumbled. She weakly caught herself, but could no longer stand on her own. She leaned heavily against the wall of the storage room. "What's happening to me?" Her voice was strained, breathing shallow. "I-I feel so weak…" A shudder went through her spine. She tried to take another step, but her quaking knees wouldn't allow it.

"Poison…" Erik laughed weakly. He still couldn't move or hear, but there was pride in the sense that he'd destroyed an opponent. "It's attacking your body like a virus."

"No! That's not possible!" Her palms hit the stone. "I'm immune!"

Erik laughed louder, despite the increasing agony he endured. He wondered if she would ever be able to figure it out—the way he'd bested her. "Poison and venom… are two different toxins." He muttered the words out, but couldn't even hear his own voice.

It had been a gamble. Lying to Giseld. Telling her that he was immune to venom so that she would be careless and he could land a hit with poison. They had suffered under each other's toxins for the duration of the battle—their true enemy, time itself.

"We'll both die here…" Giseld coughed violently. She could no longer sustain her own weight, and slumped against the wall, arms flopping uselessly to the side.

The waves of pain were beginning to drag Erik into brief moments of unconsciousness. He thought of the Tower of Heaven. Of holding his wrist out to his best friend.

Come on, Cubellios! Just a little bit of venom! One day I'll be totally immune and I can play with as many snake friends as I want!

Of course, she'd refused to bite him. Always over-worrying and fussing about his safety, that one. Before and after her transformation.

"No…" Giseld rasped as her limp form sank lower against the wall. "My King… He'll abandon me." The slits in her eyes reverted to normal pupils, as her magic energy depleted.

It had been Zero who injected his body with venom later. After experimenting on him. After countless trips down a hall with blinding light, arms and legs strapped down on a white table. After he'd been matched with the Poison-Slayer lacrima.

All so that you will be strong enough to seal him away, Brain would whisper, after Zero tortured him.

He could only hope now, that all those endless nights spent screaming and sweating out snake venom were worth something. That somehow, he would survive the assault of Giseld's venom on his body.

Sorry for being so reckless, Cubellios… He thought passively, as the pain pulled him up to the surface. Hope you'll forgive me this time. He smiled. He could almost hear Kinana's voice scolding him for subjecting his body to this kind of torment. He prayed he would hear that voice again…

Finally, he succumbed to the agony. At the same time, Giseld's eyelids fell—and both wizards faded into silence.

The Tower:

Macbeth stood Dreamer on her own feet once they were safely inside. She got her footing and took several deep breaths. Without a word, she ran forward, where an archway opened into the shaft of the tower. She could feel Syllest's presence. A mother's intuition? Whatever it was, she knew she was nearby.

In the shaft of the tower, the air sparked with intense magical energy, strong enough to prickle their skin as they rushed inside. It didn't take long to identify the source of all that power. There, directly in the center of the shaft, was a massive, white-diamond formation that stood several stories high. The formation was groaning as cracks spread down it, occasionally causing diamond pieces to shatter and fall to the ground below. It was breaking, splitting in half to reveal the device caged inside.

The cracks spread like spider webs through the formation—like cracks on a frozen lake. What was startling, however, was not the sight of this impenetrable diamond breaking. It was the pink sheen of the cracks as they spread—the rose glow of magic.

"Oh, dear me…" Jezran's eyes were turned upward, his head tilted back as he looked up, far toward the top of the tower shaft.

Dreamer's gaze followed.

For a moment, nothing she saw registered. Above the white-diamond formation was black mass. A dark stalactite which came to a point just above the white formation. It pulsed with a sinister magic, absorbing light around it. And rigged to the black diamond was a device, constructed from a combination of metal and diamond. It was through the rods in this device that beams of magical energy were being channeled into the tip of the white-diamond formation.

This slicing beam of light, which was shattering the formation piece by piece, was brilliantly pink. This was because, strapped to the metal rods at the center of the laser device, was a child with raven-black hair.

"SYLLESTRA!" Dreamer's scream cut through the air, louder than the sound of the groaning diamond. Sobs wracked her body at the horror of seeing the girl hanging there, attached to a what looked like a torture device. The girl's eyes were closed, her body limp. Her hair collected static each time the device channeled a wave of her magic into the laser.

She was being used as a battery to charge Resmond's invention. Drained of her magic to unveil the Nikolana Device.

Pantherlily's eyes widened in equal horror. "H-He's doing this… to his own daughter?"

Of course, he was. If ever there were a perfect example of who Resmond was, deep down to his core, this was it.

"SYLLEST!" Dreamer screamed again and ran to the railing. Her hand was outstretched toward the ceiling, toward her daughter, as if by will she could draw her down to the them.

"Pantherlily," Jezran spoke quickly, already rolling up his sleeves. "Will you do me the favor of flying me up to her, dear me?"

"No, take me!" Dreamer cried out in desperation, the tears spilling from her eyes.

Macbeth pulled her back, against his chest. "Not you," he said, harshly. "You're too afraid of heights to be of any use to Syllestra up there."

"That's not true! I can do it! I can save her!" She struggled in Macbeth's grip, but he held firm.

"Dreamer," Jezran gently touched her cheek with his thumb, "it must be me, dear me. It will take precision and focus to detach her from that monstrosity. I am the only one with enough attention to detail to accomplish the task."

"I can't just stand here!"

"We won't." Macbeth's voice was serious and deep against her ear. "We'll find Resmond."

She stopped squirming. Her breath caught in her lungs, and a violent tremor went down her spine. "N-No, I can't… I can't face him."

"Dreamer, look at me." He turned her around and met her gaze. If only he had the same magic as her, then he could calm her down with his swirling eyes. Instead, he willed her to understand. "Once he knows Jezran is stopping his machine, he'll come to stop him. He'll come to hurt Syllest. We have to keep him occupied."

"Macbeth, I…" her eyes shimmered with endlessly flowing tears. "I can't… I can't face him."

"You won't be facing him alone," he reminded her. "Stay by my side. I won't let him hurt you. You don't need to be afraid." For a moment, his eyes sparkled. A smirk tugged on his lips. "I'm the only one you're allowed to be afraid of, remember?"

Impossibly, irrationally, possibly maniacally, she smiled back.

There was a whooshing sound of wings taking flight. She turned back in time to see Pantherlily had already lifted Jezran into the air.

"I suspect Resmond is at the top of the tower, dear me!" The old man called down to them. "It's likely he will be near his device! The staircase behind you should take you there!"

"Get her down from there, Pops!" Dreamer yelled back, her heart aching as she looked again at Syllestra's defeated form.

"You have my word, dear me!"

Macbeth tugged her by the wrist, forcing her to look away. "It will be over soon, Dream." Bloodlust filled his eyes. "Let's go make that bastard pay his debt."

The Courtyard:

In the courtyard of the ruins, Piper and Sorano continued to stand off against one another. Piper had just survived an attack from Sorano's hammer angel, which meant—according the rules of the game—it was his turn to attack.

"Let's look at my odds!" He rolled his signature red dice on the ground. They bounced three times before the selected dots pointed upward. A six and a three. "Hell yeah, I likes this one!"

Sorano watched with a bored expression, even going so far as to pick a thread off one of her gloves as he continued.

"Hazard: Main Nine," he said. He held out his hands and his dice hopped back into his palm. "Wanna blow on 'em for luck, angel-cheeks?"

"Not in a million years," she said.

"Guess I'll make do." He rolled again, and began to explain the game. "Hazard works like this, see. My main is nine. If I manage to rolls another nine, I nicks, which means I win, angel."

"I'm not interested in your mind-numbing game."

He ignored her completely, as he continued to shake the dice in his cupped hands. "If I rolls a two or a three, an eleven or twelve, I throws out—means I lose. Any'ting else is a chance."

"Just get this over with before I fall asleep," she snapped.

"Alright, doll." He finally tossed the dice, for a three and one. "Well, it ain't winning, but it ain't losing either."

"This game doesn't make any sense," she said, irritated.

"You really ain't ever played Hazard, doll? Man, you's need to get out more." He called the dice back into his palm and shook them. "Hey, you're an angel right? Wanna bless me? Can I pray's to roll another four?"

She scoffed. "The angels would never listen to a sinner like you."

"Again with the sinner stuff! I told you's, I ain't even that bad a guy!" He took a deep breath. "I rolled a four and that's a chance. Let's hope this baby nicks!" Finally, he released the dice for the last time. They rolled down the side of the earlier crater and nestled at the bottom.

A set of two's.

"Nicks, baby!" He fist-pumped. "I win!"

Before Sorano could respond, the dice shot a massive jolt of electricity in her direction. The electricity tore through her body, frazzling hair and feathers all at the same time. She cried out as the force lifted her a few inches off the ground and deposited her into a charred heap. Feathers from her dress floated down on the breeze, burnt black.

Piper frowned and stroked the place where his goatee would usually be (if he hadn't shaved it for the ball). He called his dice back. "Listen doll-face," he took an uncertain step toward her. "I really ain't digging watching you get hurt over and over. You wanna call it good and go get a burger or somet'in?"

Sorano stood. Her dress was in tatters, barely covering the places it needed to cover now. Burn marks scarred her tan skin, but her expression was as hard as ever.

"It's my turn," she said, giving him pause.

"Babe, I really don't—"

"You're not backing out of a game, are you?" she brushed hair from her eyes. "Some kind of gambler you are."

"Hey now!" Piper crossed his arms indignantly. "If you's insist, it's all yours, angel-face. Hit me."

"Oh, I intend to."

The Wall:

Two dragon-slayers faced off on the crumbling wall of the ruins. Blood and Iron.

Sânge wasted no time. In a flash, he leapt toward Gajeel. It happened so fast, that it was all the studded man could do to defend himself. He lifted his forearms and blocked a series of punches. There was no break in between strikes. Sânge hit him from the front, the side, the back, moving so quickly that it was impossible to discern where the next blow would come from.

Damn, he's fast!

The blood-slayer jumped back and immediately slashed his fingertips forward. "Blood Dragon Claws!"

Slashes of blood shot at Gajeel, who countered with his fists and forearms. He cursed as the blood burned any part of his skin that wasn't protected by iron.

"I cannot wait to taste your blood, Black-Steel," Sânge said excitedly. "I have always wondered what the blood of another dragon-slayer would taste like. I have a feeling that it will be exquisite." His lips were parted, panting in hunger.

This was not the same Sânge who fought Jezran and Macbeth. He was wilder—a blood-drenched beast, ready for its meal.

"Good luck with that," Gajeel responded. "You ain't gonna make me bleed!"

"You are wrong!" Sânge attacked again, this time baring sharpened nails like claws, aiming to rake them through Gajeel's torso. "Your blood will paint this wall!"

Gajeel transformed his arm into an iron rod and punched it into Sânge's gut before he could reach him. The force threw him back.

The iron-dragon slayer's teeth were bared, and he was already forming sweat beads on his forehead.

"Hey, you're a dragon-slayer, right?" he said, as he retracted the iron arm. His tone was curious and casual, as if he wasn't taking the battle seriously at all. "Did your old man take off like mine and Natsu's?"

Sânge stood straight. He cocked his head to the side, even more reminiscent of a beast. His completely red eyes narrowed. The pulsing glow from the hole in his chest quickened.

"What is your meaning?" His distorted voice gurgled when he spoke.

"Igneel and Metallicana, oh yeah and Grandeena too." Gajeel stretched. "They all dipped out on the exact same day. I'm wonderin' if the same thing happened to you."

Sânge blinked, appearing sightless without pupils or irises to mark his gaze. A night breeze swept strands of white hair over his face and shoulders, some sticking to his bloody and sweaty skin. "They all left… on the same day?"

"I'm guessin' you didn't know."

There was a shout from below as an Excalibur cousin brought down another slave.

"Kobolse…" Sânge uttered the name of his dragon. The pulse in his chest quickened again. "She left. I must bring her back! I must prove that I am strong enough to be worthy of her love!"

"Is that what this is about?" Gajeel scoffed. "You're kidnapping little girls so you can look cool for your old lady?!"

"Do not. Speak of Kobolse." Warning gleamed in those eerily red eyes. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his fingers in aggravation.

"Look, Senji or whatever your name is. Me, Natsu, Wendy… We all know how you feel, but you don't see us going around trying to activate weapons of mass destruction and nabbing kids, do ya?"

"This was never about the girl," Sânge snapped. "It was never about the Nikolana Device, and it was never about the King." He dipped his fingers into the gaping wound in his chest, touching the stone there. "This has always been about my mother. All I have ever wanted was this lacrima, that I might be strong enough to bring her back to me."

"Good, then you can get the hell out of here and let us save Syllest!" Gajeel shouted. "You got what you want, so get out of my way!"

Sânge didn't budge. There was still bloodlust in his eyes. The muscles of his chest and abs tensed in preparation.

"I apologize, Black-Steel." He grinned widely, baring overly-sharp canines and fangs. "I cannot pass up this opportunity to test my new strength. Once I have consumed every ounce of your precious dragon-slayer blood… Only then will I consider myself strong enough to seek Kobolse!" His lip trembled, and he cracked his neck as a tremor of excitement climbed his spine. He outspread his arms once more, and the lacrima in his chest glowed brightly against the dark sky.

"This battle… this wall… and you, Black-Steel… This will be my proving grounds!"