Chapter 65: We Meet Again, Dreamer

The Tower

The man dubbed "Racer" cracked his neck as he faced off against a battle-form Pantherlily. "How about a game of cat and mouse?" he asked. "Catch me if you can, kitty!"

He was gone in a flash. Pantherlily struggled to keep an eye on him as he danced on the outskirts of his vision, darting to and fro in a large circle, as if taunting him. Lily tried to calculate his next moves but he'd never seen speed like this.

"Lookin' for something, pussy-cat?" Sawyer was suddenly right behind him. Pantherlily roared and swung his sword over his head, but the slow, brutish movements didn't stand a chance against his opponent's speed. By the time his sword impacted with the ground, Sawyer was already behind him again, landing a heavy kick to his side. "Better watch out!"

Sawyer quickly distanced himself from the exceed, who realized at the very last moment that the shadow of a diamond shard had eclipsed the light. He rolled to the side, barely missing the sharp object's collision.

This is bad… I have to be aware of both where his attacks are going to land, and of the diamonds falling… My usual strategy isn't going to work on this enemy.

"Just what do you hope to achieve?" Pantherlily asked, as his opponent continued to run circles around him. "If you let Resmond activate that device, it will cause an earthquake that could destroy the entire continent! And you're okay with that?"

"If it means I get my freedom, then I could care less," Sawyer answered with a cocky smirk.

"Freedom?" Pantherlily dodged a smaller piece of falling shrapnel. "You… You're one of Macbeth's old guild mates, aren't you?"

He grimaced at the mention of the name. "That was an old life, pussy-cat. Midnight got his freedom, and now it's time for me to get mine."

Above them, Jezran was still carefully at work setting Syllest free. He wiped sweat from his brow. It was almost finished. All that was left to do was to detach her hands from the metal rod they were tied to, and remove the needles penetrating the skin there. While, at first glance, this might seem to be the easiest task of all—it was in fact the most dangerous. He had deduced that the fixtures on her wrists were the exact location from where the diamond was drawing magical energy to power the machine.

"Pericardium 7…" he released a long breath as he remembered back to his training, to his days learning the unique tracking abilities he'd mastered. He knew that these particular pressure points in her wrists were directly linked to the walls of her heart. That was the route her magical energy was taking to be absorbed by the black diamond.

"If I detach her while the diamond is still absorbing her energy, I could cause a discharge in magical energy to backfire directly into her heart, dear me…" He wiped a tear from his cheek. "And she will die."

He stared helplessly at the child, at her small, pale face and long eyelashes. A being so pure and strong-willed, that she had helped turn the dark heart of a thug into that of a teddy bear. More tears fell as he cupped her round face.

"Mavis, lend me your wisdom," he begged through a broken sob. "Give me an idea, dear me… Please, help me save my sweet granddaughter…"

His eyes opened wide.

"Yes. Yes, that is the only way, dear me…"

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He felt the dark pulsations of the black diamond—as steady as a heartbeat. The influx of magical energy with each pulse, and the pause between them, as the magic was channeled into the laser. With steady hands, he reached for his gold tie—the one that he chose to compliment Dreamer's gown at the ball. To think, the festivities would end like this…

He removed his tie clip, then opened his eyes to examine in. He couldn't help but chuckle as he slid a thin blade out from the backside of the clip. Some habits never died, and keeping one or two hidden weapons on an Excalibur prince's person at all times, was one of them.

Carefully, with the precision of a surgeon, he clipped the tie clip onto the needle nestled in Syllest's left wrist. Then, he sent a silent prayer to the heavens before pressing his own palm onto the blade.

He felt it almost immediately. The unmistakable sensation of magic being sucked from his energy channels with every pulse of the diamond. It was slight—akin to the tug of a toddler's hand on one's pinky when she desperately wanted to show him the monkeys at a parade.

Now that he was sure the diamond was absorbing his energy, he waited for a pause in pulses, and plucked the needle from her wrist. The tug grew stronger. This was more like the insistent pull of a teenager on one's sleeve, as she begged him to join them for ice cream.

There was a grumble from the diamond mass above him. Something that could only truly be described as a growl. A growl signifying that the creation recognized the presence of an incompatible magic. To further prove this, the laser flickered slightly.

Resmond had designed the machine to channel pure diamond magic—not the tracking magic of an old man.

Jezran untied her hand, and stabilized her body slightly with his knee, as she slumped—now attached by only the right hand.

This was the tricky part.

"Pantherlily!" he called down to the exceed.

"Little busy down here!" came the responding sound and grunt as Pantherlily was hit again.

"You must catch her!"

"You got it!" His wings unfolded and he leapt into the air, narrowly avoiding a strike from Sawyer.

Jezran focused, and closed his eyes again. "The Tracker's Salvation: Disguise."

He'd always been fond of this spell. It temporarily erased all traces of magical energy from its target, making them impossible to detect based on magical signature alone. He smiled at another memory. He was a much younger man, then—reckless and mischievous and wild. He could still perfectly remember the look on Porlyusica's face when he used the same spell to sneak into her home late one night. The burn scars on his shoulder from a pot of boiling potion remembered, too.

He erased all traces of Syllestra's magical energy from the remaining needle. The black diamond groaned louder in protest and, as expected, began to channel even more from Jezran to make up the balance. He pulled the second needle out as quickly as he could, and untied her hand. It was all he could do before the pain, but it was enough.

The tug was now a yank—the sensation of a terrified young woman, desperately pulling her surrogate grandfather's hand as they drove forward to rescue a child. The same child whose body now dropped and slumped off the metal walkway before tumbling through the air. He was powerless to catch her while his tie clip and the needle had him bound to the dark machine.

The laser flickered again, as it positioned itself on the very last chunk of white diamond encasing the Nikolana Device.

Resmond's diamond roared once more, as if furious to find it had been duped. Enraged that it was no longer consuming the pure magical energy of its creator's offspring. Upon this realization—or perhaps, just as a mechanical response to being fed the wrong battery source—the diamond discharged, and the machine backfired.

The surge shot directly through Jezran's palm, bursting into his energy channels with vicious ferocity, down to his lower back.

Pantherlily swooped and caught Syllestra gently in his arms. "I've got you." He looked up at the walkway, an ear twitching as Jezran's howl of pain ricocheted off the tower walls. "Jezran!" he yelled up to the old man.

There was no response. Only the hiss of the machine's laser as it struggled to muster enough strength to make the final cut on the white diamond formation.

There was one last cracking groan. The laser flickered out. The machine's buzzing stopped. The last piece of protective casing on the Nikolana Device stood firm.

…but slowly, a spider web of pink cracks split through it. The tower echoed with the strange moans of the mineral breaking. Slow creaking, a sound like ice splintering on a frozen lake. Time, waiting to see if the cracks would stop spreading or…

Shatter.

The final piece of white-diamond formation exploded into a sparkling dust. It drifted like sparkling fairies to the diamond covered floor below, lightly dusting the now exposed Nikolana Device. It stood in its full splendor—a towering machine and drill used to shake the earth, seemingly untouched by time—preserved perfectly by diamond until the moment for it to be unveiled.

"Finally."

Pantherlily looked back down. "No!" Sawyer was running to the device. Pantherlily made to stop him, but he paused to hover in midair when her remembered the precious cargo he was holding. "Don't do it!"

Sawyer looked up at him with a wide smirk. "Better fly high, cat. The ground's about to be a dangerous place." With these words, he began to pull a series of levers. Within moments, this ancient device began to whir to life.

Pantherlily shook his head. His first priority had to be to get Syllestra to safety. He bared his teeth in frustration, then swooped up toward the walkway. "Jezran!"

The old was on his knees. His skin was pale, his eyes colorless. He looked tiredly at Pantherlily holding Syllestra.

"Syllest… My dear, granddaughter…"

It was approximately 1:00 AM, in the south-east district of town between Cherry Grove street and Mella Avenue. It was a brisk night, possibly between fifty-seven and sixty-two degrees farenheight. The alleyway was located between an abandoned sewing facility and a bakery… A toddler, no more than two years of age, wandered into the alley…

She looked up at me with the biggest eyes. Eyes that knew nothing of blood, or debt, or honor. Eyes too young to know the tragedy that surrounded her.

Following her almost immediately, was a girl. She was no more than a child, herself. Fifteen years of age—far too young to be caring for a toddler alone. Far too young to be as gaunt, hungry, and dirty as she was.

How I have loved you, Syllestra. Dreamer. Dear me, how I have loved you.

His eyes lingered on that small face. A mustached smile flitted on his lips when he saw her mouth part just slightly, so that she could breathe.

She was breathing. She was alive. She was safe.

He had paid his debt.

Down below, the Nikolana Device whirred with energy. White-diamond dust settled on the ground. The hum of the great machine masked the tiny sound of metal plinking on stone. The white glitter snuffed the golden sheen of a small tie clip as it settled between two shards of diamond—refracting light for only a brief moment before the reliable old blade faded from sight, forever to remain in this… its final resting place.

Near the Wall

Sânge's new form eclipsed Gajeel, floating between him and the moon above. The red mist that surrounded him made the moon appear bloody.

Gajeel could feel the dramatic increase in magical energy in the area. It was suffocating. It was enough to make him nervous—and not many things could make him nervous.

"So, what if you got uglier?" He shook off the moment of uncertainty. "You still won't be able to break my iron!"

He leaped to meet Sânge in the air, and was met immediately with blood-soaked claws. Claws that raked across his chest, from shoulder to hip, tearing clothes. Gajeel caught himself and landed back on the ground, skidding back a few feet in the dirt.

"Didn't I just tell you? You'll never cut through my iron!"

"Oh?" Sânge's demonic, sharp-toothed smile spread wide. He ran a forked tongue over his lips.

"What are you staring at, assho—"

The pain was delayed. In fact, it wasn't even the pain that made him look down. It was the uncomfortable sensation of something wet sliding below his beltline.

"What the hell?" He touched his chest, where deep gouges had torn through his iron scales like tissue paper.

He was bleeding.

"At long last, the taste of dragon-slayer blood!" Sânge dove again. He moved even faster than before—too fast for Gajeel to defend himself. It was a flurry of claws. They ripped through his arm, his thigh, his back. His scales did nothing to stop them. Nothing to protect him.

I can't get a single hit on him now! Damn, this doesn't look good!

Sânge shoved him down by the shoulders, effectively pinning him to the ground. Gajeel cried out as his claws sank below his collarbone, piercing him like stakes to the earth. He stared up at the horrific face of the Ultimate Blood-Dragon. Sânge's lips parted with desire, his breathing was rapid, the bright pulsing of the lacrima in his chest was a stampede. His face hovered just above Gajeel's chest, and he began to draw the iron-slayer's blood into his mouth.

"GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!" Gajeel flailed for a moment, but the strength of the blood-slayer was impossible. Once he'd drunk his fill, he released Gajeel of his own volition, stepping back casually to wipe his lips. He left Gajeel feeling faint and tingly from blood loss, but still able to stand.

"Delicious…" Sânge licked his claws. "That was… euphoric. Such strong lifeblood. Ah, if only I could bottle you up, Black-Steel, and keep you as a nearly endless source of quality blood!"

"You know, I haven't run into many bastards who were quite as freaky as you," Gajeel squared his shoulders and stood tall, despite the weakness that settled in his muscles. "And that ain't a compliment."

"I am going to kill you now, Black-Steel." He lifted a clawed hand into the air. "With what blood you have left in your body; I will end you. Fear not, I do promise not to let a single drop of your delectable blood go to waste. Once you are dead, I will consume it all."

He closed his eyes and formed a ball of blood in his palm.

"This is the strength of an ultimate slayer! Ultimate Blood-Dragon Barrage!"

Gajeel cried out in agony as the cuts on his body began to burn. He fell to his knees. "What the hell are you doing to me?" It felt as though he were being torn to pieces from the inside, like a magi-bullet was ricocheting through his veins.

"I have commanded your blood cells to attack you from the inside! Haha! That sweet blood will be the death of you!" He extended his hand. Blood mist surrounded Gajeel. It slipped into his cuts to aid the work of his own blood against him. An internal barrage.

Gajeel fell. His fingertips gripped the soil. He cried out as wave after wave of pain seared through him.

"Stop fighting, Black-Steel. Just let go. Let the blood flow through you!"

"Dammit! Not on your life!" he forced himself back up to his knees, though the assault continued. He coughed up blood. "I'm not going down that easy! Beth… needs me! As long as my friends need me, I'm not going to be killed by some low-life vampire like you!"

"Vampire?" Sânge threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Do not insult me, Black-Steel! I am no simple-minded demon! I am Sânge, the Ultimate Blood-Dragon Slayer, son of Kobolse!"

Gajeel gritted his teeth. He fought so hard to stand. He pushed with everything he had. But his knees shook… His head spun… He fell again.

This time, he did not rise.

The Top of the Tower

The room Macbeth and Dreamer entered into was above the main shaft of the tower. Some of the old pieces of metal and brass scattered to the side of the room indicated that perhaps this was once a clock-tower. Now, it was nothing but discarded stone and metal, a base of operations for the man who called himself King.

He was waiting for them. His back was turned, his hands clasped behind him. His raven-black hair hung down his long torso like a waterfall on a moonless night. One long strand of yellow was the electric bolt in a black, storm-ridden sky.

Dreamer's legs froze the moment she saw him. She stood rooted to the spot, staring at the silhouette of the man of her nightmares before her.

"Hello."

His voice was exactly as she remembered. Incredibly deep, rhythmic, lulling. The thunder in the storm. It sent a tremor of fear down her spine. Macbeth didn't pull her forward. He stood at her side, hand still clasped around hers.

Resmond turned to face them. It was one, fluid movement. He did not change his posture or move his hands. Now he stood like a statue before them, at least a half-a-foot taller than Macbeth. He looked them over with expressionless yellow eyes before his gaze rested on Dreamer. Her breath caught in her lungs, her legs shook.

"We meet again, Dreamer." He was so casual, as if they were old friends reuniting after a long time—not as if he was the monster who murdered her sister, who took everything from her, who forced a thirteen-year-old girl to live on the streets with a baby—that same baby whom he'd strapped to a device just below them.

"Look at you," he cocked his head to the side. "You've grown up. You look just like Rosy."

Dreamer swayed. Macbeth stabilized her. His red eyes swirled with mysterious and intense emotion—a cold yet blistering fury directed toward the man before them.

"And Macbeth." Resmond blinked. "I'm kind of tired of telling people to kill you." He gave a heavy sigh, as if Macbeth's presence were a huge nuisance.

"So, you're Resmond?" Macbeth responded. His eyes flashed in warning, in hunger for battle. "I was expecting someone more threatening."

"M-Macbeth you can't… You can't talk to him like that!" Dreamer whimpered next to him. "Y-You… He'll…"

"This is the guy you're so afraid of? It's laughable."

"Night Terror." Resmond blinked again, he made no other motion. "You are here to kill me, kidnap my daughter, and disable Diamant Blanc's sacred device, am I correct?"

"I'm here to listen to a lullaby of pain as I send you through every level of hell into an eternity of suffering," Macbeth clarified. His threat didn't seem to concern Resmond in the slightest.

"What are you here for, Dreamer? Do you also intend to kill me?"

Dreamer swallowed nervously. She thought of Syllestra below them. She thought of Rosy. Her hand clenched into a fist and she managed to stand on her own strength. "Y-Yes." She cleared her throat and met his gaze—looked into those haunting electric eyes. "I'm here to make you pay your debt to this family."

Resmond sighed again. "Family? Are we not family? I am your brother-in-law; you know…"

"You're nothing but a murderer!" Her voice was strained from choked tears, and she couldn't stop shaking.

"I… can't argue with that." His hands finally dropped from behind his back.

Resmond took a step forward, as black magic circles formed on his palms. "Dreamer, can I ask you a personal question?" Another step forward, his visage like something from her deepest, darkest fears.

"Do you scream like Rosy? "