===Chapter 6===
Battle with the Beast
The moment of silence in the wake of the Slayer's declaration stretched on and on. Levy was trembling violently, scared beyond reason. Bisca was terrified too, but then the face of Alzack came back to her and the rifle swung around, aiming for that blank mask.
The noise of the rifle suddenly appearing out of the silence so close shattered Levy's senses. She was helpless, unable to react to anything for a few moments. The Slayer on the other hand, swayed to the side at the precise moment the shot fired.
The Slayer's feet thundered over the cobblestones as he raced to cross the distance. Reloading the chamber, Bisca made her second shot in a time that would make any infantryman proud.
But it wasn't enough.
From over two metres away, one of the Slayer's lengthy chains cracked, knocking the gun so hard that it tore free from the woman's hands. Levy watched as the Slayer closed the remaining distance in a heartbeat, assuming that Bisca was dead.
But in that hearbeat, Bisca had produced a handgun from within her voluminous dress, and had the Slayer execution style at point blank range. No one moved, not even a muscle.
"I've got you," Bisca hissed. "For what you did to Alzack, you'll die."
"Have you got it in you, woman?" The Slayer mocked. "Killing isn't for girls."
"I'll do it."
"Do it. Do it, do it, do it! Come on woman, I haven't got all day!" The Slayer laughed maniacally, and there was no doubt to Levy that he was completely insane. Perhaps she should have tried to stop Bisca. This was an unlawful killing after all, but she was scared that if she distracted her, the Slayer would kill them both. And if he was truly insane, perhaps death was the kindest act all round.
The gunshot was as deafening as the first and the Slayer's head snapped back.
"Mk IV Webley Revolver. Effective range: fifty yards. At zero range can penetrate up to two centimetres of iron, no more." Levy and Bisca froze as the Slayer's head came down slowly, smoke drifting from the forehead of his mask. "My mask is one inch of reinforced iron. Sorry love, you lose."
Bisca gurgled as a pair of powerful hands grasped her throat. His thumbs pressed down on her windpipe, choking her. The Slayer's eyes seemed to gain life as life drained from her own. He threw Bisca aside as Levy moved in, having drawn the cane sword.
"Now, this is just offensive. Are children not afraid of me?"
"I am Detective-Inspector McGarden! I am the person who is charged with capturing you!" Levy asserted with boldness that she didn't feel. She was scared witless, but refused to leave this poor grieving woman to her fate. The Slayer began to laugh, until his entire body shook with mirth.
"You!? The mob sends better men after me than Scotland Yard?"
"The mob?" Levy asked.
"Ah, said too much. Can you wait your turn? She dies first." Levy had no idea what happened. Her sword skittered away across the ground in one direction and with a powerful gesture she was sent flying the other way. She landed in a wagon that had been parked outside of a tavern. It was empty of the barrels that had been delivered earlier. She hissed in pain on the wooden decking.
There was a brief scream, chilling Levy's blood.
Feet slammed down on either side of Levy. She looked up in abject fear as blood dripped onto her face from his soaked hands.
"Thanks for waiting. Your turn nowwwwooooooooooooow!" The Slayer's voice went into a shrill shriek as Levy's feet slammed upwards into his groin. She had no weapon though; she had no choice but to try and escape. She managed to fall over the side of the wagon and by complete accident kicked the chock that held it in place.
The Slayer appeared over the side of the wagon as it began to roll down the gentle slope pathetically slowly. His eyes were pure fury, pure murder. She was dead and she knew it. But then in a strange twist of fate, the Slayer's movements arrested and a hand flew to his mask, near the mouth.
"Motion sickness?" Levy gasped in disbelief. The Slayer hung on pathetically as the wagon made its slow transit to the bottom of the hill. In the darkness where Levy could not see his face, he removed his mask briefly and vomited onto the street.
Levy watched him stagger away into the night. She wanted to go after him, but she was hurting badly and had no way to stop him. If she went, he'd kill her.
But she felt strangely elated. He was human, he had flaws and weaknesses, like any other. He could be tracked, captured, beaten, killed. He was not some figment of the imagination, stalking the shadows like a spectre of death.
It was then that she noticed the blood pooling towards her from Bisca's corpse.
===][===
"LEVY! Thank God that you're okay!" Jetson cried as he rushed into her office. Levy made a strangled squawk as she was taken into a tight embrace, heedless of her injuries. Bless him, but Jetson was perhaps too straightforward for his profession.
"I'm fine. It'll take more than a few bruises to stop me!" Levy replied with a fierce grin. Jetson took in the spread of paperwork on her desk. She'd clearly been hard at work all morning.
"Stay with me Jetson, I want to compile everything we know so far. The Slayer is a man in his twenties or thirties, around six foot tall. His eyes are red and his hair is black. He has killed so far,nine people, with knives, swords, chains and his own bare hands. All his killings happen within this district, and he has shown the ability to read and write, as well as having motion sickness."
Jetson nodded along, and she continues. "Cana Alberona, nee Clive. Sting Eucliffe. Hibiki Laytes, Ren Akastuki, Eve Thylme. Alzack and Bisca O'Connell. The mysterious Bixlow and his parents. The first five all died in alleyways, apparently at random. Then the Slayer hunted down this Bixlow, taking the others in that endeavour."
"Do we know anything about this Bixlow?"
"No, but I'm sure that he's part of the mob. Constable Macao seems sure that Cana was the daughter of Gildartz Clive. Last night, the Slayer dropped the mob into conversation. I'm fairly certain that information on this Bixlow is so sketchy due to the fact that he's part of the underworld."
"That would make sense."
"So, I'd wager that Gildartz is after the murderer of his daughter, and is hunting the Slayer too. My notebook was stolen. Since it was so obviously targeted, I reckon that the most likely event was that it was Gildartz's men who stole it."
"I can see…"
"One more thing. The Slayer went into detail on a military spec gun. I'm no expert on these matters, but that wasn't a civilian weapon. The Slayer has knowledge of military weaponry."
"Gajeel was part of the army, and Rogue has passed his training," Jetson mumbled.
"Indeed. Everything that comes up infers those two and then saves them. The eye/hair colour combination is so unlikely that I'm not ready to give up on them yet. Either could be faking illiteracy. Both seem sincere…but I'm not happy. The more I ponder those two, the more unhappy I become."
"I'd trust your instincts," Jetson said with a broad grin.
"Thank you, my Dear Jetson," Levy replied. "I want to visit Macao and see if we can arrange for them to be under constant surveillance. Just let me grab my coat and-"
"Oh no you don't!" Mira snapped, bursting through the door. Levy looked like a little child who knew that she was in trouble, Jetson thought. Mira forced the smaller woman into her chair, which had been padded with lots of pillows and then drew a blanket over her. "You've not slept a wink all night and then got into all of that nasty business!"
"Mira, I am a member of Scotland Yard!" Levy pleaded.
"SLEEP!" Mira demanded and there was no other choice. Jetson made his goodbyes, promising to stop by the police station himself.
===][===
In the early morning Gajeel rolled down the stairs to his workshop. He stopped as he crossed the threshold, stunned by who was waiting for him. A large man with blonde hair and a jagged scar running over one eye sat upon his anvil, calm as anything. A willowy man and busty woman were with him.
"Greetings, Mr Redfox. Sleep well?" The blonde man asked.
"You've got some nerve," Gajeel growled, rolling up his sleeves. "I don't just make these weapons; I know how to use them too."
"I am Laxus Dreyar," the blonde man continued as if nothing had been said. "And these are my associates, Fried and Evergreen. We've come here today to ask you a few questions about the Slayer."
"The Slayer?" Gajeel's anger faded with sudden confusion.
"I'm sure you've heard of the name of Gildartz Clive." Gajeel shivered and Laxus went on. "He wants the Slayer dead. I tell you this in friendly camaraderie; I suggest you comply fully with us. You won't like the alternative."
Now that; that was too much.
Gajeel snarled and grabbed a metal pole stored near to him. His workshop was a treasure trove of weaponry, real and makeshift. In response, two guns were pointed at him from Evergreen and Fried. He recognized those from his military days. Webley Revolvers wouldn't do much to metal, but could easily make a mess of a human at this range. Shit, they were packing some serious heat.
"Gonna pick the wise option?" Laxus asked with clear amusement.
"I've never been good at making clever choices," Gajeel hissed, muscles tensing.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here then?" All four turned to look at the old man who had entered the workshop. He was unusually short and dressed in the red uniform of a captain in the military.
"Old man Makarov?" Gajeel blustered.
"Gramps?" Laxus looked about as shocked as he ever got.
"Still making trouble, boy? Haven't got yourself a proper job, then?" Makarov grumbled. Laxus looked in no mood to accept the old man's nagging, but Makarov was flanked by two other soldiers carrying rifles. A pink-haired boy with a troublesome expression and a black-haired boy who carried himself with cold indifference. Outside through the windows it could be clearly seen that an entire platoon of infantry had marched up.
"This isn't over," Laxus grumbled, moving past the soldiers. His henchman followed, departing into the cold morning air.
"What are you doing here?" Gajeel asked.
"Is that how you greet a senior officer, boy?" Makarov demanded sharply, though with a big grin. Gajeel snapped a salute, belatedly realising that he was a civilian now. "To answer your question though, we've just been barracked in the local military base. Thought an old man might stop by to check out how one of his own is doing."
"This is your shop?" The pink-haired boy did not look impressed.
"Just a pile of junk, right Natsu?" The black-haired one teased.
"More like lots of piles," Natsu mumbed.
"Private Dragneel! Fullbuster! Did I say to stand at ease?" Gajeel laughed as the two soldiers snapped back to attention under the captain's orders. Makarov ordered them to wait outside. "So, you are having problems, then?"
"Nothing I can't handle. Lowlife scum don't bother me," Gajeel snorted with contempt.
"Hmm. Well, I'll take you at your word, not that I particularly agree. How's your injury treating you?"
Gajeel reached up into his hair, running his fingers along the scar hidden by the raven strands. "I…still haven't regained the ability to read or write," he admitted glumly. "And sometimes I still forget things. If I don't keep my keys on a chain, I'd never find them."
"But your motor control…?" Makarov pressed.
Gajeel grinned. "I can certainly pound iron! I also seem fully capable of pounding people too! And I can also button a shirt, but it takes me a bit longer than it should."
"I'm glad to see that you're improving. It seems like business has also been improving since that deal with the Heartphilias."
"It's a bit hush-hush, but I got a big order in. Very wealthy client, lots of work." Gajeel looked away. "Hey, old man. You never told me why you were here. I mean, why you were barracked here."
"Oh? Well, it seems like the Queen's not been happy with reports of a murderer in London. It's been too much for the police force and the body count is rising."
"You mean…"
Makarov laughed. "Yes boy. It's like crushing a nut with a hammer, but me and my boys; we're here to stop the Slayer!"
===][===
The girl, the girl. She had beaten him, humiliated him. That was too much. Struck by a whimsical mood that night, the slayer scaled to the tops of buildings and raced across London like some kind of Spring-Heeled Jack.
The girl, the girl. So small, so weak had survived. She'd seen him and survived! There were men in red uniforms patrolling. He had to be more careful this night. They had rifles, and always stayed in pairs.
The girl, the girl. She had to die. Had to die. His thoughts were muddy…focus on the soldiers!
The girl had to die.