The Mark
When Fairy Tail worked as one, it could be one of three things.
It could be a complete mess. This was the most common.
It could be a lot of fun. This was also pretty common.
And it could be downright terrifying.
Seeing Laxus throwing bolt after bolt of lightning with Wendy at his side to add spiralling cores of wind strong enough to tear flesh from bones was bad enough. Erza's armours and weapons went flick-flick-flick as each became more useful, more powerful. The Master's enormous frame dealt crushing blows to everything he faced. Natsu's fire raged across the plains, joined by the lion-headed flames of Leo's strongest attack. Towers of ice showed where Grey had been working, Juvia providing him with an inexhaustible supply of water – and therefore strength. Woven between the ice, pillars of black iron marked Gajeel's passage. Above the battlefield, Fried and Mirajane swooped on wings of darkness and flame to seize unsuspecting enemies. Alzack and Bisca sniped from the hilltops. Golden light poured down in tiny, bullet-shaped projectiles as Evergreen strafed the battlefield.
They were unstoppable together. Each of them had a reason to fight, and that reason gave them more strength than all the magic in the world.
It was their symbol, their banner, their war-cry. Not magical ink in a strange, almost tribal shape. Not a symbol that allowed those who bore it to work under the name of the guild. Not even a badge to declare membership to the craziest and most diverse bunch of wizards in the land.
Instead, it was the sign of an irrevocable, unbreakable bond between old, young, weak, strong, male, female, cat and dragon – and it was a warning to all those who sought to sully the Fairy Tail name that here stood a wizard of great power, with the full support of the strongest guild in Fiore burning behind them.
They fought as one, and they fought like wounded dragons.
They were Fairy Tail.