A/N: In which Jellal saves the day.
He couldn't control his anger.
Rushing down towards the clusters of dragons, he had a sickening feeling in his stomach that was controlling him. He found Erza on the floor, her sword laying meters away useless, giving up.
Blasting away the dragons with unnecessary aggression, he towered over her fallen form, gritting his teeth and staring hard at the remainders of the once-standing dragons.
Turning, he found Erza gazing up at him with an unreadable look in her eyes, and his face morphed into a look of tender adoration for the woman he loved wholly.
"Need a hand?"
Erza knew it had been a stupid decision, pretending like she was in a condition to fight. She knew it while standing with her guild, and she knew it when she was lying on the cold, hard ground surrounded by the mini dragons, separated from the others.
Her sword lay some meters away, the blade crusted over with blood and the handle covered in scratches. Her hands bloody, she tried to get onto her feet but to no avail; her severely injured leg simply would not allow it.
Coughing, heaving, she struggled on the ground for a moment, cursing her pride and her stubbornness. Her vulnerable side was a side she would show a scarce amount of people.
She never really thought it would end this way, but alas; closing her eyes, she awaited the final blow. But the sound of furious footsteps and sizzling magic had her reopening them.
There, standing above her with a look of pure anger gracing his handsome features, was Jellal.
Almost as if sensing her thoughts, he turned down to her and offered her a soft smile, a tilt of his lips. "Need a hand?"