Chapter 69:
Blood.
Scarlet hazed and choked the hallways as fog to the swamps in summer. It tinged the air with copper and iron, slithered from broken glass and blunt objects. The scent of it was everywhere, a part of everything; stale and hours old, cold and congealed, devoid of life. Flecks of oxidized iron speckled white floors and turned into puddles of dark scarlet. Rose petals left trails down halls, smeared streaks into places darkened by shadow.
Blood.
Gallons of crushed cherries surged through nervous bodies and filled the trill of screams. It banged and howled for a way out of too-tight veins, crowded the vessels of exhausted eyes, dripped off improvised weapons and dyed skin the colors of fresh dawn after the storm. It flushed behind Gajeel's eardrums as he ran barefoot through halls dotted with warpath. He could smell it and it was growing in intensity as he tracked a glittering and garden-fresh trail of holly berries from a body losing too much of its precious life fluid. He heard the voices of dogs snapping at the bars that kept them back.
In the elevator shaft. Open the doors. They're hiding down there. Bastard Knights.
In a flash, he was in the doorway. Twenty eyes turned to him, flooded with that alarming red, leaking it on the floor from a fight. The scent of it, the adrenaline intermingled in pheromones and chaos and war, was driving him mad. His skin was fervid with it, his throat thick and mouth dry. Silver tarnished with the liquefied feathers of cardinals, blistered scaled skin as it dropped like swollen and half-rotted fruit to the ground. Everything was red, blanketed and overrun with poppies, roses, asoka, aster, carnations, poinsettias, hysacinth and hellebore. Gajeel's skin was too tight and hot with it. It was suffocating and deafening and he choked, he chokedon blood and flowers until everything was quiet aside from the low moans of men in pain.
"Kurogane," he stopped his mindless violence at Kellen's voice. He found he was staring into a pair of hazel eyes with elbow drawn back and fist poised. The prisoner beneath him was muttering between breaths of panic and he couldn't quite wrap his mind around what stop, please, I won't do anything, just let me gocould possibly mean. With a swift kick the body slammed into closed elevator doors, denting them back as a noise of hurt erupted through the room. He grabbed orange and threw it out of the way, discarded waste to be devoured by scavengers.
He could feel Kellen behind him, taste the nervous tension in the air as the room filled with more bodies, fidgeting bodies, bodies impatient to bolt or fight, too many bodies to safely have in one place. Attention was on him as he pried open the doors with his bare hands. He could smell it again, the tell-tale of the dying, wafting like a lover's gentle perfume through the blackened bowels of the prison. His eyes fell on the elevator, purposefully stopped in between two floors in retreat and hiding. Gajeel jumped, landing heavily onto the top of it. He heard a voice shriek in terror and he dug his claws into the metal, tearing it open as if it were brittle paper beneath his fingertips, and exposed thirteen white forms huddling together in the darkness. Gazes filled with alarm as he dropped through the gaping mouth with the same soft silence as the shadow of a nightmare. His eyes snapped to the figure desperately trying to push himself from the ground, breathing in tatters and hand gripping at bleached fabric blooming with verbena.
One of the men lunged, a desperate and feeble attempt to stop whatever it was that the prisoner had brought with him, misplaced valor in his eyes to save what was left of the Rune Knights that guarded Ember Island Maximum Security Prison. Gajeel batted him from his way as if he were a child, gripped him by the shirt and slammed him into the wall, letting the noise of it echo throughout the elevator shaft. A voice called from up high that was tinged only the slightest bit with concern.
"What's goin' on down there?"
Gajeel tipped back his head, eyes never leaving the man who'd attacked him, "I have wounded!"
Disgruntled mutters: I ain't jumpin' down there. Fuckin' madman. Hell knows what they'll do…
He could see Kellen rolling his eyes, "You want us to lift it?"
They made eye contact and Kellen set his jaw, pulling back from the opening and handing out commands. Gajeel glanced back to the man in his grasp and when he sucked in a breath to speak he was stopped short by a scent that wasn't the taint of copper. He sniffed the air and the man visibly cringed from him as he thrust his hand forward in search of what he'd detected, pulling out his prize with no gentleness before releasing his hostage. A pack of cigarettes and a book of matches made it into his pocket as he gave the shaken cadet a mock salute.
He heard Kellen make the order to grab the cables and the carriage swung and creaked in torment. He smirked, turning his gaze to the lieutenant clutching at his wounds in the corner, "Hold on tight, boys."
The car lurched and bounced as the entire thing was suddenly hefted skywards. Every standing Rune Knight lost their footing and faltered to a knee, gripping at walls or floor or each other in an attempt to not land on their faces. Gajeel swayed like a bobber on raging waters, lissome and fluid and unperturbed as five feet at a time they were made to move upwards. They could hear someone yelling a call to pull,pull, Common sense, kid, that cable can slice your hand worse than a blade! Stand aside, I'll do it!
"Lieutenant Serrill," Gajeel addressed him and the man regarded him with a cool, pale suspicion, lips quivering as he fought to breathe, "Can ya stand?"
There was a sputtering noise that Gajeel didn't have the time to take note of as the cadet that was kneeling over the Serrill was suddenly unnerved, "Of coursehe can't walk! Can't you see he's injured?!"
Slitted pupils darted to the man, catching only the sight of neatly trimmed, black hair. Gajeel smiled, showing sharp teeth and unleashing his feverish aura as much as he dared. He stood with the intent to intimidate, to look down on the cadet and struggling lieutenant and see what exactly these men were made of, "Wasn't talkin' to ya, was I?"
The elevator swung and maundered to a halt, protesting the unnatural pull. As the cage hung, all the men in it stood in tense silence, bile rising and fingertips twitching as magic stung the air in wretched anticipation. There were mutterings of distrust and stares. His collar is gone.
"Show us what yer made of, Serrill," Gajeel pressed, taking a step forward and bringing with him all of the cadets as they jumped for their wounded leader, "Stand up."
A hand pressed to the wall, weak and painted with vital wine, trembling as weight was pushed against it. Serrill clutched at his side, garnering the concerned looks of his cadets as he got one foot beneath him, and then two. His breathing was unnaturally ragged, his forehead dotted with sweat from exertion that Gajeel was sure stemmed from his injury. He swayed on his feet but stood, took a step forward, and the man at his side reached for him.
"Sir, please, you need to-!"
"I am not dead yet, Ashby!" Serrill wheezed, standing as straight as he could. The wickedness in Gajeel's grin ebbed as he collected himself, approaching Serrill as he approached him, and felt that it truly was no wonder Major Bishop had felt confident to leave the man in charge. He slipped and arm around Serrill's waist, accepted the arm that draped over his shoulder.
"Good job, Lieutenant," he hummed.
"I'm not delivering my men to their deaths," he charged, and Gajeel could feel his lungs rattling air and the sound of it skittered through his own iron skin.
"Wouldn't ask ya to," he replied as the doors to the elevator were forced open.
They were a massive group altogether: thirteen Rune Knights and ten prisoners, all scared and all with eyes darting betwixt each other waiting for someone to break their reluctant understanding. The Rune Knights looked to their dying Lieutenant and the prisoners to Kurogane, all unwilling to admit they had to work together against a common enemy. Because prisoners were prisoners for a reason, for murder and belligerence and evil, and so they couldn't be trusted. Because Rune Knights had belittled, threatened, and abused the lesser men for too long. There was bad blood and grudges and bitter tastes in each other's mouths as Gajeel walked Serrill up to the front of the group alongside him. Gently, he lent the man to rest against the wall and turned to the mass of nerves and tension he was trapped with.
Gajeel had never really seen himself as a leader, but that didn't mean he couldn't straighten his spine and speak with the type of authority that came naturally to other men, to men like Serrill, to men like Davian, to men like Laxus. He didn't let his guard down because the men who followed him looked for weakness as an excuse for their own behavior and he regarded the pale uniforms with the same disdain he'd given the Phantom Risers who bumbled their way directionless without him. Not all of them were inexperienced, though. Aside from the wide-eyed few like Ezal, there were larger stock like Kellen and the two Southern Wolves men who'd fought with him during the brawl that had broken out a day prior. There were four he'd recognized from Phantom Lord whom he'd never worked with but had footsteps almost as soft as his own and guided the Risers with surety and silence. Of the Knights, Gajeel could see mostly seasoned soldiers, although each had the fear in their eyes that told him they'd never been through something quite like this. It was only Ashby, the man who'd hovered so closely over Serrill, that had the look of a bright young man who dreamed of becoming a martyr.
What a lot of misfit heroes they were. They gathered together like so many roughly bundled twigs and sticks, bone-dry and brittle. All it took was just the right number of sparks to set them all aflame.
"Didn't know we were helpin' Knights," Ezal snapped, cracking the intensity in the air with the first-struck match. Gajeel raised a studded brow at him.
"We don't need help," Ashby seethed his own sparks in return, "Especially not from the likes of you."
"If it wasn't for us, you cowards'd been torn apart!"
"We have nothing to fear from a bunch of magic-less thugs."
"Shut the hell up, both of you," Gajeel growled, baring his teeth, stomping out the flame, "Ya ain't got a choice."
Ezal stilled and Ashby jumped, both gawking at him in a way that made the other look like some changeling double.
"Let's talk about reality, boys. Hellebore is lookin' ta round up any Rune Knight he sees. Hasn't killed 'em yet but I'm sure he's got somethin' good planned. You need a place to hole up until help arrives," he turned his eyes to Ezal, "There's only one of us with magic, kid, and if you remember, I didn't exactly take Hellebore down."
"But your collar-"
"Doesn't matter. Ya need them just as much as they need you," he shut him down before addressing everyone, "We're a big group. It's gonna take a miracle to get past Hellebore's guys without gettin' into a fight. We're headin' to the Mess."
"The Mess?" Serrill huffed, gaining Gajeel's attention, "Why?"
"It's the only place that's got three-hour fire rated doors," Kellen muttered and all eyes turned to him. He scuffed his boot to the ground, "I ran a restaurant, ya know, 'fore I got picked up. Had ta learn fire safety."
"The plan is," Gajeel growled, retaking the lead, "ta get there fast and quiet. The last thing we need is Hellebore on our tails, especially with wounded. Every prisoner with a Knight, the boys left over help Serrill."
"LieutenantSerrill," Serrill hissed as Gajeel regarded him, a look of know your placeclear and stern in his gray sky eyes.
"Lieutenant Serrill," Gajeel corrected dryly.
The halls were as dark and deserted as a crypt left to the ages. Each step was a forsaken action, a doomed call to wake the ghosts that lurked in corners, underneath beds, and between iron bars. Inumbrated cells watched them with the eyeless sockets of skulls, patient and tenebrous and spilling out empty, fetid heaviness. Gajeel gnashed his teeth to the every damning sound of scuffs to cement, to breaths that struggled and screamed through arduous encumbrance, and the mutterings of concern and mistrust. Twenty-three men were loudand bumbling through the cellblocks, banged into metal that sent sound ricocheting into the innards of the deathly still prison. Every fiber in Gajeel's being was taut and prickled and aching and buzzing. What he wouldn't give for the silence of night to swath them and hinder their sound, mute them and give them refuge while they tried desperately not to be caught.
It was a long, draining journey, one with several stops and many diversions. They'd had to change their course to avoid patrols of Hellebore's newest followers searching for the last of the Knights. More than once, Gajeel had saved their detection just in the nick of time. The bumbling of Ezal almost gave them away twice. Once it was Ashby, insisting the lieutenant had to rest when Gajeel was pushing them all to move before the patrol came back around. More condemning than the blundering of the inexperienced, though, was the bickering, sniveling, and conspiring of the men against each other. Gajeel was the one to put an end to it when he stepped up on one of the Southern Wolves, teeth bared and eyes wild, and made it clear that to him allof them were dead weight. As soon as anyone stopped obeying his orders, he would cut them "Immediately and…" with eyes sweeping to the Rune Knights "…Indiscriminately."
You bastards wanted Kurogane in charge. You got it.
The solace didn't last long.
The odor of iron and grease fire burrowed its way into his nostrils and he stopped as the susurrous feeling of wasps beneath his skin flared until it couldn't be ignored. Gajeel splayed his fingers in a sign for movement to cease and mouths to quiet. He sniffed the air, eyed pointedly the direction they were headed as it turned sharply to the right. Kellen was by his side in an instant, dragging on his heels a cadet who shivered slightly as Gajeel breathed deeply inward and let out a growl. The anxiety of the man was blinding to Gajeel's senses and he had to concentrate to smell past the overwhelming presence of fear.
"Hellebore is close," Gajeel motioned to the turn, "I can smell it."
"Smell what?" Ezal's voice smashed through the open space, brash and proud, and both men seized him in an instant.
"Quietkid," he snarled through his teeth, "What did I say about bein' quiet?"
He muttered something Gajeel didn't catch because he was too busy listening for movement or footsteps from around the bend. It was a long stretch of time before he turned his attention back to Ezal who was glaring pointedly to the ground.
"Fucks sakes," Gajeel breathed, "Don't cha know how ta read a room?"
Ezal blinked slowly, trying to process what he'd just said, "I… uh…"
"You what?"
"I can't… read."
Kellen made a noise like a laugh forced to be a sigh. Gajeel felt the vein on the side of his neck pulse, "Not… T's not… Take-take stock of a situation. Get a sense of yer surroundings. Pay attention, kid. If I'm bein' quiet and Kellen's bein' quiet, it means you'requiet. Ya got it?"
Ezal nodded stiffly and Gajeel let him go, casting eyes to Kellen, "Get them ready to move quickly."
He stalked forward on the balls of his feet, thankful for once for the lack of shoes as it made his steps even more silent on the cold floors. As sure steps moved him closer to the bend, his skin prickled to unnatural heat. You're here, you're near. The smell of charred human flesh was strong and he froze as he peered around the corner. Violet flames flickered and died slowly on the remains of cloth, warped metal, and bodies. Forms were crumpled on the ground, knees drawn up in fetal position, arms trying to keep their faces safe from flame. Gajeel leaned back and met Kellen's eyes, motioning the group forward as he stepped around the corner and began picking his way through the bodies.
He knelt down to the one nearest him, eyeing bleached bone and ribbons of charcoal clinging to it. A gentle nudge rolled it over, causing the body to unfurl like a crumpled piece of paper, and he wrinkled his nose to see half of a face and curls of dark brown hair. Orange and white, a right boot and no left. The fire had been hot and fierce but over before the man could actually catch on fire. Two others lay on the ground, what was left of them covered in tattoos. Gajeel stepped over each, eyes locking on a figure slouched against the wall, legs bent as he'd just been left to drop straight down and his head was tilted forward; this corpse wasn't like the others. On first approach, Gajeel couldn't see anything wrong. The skin facing him was bare and the eyes were closed, almost as if the man had simply fallen asleep. As he stepped cautiously around, though, he began to notice the bright red of burns and boils. The mouth was hanging loosely open, lips blackened and the skin of his chin yellow. Gajeel narrowed his eyes at the blisters tracking down his throat, the heat-swollen and split flesh that slithered down his chest.
"Gods alive…" Kellen was at his side again.
"Didn't put up much of a fight, did he?" Gajeel murmured and felt rather than saw Kellen shaking his head.
"What happened, d'ya think?"
Gajeel leaned forward, pulled the pristine, white shirt from where it hung loosely on the torso, and found on more second-degree burns, "Dunno… the burns aren't bad enough to kill."
"We're almost to the Mess."
Gajeel grunted. Just two more turns.
"What happens if we run into him?"
Gajeel glanced to the group as they meandered up behind them, Serrill bringing up the rear as his arms were slung over two-men's shoulders. Ashby was worrying over him again and it was clear the lieutenant no longer cared to argue. They'd wrapped him up as best they'd could, ripping the fabric of his cape and tying it tight. The man could already hardly breathe, though, and in order not to impede his breathing further they hadn't tightened it as much as they should have. Red had seeped down to his pants, blooming vibrantly down to his hip. He need stitches desperately, and rest. There was no way he'd be running if they got into a fight.
"If it comes to it, I'll keep him tied up."
"He'll kill you," Kellen muttered, "And then where will we be?"
"Ya say it like there's another option."
Kellen was silent for a moment, "The lieutenant can't run."
"I know," Gajeel glanced over to the blonde where he labored, his cadets allowing him a moment's rest against the wall. They fell into a tense silence before Kellen broke away from him and went back to the group where they crowded the hall. Gajeel walked ahead to where the block teed and leaned against the corner, gazing at the empty halls.
He wanted to feel out with his magical aura, to pinpoint where Zahir was, but he knew that would be suicide, as soon as Zahir felt a presence he'd come to track them down. Instead, he sniffed the air and listened past the shuffling and whispering bodies behind him, searching for the sound of sure footsteps or crackling of fire in the distance. Focusing was difficult. As soon as he closed his eyes he felt the restlessness in his bones begin to liven and quake. Very quickly, his blood became hot and indigent. He fisted a hand into his shirt, rested it above his heart. His mind and body were agitated with each other, one clinging desperately to reason, to keeping himself and those around him safe from harm, and the other reminding him that he had needs that weren't being met. How long could he hold them off before they bubbled over? He didn't have the luxury for these kinds of emotions…
His body shuttered. Something brushed him, a sudden heat, a whisper, almost as if a ghost had slithered through his body. His eyes tore open and he looked into the carbonous block. His nerves snapped to attention, eyes incisive for whatever it was that had just alerted him. There, at the end of the cellblock, he saw the slightest waver in the shadows, a flutter so faint that it could have just been his eyes searching too hard. But then it happened again, the flutter was a pulse, a palpitation of light, violet light.
He stole backwards, in a rush to move the men back, away, but to where? Where could they possibly hide? They certainly couldn't walk faster than Hellebore, not without being detected, not taking Serrill with them.
"What's going o-?" Ezal wasn't able to finish because Gajeel had grabbed the kid by the shirt and dragged him close.
Gajeel hissed through gritted teeth, "In the cell. Now."
Twenty-three bodies moved and none of them in synchrony. Forty-six feet scuffed and bumped and stomped as they rushed to get into a cell, to merge themselves with darkness, all ten brilliant orange jumpsuits and thirteen vibrant white uniforms. Gajeel would have found it ridiculous if their lives didn't depend on them going undetected. He made a point of positioning himself in the cell with the lieutenant and for a few agonizingly long minutes, silence descended, silence that was only broken by the Serrill's wheezing and even that was stifled. Gajeel concentrated on the sound of footsteps approaching, slow and purposeful, unhindered by the tomblike stillness.
A step and then another, headed for their hiding place in the corners of the cells, footfalls slicing through the thrumming silence and heavy, stuttering breaths. With each approaching rap on the concrete floors Gajeel felt his heart inch upwards into his throat. In his mind, he had it mapped out. Hellebore had been down the hall before, there was no reason for him to backtrack through it. As long as they were quiet, he would pass.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The darkness wavered and purple tendrils flickered and danced to the beat of twenty-three hearts huddled in quiet terror.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
As long as they were quiet.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He would pass.
Tap. Tap. Scuff.
Gajeel stood just a step back from the entrance to the cell, his back pressed to the wall. He didn't breathe. He didn't swallow. His eyes glared across the hall and into the cell where Kellen huddled with Ezal, Ashby, and several others. His heart beat harder, his ears were ringing with the silence. The violet fire flickered and taunted and slowly, delicately, began to fade.
And then Ezal, bumbling Ezal, young and unlearned and newborn-fawn-footed Ezal, took a step backward. It was a step that caught abruptly on the mangled mess of desk in the cell they had hidden in. With a clamor that rivalled the thunderous roar of a lightning strike, he tripped. The discord echoed off of every hard surface, ricocheted like a gunshot through each man's heart and clattered to the ground at Hellebore's feet. Laughter bubbled up and jittered feverishly in the hall.
"Well I certainly know you're there, now," his voice was a sweet as honey, "Make this easier for the both of us and do come out."
The both of us. He didn't know how many of them there were. He glanced over to Kellen whose lips were pressed into a white line. Snappishly, he shook his head and Gajeel stared at him harshly, the blade-tip sharp black slits of his eyes dancing with severity and quiet determination. Kellen shook his head more fervently as Ezal gripped his arm.
He glared at Ezal, at the weak hopeless look of his face and motioned for him to be silent. He mouthed the words to Kellen: When I say run.
"I'm waiting," Hellebore's sweetness had a twinge of impatience and he took a step forward, "Don't make this harder than it has to be, now, dear."
Silence.
Ezal's eyes were wide and Gajeel clenched his fist to the sound of a boot heel clipping the ground. He rolled his shoulders, gingerly pressed the tips of his nails to the bleached-skull wall, and tapped. Once. Twice. Three times. The boots stopped walking. A slow, wicked grin inched across Gajeel's face as he eyed the sharp turn at the edge of the cell, his blind-spot and also Hellebore's. He could feel the fire surge. He tapped again. Once. Twice. Three times. The noise, quiet and purposeful, chittered through the cellblock.
"I don't like games," Hellebore's voice was close, closer than Gajeel had thought it would be, and it was angled at him, slinking and sighing with grey smoke towards him. He tilted his head slightly as he waited, waited and tapped. Once. Twice. Three times. His heart seized when the footsteps approached again, faster and with single-mindedness, to find the source of the infernal noise. He slipped his palm flat against the concrete, his claws dancing lightly on the surface, and suddenly Hellebore was rounding the corner, eyes blazing and fire on his skin, stopping short and shocked at the grinning Iron Dragon waiting for him.
"Surprised?" Gajeel cooed, before raking his claws to the rough surface and spraying sparks on the mage. Hellebore hissed and backed up, but not before Gajeel could lurch forward and grab hold of his long tresses and wrap his fist in them. With all of his strength he dragged the other man across the hall, slammed him into the wall and hurledhim bodily away, "Kellen! Move!"
There was an explosion of motion as every man fled like hares from the burning thicket. Gajeel growled as he summoned his magic, the familiar pulse of life, longing, and willsurging through his veins. He rushed forward and landed a hit on Hellebore's face, a knee to the gut, knocking him back more, more, his only goal to buy time, to give the others a chance. When amethyst flames licked up his arms he feinted back, nearly tripping over one of the bodies in his flight. Hellebore was pushing himself up when Gajeel summoned a massive door between them, a wall as impenetrable as he could force it to be.
"Kurogane," he hissed his name like a curse and Gajeel felt the ground quake at the blast that slammed into his defense. He brought up his fists, ready for when Hellebore would bust through. Red dotted the surface of the wall, rippling outward and warping towards him, groaning in agony as he waited with gritted teeth. Hellebore stepped through, a wraith swathed in fire, eyes somehow even brighter than the blinding flame that curled around his horned crown.
"No one has ever survived my Gehenna Gate,"
"What can I say?" Gajeel ran his tongue against his sharper teeth, "I live to break the rules."
"Mmmhh…" violet flames coiled forward, reaching for him even as he remained unwavering in their wake, "Why do you protect them? What do you owe these men?"
"Why does it gotta be about them and us?" Gajeel growled, "Maybe I just wanna piss you off?"
"You will give me what I want, Kurogane."
"I won't," he smirked, chuckling just slightly, "But you can try an' take it."
Hellebore bared his teeth and his hands struck forward. Gajeel brought up his arms to defend against the onslaught of fire but instead was met by blistering fingers curling around his wrists. He didn't see what was happening or have time to process before the air was moving rapidly around him, the wind knocked out of him as he was slammed into cell bars, through cell bars, into walls reinforced with steel. He gasped and fell against rubble, dust and clumps of solid white falling on top of him as he tried to make sense of how he'd landed. He slouched into the crevice his body had made, blearily aware of footsteps sliding to a halt and tripping over each other.
"Redfox!" he found it in him to glance over, to meet the horrified eyes of Kellen as he led their band running straight past him. Suddenly, fire was exploding around him, something solid and blunt slamming into his stomach and he screamed out as the pain ricocheted through his body and his head slammed into wall. Searing heat sizzled throughout his core, as he glared into Hellebore's eyes. They were wild as they looked down on him, vibrant and glowing, and they pulsed as his flesh became enkindled. His iron sweltered and purple danced up his chest and arms, trying to scald him away to nothing.
A flush of ardor flooded his veins and settled in his throat. He grinned at the puzzled look that crossed Hellebore's face.
"Hellebore…" Gajeel sneered up at him, baring his teeth to him, "Tell me, do fire demons bleed?"
He plunged his arm through Zahir's chest and the hall ignited in intense heat. Columbine eyes shuddered and he gasped as Gajeel slipped his blade farther and farther, through him. The action was slow and their bodies close and the liquid that spilled from Hellebore's body was nothing short of boiling. His eye twitched and his jaw became straight and rigid. He huffed out a breath, his body shifting and swelling for a moment, not unlike a star as it fights to hold its form before it supernovas. But Hellebore didn't supernova. He stayed put together, although his fire faded and shrank inwards, coalescing around Gajeel's blade, searing and threatening to melt him, hot, hot, hotter. His fingers curled around what used to be Gajeel's wrist, wrapped tightly around the double-edge of his blade until the flesh of his palms dripped the strange plasma as well, glittering like the feathers of woodnymphs freshly splattered by sun-kissed raindrops, and burning the ground like acid.
His upper lip twitched as he shifted his body backwards, concentration and effort clear on his porcelain face. Gajeel thought he looked soft, his face wrecked with hell and pain written in elegant cursive across his face. Manicured hands held him gently and Gajeel suddenly realized how long his eyelashes were. Interesting.
Not interesting.
Because those lips were beginning to quirk upwards in the corners, those eyes lighting again with malicious fire, "That was a mistake."
Fire surged around them, roaring and building, hotter than when Gajeel had been trapped in the cell. The cement was cracking, the floor melting. Gajeel felt himself start to sink and Hellebore was falling forward, his body pressed to his.
"I hope it was worth it," Hellebore's breath was somehow hotter than the fire, brushed against his face as the rest of his body burned, "You, throwing your life away for men who don't care if you live or die. I would have had a place for you."
"I've seen how ya treat yer help. Don't think ye can get on my good side with flashy words now," Gajeel snarled, hardly breathing because the heat was a thick and viscous thing that filled his throat like boiling water.
"Oh, darling, no… no you're not like them, you're not mediocre" Hellebore crooned in a way that was impossibly wanton and filled with detached longing, "Look at you, surviving when everything around you turns to ash…" his voice dropped into his throat, turned breathy, unreserved, and Gajeel could feel something in him growing taut, "…you'vesurprised me. And I'm never surprised…"
Why was Gajeel breathing so heavily? Why was Hellebore's breath so unbearably hot? Everything was doused in roaring, blistering fire. He had no idea how far the stuff extended, could no longer feel the scalding drip of the effervescent star-stuff from Hellebore's wounds to his metal body. Everything was burning crisp and brittle as bones. Everything except for them. Somehow, the two men continued on living, pressed nearly chest to chest now, and Hellebore leaning closer, maniac eyes glittering fiercer than his flame.
"I have plans bigger than this for you, bigger than just wasting away…" he was staring into those black horns, somehow refusing to melt even though the world had given up. What were they made out of, Gajeel wondered? "…do you think I haven't heard your story, Kurogane? That I haven't heard how you were framed? You didn't kill that wretched man, did you? You're the victim of men who've already labelled you a killer."
"I am a killer."
Hellebore tsked, his head dipping down, down, down, too close, "You don't want to lead these men, do you? You don't want this burden. I've put you in a terrible place, haven't I? Forced you into a corner? Ahh, but I can correct my mistakes, can't I? I can make it better. It's not too late, my dear, and I won't hold a grudge…"
He felt something brush his jugular, a kiss, blinding him with sparks as its heat penetrated his iron scales and he gasped, nearly screamed at the pain.
"…Renounce your silly allegiance. Come with me. Be rid of this prison…" another kiss and this time it was jawline. Hands were bunching into his shirt and simultaneously burning it away, "Be free… with me… you deserve more."
"Deserve… more…" he could barely think, scarcely feeling anything aside from the burn of lips at his chin. Hellebore was splaying his fingers over his heart, holding him down with just a hand, and pushing fire into him. Melting… he was melting…
"I'll be a king and all those who follow me will be rewardedgratuitously," Gajeel had to close his eyes at the breath that fell across his face, "and you, my dearest, shall be held in the highestregard... lovely, don't you think?"
"I think… I…" he squinted through the pain, made himself look straight into Hellebore's face as it hovered above him, eyes dancing across his lips before dragging themselves up to meet Gajeel's gaze in turn, "What is a king… to a god?"
The corners of his lips turned down sharply.
"Sorry, dearest…" Gajeel coughed, gritting his teeth, "Yer not my type."
He snarled, "Pity."
Lips crashed into his, hot and fervent and belching smoke down into his mouth. Hellebore collapsed on him and dug his nails into his softened chest, boring pain and fire into his hips, his lungs, his heart.
Aaahhhh… so that's what had done it.The man slouched against the wall, face and throat and chest scalded but not enough to kill. Zahir hadn't burned him to bone like he'd done the others. He'd razed his body from the inside, and now he was doing the same to Gajeel.
He tried to struggle, triedto force his hands to grip onto the man and push him away, but the fire raged and weighted him down, drove him into the ground, howled with ferocity and hunger, and he felt it slithering through his teeth, seeping like lava down his throat, inching its way to his heart. What was worse, was how much Hellebore enjoyed it, pressing his full body down on Gajeel like a lover desperate for his touch, soft and supple, and the hand not digging into his chest caressing gently his throat. He sighedand parted his lips, sending smoke down, down, down into his lungs. Gajeel choked, tried to turn his head but found that tender palm far stronger than he'd given it credit for. He pressed up his knees only to feel Hellebore settling between his thighs, flushing hips against his own, turning his own movements against him…
Except, something was off. Zahir suddenly pulled back, a gasp slipping from his mouth and a shaky breath. The howling ebbed slightly and Gajeel was able to get his hands up enough to press his talons into white skin, pressing daggers into soft flesh, breaking skin. He didn't recoil, didn't flinch, didn't give any sign that he was in pain other than the tightness around his eyes. He leaned back over Gajeel again, his brow furrowed as he looked confused. Magma fell into his mouth again and Gajeel's face screwed up at the softness of it, the tenderness of it, the maddening sensuality. The fire pressed to his heart roared to life and he groaned from it, his body becoming weary as his esophagus boiled, tears vaporizing as they collected in the corners of his eyes.
Zahir pulled back again, eyes darting between Gajeel's two, still unbearably close, and something strange playing across his face. He looked almost… distraught.
"You… why won't you die?"
Gajeel's eyebrows lifted weakly, "I feel dead."
"You should be nothingbeneath my touch. Ash."
"Right…"
"Everyone I touch…" his voice sounded small and Gajeel lolled his head to the side, regarding him almost as if for the first time, "Everyone I touch… turns to ash."
"…eh?"
"Why… I don't understand…" the fire suddenly grew again, fiercer than before, stronger, impossibly stronger,and Gajeel screamed, "Why won't you just die?!"
Gajeel's back arched as he screamed, the fire somehow breaking through his defenses, slipping through the cracks of his body and boiling him alive. His eyes rolled back, his body in agony, every nerve on him molten and desperate to be doused, to be given relief, to end the pain. Hellebore was digging his nails into his chest and Gajeel's heart was stuttering under the pressure and heat.
"Why won't you just die?!"
Gajeel clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and with everything inside of him he pulled forward. He couldn't hear himself screaming, although he could feel it. His magic flared, surging and flinging itself haphazardly at the man holding him down. It wasn't a coherent thought, it was just sheer force and will that shaped iron into sharpened harpoons. Six of them tore out from beneath Gajeel's body, split the ground and stabbed into Hellebore, hurling him away, away. Gajeel crumpled as the flames suddenly fizzled around him. He choked, feeling something white-hot searing up through his throat and he vomited glowing red iron onto the floor. His arms and legs were shaking as he stared at it, his insides sloshing and unstable. Sputtering gasps made him look up at the body pinned to the wall, again shaking, sizzling, and quivering. Glowing violet eyes glared into him, his voice broken with pain.
"You think… you think… you can win…"
"I don't have ta win…" liquefied metal dripped from his chin and Gajeel was terrified to move, scared the action would mix around his guts and turn him into something strange and no longer living, "I just… have ta make sure… you lose."
"I'll kill you…!" Zahir seethed, wrenching his body against the stakes that held him, "I'll kill you!"
Gajeel somehow found the strength to stand, wavered for just a moment before taking a step. He swallowed and it hurt, his chest ached. He didn't dare look down to assess the damage. He didn't want to see himself illuminated and red and dying. He just wanted to get to safety. He just wanted to rest.
"This isn't over! Do you hear me?! This! Isn't! Over!"
Gajeel didn't remember making it to the Mess. He didn't remember the heavy, reinforced doors swinging open and collapsing as hands caught him. But, strangely, what he did remember, was the number twenty-two, and he remembered thinking that wasn't quite right. He remembered water. He remembered a sound that echoed, muffled through the cement walls and windowless prison, a sound that was sort of like the tremble of the earth or, possibly, brontide. And then, very suddenly, he remembered darkness.
Author's Notes:
Stop! Drop! and drag me into pla ce e...
Lock the fire escaapes..
I'll break your pretty faaace... (YEAH YEAH)
Oh! ! ! you clever little Thing
The sycophantic teens
What a precious basket case (YEAH YEAH)
Now shut your dirty MOUTH
If I could burn this town
I wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suff-o-cate and DIE
And that would be just fi I ine..
And what a lovely time.
That It. Would. surely be
So bite your tongue and!
Choke! Yourself! To sleep!