Chapter 70:

Gajeel was only just aware of the sound of voices creeping into the darkness he roused from. Exhaustion clung to him even as he forced open heavy and bleary eyes. Someone startled but he wasn't much of the disposition to care. Pushing himself up gained him a striking headache and he felt sick from how the movement of his body didn't quite mesh with his reality, almost as if the action started with his mind and meandered sluggishly to each of his limbs, echoing his thoughts instead of enacting them. He stared at the table he sat on for a long moment before he realized it was a table and then took a moment to wonder why he was on it. Another lifetime passed before he realized he had to get off the table and onto the ground. His legs moved like dead things as he slung them over the edge, the short, five-inch drop nearly catching him by surprise and he staggered. Something caught him but he wasn't sure what. His stomach agonizedwith hunger pangs.

Someone was talking but it must have been another language because he certainly didn't understand what they were saying, and only belated realized that those words were directed at him. He was already sniffing at the air, his teeth aching as he caught the scent of the iron that he so desperately needed. The room was foggy and bright. He knocked into things, bodies scattered out of his way. He fell into the door more than opened it, hands digging into it, the doorknob his crutch. He pulled open drawers and attacked every bit of metal he saw, some of it more steel than iron. With each bite he gained a little more awareness. The sluggishness banished and the strange hollow pit in his stomach filled. But now he was aware of how much his body ached, although that, too, soon faded as he ate.

"You look like hell," Kellen's voice reached him from somewhere and he didn't even look up to pinpoint it.

"You ain't so pretty yerself," he growled back, but the noise Kellen made in reply was one of concern. He went to glance in his direction, but his eyes caught on the sliver of his reflection on one of the oven windows. He froze, furrowed his brow at it, "…Shit."

His neck was bruised, peppered here and there with finger marks that had darkened to an ugly purple. Sprawling across his neck was the plotted network of his veins, darkened to nearly black with two pinprick marks from where the collar had burrowed into his neck. He followed the path to where it disappeared under his half burned away shirt. He furrowed his brow, pulling at the weakened white fabric and shredding it from his body. He took a step back, staring at the marks on his shoulder, bicep, across his chest, nearly to his heart. He remembered the feeling of ice, he remembered truly believing he was going to die. He was, it seemed, not far off the mark. As he looked down himself, his eyes wandered over the flesh on his arms that was red and bubbling, at its worst where he had guarded his face from flames.

A shuffle from the doorway brought his attention back to Kellen. The man stood with a grave look of concern heavy on his face. He held a spare shirt in his hand.

"What?" Gajeel barked at him, "I' been through worse."

Kellen took a step into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind him as he did, and Gajeel reacted by straightening to his full height. Kellen flashed a hand in surrender before tossing him the new shirt and took a moment to glance out to the men huddled around tables. Hesitantly, Gajeel followed his gaze, making out prisoners and Rune Knights alike, although each segregated as they'd seen fit. There were a lot of them. A lot of the Phantom/Wolves groups had taken refuge together when the riot had broken out. Safety in numbers was a thing these men knew well. Out of the over one hundred and fifty prisoners, almost sixty of them were here now, along with the thirteen Knights.

"You don't have to help us… it ain't a secret you don't want to either," he spoke softly but his voice wasn't guarded. He let out a heavy sigh.

Gajeel blinked a few times before snapping off a piece of what was in his hand – the remains of a kitchen knife – and began fighting the new shirt over his shoulders. It had sleeves and a higher collar. Gajeel wasn't sure if it was because Kellen was trying to help him hide his weakness for his sake or for other prisoners. He was sure it wasn't good for morale if their fearless warrior looked like he was two steps from the grave.

"…you should be dead, all things considered…"

"Don't underestimate me," Gajeel snapped, rigid and biting, glaring at Kellen and the startled look that flashed over his face. After a tense moment, he softened slightly, "Everyone make it in, ok?"

Kellen opened his mouth to speak but a commotion brought their attention back to the men outside. Gajeel narrowed his eyes as frantic whispers began to circulate throughout the Rune Knights. Grabbing a handful of whatever iron thing he could, he and Kellen made their way back out into the maze of cafeteria tables, scattered about as the men had seen it best fit to get them out of the way. Orange jumpsuits scrambled to their feet as Gajeel passed and he didn't pay attention to the words being said. Twelve white suits stood clustered around a table, muttering betwixt each other not too differently than when Gajeel had found them in the elevator. His eyes were trained on the body resting on the tabletop whose chest was heaving slowly.

Serrill looked terrible. His skin was ashen and tinged purple around his eyes and lips. His eyelids were screwed tight, hands crumpled weakly on his chest. Gajeel pushed Knights out of his way, ignoring protests and outrage.

"What's goin' on?" he growled at Ashby, the boy still hovering over his fallen lieutenant like some dog at his master's side.

"I… we…"

"Losin' yer words ain't gonna save his life, lad," Kellen voiced darkly and Ashby's eyes widened in alarm.

"He's lost too much blood!" he snapped, brows furrowed, "If you had slowed down when I'd said-!"

"Then we'd all be dead or dyin'," Kellen was stern with his words but not scathing.

One of Serrill's piercing blue eyes opened, its color now faded to a sallow grey. His irises rolled for a moment, unable to focus until they alighted on Gajeel who was standing over him with arms crossed. There was something dancing inside his eyes alongside the pain, a belated understanding or, maybe, concern? Gajeel drew his gaze across the Knights but none others seemed to be in pain or poor condition. He was going to dismiss it as delirium or possibly he was just searching for Ashby and unable to discern between all the monochrome, but his lip quirked up slightly and to the surprise of everyone he spoke.

"You survived…" he wheezed.

"Barely," Gajeel muttered softly, "What happened to ya, Lieutenant?"

"Happened fast…" his chest shuttered, "They got me… when I'd tried… to… to run…"

"Sounds like a downright bastard."

A pathetic smile was all the response he could muster before he dug his hand into his shirt, putting pressure to the wound. Gajeel sniffed at the air tentatively, tasting the blood in the air and catching just a touch of desert. He felt something uneasy shift in the back of his mind, a sense that he'd forgotten something. He furrowed his brow down at Serrill and tried to place it as he sniffed at the air again. He couldn't smell death on the lieutenant, but he could smell sweat and copper and…

… sand… why was he smelling sand?

He turned his eyes to the white suits, to faces screwed with worry. They were whispering to each other. Hushed tones wondered what would become of them if Lieutenant Serrill died. Who was next in line to take charge of them? Was anyone able to get a distress signal out?

His heart started to beat just a tad harder. He knew he was forgetting something, something important. What was it?

He reached forward and rolled up the soiled shirt, pulling blood-soaked uniform from sweatslick skin. The smell reminded him of the infirmary at Phantom Lord, a botched job, a harsh punishment waiting for him. It made him anxious because it made him think of mistakes. Ashby was hissing something as he worked at curling back the rough bandage. He exposed the wound, a small, nearly insignificant thing. He curled his lip at it, at how such a small thing could do so much harm. His mind shifted to the trail of blood in the hall and he studied quietly the fabric.

"Pressure! He needs pressure on the…!"

"Fucks sake!" Gajeel snapped, batting Ashby's hands away, "I'mhelping."

Ashby blinked at him, disbelief plastered on his face, "You… what…?"

Gajeel took a steadying breath as he fidgeted with the iron he'd stolen away from the kitchen, morbid familiarity letting him know he could do this. The release of magic made him calm and keeping his hands busy cleared his mind. But he knew this wouldn't be enough even as he began fishing the metallic line through parted skin.

Gajeel was missing something. He was missing something. Something important.

Serrill's eyes were open again, watching him, his hands laying listlessly against the bandages and every so often Gajeel's knuckles would brush his fingertips.

Wasn't this familiar? Wasn't this a memorable wound-mend-situation? He'd tied up pale skin before, hadn't he? Laxus's skin; soft, fragile, fairy skin. His blood had soaked through shirt-scraps-made-bandages then, too, that night in the cave. Ah, that night, that night that started everything. That night of heat and rage. Heat. And Rage. Blood, lightning storms, and metal twine. It had been a panicky, bloodstained, high-tension run. Again. Once before. Past and present was an odd thing, wasn't it? Somehow this was connected. Silver tarnished with red as it intertwined with flesh, rings and rings and rings, cinching together something that should have never been severed and making it whole again. Rings and rings, circlets of overlapping iron, chain links strung together by nervous hands that were keeping a barely-focused mind in check as the whispers of something tangled up his insides.

Serrill's eyes were open, lips parted, "Thank you."

It wasn't enough because it wasn't the blood. Serrill hadn't lost that much blood. Only the tips of Gajeel's fingers were dotted by scarlet dew drops, not his hands, not his wrists, arms, and elbows. He wasn't swimmingin it. He'd watched people bleed to death before, that's not what he was seeing in Serrill. Because he was lucid, he retained his focus. Men dying of blood loss were dazed and confused, sweaty, anxious, and lethargic. Serrill was nothing but weak and ash-covered, dust-covered, purplish.

He took another breath, deeper, down into his lungs. His chest expanded, ribs swelled, and hetasted something familiar in the air, something that made everything in him snap bowstring-taut and straight. The men around him recoiled as Gajeel swung his gaze around all of them, searching, searching for what? What was he forgetting?

Nervousness. Anxiousness. A feeling like someone was watching you from the bushes outside your house that you couldn't see. You're paranoid, leave it alone it's nothing. It was a figure in the trees, no, just a shadow, just a trick of the light. It felt like but wait, no, there it was again, maybe you should check, just to be sure? Someone is after you, would they come here, to your home? It felt like oh gods alive, those are footprintsand what was that noise, that stip-step echo you didn't make, it had to be someone else but no one else is here.It felt like watching and breathing and searching every morning and every evening from the bedroom window through slitted blinds when you were sure everyone else was asleep because you knew, knewthey were there and you saw it, that starflash of movement that wasn't right, wasn't natural, wasn't wind or animal or anything it should have been and you finally saw them and now they weren't invisible any longer, not to you.

Gajeel growled and it itched at him, this acid-drip, fever-inducing forgetfulness. It was familiar. It was familiar but why? His skin was jittery. His mind alive and buzzing as he broadened his gaze past Rune Knights to prisoners, to orange jumpsuits huddled and with startled expressions as a swell of magic suddenly washed over them, something volatile and raw.

A feeling… A feeling…

A feeling like something had happened and it was So. Damn. Important. How could you possibly miss it? A feeling like someone had died and you should know dammit. You spoke to him just earlier, didn't you? You made him a promise? And you forgot? How could you forget?! How could you forget him?!

"Kurogane…" Kellen's voice was somewhere, somewhere close, maybe? Serrill's eyes were closer, though; he struggled to breathe and hold Gajeel's gaze, concern there and gone again, and also there was confusion. Somehow Gajeel knew it was because he felt it too, this elephant-in-the-room amnesia, like a number that wasn't quite right, like missing one, just one, but which one is it. Like something was staring at you in the face but you couldn't place it. You could taste it in your mouth and it was venison, no, pork, no, beef, maybe? But what about the color, wasn't that off, too? And it was the slow realization that it was none of these things, but a poorly veiled disguise. It was a cook with a crooked grin serving you a platter of things and when you asked what it was they just said meatand you'd realized too late that they had sharp teeth and black claws and they're man-eaters called themselves chameleons look 'em up they're wicked as hell and if yer targeted by 'em ya might as well be dead.

"Kellen," Gajeel took a halting breath and even though they were on an island surround by saltwater, there, just on his lips, he could taste the desert, "Where's Ezal?"

"Ezal? Ah, Ezal, well he's…"

"I'm right here," Gajeel whipped his head up to where Ezal stood, just on the other side of the Lieutenant. He stood and he stared, a strange half-smile on his lips, "You needed me?"

Gajeel furrowed his brow.

Why did it seem so quiet, like everything around them had been dampened by snowfall? Why was Ezal here, because he shouldn't have been, not without Gajeel hearing him? He wasn't there just moments before, that's where Ashby had stood. But wait, now Ashby was a foot to the right and his eyes were wide as he stared down at Lieutenant Serrill, muttering something like well at least the bleeding has stopped, maybe his health will improve now…

"Ah, yes, well, he doesstill have a collapsed lung to contend with," Ezal replied and Ashby sucked in a breath, "Oh, calm down, a collapsed lung is rarely fatal."

A slam echoed through the hall and suddenly feet were rushing from where they sat. The west and south entrances shuddered and the clamor of it echoed through the Mess. There were voices and the sounds of battering rams. And then there were screams from the east entrance and Gajeel snapped his head up to see prisoners scrambling back as the sealed metal doors began to burn at the center, rapidly turning cherry red. Kellen was in action, shouting for tables to be turned, for them to be pushed against the doors.

"Don't let 'em in boys, your lives depend on it!"

Gajeel gritted his teeth as he watched the glowing doors melt, felt the heat seeping through the atmosphere towards them, and damn he wasn't ready to face that heat again. Molten metal oozed down from the top of the door. Violet flames licked through the cracks, searing and hungry, and Gajeel could see a figure behind the fire with eyes that burned vivid and merciless.

Serrill was pushing himself up and wheezing orders, "Attack formation! Six to a… to a door…!"

"What the hell are ya doin' Serrill?" Gajeel growled, catching the man as he tried to rise, "Ya can't fight, not like this,"

"I can… try…" he huffed, but Gajeel forced him down again, ignoring the man as he cried out.

"You'll kill yerself. We'll handle this."

"Do… do you want him to?" Ezal spoke and Gajeel's eyes wrenched back to him. That smile twisted slightly, "Fight, I mean. Do you want him to fight?"

Gajeel's voice was low, "Ya said so yerself, he has a collapsed lung."

"Do you have a syringe?" he leaned forward slightly, "With a very long hollow needle?"

"Why in the hell would I have somethin' like that?" Gajeel narrowed his eyes and Ezal's gaze dipped to his hands and back up to his face.

"Kuroganeeee…!" Hellebore's voice spilled into the Mess along with billowing, boiling smoke. The massive blocks of the walls began to dry and crack. Guys were yelling for help because they couldn't hold back the onslaught of the other prisoners at the doors. Had Hellebore really gotten every free prisoner under his command together to storm them? He glanced over to see Kellen flipping one of the tables over and helping two other men slam it to the doors. Every entrance was steadily being torn apart.

"Just stay out of trouble," Gajeel growled before tearing himself away to the immediate threat.

He charged over to the doors, casting iron supports to them just as glaringly bright flames began to trickle in through the seams and light the ground. Men jumped back from him as he surged forward, summoning his armor and using all of his strength to slam the doors firmly shut once more. Gajeel gritted his teeth as his supports turned soft beneath his fingertips, his hands growing hot. He was watching as his skin soaked in the heat, felt it creeping up his arms and elbows. Gajeel leaned his face from the drip of liquefied steel, his nose wrinkling as it burned through his fresh shirt. Green light shimmered around his feet as he conjured a massive door, concentrated on threading throughout cement, on thick, impenetrable iron, but it did little in Hellebore's wake.

"Let me innnn..."

Gajeel snarled, "No thanks, I like you just fine out there."

Something impacted his iron and he felt it scatter his atoms. The touch, red-hot platinum digging into him, pushing fire into everything, skittered up his spine and he hissed through his teeth at it.

"Do you feel me, love…? I… feel… you…"

"Have ta stop meeting like this, people will start to talk…" Gajeel's talons sank into his support. The snake in his stomach rattled, his veins flushing with venom.

"Mmmm…" he could feel Hellebore's purr, "Let… me… in…"

More and more of the wall was turning to iron, the floor, the ceiling, everything was slowly being encapsulated with his power, but still the center faltered. The malleable, incinerated red was sucking him slowly in, drawing him elbow deep into searing hotness that seeped into his bones. Gajeel could feelHellebore's fingertips through the metal, slim skeleton-bones stretching out for him, trying to intertwine with iron talons, a deceptive gentleness destroying everything it touched. The uphill battle was turning futile.

In a blind effort, he pushed forward with that energy he'd conjured in the hall, enticing sharp edges and lances to sear red-hot outward. He heard them slice the air, the harsh clangof them as they dug into the ground.

"Don't make me kill ya, Hellebore," Gajeel breathed into the unrelenting heat.

"Oh, darling, I could say the same…"

The door failed.

An agonizingly bright, plasma and molten iron-covered hand pushed through and reached for him. He leaned back as nails ghosted for his throat, languid and gentle, and his skin reflected the brilliant purple back onto everything around him. He dropped his pull on his magic and dredged his arms through pliant metal as he tried to get himself free, his movements hindered by midwinter molasses. He fell back onto the ground, is arms glowing red and leaving black handprints onto tile, he scrambled to his feet and watched liquid metal sear into the ground.

He clenched his fists and summoned every bit of himself left, magical energy roared throughout the room, filled his body with fresh iron and the taste of it had him licking his lips in anticipation. He cupped his hands in front of him, every nerve-ending in his body alive and ready for what was to come. His body shook at ancient power awakening in his veins, he could feel metallic wings stretching around him, talons digging into the dirt, and he stalled in just that instant as the door warped and sagged, iron shrapnel trapped behind clenched teeth as he pulling in the deep breath of air for this one final shot…

A magic circle of massive proportions sprang to life, glowing a brilliant washed-out grey that rivalled winter in its finest moon-light splendor. A swift breath from behind him and the swirling mass of energy suddenly had will, direction, purpose. The door glowed vivid blue, atoms buzzing and brimming with energy, magic filling in microscopic gaps, reinforcing and bringing the substance to an inviolableness and tenacity all the tempering in the world wouldn't have been able to produce. The metal heated and heated, but never deteriorated, refused to soften.

A scream shook the foundation of the prison. Hellebore was raging.

"Fuck…!" Gajeel choked on his own power, clamped his fists tightly shut and swallowed down the swell of power in his lungs. He staggered backward and turned over his shoulder, watching as each door in turn was overtaken by the brilliant blue and standing alone on a table in the middle of the mess hall was Serrill, eyes wild and teeth bared, his clothing weightless around him as his power shattered reality with its finality.

As shockingly as the fray had begun, it quite suddenly ended. The baying of wolves behind the doors stopped, the silence echoing around them like the cutoff of a scream. The pulse of Serrill's magic dimmed and stopped entirely, the lieutenant wavering on his feet as he pulled in his fragile breaths for the first time unhindered. Ezal stood at his feet, wiping blood onto his pants and fiddling with something.

In the excited stillness, Gajeel couldn't find the will to move. He turned his eyes on the door, his nostrils flared and ears keen. He could hear the sound of boot heels clicking against the cement outside and then with dreadful smoothness, knuckles rapped against the hot, fortified steel. Once, twice, three times.

"Oh, darling?" a sweet and mendacious keen seeped through the cracks in the door, slithered across the ground, filled the tense atmosphere like chemical smoke, "What do you say to a truce? Hm?"

Gajeel was sure if his glare alone could melt steel, he'd be doing it. He didn't respond but he could feel the eyes on him.

"Kuroganeee…" he sang and Gajeel could hear those feet get closer, confident and loud, "You must answer me, dear, or I'll burn this wall down."

"Ehh? Is that right?" Gajeel cooed back at him, his lips pulled back in a sneer that he knew couldn't be seen. It wasn't like him to be so ballsy, but he found his reservations banished by something with venom that curled in his throat, "I should think if you could, Hellebore, you would have done it by now?"

Silence. Gajeel could feel his grin though the doors.

"You can't burn them down, can you? Without using a lot of power? And what happens, do you think, when you face me and yer not at yer best?"

"Ohh… I suppose we can't have that, can we?" a breathy sigh tumbled through space to him, slithered and stayed at his bare feet, "Well then… why not a formal invitation? Hmm… a date!"

"A… date…" Gajeel chuckled, scratching at his neck, his talons lingering on where the bruises underneath still throbbed, "Don't like the sound 'a that…"

Hellebore tittered gleefully from the other side, "Oh, I suppose I should ask… you're not a fascist, are you?"

Gajeel snorted, "No… uh, no. Why?"

"Oh, well it should be just fine, I should think…"

There was a breadth of silence before Hellebore finally spoke again.

"I really don't like this wall between us," he sighed and Gajeel thought he could hear the sound of fingertips tapping lightly on the warped metal, "Why don't you come outside?"

"Think you can understand why I might have reservations," Gajeel purred back at him, glancing to his arms that were only just beginning to lose their red hue. Another long silence and within it Gajeel thought he could hear something crackling and popping, as if Hellebore were burning hot on the other side, enough to crack the tile beneath his feet. Quite suddenly, the noise stopped, "…Hellebore?"

"Redfox!"

Gajeel leapt to the side in time for a pillar of fire to shoot out from the ground where he'd been standing. Suddenly, Hellebore was before him, eyes so bright they looked almost white. He stepped forward and the fire immediately ceased, shivering and condensing around his body until only his veins were glowing beneath his vibrantly light skin. A smoothly as Gajeel could muster, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes he'd lifted from one of the Knights, plucked one out, and put it to his lips. Hellebore crossed his arms, eyeing it, and with a swift upward pull of his eyebrow the end lit.

Gajeel took a drag, "Thanks."

"Hm," Hellebore took a step passed him, eyes scanning over the men who stood dumbfounded before him, lingering on Serrill as he breathed heavily from the toll his magic had taken, "Oh? Look who's still alive."

Serrill's face was hard and cold, "Stand down, Zahir,"

"How rude," Hellebore tsked, waltzing back around to Gajeel's side, eyeing him as he smoked quietly.

"What's your plan, Hellebore?" Gajeel hummed, feigning impatience as he intently smothered how unnerved he was.

Hellebore rolled his shoulders lightly and clasped his hands behind his back, "Ohh, just setting a little example."

"Don't see how burnin' down the prison will help ya become a king," Gajeel mused coolly. Despite the nicotine in his chest, his heart was hammering. Hellebore laughed, taking a languid step around him, circling him, and Gajeel could feel the air becoming charged. He stopped in front of him, rocking back on his heels slightly as his plum locks fell over his shoulder.

"Baby steps… Rome wasn't built in a day, after all…" he sighed and smoke began to slip from his mouth. His knuckles caught fire and he took to spinning some of his long tresses around his finger, "…but it did burn in one."

The entirety of the eastern side of the mess hall exploded into a wall of flame. Half-melted pieces of iron shrapnel ricocheted off of the ground, tables, the ceiling, and he heard men scream as they were hit. Fire danced in Hellebore's eyes as a chilling smile crept across his face. The flames licked the ceiling and in seconds it became unstable. Beams groaned and creaked and plaster fell around them. Dawn's light spilled blood orange into the hall and blanketed Gajeel in it's warm morning. It was everything he could do to keep from shaking at the raw energy that was suddenly encapsulating him, filling the space with stifling heat. Hellebore strode forward with graceful, dainty steps, and Gajeel was trying to keep his emotions under his tight grip.

"This is your lastchance," he purred and Gajeel's heart leapt into his throat. He was desperately trying not to eat his cigarette, "Kurogane, Gajeel," his voice became softer and it made something hungry and treacherous strike down his spine, "Come with me. These people don't care about you. They only stay by your side as long as you keep them safe. Eventually, they will turn against you. But Iwon't."

Gajeel was concentrating on not betraying how intimidated he felt, focused on not smoking his cigarette too quickly, on keeping his hands still, on making sure his eyes didn't snap too hastily to the threat before him, and so when Hellebore took a daring step closer, he hadn't flinched away. The shorter mage had to turn his face up slightly to keep ruby eyes and the veins that clawed up the side of his neck pulsed with delight. Gajeel's gaze lingered on lips that were parted to reveal yellowed teeth and a cunning tongue, and he remembered how they had turned his insides to lava. His throat threatened to close but he refused to let it. He snapped his hand forward, pressed a talon to the soft of Hellebore's throat, and if you had asked him in that moment he would have told you he had no idea where he'd dredged the courage up from.

"I'm flattered that yer so obsessed with me," he flashed a grin, bared his fangs, and pressed his blade-tipped finger deep into glittering flesh until Hellebore had to crane back the long column of his neck back to keep from being eviscerated, "but I'm taken."

"Hmm?" his smile devolved into a snarl, "Oh, and I bet she's just a sweet, devoted little thing."

"Not at all. One of those jealous types, ya know?" Gajeel winked at him, "With a nastytemper."

Something flickered in Hellebore's eyes as he drew back. The blade of Gajeel's claw sliced a vibrant trail up his throat. Beads of caustic ichor slipped down his Adam's apple as he receded back to the veil of undulating flame. His playful air was squashed, taken over now by aloof disdain.

"Shame… I do so hope she's worth it," he growled as the unnatural fire began to lick at his feet, "In an hour's time I'll begin executing the cadets. Feel free to come join them… or don't, it doesn't much matter. You will all die, one way or another. It's up to you whether you'll be doing it as men or as cowards..."

As the flames quickly devoured him, his eyes once again rested on Gajeel. He blew him a burlesque kiss, "See you soon, darling."

It took a long moment before Gajeel trusted his limbs enough to move and when he did it was only to throw the rest of his cigarette into the fire and immediately pull out another one. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, watched as slowly the flames inched lower and lower. He wasn't sure exactly how long he stood there, but it felt an eternity had passed before his heart stopped pounding so ferociously in his ears. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment before pulling away, only just beginning to hear what exactly was happening around him.

Rune Knights were helping wounded prisoners to tables. The casualties were minor, all things considered. There were no broken bones, only scratches and burns from when Hellebore had overtaken the wall, none serious. Serrill was sitting at a table with Ashby, muttering about how he was fine as Ashby fished through the remains of a first-aid kit. Kellen was close by with a couple of his Southern Wolves buddies, although none of them seemed to be engaged in much of anything aside from watching Gajeel approach. All eyes turned to him and he clicked his teeth, wishing more than anything to not be the center of attention.

"Well… that was fun," he muttered, stopping just a few feet away when he noticed the air quickly becoming stiff. The two prisoners with Kellen didn't seem to want to meet his gaze. It took him a moment to think of a possible reason why, "If ya got somethin' ta say, say it now."

All three exchanged glances and not a single one made a sound. Gajeel took the time to really roll his eyes before pulling a deep drag from his cigarette. He wrinkled his nose pretentiously, "Got a problem with 'im thinkin' I'm pretty?"

Kellen made a noise like give it a rest so he snuffed and centered his attention on Serrill, "You saved our asses, Lieutenant."

Serrill shook his head, "It was the least I could do."

To say he looked better was an understatement. His color was returned and his breathing not near as labored as it had been, he was no longer clinging to the coattails of life. It was clear he was still in pain, though, and Gajeel watched him press a hand to his ribs and wince. The hope in his heart sank. Despite Serrill being a higher caliber mage than the rest of the Rune Knights, his eyes were still sunken in with fatigue. Even though their chances were better, they were still very slim.

"It won't last long,"

Gajeel whipped his head around to find himself staring down at Ezal. The calm smile that hadn't left his lips since the moment he'd first stepped forward widened, if just slightly, in what Gajeel could only assume was amusement. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

"What did ya do?" he tried not to growl, truly he did.

"The lung is punctured, although not by much. It was probably the… um… the…" he twisted his wrist as he spoke, gesturing at the air, "Hmm… not knife, ah, point, no… Oh, what's the word?"

"Shiv?" Kellen offered and Ezal snapped his fingers at him.

"There it is, shiv, thank you," he was grinning and Gajeel narrowed his eyes, "Of course, I didn'thave a hollow needle. The good lieutenant's won't be well for long… even less so if he keeps overexerting himself," his eyes jerked to Serrill, "Deep breaths, lieutenant. The point is to keep your lungs as full as possible."

Serrill hesitated but obliged, a grimace turning his face sour as he tried. Ezal chuckled lightly and his smile settled back across his face, wide and crooked. Gajeel itched at his wrist.

"Something the matter?" Ezal's eyes flitted downwards towards the sound and then back up to his face. Gajeel felt anxious again.

"Guess we should think of a plan, eh?" he muttered, glancing back to the wall of flame and watching as more pieces of the ceiling fell with the dying of the fire.

"You can't seriously be thinking about going after him…"

Gajeel's eyes flashed to the source of the objection, his gaze landing lightly on a Phantom Riser. He wasn't a young kid, but he wasn't a seasoned veteran either. Gajeel raised a brow at him.

"You prefer to sit here an' wait ta die?"

"Who says he'll be back before help gets here," a different voice, a prisoner who was sitting on the floor and rubbing a burn on his arm.

"We can't stand a chance against that kind of power," someone else piped up and this time Gajeel didn't have it in him to track down who it was, "he'll burn us alive in seconds."

"We don't have our magic. We can't fight."

Gajeel clicked his teeth, "Since when did ya ever need anythin' but yer bare hands to fight?"

The murmuring quieted.

"Eh? I thought the lot a' ya were mercs?" he challenged, anger bubbling up into his throat, "This really all ya got left? Yer just gonna sit on yer asses and pray he doesn't come back? What tha hell are ya? A bunch a' fuckin' kids?"

Resilient silence settled and no one refused to speak. Gajeel threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under his boot. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle his frazzled nerves. He glared over the men he was surrounded by. Many of them looked away, shame or indignation twisting their faces. He spat on the ground, daring any of them to meet his gaze.

"Well, if ya wanna die like a bunch a' cowards, be my guest. At least I'll die on my feet."

Fearful quiet was all that met him and for an impossibly long moment Gajeel truly believed he was alone. But shakily, Serrill pulled himself to his feet, his blue eyes shivering as he looked down on him, "Major Bishop left me in charge of this prison. I'll be damned if I let my men die while I stand and watch."

"Ya ain't led us astray yet, have ya?" Kellen muttered, crossing his arms as he looked up at him, "What's yer plan?"

"We're outgunned, outmanned…" Gajeel sighed, "But Hellebore's cocky. Bet he'll have everyone out waitin' on us."

"We split into two groups," Serrill stated firmly, "One team heads a rescue mission. The other faces Zahir."

"Kellen, you should take the boys from Phantom Lord. They're the best at gettin' around quiet… Rune Knights and Southern Wolves, come with me."

"Aye, sir,"

"Redfox," Serrill said sternly and Gajeel stiffened, ready to hear some sort of objection, "You survived Zahir's attacks."

"Barely," he admitted through his teeth.

Serrill studied him for a moment, "I'll aid you."

"Aid me?"

"I'm in poor condition to fight… even against unarmed mages I won't last long," he gazed down thoughtfully to his wound before bringing striking eyes back up to red, "But I owe you a debt. If you'll have me, I'll keep you fortified against his fire… for as long as I can."

Gajeel blinked at him slowly, "Thank you."

He turned his back to them, then, and listened to the sound of men getting ready. Kellen was making plans, Serrill laying out the prison for them, pointing to where they'd seen their comrades taken before they'd fled. Gajeel meandered his way back to the burning side of the mess, now only smolders and falling bits of ceiling. As he stood and watched what was left of purple embers smoldering beneath his feet, a hum in the air caught his attention. He tilted his head up to the orange-tinged sky, to the cloudlessness of it. He took in a slow, steady breath and just stood and felt, taking root into the prison and opening his pores to what looked like freedom.

Something rumbled far away.

"Heat lightning… odd for this time of year, isn't it?"

Gajeel cracked open an eye to Ezal, standing still and calm, like a snake sunning in the morning's light. A sure, easy smile played about his lips, a smile that bothered him with its familiarity. His eyes wandered down to the burns that still stung Gajeel's arms.

"Do you think it's Hellebore?" he asked offhandedly.

Gajeel looked back up to the sky and trained his eyes to invisible imperfections somewhere in the distant atmosphere. He could feel it, far away but drawing nearer, an unstoppable tide as it beseeches the moon. He shook his head slowly as thunder made the air around them shiver venomously.

"Not Hellebore, lad, but it'll sure be one helluvah storm…" he took in a deep breath and popped his neck, releasing some tension that had begun to collect between his shoulder blades, "Say, Ezal, how'd ya know how ta fix Serrill?"

"Hm? Oh, I just read it in a book somewhere."

"Ah…" Gajeel said slowly, running his fingers through his hair, "I see."

Gajeel took out a cigarette and with all the patience he didn't have, he lit a match. He took a deep breath, burned his lungs with smoke until he thought he might choke, and then let it all out. Kellen was calling them back and so the man at his side turned and began picking his way back through the rubble.

Gajeel didn't move, though, he was too busy trying to unclench the hand that had just balled into a shaking fist.

His stomach rolled dangerously, iron effervesced up through his throat. He swallowed past the feeling that he was forgetting something, something important. It was something like paranoia, or the feeling you get when you're staring into the black cover of a camera and know someone is staring back at you. It was familiar like the silhouette of someone you knew as they ghosted through a waterfall, beckoning you towards them, I want you. It was wrong and restless; a sudden warping of reality when you realized that the person you knew, that person you'd seen walk the guildhall a hundred times, had seen approach you with grit and glamour and godliness from the other side of a broken cathedral, that had a square to his shoulders you'd never be able to miss for as long as you lived, now stood with hips crossed and arms languid at his sides. It was like seeing something walking upright and you just knew, just knewthat this was a thing that slithered and writhed at people's feet.

Gajeel's knuckles were burning.

Suddenly, he remembered what he'd forgotten.

Ezal didn't know how to read.

Oh, did I send a shiver down your spine?

Well I do it all the time

It's a little trick of mine

Did I make you shake your knees?

Did I make him spill his wine?

Lord, I'm spreading like disease

Lord, I'm all up in your mind

Oh, Lucifer's inside! Lucifer's inside!

Oh, did you hear the rain? Oh the rain?

You can try to run and hide, tearing at the chain.

Means I'm coming home again, means I'm coming home my friend.

Oh, Lucifer's inside! Oh, Lucifer's inside! Oh, Lucifer's inside!

Author's Notes:

Well, I'm sure there were probably a million better ways to execute that than i did haha

Also, Zahir is fun to write. I like flirty villains.

Posted at precisely 11:28 pm so technically! still! posted! on! Monday!

(I'm trying so hard, guys, but I may be getting burnt out.)

Ah well, I hope all you beautiful beans have a marvelous week!