Author's Notes:

Alright kids! Who wants to play around with musical cues? So I'll put the list of songs in order and put an asterisk (*) where you'll want to start the next song. I tried to pick songs you can loop so no matter your reading spead you can still enjoy. The only song with lyrics is the last one to sort of help with that as well. I was really loose with the pacing so let me know what you think. Obviously, this is my first go at this so it may not be the best ever. And of course, if you don't like the music or you think it distracts you too much, feel free to turn it off. You should be able to find them all on YouTube.

Song list is as follows:

1. Haunted Foes (Extended) - Hollow Knight

2. The Troupe Master (Grimm + Nightmare King) - Hollow Knight

3. The Dragon - God Of War Original Soundtrack

4. Taurus Demon - Dark Souls Soundtrack

5. Holding Out For A Hero - Nothing But Thieves

Let me know how you like it! If it's something you're all into I can try to do this again sometime. I probably won't do it for every chapter though because it took so heckin' long to find songs I liked/thought worked. On at least 5 different occasions I told my twin "That's it! I quit!" lol.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! I'll talk to you next update, beautiful beans!

Chapter 71:

White and pale grey walls sprawled out empty and abandoned. Hollow shadows crawled and hungered for the movement of men in their dank bowels and whispered violent memories to the ghosts that remained. A corridor groaned from the agony of fire. Soot stained crumbling walls peppered with cooled drips of satiny iron, hardened mercury the evidence left by death's kiss. Corpses slouched unmoved against walls or huddled with faces slack in tormented scream. Blow flies were beginning their gluttonous rituals of licking flesh and laying eggs, moving, jittering, humming, their work never done. Outside the catacombs, a raven perched atop an incinerator overlooking the scrapyard was startled by a slender fang of lightning that arched across the sky and it took to the storm-laden air with shrill demand. The carcass of the Ember Island Prison block lay with its ribs exposed, a building waiting to finally die, begging for fire to end its misery or water to drown in. The bones were dry and hollow, vacuous and calm, friable to the point of devolving to ash. Somewhere, there was a spider waiting on silk strings to ensnare its next meal, eyeing a moth that was twittering too close, clumsy and blind.

Walking alone amongst the spirits and shades, a man hummed the tune of an ancient refrain. A folk song, maybe, or a lullaby, in a tongue old and forgotten by mankind, twisted in eerie harmony with the howling of the wind, the never-ending drip from water in a flooded cell, and the rumble of distant thunder. The harsh bite of iron and the bitter, flat-tongued lick of cigarette smoke mingled together to form a toxic perfume that soaked frayed, ebony hair and clutched with ashen fingers to coarse cotton fibers. Canines that were too long worried the inside of a cheek. Something feral knocked against the inside of a well-kept iron cell.

I've been waiting patiently…

He gasped because the air around him shook with the sound of a drums echoing through a quiet morning. His song dug fingers beneath his tongue and stuck there, swathed in hot spit and pieces of nails. He tipped his head back and his eyes lulled backwards into his eyelids.

Did you miss me? I missed you…

His feet led him past the Mess Hall and his thoughts shifted to ponder things that it probably shouldn't. He stepped inside. He could feel the emptiness that trembled around him, the silence that stretched into darkness, the starving of it. This was a hungry place, wasn't it? No, it was he who was hungry and unsatisfied. He found himself in the sallow morning light that spilled through the open eves of the roof, again, and he took in a breath that shook his chest in the end. Brilliant streams were blazing through grey clouds and the air concussed with rage. A slow smile bared his teeth at the heavens as his mind dipped and tumbled. Standing alone in the middle of charred ruin, fever was itching at his skin. The drive to run sprung up through his hips and charged his throat with flashes of memory that weren't kind, weren't gentle…

…I feel you… come find me…

An unsure shuffle penetrated through his reverie. He closed his eyes to breathe. His eyelids lit up with the bright flashes of arrows tipped in ardent heat. In the doorway stood a Rune Knight, startled by the Dragon Slayer's focus suddenly directed solely on him. He stomped his foot, hands snapping to his sides and knuckles white.

"We're in position."

"Mmn…?" Gajeel's voice was miles away with his mind, dashing through clouds and diving with rolling thunder, "Well it's about damn time."

The world was hazy. He was standing before the cold metal doors that led to the courtyard. He felt like he was waking up slowly, his body and brain fragmented from each other and only oddities were able to break through the patchwork of his focus; the smell of sweat and burnt things, the growing power of some livid divinity across the horizon, the clinking of metal against metal that could have been chains or his own fingertips. He didn't feel his hands press against the steel, just knew the doors were opening. There were rocks pressing into the soles of his feet and then cool dirt and dry grass. He was alone but there were bodies, close, across the courtyard. A makeshift stage and a man was standing on it. He thought of the scent of lavender or hyacinth until those yellow teeth were gleaming at him. His heart picked up pace.

"You're early."

"Can't let ya kill the Rune Knights," Gajeel growled across the vast space even as his heart closed the distance, running, racing faster. He felt the pressure in his chest swell.

"You're going to stop me?" Violet eyes simmered and glowed with streaks of silver that clamored through the atmosphere, "Darling, you could barely survive me."

"Third time's the charm."

Hellebore chuckled, his eyes lulled up to the sky for just a moment.

"It's a beautiful day for a bloodbath…" Sparks flashed to life in the air around him, thrumming, pulsing in time with glowing veins, a fervid heartbeat. His smile widened, "Dance with me, darling."

(*)

Gajeel's body thrilled like sharks to the smell of blood, like a cry to arms, like a heart as it tumbles from a great height and just before wings would open, "Yer so damn annoying."

Sparks welled into flames. Rockets spiraled at him, and he rushed for them, feinting to the side and careening with the shock of explosion out of the way. Elbows hit the ground and soon followed shoulders, and then knees. He was on his feet in a millisecond, charging forward and bringing with him metal spears and sharp teeth. They collided. Screams rose up through the grounds from the impact of fire and burning metal clashing underneath a brilliant salvo of heat lightning. The entire grounds of the prison sprang to violent life.

As unstoppable force met immoveable object, a shout rang out from the ramparts. The inmates helping Hellebore didn't know that Gajeel hadn't come alone. As they had stood with baited breath to join the fire devil in his ritual annihilation, so many men were creeping through the side halls and awaiting Gajeel's arrival. Now they flooded through the courtyard and tore into the lines that stood behind the fire mage. They clashed with fists and iron bars and pieces of tables they'd torn apart from the Mess. They fought with grit and the will to survive this encounter even if it took nails and teeth to do it. They worked in unison amongst the chaos, pushing back those that had simply stood and accepted Hellebore's command, herding them into tight circles, breaking down shabby defenses. White capes hurled magic and chanted spells to catch and subdue, huddled together behind battlements dressed in orange. Each of them knew they must win because if they didn't it meant the end for them and those they stood with.

At the top of one of the watchtowers, Serrill looked on. Blue eyes centered on the Iron Dragon as he charged out of reach of a wall of flame and when the next hit would have collided with him the lieutenant outstretched his hand. The air fizzled with energy and the brilliant moonlight shine of magic silvered iron scales in instants that could have cost lifetimes. Gajeel held his breath as waves of violet claimed him and sent him tumbling, feet swept from beneath him as he rolled into charred earth. But instead of the flesh-rending lick of savage heat Gajeel felt only comfortably warm flames roaring overhead, down beneath, and all around. He was a devil grinning in hellfire, untouched and unscathed, not burning as he should, and with the last of his reservations quashed beneath the protective magic he dug talons into blackened earth and pushed himself upright, a swell of menace in his chest like the first whisper of a rising windstorm. He glared with red insanity as his skin stayed cold and grey and when Hellebore caught sight of him in the blaze his smile faltered, the grin collapsing into a sudden, striking frown. Royal eyes sparked with slow-burning wrath.

Gajeel raised palms and honed talons skyward and let his hips slide to the side in his newfound confidence, "Surprised?"

Hellebore's eyes shifted around him and he scowled as he searched for Serrill but couldn't find him. A cruel laugh bubbled in the pit of Gajeel's gut and spilled from his lips in near-mania. He smiled widely until he was all gleaming canines and malice. His heart shuddered in ecstasy and he felt lawless, unchained, invincible. He surged forward with spear-tips and lances. Flashes of light dazzled off the surface of metal that sprouted from the ground at Gajeel's feet and flew with him as he drove for Hellebore's chest. At the last moment, the pale man's attention snapped to him and he retreated with light steps backwards. Serrated blades sliced his sides and grazed his cheek. He reeled back from it, eyes wide as shimmering blood slipped down his face in heavy teardrops. Claws slashed at his throat and Hellebore barely had time to bring his arm up to block the hit, infuriated dismay written in the raise of his brows and the hot smoke that poured through his teeth.

"Don't take yer eyes from me," Gajeel sneered and thrusted Hellebore's arm to the side, driving his shoulder into him and forcing him to stumble back further.

An enraged scream caught in Hellebore's throat and he arched his back, fire springing up from the ground around him as he summoned his power, "I will make youregret that!"

An inferno erupted around them and blazed into the heavens. The whirlwind of it pitched Gajeel and nearly tore his footing from beneath him. He could feel his body heating and his skin began to crawl. Tiny pinpricks of excitement skittered through his flesh and he threw himself through the torrent. Tempest bubbled up his throat, his jaw, and despite the swirling purples and blues his vision was edging with red. Through the tumbling and roiling flames, he could see Hellebore's shadow as it danced and swirled through the waves. He set his feet firmly in desolate ground and heaved up energy from the bottom of his belly, sucked in a deep breath of searing flame and flooded his every vessel with the frantic, primal surge of magic his body called to. The magic of dragons, the call of ancient wilds and uncontrolled fury, made the air sing with the shrill of his roaring furor.

Iron rived through the earth and dashed apart the flames. Silvery shrapnel tore and ravaged everything in its path, friend and foe alike. Anything in its wake was shredded and mutilated. Blood splattered to the ground and the air teemed with cries of torment and agony. As the last of his power ripped through him, Gajeel licked his lips and took in a breathy growl. His chest heaved and his legs felt weak. It had been ages since he'd expended so much raw energy and his body was wrecked from it. His eyes centered on the figure laying on the ground, purple flames scattered about him as if he'd tried to summon a shield and it had shattered in the Slayer's wake.

Hellebore drew in a long deep breath and belched sparks from his mouth and nose. He swept up from the ground a grave-cursed wraith, fingers tipped with death and clothes shorn. Gajeel gritted his teeth as where there once was a porcelain face now was exposed on his left side just churning purple fire and a radiant, violet eye. Where the iron had shorn bits and pieces of his flesh from his body, there fire remained and his essence spilled in molten plasma down his throat and chest, soaking and immediately catching fire the ground. When he bared his teeth, Gajeel could see the flames in his mouth. The long tresses that framed his face ignited and swirled above his head and as fire seared up his arms and jaw Gajeel could also see what looked to be a spaded tail. He moved with languid ease that betrayed to Gajeel just how little he had truly done. Feet planted themselves lithely, and the half of his face that could smile, did. Slender tendrils of black smoke curled from his nostrils along with a breathy laugh.

"Is that the best you can do?" he mocked before fire sprang from his heels and he rocketed forward. A flat palm slammed into Gajeel's sternum and he retreated from the searing pain that lanced through his chest despite Serrill's spell. Two bursts and then a ring of fire swathed his body in warmth. He dodged back on heavy steps and a firm stance, arms raised to push each assault aside and keep his eyes and face from the blasts. With a turn of the wind, Hellebore was spinning long scythes of flame around and around, slicing against Gajeel's shields but he threw himself through the pain. Molars gnashed and fists clenched, he rolled with the waves of flame desperate to find a rhythm, an opening. He was forced on his heels, knocked sideways and backwards as if he were no more than a tin can but stillthe rage in his chest boiled until he found it.

All it takes is one mistake to spell the end of a powerful mage and Gajeel took his chance without hesitation. Hellebore flipped his wrist as he summoned hungry whips of dazzling flames, delighted in his own theatrics, his Waltz To The Death. Gajeel took the blow to his hip and nearly faltered at the shattering pain that ricocheted through his bones. Oh!but it was worth the sacrifice to drive a blade through Hellebore's arm. The man screeched and Gajeel bared his teeth as that damnable ichor leeched through his armor, liquescent fire diffusing into his very defense as he forced his arm deeper, deeperuntil his double-edge blade carved through sinew and muscle and finally forced through pale flesh once again. Hellebore was scrabbling for him with his free hand, claws digging into his wrist even as sparkling tears came to his eyes. Gajeelwrenchedwith everything in his being and finally snapped through bone.

Suddenly, there was only the unyielding horror of swirling flame and Gajeel was tumbling through it because it was hopelessly, dreadfully hotter than before, than in his cell, than when Hellebore had forced him down and filled his lungs, than anything he could ever hope to dream of, even in hell. He was locked in the eternal rage of it, the indelible torridness, somehow burning and drowning in it all at once. He crashed into the ground, suffocated, the air stolen from his lungs by the fitful, manic inferno. He couldn't breathe and his body was sparking like kindling. He curled in the wake of it, unable to scream or cry or beg for mercy through the pain that forced its way through him, unrelenting and single-minded in its intent to turn him to nothing but dust until it just ended.

Gajeel gasped and forced open his eyes. He could barely pull in air as he watched the heat shivering from his flesh, red-hot in most places and white on his arms, his hands. He sank his talons into the ground and they hardly obeyed him, malleable and heavy and hot,everything washot. Gajeel couldn't understand why the fire had stopped until a hand was slamming into his chest and hauling him from the ground like so many sticks bundled together, kindling doused in kerosene. Those incandescent eyes, one encased in blazing fire and the other glistening with that same ichor, were glaring down into him and smoke fell in waves into his face and nose, burned him in a different way, and Gajeel could do little more than snarl in defense, bare his teeth and say at least I can still bite.

"You…!" he seethed and the air was wretched with his ire as whatever he was made of stoked into a blazing pyre. Gajeel could hear crackling and as Hellebore raised what was left of his shattered arm he saw fire converge and swell. Amethyst broke through the exposed bone and grew into something black as burnt-out coals. His arm had somehow grown anew and looked like stone creased with that same violet radiance, like the breaking of the surface of the earth to expose lava beneath, "I will kill you!"

He struggled and thrashed but somehow Hellebore didn't release him. That deadly scorched hand drew back and Gajeel saw lethal purpose betwixt the mania of those swirling eyes. For the first time, Gajeel could hear the screams of the men around them, smell beneath the heat-cracked dirt and taste despair on the tip of his tongue. They were losing. Across the courtyard bodies littered the grounds, orange jumpsuits and white uniforms alike. Gajeel couldn't even tell if they were alive or dead because the air was shivering with Hellebore's incalescence.

There was an explosion of silver as Hellebore plunged his hand forward. Pallid blue sparks and a vibrant magic circle appeared in a desperate attempt to stop the raging demon from tearing out his heart. Violet flames rushed out over his skin, slithered up his throat and he writhed for freedom to no avail. The blue intensified, actively fighting to thwart Hellebore even as he bared his teeth and pushed against it, claws breaking slowly through runes and forcing past the protective barrier. Gajeel cast his eyes to Serrill, could see the distress on his face even from where he stood, the red slithering from his nose as his body fought him. And how could Gajeel express that he needed to stop? He was going to kill himself? And for what, this futile effort?

(*)

But suddenly there was a noise Gajeel couldn't quite process and the heat ceased. Hellebore's eyes were wide and the fire on his fingers vanished. Slowly, Gajeel began to recognize the noise as something he was far too familiar with. A blade was slicing through flesh, nicking bone, and that ichor slipped past the corner of Hellebore's mouth. The blade broke through his ribs and Gajeel felt it sinking into his heated core, painful but not insistent, and then as suddenly as it appeared it vanished. In the second it took Hellebore to release him, a black hand slammed him back, a palm rushed forward into his chest, and the man was cartwheeling through the air and smashing into side of the prison with enough force shatter the wall. Gajeel was on his knees, gasping for air and staring at the tip of a blade resting just inches from his face. Slowly, he drew his eyes up to a figure dressed in black with wild, yellow eyes and rigid, furious scowl. Gajeel could feel something far beyond just the man standing in front of him, the feeling of something ancient and familiar, like the swell of Dragon's strength when Gajeel's limit was reached. The Major was bristling before him with a look that made Gajeel think he'd trust his blade through the few inches between them and execute him where he sat. But when he leaned forward, the blade lilted to the side and a gloved hand jutted down at him.

He stared at it for a moment, then up at the Major, and took it. Something raw flooded into him from the touch, something barely contained and filled with the taste of hot red. Wrath, the kind that surpassed passion, that was inscribed in ancient texts as a sacred sin, a deadly sin, one that can only be used for destruction. Gajeel's ears rang with it and Major Bishop was staring into him with purpose, instilling into him that same feeling until Gajeel could feel it making his blood boil. His already shaking breath hitched and he clenched his teeth at the blindness that seeped into him, took hold of his chest, surged through his veins with each frantic beat of his heart. Bloodlust.

"Give me your fire."

How? How did Gajeel hear the words twisting into his mind in a thousand different voices? The Major's lips hadn't even moved. And there was something twisting around them, large feet tilling dirt, something wicked and strong that called to that same thing within himself. Gajeel's own power unfurled; two massive wings cutting open a proverbial sky. Iron claws and sword-tip teeth. They were circling around each other, this rage, this passion, like a lion and a tiger staring each other down, two things similar and dissimilar, and furiously sharing this knowledge that if they were to get what they wanted they had no choice but to work together. Two ancient beasts in sun-scorched ground turned with eyes impossibly inhuman, strength foreign and timeless filling the air with a primal sense that anything near must runor be utterly destroyed, devoured, and lost to time.

Hellebore stood with a growl, a demon before a dragon and a godling.

"Give me your fire,"those words weren't Draconic but some abomination of that ageless language and somehow Gajeel understood it. Because it was similar and dissimilar. Because it was something that wasn't a dragon but definitely wasn't human, something caught in the middle, something other. And as a tiger hearing for the first time lionspeech, Gajeel found himself responding in his own, unchanging bloodlanguage and sealing this strange and primeval spoken contract.

"Beyond the skies we rise."

Fire blazed through the air and both moved in tandem. Gajeel surged forward and withstood the flames as the Major came behind him. He was before Hellebore in a flash, sword lashing for his chest but Hellebore was prepared. He dodged back, hips twisting as a ring of flame seared forward to propel Major Bishop backwards. But as he retreated, Gajeel came forward with claws raking across his chest and Hellebore hissed as he knocked Gajeel's hand away. He wasn't able to attempt an attack as again the Major was aiming precision-sharp slashes for him. Gajeel could hear the ring of his blade as it sliced through the air and careless fire stung at his flesh in pitiful chances to keep footing.

Hellebore's eyes were wide and his sneer twisted into an anxious grimace. He wasn't sure he couldn't win against them both, and it was that insecurity that Gajeel latched onto. As Major Bishop charged so did he, and Hellebore let loose a snarl as he dashed back and spun, releasing from his hips and legs a defensive wall to keep them both away. But the hasty flame wasn't hot like every other time, merely a deterrent, and both Major and Slayer dashed through the spiraling violet with barely a singe to their clothing. Iron pillars and tempered steel flashed in unison and Hellebore was knocked back, barely dodging a downward strike that would have struck through his heart. His footing became more rigid, his magic swelled. Gajeel could feel the scourge long before pale fingers danced with sordid flame. The energy that connected him to the Major trembled with feeling and both men rushed backwards, Major Bishop shadowing Gajeel's movements as he bared his teeth to the wall of fire.

"Give up Hellebore!" Gajeel growled, feet wide and arms up in defense. He could feel the Major at his back, their powers writhing and mixing, fervent wrath and the will to survive a deadly combination, "You can't win this fight!"

Hellebore huffed, his lungs heaving with the effort he'd expended. One arm was encircled in flame and the other slowly stoking back to life, those glittering veins working and keeping whatever his form was made of together. His eyes were wild and they switched between the two men before him, violent and feverish. His nostrils flared.

(*)

"I can't win?" he panted, smoke swirling from his mouth and nose, "I can't win?! I'll show you…!"

Hellebore's body twisted and sparks ignited the air around him. He moved his hands in tandem with his body, coaxing out a brilliantly white fire, tendrils ringed around him over and over, and Gajeel clenched his fists, ready to break through its line. But as the writhing and snaking flame swelled and surged, lightning struck the watchtower. The air was suddenly awash in a stampede of thunder that shook the air and ground around them. Furious eyes dashed for just a moment to where the brilliant blast had struck and suddenly his eyes widened.

Gajeel turned, "Serrill!"

The whip of fire struck faster than a viper's bite. Serrill screamed out and fell, clutching at his chest, and tendrils of smoke slipped out through his fingers. He disappeared behind the rampart and Gajeel's heart seized in his chest before fire was blazing for him, drowning the worry he had for the Lieutenant with his own desire to make it out of this alive. The silver tone to his scales dissipated and instead of calm warmth the blast scalded him and he lurched back out of its reach. The Major was at his side, blade poised up at his cheek, ready to run or dodge at a moment's notice. Hellebore's form shuttered, the fire in his face sputtered and grew. Pieces of his face burned and he choked on the smoke that spilled from his lungs.

"What are you going to do, hmm? Now that I can melt you just like everybody else?"

His fire rose and Gajeel noticed his blackened arm was beginning to fleck off ashes. He raised his arms above his head and the tendrils around him flashed out in brilliant explosion. The shockwave slammed into them and tossed them back into the dirt. Another wave of fire sent Gajeel head over heels, spiraling off into and barely landing on his hands and knees. He felt the invasion in his space and instinctively dodged as Hellebore's heel appeared where he'd been just seconds prior, bringing with it more of his voracious fire. He swept his hands forward and pushed deep purple fire at him. Gajeel growled because he couldn't dodge it and pain licked up his arms and torso, and then again, again, as Hellebore rained down on him wave after wave of that insatiable heat.

Gajeel wasn't just on the defensive, he could barely keep up. Hit after hit he was stumbling, barely able to dodge, to keep up, and then another shockwave was unleashed and he was sent careening to the ground, rolling through dust, and finally stopped by another body on the ground. He coughed and groaned, his ears ringing and his stomach pitched. With shaky hands he pushed himself up, his eyes falling on what remained of an inmate, one of the Southern Wolves, a friend of Kellen's, eyes staring blankly over at him and blood trickling from his mouth.

"Shit…" he breathed.

"Or-! Da-! M-Major!"

Gajeel snapped his attention to Ezal who's eyes were wide as he was reaching, arm outstretched but unable to move from where he was on the ground. Gajeel cast his gaze around, wildly searching for the Major until he caught sight of him. His sabre had been lost in the dirt, his arms held up in defense from flames that had just blazed past him. He ducked from the strike of Hellebore's whip, moving swiftly, never standing still, and Hellebore was raging. Gajeel knew well the power that teemed up from the ground around Hellebore, the purple flames that rocketed forward around him in a roaring inferno.

Gajeel didn't know where he pulled the energy from, weakened and battered and barely able to stand, he was suddenly flying across the courtyard, pillars upspringing from the ground before the Major as the first of the flames roared forward. Gajeel gripped onto his arm and their connection became ever deeper. Yellow eyes were widened in understanding and near terror. Gajeel swept the man up in his arms and tucked his head down as the blistering flare doused them in red rage. The brunt of it knocked them down and Gajeel trapped the Major between him and the ground, squeezed his eyes shut at the pain that ripped up his spine and flayed his arms. The heat intensified and Gajeel was overwhelmed. His flesh began to incinerate, the metal of his scales brilliant and blazing in his conflagration. His muscles began to shake in the wake of the firestorm, his heart shuttered. Faintly, at the edge of his consciousness he could feel the Major exerting some kind of energy, alien and desperate, as he pressed his face into Gajeel's chest so as not to breathe in the violating heat. The energy reacted with his magic, pushing him to endure, begging his strength not to give out. Through the roaring of the fire, Gajeel stifled a whine, pressing his fists into the dirt, hanging onto the memory of searing pain from when he'd been trapped in his cell... praying, praying that he could last just a few seconds longer...

...suddenly, the fires stopped.

(*)

The ground was on fire around them. Every place on him that had been exposed to the flame sweltered and burned. Chest heaving, his scales disintegrated, and Gajeel found himself looking down into vivid slitted eyes. Despite his resilience, despite the fight in his spirit, the morbid realization was welling up like floodwaters to those trapped beneath the current. Gajeel's strength was spent.

The Major was horridly still as hands reached down and gripped onto the black cloth of his shirt. Ezal, or what was pretending to be Ezal, was dragging Major Bishop away even as he opened a hand towards him. Gajeel's eyes fluttered shut as he severed the connection between them, his magic evaporating like so much sprinkled water on the everlasting blaze of a wildfire. He glanced over his shoulder at Hellebore whose fire was now uncontrolled and fitful, exploding in large tendrils as he erupted at Gajeel's fruitless sacrifice. A massive, violet magic circle scalded runes into the charbroiled earth. He couldn't hear the words Hellebore was saying, just feel the merciless intent. Gajeel wiped at something from his nose, blood, and watched with cold detachment as fire began to swirl around him. He found himself staring down at his hands, at the ring on his finger. Briefly, he turned his eyes to the storm-dark sky.

We said whatever the odds… I'm so sorry.

The ruthless, unforgiving fire came and Gajeel closed his eyes.