Chapter 75:

"Yes, sir. I understand. No, that's not-… yes."

The clacking of boot heels echoed harshly against the walls of the skeletal dining room as Davian paced. They'd just been consumed by the shadow of the old manor when his receiver had gone off, shocking Laxus with the harsh peel of sound he wasn't accustomed to hearing. He wasn't sure who the Colonel was, but he was more than a little upset about some request Davian had submitted, yelling loud enough that Laxus could hear the bite of it even as he tried to pull up his headphones and be respectful of the Major's privacy. If he'd ever thought of becoming a Rune Knight before, he certainly abandoned the idea after listening to Davian have his pedigree read for the last half our whilst making half-finished defenses of his actions. Not even defenses, in most cases. He was more or less just trying to diffuse the person on the other line at this point.

"I hardly see how… it's not an out of line… Colonel."

Laxus caught Davian's eyes from where he reclined in one of the hand-carved, heavy wooden chairs. He raised his brows at the Major and glanced to the trek he'd made down the table, silently saying can you stop. The only response Davian seemed capable of giving was a widening of his eyes and a brisk turn on his heel, a forced calm to his voice even as his irises flushed with the same color that danced in the chandelier overhead.

"If we are going to continueto house a Class S criminal, certain alterations need to be made. If we have to rebuild the cellblock anyway, why notbring it to a higher-? …well of course but the expense is… I understand, sir, but the difference in cost would be… yes, sir I-…" Davian clenched his jaw, "That point is moot."

Laxus folded his arms and stared at the wall, trying to make himself content in tracing the repeating, golden designs of broken sunflowers and fluted tulips. He always hated this kind of wallpaper as a child, not that he often saw it – this sort of linked pattern on royal, wine-red color went out of fashion millennia ago. But on the rare occasion he did, he always found himself picking out faces in the interweaving leaves and twisting vines. It left him feeling like he was being watched. In the dimmed light of the chandelier and staring for far too long, the shapes almost seemed to twitch and writhe as if vapors of heat were gliding over them. Laxus blinked and they stopped.

"I'll have it in writing before the end of the week. Good evening, sir."

"Who the hell was that?"

"My commanding officer," Davian exhaled heavily and crossed his arms across the back of a chair opposite him, slumping over it like a tired macaw with oversharp talons.

"Why was he so pissed?"

"So, so many reasons…" he hissed as he leaned and the artisanal wood agonized beneath his weight. Sharp nails tapped, "We have to rebuild a large portion of cellblocks. This prison is simply not equipped to handle the caliber of mage Zahir is. Not to mention, the collar system is already an antiquated way of controlling inmates. They're inefficient, require a great deal of maintenance, and prisoners are more often than not hospitalized because of them. My suggestion was to update our current system, especially since the likelihood of the Colonel extending the manpower it would take to transport Zahir to another facility is slim. We can't just keep the man drugged his entire prison sentence. Not only is it expensive, it's incredibly inhumane."

"Inhumane?" Laxus scoffed, "Thought you didn't care about treating criminals inhumanely."

Davian went rigid and flashed him a look of contempt, "Yes, well… think of the lawsuit."

Laxus leaned into the palm of his hand, giving Davian a suspicious glare, "You were going to let me kill him."

Davian's lips twisted and there was a strange glint to his eyes, "For fear of being presumptuous…" Laxus snorted, "…I might have assumed you weren't opposed to that idea."

"To murder? You thought I'd be fine with murder?"

"He nearly killed the man you're in love with… and laughed about it."

"If I could count the times…" Laxus huffed, quickly giving up on the idea of explaining to Davian just how often people had tried to kill Gajeel or himself in the past, "What, so if I went after Irena you'd murder me?"

"Without question," yellow eyes snapped up to him then, although his voice sounded impassive, "it's strange to me you wouldn't feel the same way."

Laxus clicked his teeth, "He didn't kill Gajeel. He didn't deserve to die."

"As you say," Davian hummed dismissively, "but given the chance, he will try again. So, you've released one who you know would commit such an atrocity when given the chance. Does that not make your inaction, then, atrocitous?"

"Do you mean atrocious?" Davian waved his hand dismissively, "I didn't release Zahir. He's in prison."

"Correct… he's been contained as much as a fire can be in a wooden tinderbox. But eventually he will find himself free again and when he does, do you think he'll remember fondly the man who spared his life? Turn his life around? Become a better person?"

"I've seen it happen."

"You've seen the exception, not the rule." Davian was staring into him fiercely, his eyes cut in half by his glasses, reptilian yellow on top and shifting blue beneath.

"Alright, Major, say anyone who's ever killed someone deserves to die… doesn't that include you?"

"No."

"No?"

"The people I have killed, I've done so for a purpose… and I certainly didn't do it to chase some forbidden or profane thrill. If I kill a murderer, I do so within the boundaries of the law. The only crime I'm truly guilty of is not following the correct channels… a low-grade offense, if any."

"And what about when Father asks it? You can't tell me he works within the law."

The response sounded rehearsed, but not in a way that made Laxus think Davian had spoken the phrase aloud before. It was like a mantra, a practiced thing he used to justify his own actions to himself. Laxus didn't miss how his eyes glittered darkly as he spoke and how Davian suddenly didn't seem able to keep his gaze any longer, "What Father asks of me is in accordance to a divine purpose."

"You don't really believe that," Laxus watched Davian closely, interested with how he had taken to picking at the hem of his glove, rolling between his fingers a strand that had been tugged loose, "Absolute good can be just as terrible as absolute evil, Davian."

"Yes, well, we could discuss morality and ethics for hours but that will not bring this conversation to a suitable end, will it?" he caught the string against his finger, twirled it and snapped the loose end off, "Do you have your questions?"

"Sure," Laxus sneered, crossing his arms, "Do I have to make you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you god?"

Davian smirked, his voice taking a slick and cruel edge, "You'll just have to trust me."

"You gave me your word."

"I did."

Laxus narrowed his eyes, "Fine. First question-"

"Second question," Davian corrected smoothly. Laxus rolled his eyes.

"Second question: who is Father?"

"You know who Father is."

"No, I mean who is he. What's his name? Where does he come from?" Laxus huffed, already becoming impatient.

"Oh…" Davian hesitated, glancing to the side, "That's a little more complicated."

Laxus glared at him, "Davian…"

"Well, the short answer is I don't know."

Laxus scowled, "I don't believe that."

Davian raised his hands defensively, "There are rumors, but no one knows for sure. What we know is that It is very, very old. No one has ever seenIt, no one has ever heard Its real voice…" he paused, "…or at least if they did they didn't survive the experience."

Laxus looked at him, reallylooked at him, felt his presence and gaged his expression. To his dismay, Davian didn't seem to be lying. What he didseem, though, was thoughtful, like he could go on but would rather stay silent. In Laxus's recent experience, Davian being thoughtful wasn't a good thing.

"Who do you think he is?" he prompted and Davian wrinkled his nose.

"Is that another question?"

"Davian…"

"I'm just letting you know your tally…" he sighed, tapping one of his fingers against the back of the chair in a gesture that was meant to look irritated but struck Laxus as being nervous, "I've done, well, I spent some time…" he gathered his thoughts for a moment, noticed his own fidgeting and then quickly ended it, "When I was studying for the path Father had chosen for me, I had spent a lot of time in our Archives. There's not much but what there is of official record says Father was inducted into the council and was given the title of Aurincarae… ah, um… you don't have a word… Golden Flesh or more of Gold Incarnate? At-at any rate, a title that means It is an avatar of Oros."

"You're an avatar of Oros," Laxus muttered, "…right?"

"Well, technically, yes but not nearly as, um, well… anyway, that is an incredibly high honor. And the Council didn't give that title frivolously, you had to be born of a certain clan. See, there were four major clans, once, back during the time of the dragons. One clan specifically was… they were, well, quite um… they didn't… as it were…"

Davian trailed off, his eyes unfocussed and lilting to gaze over Laxus's shoulder.

"One clan?" Laxus prompted. Davian shook his head slowly, head drifting first to the left and then sluggishly, mechanically to the right, his lips twitching slightly as if he were about to speak but no noise was able to make it past his tongue. Laxus felt sort of heavy as he watched him, as if the room were filled with water and he'd sunk to the bottom of it, the pressure forcing his bones closer together. The empty space left by the absence of voice was oppressive and dense, like the sort of wet snow that settles in clumps and weighs down tree limbs until they bow and snap. Laxus didn't want to break it. He felt like a child playing with hexes just to see if they worked, and a feeling of dread tugged at his conscious like the fear getting caught.

"…humans always seek to destroy that which they do not understand…"

"What was that?" Laxus prompted, feeling suddenly very lethargic, as if he'd woken from a deep sleep.

"Oh, I was just… well, you'd asked…?"

Laxus frowned. What had he just asked? He couldn't actually remember, "It had something to do with Father… being old…?"

"Oh, yes, I… ah… number…" Davian's accent was thick. His tongue flickered out as if he were tasting the air. It was a long, languid movement, "T'sssnot three… bigger."

"Decades?"

"Mm… bigger."

"Millennia?" Laxus tried again, "Hundreds? Three hundred?" Davian blinked for a moment and then nodded, "Father is three hundredyears old?"

"Or older. Probably older, I think."

"How?" Laxus demanded. His heart was beating harder and he wasn't sure why.

"That's four… you're fourth…" Davian averted his gaze, furrowing his brow again, "Well, um… I think… ah…"

"Don't you know?" Laxus asked and Davian's eyes focused on him. The open, black space of his pupils were wide, nearly swallowing his irises, leaving only a subtle yellow ring like the light that breeches the shadow of the moon in a solar eclipse. His form looked fuzzy. Davian was frowning.

"I do, yes… I… Homagemolé…" he was tapping his fingers again. Laxus narrowed his eyes because he couldn't understand what Davian was saying. But he was saying something and Laxus recognized that he should understand and that it was odd he didn't. The consonants were familiar, the harsh, open-mouthed sounds that brought sharp teeth to mind. It reminded him of the night Gajeel had told him about constellations and the lullaby his father used to sing. It reminded him of Gajeel's accent when he was angry, white incisors, sneers, long scaled snouts and rows of teeth.

Laxus realized he didn't understand what Davian was saying because Davian was speaking rapidly in a foreign language. His eyes widened and his heart seized.

"Davian!" he snapped and Davian suddenly went quiet.

"What? I'm sorry. Was I rambling?"

"Say it again,"

"What?"

"Say it again!" Laxus growled and Davian's eyes widened.

"I… I said…" he paused, eyes searching, "What was I saying?"

"Davian! Why is Father so old?" he was getting angry and static was dancing across his hands. Why was he so angry? Why did he feel like he was getting nowhere?

"Ritual, of course," Davian snapped back, "A blessing from our god for being a good servant."

"What kind of ritual?" Laxus demanded, grinding his teeth. Why was he so fixated on this? What did it matter what kind of ritual? He should ask something else.

"Well… there is a fast and a time of prayer, incense is burned before a sacrifice is made… a sacrifice of…" his voice trailed off. His eyes were staring into the distance above Laxus's shoulder, the horizon that existed there, the forever, the shadow standing right behind him.

"Sacrifice?" Laxus scowled. His mind felt fogged and disjointed, as if his thoughts were suspended in water and he was reaching blindly, searching for them in darkness, unable to discern up from down, "Human sacrifice?"

"Six."

"Davian!"

"I don't know for certain!" he defended, baring his teeth ever so as he leaned back almost as if he were worried the blonde would lash out at him, "I've had these dreams… I just don't know exactly what the ritual is."

"Dreams, Davian?" Laxus scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring up at him, "You're fucking kidding me. You don't know who your own dad is and what you do know, you got fromdreams? What's next? A gut feeling?"

"I know who my Father is, I've spoken to It!" he hissed, his tongue snapping out sharply.

"It? It! Why in the hell do you call him It?" Laxus demanded, standing although he didn't remember ever getting out of his chair. He was angry, borderline furious, and he was sinking in water again. Standing made him feel light and heavy all at once. He was glaring straight into Davian's eyes, the yellow O's of them, their perfect circles, snake's eyes.

"Because that's…!" the shadows of the room were thick and steeped in a feeling that there are some things which shouldn't be discussed, shouldn't even be whispered. The light of the chandelier was faint, fighting like mad against the darkness that folded inwards like the wings of a magnificent bird, black as pearl and brimming with dread. The wood was groaning but Laxus had a hard time telling what wood. Was the it the chair beneath Davian or was it the floor? Did the noise come from the hall? A door opening somewhere in the house and swinging lazily shut? Didn't the grand entrance doors sound this way? The ancient, sandstone grind of elder trees felled for human purpose, moaning at this indignity, at being leaned on and stood on and opened. His bran scattered against trees, old and groping branches, long, spider fingers clawing at hair and clothes. Spiders like cave spiders, cave spiders that didn't look like spiders but had long black claws and he'd never been afraid of spiders until he'd seen them on a corpse. Do spiders eat meat? Bluebottles eat meat and butterflies drink blood so why wouldn't spiders eat meat? But didn't spiders drink out the insides of insects? So maybe not meat, maybe they drank blood the same way vampires do, the same way butterflies do. They were neater about it. Gentler. One bite-sting and that's all. They didn't nibble with thousands of teeth, impossible amounts of teeth, teeth more than stars and sand combined, burrowing into flesh the way moles do to hillsides, building homes in skin and muscle and sinew and meat. They drink the blood because it's easier going down, you can pretend it's something else, a hot-drink-soup, broth boiled and hardy, warm with steam seeping into cool air, exposed and raw and bloody. Blood like sweet, red wine that stains satin droplets into skin. Blood that Laxus could touch, dip his fingertips into, warm and slick and thick and he could submerge his hands into it or drown. Gallons of it in drums, golden bowls, river trails streaking down dark cheeks, aged wine turning fetid and brown. Blood in wide open eyes, eye sockets, empty and pitch black that he'd stared into while Davian knelt next to him and the spiders and bugs and a circle that stretched out gold in all directions when Davian had invoked it. Gold like scars, gold like a blade, gold like rings around black pupils staring down at him from where he stood as the floor groaned beneath him because the weight was too much for it to hold and Laxus felt like he was floating and falling and swimming in the black of pupils that were wide and ringed and staring down at him, growing tall, taller, nearly ceiling-high and old, ancient, a being that exists outside time, transcendent, other, It…

Desolate and absolute silence slipped into the bones of the manor. The walls and everything in its marrow agonized in the expanding of lungs. It breathed in.

Laxus was sitting in his seat. He could hear the cross sounds of a pen scratching against paper severe lines in black ink. He blinked a few times, trying to focus his eyes. Davian had his glasses sitting low on his nose as he wrote, a small hand-bound book sitting open beside him. He was writing quickly in slanted and blade-sharp characters that Laxus recognized but couldn't read. He was certain, though, if Davian read it out loud he'd know already something similar but he wasn't sure how he knew that. He glanced at the windows and realized the sun was setting. He didn't remember getting home. He didn't remember walking to the dining room. He didn't remember sitting in the chair across from Davian.

The sound of writing stopped, "Oh, you're awake. Good."

Laxus glanced over at him. His gloves were off. His nails were pointed.

"You had questions for me?"

Something lead and toxic sank in Laxus's stomach. His heart started beating harder, "Yeah… I…" he rubbed at his temple, "How many questions did I have?"

"Oh, um… ah… I don't, I don't recall."

"I haven't asked any yet," Laxus stated it but he felt unsure.

"Right, of course… aside from asking me why I didn't have a tail," Davian's lip twitched. Laxus was sure he was trying to smirk.

"Right… so nine."

"That's correct."

Laxus furrowed his brow, "I think… I think I'm too tired."

"Oh," Davian seemed surprised, "Oh, well, maybe you should rest?"

"Yeah… It's been a hell of a couple days."

"Of course…" he stared down at what he was writing for a moment before starting, snapping his eyes back up to look at him, "Oh, well, I actually still needed to pray for guidance. Do you mind waiting until I'm done with that?"

"Yeah, I guess. How long will that take?"

"Not more than an hour, I should think… actually, I should start getting ready now, I suppose."

"Oh… and I can't go to bed, why?" Laxus quirked a brow at him.

"Well, it's… you should be some distance from me. It can have some effects on others who aren't a part of the ritual. It's sort of hard to explain, really…"

"Try me," Laxus leaned back in his chair. The wood creaked beneath him, a quiet noise.

"Well… imagine drinking an entire bar all at once and trying to pick out the merlot," Davian smirked, "You can imagine with such a quantity bystanders could get splashed."

"Sounds like a party,"

"Only in the worst possible way," Davian stood and began gathering his things. Laxus didn't stop him. He felt incredibly tired, as if he'd been through some great ordeal… he supposed he had. He'd exposed his insides to Davian earlier that day, hadn't he? Opening old wounds could take it out of someone.

He sat in the dining room for a while after Davian had left, listened to his boots as he walked through the massive, empty house. He stared at the wallpaper, the gold arrangements on rich and vibrant red. Gold and red. Vines curled and turned into stems which turned into tulips that bowed and drooped downwards, one the mirror of the other, and an upturned sunflower halved in the middle with petals spiking around it like a mouth surrounded by teeth. The petals and leaves twitched and Laxus could pick out a face glaring at him in the wall, tens of faces in a repeating pattern on fifteen-foot walls converging on arched ceilings. Fabricated eyes watched, teeth hungered, flora writhed and jumped. He blinked and they were still, the faces gone. Laxus decided to wait on the back patio for Davian to finish his ritual.

He woke up several times throughout the night, each time turning his fingers through the vaporous remains of a dream. An altar and a body lying cracked open, ribs exposed and the room beating like a heart. A figure stood in the corner of his room, the image ever-changing and undecipherable, like trying to capture the shape of water in jar made of fogged glass. It was standing and it was staring and it was waiting. There were no eyes but Laxus knew it was watching him, two fathomless black holes pulled at his light, his life, his soul. To Laxus's utter horror, it would smile and he couldn't see the smile but he could feel teeth, a multitudinous amount of teeth, and he could hear screaming from that mouth and those teeth, hundreds and thousands of voices all in a language he couldn't understand. They chanted something over and over again, getting louder, crowding in on him, pulling at his bedsheets and his hair and his clothes, crawling onto the bed, digging into his skin, burrowing, writhing, dragging him towards those eyes, to the altar where the body lay.

Laxus woke up with ice in his veins and words on his tongue.

You are not enough.

Oh, you fool, there are rules, I am coming for you

You can run but you can't escape

Darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins

You will open the yawning grave