Chapter 76:

There is little worse than waking up to the awareness of silence: the slow waking, the feeling that something is missing but you can't place it. Vacancy that is palpable, visceral enough that it defies its own meaning and is somehow filled with a dreadful amount of nothing. Laxus felt the sticky warmth of quiet that filled a gaping mouth, the vacuous space that exists between two points that can never touch, and it made his skin feel clammy as he stuck to sheets that weren't his. He was dazed when he woke up, but not in the way he was used to. The morning after his annihilation of Zahir he'd felt hollow and tired. Today he felt humid and dark, stuck to the underside of drywall and growing swollen with moisture. The hair on the back of his neck was slick and it made him itch.

The thick curtains that had kept his room shrouded were drawn back and tied neatly, letting the golden light of the sun fall across the side of his face. He squinted at it, glaring at the blue, cloudless day that awaited him, and realized he'd slept in. Worse than that, someone had been in his room, moved and molested the space, and he'd not been roused. He glanced to the corners of the room, to the shadows that dodged just out of reach of the morning's rays, searching for far too long a figure he knew wouldn't be there. The large silence of the house weighted him down as he watched. He could almost hear the floorboards in their immobility, the stagnant air that hung like loose smoke, undisturbed and tomblike. His stomach was heavy and he listened intently, wishing for disruption, for movement, for life.

A prickle spread thinly across Laxus's spine. He was alone, he realized, absent of even the stirrings of Davian down the hall. He decided he didn't like being alone in this house. It wasn't like being alone in the guildhall or in his own home. There was something about the oldness of this place, the untouched atmosphere of it, how it seemed like a capsule revealed before the millennium had passed, that made it uncomfortable. It wasn't just the dust. It was the un-lived-in-ness. If this were a library, it would be an archive, meant to be preserved and isolated. Maybe that was why Laxus felt so removed, so alien, so unwelcome. Just one night in the place and he was on edge, jumping at shadows as if he were a kid. He could have laughed at himself if he didn't feel so off-put. Each movement felt like a stage action and he put on a show thinly veiled by nonchalance while his heart ran marathons across his ribcage at the creaks of the floorboards on the staircase.

He pushed himself up and the sound of the bed groaning echoed on the hard surface of the floor. The quilt was thrown back, his bare feet stuck slightly to the floor and he padded loudly to bags stowed the previous evening, pulling on pants and shirt, wrestling socks over feet. He was unabashed and noisy, pausing and trying to will a response from somewhere down the hall and hearing nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed together the pads of his fingertips and pushing the grainy sheen of oil into his skin. Sluggishly, he made his way to the vanity by his door, to the wash basin filled with cool water, the small mirror. He was a mess, wasn't he? He grimaced at his paleness, the wasting edges of his jaw and his unshaved chin. He scratched at the stubble on his neck and noticed, too, the way his hands seemed pallid and stained blue beneath his skin. When did he get so tired? His eyes were pitted in the color, dark and nearly black, his outline smudged like the figure in his room. The dream, he corrected sternly, rolling his eyes at his own paranoia. The nightmare. The product of being in a strange place, of not knowing his surroundings, the remnants of frequenting haunted and blood-stained places. It really was no wonder he wasn't sleeping well…

…He wasn't really eating well, either. When was the last time he'd worked out? He hadn't been taking care of himself these past few months, had he? He looked down at his hand again, at the blue veins that seemed more striking than usual, at how the skin seemed to stick close to his bones. Had he lost weight? Muscle, probably, but enough to waste him away? His skin almost looked fragile, papery, easily cut by a fine blade or torn. Maybe he should eat something…

…or maybe he should just get out of the damn house.

Another cursory glance around the room, eyes lingering on the place where the wallpaper seemed to darken. "Don't be such a fucking kid," he growled to no one in particular, before stomping down the stairs.

As it was, Davian had left him a note on the kitchen counter alongside a basket of eggs. Laxus had literally bumped into it, snatching his hand away when something moved against his fingers as he glided his hands down the marble absentmindedly, eyes still trained on the points of the room where the corners met ceiling.

"What a bastard," Laxus muttered at the sharp handwriting, the pinpoint precision of black on white, angled cursive. He'd left without him, Mavis knew when. Probably obscenely early. The note said to help himself to whatever he could find for breakfast and Laxus grumbled as he looked through cupboards, opened the freezer, and found packages of fresh meat and pills… and nothing else. Well, that and the eggs on the counter, but he wasn't in the mood for eggs. He wasn't in the mood for much, really, just going to the hospital. He told himself he'd grab coffee on the way to the ferry, which was a half-baked lie. He didn't have any money, how was he supposed to get coffee? But it got his feet moving to the foyer to grab his shoes as he fumbled with the brass latch of the door.

He twisted the knob and pushed only to find the door jammed. He clicked his teeth and pushed again, messing with the lock, re-locking it, unlocking it, and pushing again. He glanced at the stained-glass window, at the fractalled reflections of himself in the shades of peach and butter. Laxus glanced at the doorknob again and promptly pulled it open. He slammed it behind him, thankful for the first time that morning that Davian wasn't there, or he was sure he wouldn't have heard the end of how he'd gotten overly frustrated at pushing a pull door. It was the lack of sleep, he told himself, give him another night to rest and there'd be no more ridiculous mistakes or sciophobia. He straightened his spine and pulled his headphones up over his ears but found himself glancing over his shoulder as he walked, searching the windows of the place. He didn't know what it was he expected to see, the house looked absolutely charming on the outside.

Still he felt uneasy, even as he pushed his hands into his pockets and breathed in the fresh sea air. The sun was shining, the perfectly manicured lawns undulated gaily beneath the gentle breeze, and the day was stunning. He turned up the volume, trying to drown out the anxious knot that twisted inside of him. He had no reason to feel this way, he told himself, there was nothing wrong. He flashed his gaze to the houses he passed, turning his gaze to the sea, spotting the island in the distance. Even here he could see the walls of the penitentiary, hazy amidst the morning mist that clung resiliently to the rocky shores. A ship was pulling timber and bricks towards the place, bobby lazily on the waves. A pelican dove towards the water one moment and soared up towards the sky the next. Gulls were crying shrilly, beating their wings around the beach as they searched up something to eat. Laxus shivered.

He felt unnerved, like something wasn't quite right, like he was being watched. Even as he came to the ferry, to the forms dressed in white and teal, it was still familiar and equally unnerving. It all just felt wrong. The feeling was all the stronger as he approached Ember Island. He told himself it was the motion sickness, the dreams, the worry over Gajeel in his hospital bed, but it didn't satisfy him. The music didn't drown it out and his thoughts refused to turn away from the energy swirling around him that he was desperately trying to keep in check. Something like dread was building, a heavy foreboding that made his bones feel too cold. He suddenly felt the need to bolt, to run, but he couldn't figure out if it was towards something or away from it. He was going to be too late, he was going to miss it.

The image of Gajeel as he'd knelt into the charcoal dust of what had been left of the courtyard flashed to Laxus's mind. He'd been too late then and it had almost been fatal. He'd almost had to watch Gajeel be burned alive until there was nothing left but ash. It was his fault he'd been reduced so, unable to stand against Zahir's might. If he'd gotten there sooner, if he'd just been there…

You are not enough.

He'd been too late to save Gajeel from Bianca, too. She's dead. He'd been left alone in that nightmare because of Laxus, because of his inability to face reality. He'd run, he'd waited. He hadn't gone back to him quick enough. He'd left him alone… he'd done it again…!

You are not enough.

He swallowed and his eyes focused on the island, on the dock as it approached. He wanted to tear his way up the deck, he wanted to throw himself off the side and head for the hospital on foot. But he couldn't. He'd get arrested in a second, a heartbeat. He could fight his way through them, he knew, but that wasn't the issue. The issue was they'd catch up to him and then where would he be? He doubted Davian would just let him walk away. He had to wait. He had to be patient…

He wasn't going to be late. There was nothing to worry about. He wasn't going to be late.

You are not enough.

His heart writhed against his ribcage, his stomach jumbled. He took the liberty of standing by the rail where they'd disembark, tapped his foot impatiently as the ramp was lowered. He gritted his teeth to the swell of magic in his chest, the storm in his veins he could barely keep a grasp on. Someone shocked themselves on the charged metal, swearing and shaking their hand. He was striding up the path to the barracks, his eyes trained on the large building that blocked the hospital from his view.

Prisoners were working on the walls, shooting him leery glances, whispering. What did they know? Something he didn't? Don't be ridiculous. It's just because of what you did to Zahir. He walked faster, gaze fixed on the doors. There were nurses waving at a battalion of Rune Knights, giggling when one glanced their way, breaking formation. They jumped when they saw him approach, stuttering through greetings and welcomes as Laxus ignored them entirely. His legs twitched with the need to sprint through the halls but he didn't, his pace quickened but he couldn't run. Something cold was twisting around his gut and his chest was tight, his fists clenched. Just a flight of stairs and two more halls, a couple turns, open doors.

A man moaned as he passed his room and Laxus thought he recognized the face. His foot was lifted and bandaged, red seeping through. He was in the right ward. He was close. He passed men that were shaking, shuddering, and pulling at collars. White blankets spilled over onto the ground, pooling into useless puddles. One seized and kicked off more of the covers. His arms were tied down. Tied down.

You are not enough.

He saw the doorway, the darkened room. He was there in an instant, all but running now. His chest heaved as he rushed in, ready to bolt back out as he was sureGajeel would be gone, taken, missing, dead. His heart hammered deafeningly as he stared at the figure in the bed, taking everything and missing nothing. The breathing was even and deep, eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, fingers twitching. Distressed but not dying, unmoved and deceptively peaceful. He was at the side of the bed, his hand shaking slightly as he rested it on Gajeel's arm. Everything in his body released in a heart-dropping sigh.

He was fine. Gajeel was fine.

Well, not fine.He was still asleep, still healing, still pale and weak. But he was alive and untouched aside from fresh sheets. Laxus brushed gently at black hair that fell haphazardly about his face. The coil in his stomach eased.

He wanted to laugh, to fall into the hysterics of it, the absurdity of it, and paranoid, lack-of-good-sleep-induced neurosis and euphoria. Gajeel was fine because of course Gajeel was fine. Why wouldn't he be? He was in a prison hospital and there were guards at every exit, a strict hourly check-in enforced by the Major himself, and no way off the island. How could he not be here and ok? He'd been so worried for no reason… so worried…

His eye throbbed at him, agitated and anxious and he pressed his palm to it, rubbed his thumb angrily against his scar. He'd gotten too upset again and triggered the pain. His limbs felt shaky and he suddenly just wanted to fall into the nearest chair. Damn, he hadn't felt this way since he was a kid, nervous and frenetic and barely-hinged. Gramps used to make him sit down, talk to him about Magic and late blooming and unrealistic expectations. Legacy? Lineage? Who's put this into your head, my boy? Strength isn't everything, son. I'm not the strongest Wizard Saint, am I? You're such a bright boy, Laxus, why don't we put you in school? He remembered the black shadow of his father staring and unblinking and angry, the sharp frown, the slight shake of his head, the disappointment.

You are not enough.

"Mavis sakes…" he breathed, stamping down the memory that had his eye watering from pain, "Don't be a fucking-"

Someone ran past the room and his stomach knotted at the sound. He snapped his head to the door, frozen, not knowing how to react. Someone else ran by, a nurse, and she was saying something as the sound of moving bodies filled the hall. There were shouts of alarm and panic, all converging on some point farther away. Laxus glanced at Gajeel in the bed and back to the doorway, his hand still resting on the warm skin of his bandaged arm. He had to move, to see what was going on. He had to help if he could. He glanced down at his love, the worry in his stomach gnawing at him, growling and persistent.

"I'll… I'll be right back," he muttered, feeling his heart squeeze. He was leaving him alone again, unarmed with no way to protect himself, "You'll be fine."

He stepped into the hallway. The nurses were at the end of the hall, one rushed away, running for the stairs.

"We need a tourniquet!"

"Who's the doctor on duty?"

"Marjorie? Where's Marjorie?!"

Laxus was almost knocked over as someone ran past him, another nurse, carrying bandages. The smell hit him and he almost doubled from the strength of it, the assault of iron, the smell of blood. Another nurse rushed out and her hands were red and dripping, she was grabbing at the shelf just beside the room, seizing towels. Two others were huddled together, the younger of the two horror-stricken and staring into the room with wide eyes. And that was the moment Laxus realized it was Serrill's room, and the smell of blood was so strong it made his stomach turn.

"Please, sir, you can't be here…"

He glanced in and saw the flutter of scrubs and rushing of hands. Towels flowering and drenched in crimson that was nearly holly berry scarlet. Grey-blue eyes were staring unblinkingly, unfocused and dazed. The girl in shock was muttering, whispering, "Where's his arm? Where's his arm?"

"Sir, please, you need to step back."

"Right… yeah…" Laxus backed away, "Where's Major Bishop?"

A wry smile came to her features, "I'm sorry, I don't know. Please, wait for him in the lobby."

Laxus stepped slowly from her measured composure as she went back to consoling the other nurse. He turned and headed stiffly down the hall, ignoring the despairing sounds of the unprepared to save the dying Lieutenant. He wanted to help, he desperately wanted to help, but what could he do? He didn't know anything about medicine and he certainly wasn't a healer. He did little more than just get in the way. Why was it that every time he turned around he was helpless? What had happened to him? When did he become so useless? Wasn't this why he'd become strong? Wasn't this why he'd practiced, and obsessed, and aimed, and drove for better? He wasn't even level-headed anymore, he was frantic and unkempt. He'd let himself go. He'd wasted himself, lost his grip, unraveled…

He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to breathe. Center himself, right? Ask rational questions, questions he could answer: What did he need to do? Save Serrill. But he couldn't do that. He didn't know how, didn't have the ability. Who could? A doctor. He could find a doctor. Or the head nurse. Or someone. Yes, he could do that. He could go-

A sound scattered his thoughts and he stood still in the hall. A breath exhaled and gasped and disappeared. His flesh prickled. He knewthat sound.

"Davian?" Laxus breathed and swung his gaze around him, steadily, trying to see what he knew he wasn't meant to. He gritted his teeth and called louder, "Davian?"

He didn't know what it was, a shadow that wasn't right or some movement of the air, but something caught his attention down the next hall and he went for it. Confused and grasping at straws he turned and found the wing dark and ending abruptly at a window. There was a figure standing there, a plump woman with dark hair up in a bun, and for the second time that morning Laxus sighed in relief.

"M-Marjorie? Ma'am!" he walked towards her, single-mindedly, "There's an emergency down the hall. The Lieutenant…"

She was staring at a door and didn't glance at him as he approached. Laxus furrowed his brow at how her hand was over her mouth in shock. She turned her gaze to him slowly and worry was etched there between her eyebrows. He looked at where she had been staring, a partial handprint on the door in what could have been liquid gold that glittered dimly and was starting to disappear, flecks of it filtering up into the air as it receded into the wood. It took Laxus a moment to realize what he was seeing and another to think of what to say.

"I… uh…" that was incredibly eloquent, Laxus, good job, "Lieutenant Serrill… the nurses… they need help."

She shook her head quickly, eyes wide, "I-I don't…"

"Marjorie, you are Marjorie, yeah? They're are looking for you by Serrill's room. I think he's dying," she went pale and her dark irises flashed to the door and back to him, "Whatever it is, I'll take care of it. Right now, you need to go."

"Right…" Her jaw went rigid and she tore her eyes away, fisting her skirt and putting on a determined face, "A Wizard… will take care of it… good. Right," she took a step past him and faltered, "He's… he's a good boy. Please… just… take care of him, yes? You can't hurt him."

She didn't stop for him to reply and he watched her go, confused and quiet. He glanced at the door, barren now of the print. The flecks of gold had completely dissipated. A feeling like a drip of acid dug at the nape of his neck, a prickling of flesh, an itch. He remembered Davian had prayed for guidance, that it involved Serrill. His stomach clenched again as he stood in front of the closed door. He'd seen Davian invoke his god before and suddenly he wondered what exactly he had done. Why was he hiding? What was it that had scared the head nurse so?

Without further hesitation, he pulled open the door, finding him standing in a utility closet. He couldn't see anyone but knew already that meant little. Closing the door draped him in near complete darkness save a single utility light which cast stark shadows. He took a deep breath. The smell of blood traced the inside of his nose.

"Davian?" he tried to keep his voice level as he stood completely still, listening for another noise, another breath, something, "Davian, where the hell are you?"

Laxus sensed movement before he saw it, the shuddering of the air and the void that opened for just a moment to reveal Davin standing back in the corner with yellow eyes blown wide. Laxus felt a shock rock down his spine at the look of him. He was nearly drenched in blood, swollen drops of it falling from his fingertips, smeared across his shirt, streaked down his neck and face. His breathing was labored, one hand clutching at his chest and the other digging black claws into the wall. He was shaking, leaning his full weight back as if trying to disappear right through the wall. Laxus reeled back.

"Davian…" he breathed, "…what did you do?"

A smile tore across his face as wordless he slumped down to the floor, bringing his other hand to dig nails at his heart. Serrated teeth were bared but he didn't seem sinister. His eyes were full of pain and he whined, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"What?" Laxus rushed forward but Davian shot out an arm.

"D-Don't… don't…"

"If you're having a heart attack, you need a doctor," Laxus disregarded him, grabbing a hold of his wrist and pushing it to the side, "Come on, we need…"

"I said don't touch me!" he thrust his palm to Laxus's chest and Laxus stumbled back. The blood stung his nose but that wasn't what made him pause. There was despair in Davian's voice that Laxus had never heard before, something that edged on panic. He cried out and clutched at his chest again, curling his body smaller as tears began to come to his eyes. His voice cracked, "I'm begging you…"

"How interesting…" Laxus snapped his head to the doorway, to the man standing there who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. He was an inmate and Laxus recognized him immediately as Ezal, the Phantom Riser from Datura. His eyes stared at Davian widely, a lazy, half-grin strung across his face. He stood with hands clasped behind his back, spine straight, and there was amusement in his features, shrouded and somehow sinister, and Laxus clenched his fists.

"What the hell do you want?" Laxus growled and lightning danced up his arm. The anxiety was back, the offness, and it was spilling from the man standing just a few feet away. Those eyes snapped to Laxus, regarding him as if he hadn't even realized he'd been there. His smile widened.

"Another pet, Orthinos?" he hummed, stepping deliberately up to and then around Laxus, not perturbed in the slightest by his display. His eyes lingered carefully on him, appraising him in a way that made Laxus's skin crawl, as if he were livestock, "What a dreadful hobby."

Laxus didn't know how to react. Was Ezal one of them? Was that how he knew so much when he'd spoken to Gajeel? To Krew? His mind swam with that notion but he stowed it because he didn't know if he should be threatened by this man or not. Whose side was he on? Was there a side right now? But when Laxus looked down at Davian he didn't seem relieved. If anything, he seemed even more frantic, pushing his feet into the ground as if to try and push himself back but only succeeding in sinking against the wall.

"You see, this is why I say pain is such a good teacher. Father never did let you truly experience failure, but you know it now, don't you? Hm, yes, the body is a fickle thing… especially something so essential as the heart." Ezal crossed his arms and simpered, "So, how doesit feel to have a heart attack? Especially with yourbody? Unpleasant?"

To Laxus's surprise, Davian hissed. Not in the way a human would, this wasn't a sharp intake of breath. The noise was nothing but animal, baring every bit of his sharp teeth and flashing his tongue. Cornered, Davian was cornered and injured. Finally, Laxus made up his mind. He grabbed Ezal's arm and pulled him back, summoning his lightning to crackle and snap at the air around them.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but if you're not here to help him, I suggest you leave," Laxus growled down at him, barely keep his Magic restrained. Ezal stiffened and his eyes became impossibly larger.

He scoffed derisively, "Well… how rude."

Suddenly, the world shifted. It was as if everything in existence moved just five inches to the left, and with it Laxus stumbled and nearly fell completely. He rammed into an object that hadn't been there just moments before, a long silver table, and when he jerked his gaze up to look around him they were in an entirely new place. The floor was red tile that slanted towards a large drain in the floor. He could see chains and cages but couldn't get a good look around because the more he stared the more things started to get fuzzy, like the edges of everything was blurred, images overlapping as if his eyes couldn't quite focus. It made his head hurt to look at it. Hands were on his arms then, and Ezal was smiling widely.

"Oh dear, what happened?" he mocked and Laxus snarled. He tried to push forward with his lightning attack but nothing happened. Again, he tried, and again, but there was only a thick stillness to answer to him. There was no rush, no vibration, not even a spark. It was when chilling realization began to push itself up through him that Ezal's smile widened even further. His tone was cruel, "Oh dear… what happened?"

Laxus swung his fist but Ezal caught it, an inhuman amount of strength stopping the blow. Laxus clicked his teeth and tried with his other hand only for the man to dodge and side-step him, clasping his hands behind his back once more as Laxus charged for him. The step he took, though, was all wrong and suddenly scalding heat rushed up his legs. He screamed and stumbled, falling straight down as he was unable to catch himself on his knees because suddenly they weren't there.From his thighs down they melted and Laxus arched his spine at the feeling of fire that replaced where they had been.

A part of him knew this couldn't be real, that this wasn't happening. Somehow this wasn't reality. It couldn'tbe. But it felt real. The agony he was in made his mind go blank. He couldn't think through it, couldn't believe what he was seeing. And Davian, where was Davian? He was on the ground meters away, curled into a ball and barely conscious now, his eyes rolling back into his skull and moaning. Laxus cursed, unable to bring himself to move.

"I must say I liked the woman better, Orthinos… at least she knew when she wasn't welcome," Ezal was standing over him, arms crossed, waiting. When Davian didn't reply he clicked his teeth.

"He's fucking dying," Laxus forced out through gritted teeth, trying to pull together something rational, trying to will his legs to be there again and for the pain to stop. He didn't understand why this was happening or how. Had Davian said something about this? Was this Glamour?

"Oh, I suppose his is, isn't he?" he knelt down to Laxus's level, crossing his arms over his knees as he did so and speaking as if their conversation were about some trivial matter, extra office work or bad weather, "You know, if I had my way I'd just let him. Oh, but Father would have my head, no doubt. I can hear it now. Orotrushit – oh It has a nastytemper too, you know – you allowed The Favorite Son to die? Technically not my fault. He was the stupid one, wasn't he? But that's how it is with little brothers. They never take the fall for their own actions."

He sighed heavily as he watched Davian slowly go more and more still. Laxus tried to move only for the fire to erupt anew in his nonexistent legs, making his brain scatter from the pain and he tried to no avail to keep in the torment. He fell onto his forearms, shaking and weak, trying to summon his Magic only for nothing to happen. After what felt like an eternity, Ezal seemed to make up his mind. He walked slowly over to his brother, now motionless on the ground, and a thoughtful look came to his face, "Oh, you've done it this time, haven't you? Can't heal the heart at all? But then, it's always so hard to tell when I can't get a good look at you…"

"Have you ever heard of Corpse Medicine, pet? Or, you're a Mage, aren't you? What about Sympathetic Magic?" he looked at Laxus expectantly and Laxus could only glare. He didn't know if he just couldn't understand because of the pain or if this question was actually as bizarre as it sounded, "No? Powdered blood to treat bleeding? Ground up skulls to cure dizziness? The idea that the parts of humans can be harvested to cure ailments? You see, an interesting thing about your kind is that you've only recently formed an intimate knowledge of medicine. You've only had a grasp on healing for a couple millennia. During the time of dragons, you know, Healing Magic was premature and unpracticed, and instead of seeking help from others who knew more, you all just made up your own rules. Oh, I think my favorite was this idea that those who died from violent deaths somehow had their vitality trapped in their blood. And you didn't just harvest it, pet. A direct quote, I think, once stated that during public execution, people afflicted would stand close to the executioner with tumblers ready to catch the blood as it spilled hot from criminals, even going so far as to take hold of the head and drink what poured from the neck."

He chuckled as if he'd just told some good joke and Laxus felt his heart seize. Where was he going with this?

"Such a messy thing, beheadings. And that was only a short one hundred and fifty years ago, pet. I bet you think you're not so barbaric anymore, don't you? Well, have you ever really put thought to what happens in the remote parts of Fiore where they don't have healers readily available? How do you treat a heart attack when you simply don't have someone to magically fix it or when the damage is so extensive you can't? Why, with Corpse Medicine," his eyes glittered darkly, "But first, you doneed a corpse."

Again, reality shifted. This time, though, it seemed to only affect Ezal. His body swayed and suddenly there two of him stood, both changing rapidly as soon as they separated. One Ezal had eyes that fogged over, turning smoky and grey as his skin followed suit and tinged with dust. He toppled over to the ground with wide eyes and Laxus knew immediately he was dead, the real Ezal, and he tried to pull himself back from the body as terror made his heart clench. The other Ezal still grinned but his face changed, turning pointed and a black tongue slithered out betwixt his lips. Navy scales erupted from his flesh and the orange jumpsuit changed to a long white coat, a lab coat, an exact copy of Bianca's. A long tail snaked out and thrashed from side to side with long iridescent, teal feathers. A patch covered his left eye and his long black hair framed his face and settled at his shoulders. His resemblance to Davian was uncanny, aged up and more reptilian, his exposed eye glowed vibrantly gold and runes began to crawl across his skin. He had more than Davian did, much more. Laxus could see them peeking out around his hands and up his throat, a golden symbol cut above and below his right eye, not unlike Laxus's own scar.

Laxus tried to keep his breathing steady, to not scramble back from him as he approached. He was painfully aware of how defenseless he was. If this thing were to decide to end his life, he didn't think there was anything he could do to stop it. But the man only simpered down at him as he circled Ezal's body, coming to stand at his side.

"Not a violent death, but it was sudden. I really can't stand blood, you see. It just brings something out in me and, well, we all have our little demons, don't we?" his tattoos burned brighter, incredibly so, and he knelt down to the body on the ground and pressed his fingers to his chest.

"What the hell are you doing?" Laxus wheezed, trying to hold himself up.

"A transplant, of course," he pushed his fingers into the dead man's chest until Laxus heard the sternum snap. A cavity opened around his hand and to Laxus's surprise there was no blood, no viscera, just his hand dipping through skin like it was a vat of pudding and drawing back out slowly. The heart emerged, dry and without a single trace of blood, and Laxus was both disconcerted and shocked. He paced over to where Davian lay and splayed his fingers on his chest. Golden flecks shivered up into the air and turned into sparks and the heart caught on fire. For an unbearably long moment, he could only lay and watch it burn, studying Davian's face for signs of life. The response was dramatic, with Davian's eyes suddenly shooting open as he arched his back and howled in pain. He quickly devolved into withering sobs as his brother stood back up, a smug grin set across his features as he turned and stepped casually over towards Laxus.

"Well, that's better, isn't it?" he hummed, stopping just a short step away from Laxus, "Now… what do we do with you, hm?"

Suddenly, Laxus was thrown against the wall and pain exploded up his legs and through his hips to the point that his vision fogged from it. There was a hand holding his throat and claws digging into his skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to make the intent clear. Laxus growled and grabbed at him, trying to hold himself up as he stared into one glowing eye. He couldn't see or hear Davian anymore, couldn't see Ezal's body. Had reality changed again or were they in a new place? Was he just making it so Laxus couldn't see them any longer or were they really gone? Laxus couldn't tell, he could do little more than fight to breathe through his throat closing as fire searched higher into his stomach. He snarled.

"I did enjoy our chat, pet, but you can imagine that took something out of me and well… the smell of blood just reallygets to me. I suppose I am God's Hunger for a reason," he grinned and Laxus heard a sound that made his heart drop, the distinctive slide of metal to leather as a blade was unsheathed. Gold flashed in Laxus's peripheral and terror made his blood turn to ice. It was a serrated blade, simple and unembellished but gilded in gold. The shape and craftsmanship was something he recognized immediately. A knowing look came into the Chameleon's features and his smile turned sadistic and almost giddy, "Oh? Familiar? Where have you seen this before, I wonder?"

Laxus's heart thudded wildly against his chest as the sharp blade drew nearer. Panic and pain made him shake. He was being ripped back into time and he felt cold. His shoulder was throbbing and his vision hazed. He tried to thrash but the hand held him steady, stronger than it should ever be to be and completely unyielding. The invisible fire licked up his stomach and he wanted to scream but that knife was too close, keeping his mouth clamped shut in horror. He couldn't think beyond his impending demise and his captor's eyebrows arched up sharply in a look that mimicked sick fascination. He laid the blade down gently against his throat and Laxus felt like he was going to be sick as he tried to dredge up his magic, any of it, to stop it.

The blade lilted across his neck, from one side to the other, a threat and a promise that made his chest sore. Laxus was terrified, remembering too vividly that day and the way Bianca suffocated in her own blood, the crimson smile opened up on her throat, the hopelessness in her eyes as she plead silently for him to save her, the blood stains that remained in hard stone.

"Ohh, I wish I could draw this out, take you back to my little workshop," he seemed breathless but his gaze was cold, his one eye distant and serene, "I'm sure it would be… ah, what's the word…?" Laxus could feel his exhale fall across his throat and he shivered, gritting his teeth, "…mm… sublime."

Laxus squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on his magic, on his center. Why was it not working? It wasn't as if he were weak and out of energy, it was as if he'd never had magic at all. There was no trace, no whisper, nothing. He could cry out from outrage and fear and agony, but the blade was at his throat again and this time it had bite.

"Why?" Laxus ground the words out, forcing himself to open his eyes, to look at him.

"Why? Why what, pet? Why you?" he laughed dryly, a condescension in his tone like he'd heard this sniveling before and was well accustomed to it.

"Why Gajeel?"

"Hmm? I-… oh, oh… how interesting," confusion suddenly disintegrated to understanding. The smile that had never left his face fell away, replaced by strict conviction, "Why… it's the dawn of a new age, pet. It's such a shame you won't get to see it."

Reality shuddered. The man holding him stumbled and magical energy flooded through Laxus in a sudden, veracious rush. He reacted on instinct and lightning arced in between them, flashing blinding white all around them. The Chameleon hissed and fell back from him. With his control broken over Laxus, so also the illusion shattered, breaking like glass around them and devolving back into that supply closet Laxus had almost forgotten ever existed. Davian was there, eyes alight and furious, weapon drawn and breathing haggard.

"Orotrushit," his voice shook and tracks from his tears mixed with the blood on his face, "that's enough."

Orotrushit pushed himself up from where he'd fallen after Laxus's attack. Lightning crackled and seared the walls around them and Laxus had no desire to reign it back. Free from whatever Davian's brother had done, he could feel every bit of his power regained. He could recognize that he was tired, that he'd been using energy but he was distraught knowing full well it had no effect. But he couldn't process that now, not with the threat still right in front of them, not with that golden knife still drawn and hungry.

"You and your pets, Orthinos, it's just not healthy," he dusted himself off, straightened his coat, and for a moment eyed Laxus warily before centering his gaze back on Davian, "Father misses you, you know, little brother, dreadfully so. When are you coming back to us?"

Davian clenched his jaw and Laxus noticed his hands were trembling. Was it fear or anger or weakness? Orotrushit's voice had changed drastically, becoming gentle and coaxing, completely removed from how it had been before. It was almost comical. He sheathed his blade and exposed his hands. He looked utterly genuine, kind, his former twisted smile settling back on his face. His brows cinched in worry.

"Please, brother, we want you to come home. Father doesn't blame you. We understand you were scared, you were rushed. It's ok. We can still work things out, the way we should have, as a family," he took a step forward and Davian took a step back. Orotrushit stopped his procession, holding his hands up as if in surrender, "Come, come, there's no reason to act this way. You don't have to be frightened. We just want what's best for you,"

Davian barely shook his head, a look of frozen terror on his face. He seemed confused and terrified, shaking with his sword drawn in front of him in what looked more and more like a child holding a knife. There were tears coming to his eyes again and he looked ready to bolt, nearly hysterical. Laxus looked back to Orotrushit, to the easy and calm demeanor, the façade he'd summoned in milliseconds, the manipulative smile.

"You were going to let him die," Laxus accused, his voice gruff. Two sets of yellow eyes snapped to him, Davian's hopeless and his brother's quickly turning cold. He gritted his teeth, his lightning seethed and boiled, "He's not going with you."

"You don't know what he needs," the words were simple but the way they were said made Laxus's veins flush with fire.

"He's not an animal. Hedecides what he needs," black claws extended and Laxus responded with a snarl, "I warned you once to leave. I ain't doing it again."

Orotrushit moved and Laxus reacted, the horrible pain from earlier making him all the more keen not to let him get close. He sent a lightning bolt straight for his face and hit his mark, the black eyepatch covering his eye. He'd expected the response to been a screech or a hiss but neither of these came. Instead, the Chameleon's head snapped back and he wavered for just a moment on his feet. A clawed hand came up to touch softly at his brow, his striking cheek bone. He cradled the side of his face, pulling away what was left of the patch with a growl, between his fingers Laxus could see shimmering gold, glowing almost like a light. With his good eye he glared, baring his teeth.

"I'm hitting your good one next," his magic energy filled the room, laden with malintent, and Orotrushit smiled. It was something vile, malicious, and hungry. All of the anxious dread that had seeped in Laxus's bones earlier that day itched at him, prying through his armor. He felt like somehow, some way, this man could see right through him and into his bones. All of his fears, his insecurities, even things he hadn't confronted himself, were all laid bare before him.

And then, the world began to bend. A tear rifted through the space around him and swathed him, much in the same way a blanket might drape around his body. He stepped back into it, eyes and tattoos glowing. His lips didn't move but this voice slipped up Laxus's spine.

"Interesting…"

And then he was gone.

There was a long moment where Laxus and Davian stood in silence, trepidation a living thing that throbbed between them. Davian was the first to move. The sound of his sabre clamoring to the ground was harsh and made Laxus's ears ring. He sank to the floor, his eyes vacant as he stared where his brother had been standing. Laxus swallowed.

"You weren't kidding when you said he was terrifying," Laxus breathed. Davian didn't respond, he didn't have to. Laxus could smell salt, fear, blood, and it made him tense and uneasy, "We should get you cleaned up, yeah?"

Davian remained quiet and Laxus stepped up to him. He flinched back, holding up his hand in a feeble attempt to ward off Laxus's approach. He ignored it, instead grabbing onto his arm and easing him up from the ground.

"Laxus… I…"

"Yeah, yeah, Dr. Jekyll, you're dangerous," he rumbled down at him gently, "Come on, we're cleaning up and you're buying me a drink."

"Next to music, beer was best."
— Carson McCullers (The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter)

Author's Notes:

Its law at this point: Everyone in Davian's family is an absolute bastard. Orotrushit is the scariest of them all.

If I keep with my current posting schedule you won't hear from me until around the 30th. So with that in mind, I wish you all Happy Holidays!

As always, have a wonderful week, beautiful beans!