Zrocker119: Damn. It's been way too long since I last posted. Glad to see that the last chapter was well received alongside some criticism, which I love. And glad to see that a few picked up on the context clues about The Voice. For those wondering, his appearance is inspired by the Regent of the Mask from Ninja Gaiden 3. Didn't really care for the game, but damn does that dude's drip go hard!

Anyway, don't wanna keep you all here for long, so let's just skip straight to the good stuff!

-Chapter 10-

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The pen scratched across the paper with calm, measured strokes. There were brief pauses as the writer would turn his attention to the large tome on the desk, line after line, page after page. For The Voice, this was what most of his time at the tower consisted of—reading through these ancient books so that he could transcribe the knowledge bound within their pages.

This would be a challenging task for even the most notable historians, as the language used was old, originating from before the Dragons and the Dark Wizard—possibly even before the Gods.

However, the historians of the modern world lacked the critical information and the tools that The Voice had at his disposal. For starters, he was the latest in a long line of knowledge seekers. His ancestry could be traced back thousands of years, and with it came a vast well of resources to draw from.

Thousands upon thousands of books had been collected throughout the generations, cultivating the largest reservoir of knowledge in the world. All of these were accessible only to those who shared his blood. Such a vast amount of information. One that is continuously growing to this day.

Like his father and his father's father, The Voice had gladly continued the work of his ancestors, traveling to the lost corners of the world in the never-ending quest to recover what had been lost to the annals of time.

This brings us to his presence at the "Tower of Heaven." Not only was this place constructed using blueprints designed by the Dark Wizard Zeref, but the structure was allegedly capable of resurrecting the dead.

According to his ancestors' notes, similar spells and rituals had been discovered, but only one had shown even a glimmer of truth. Much like his own abilities, the power to raise the dead could not be learned or taught. No, it was a power that one had to be born with.

Even then, the ritual caster couldn't just bring anyone back from the great beyond. A piece of the target containing their essence, such as a clump of hair or a bone fragment, was required for the resurrection process. Should this requirement be met, the summoning would only be temporary. Similar to a Celestial Wizard summoning a spirit, once the host's energy was depleted, the dead would return to their eternal slumber.

But this great tower was different. If the schematics were true, if it was indeed capable of true resurrection, that was something The Voice wanted to witness with his own eyes.

To record it for later generations.

And, of course, to learn from it.

His thoughts had drifted to the potential possibilities, so he didn't notice until halfway down the page that the inkwell in his pen had begun to run dry, the most recent writings barely visible. With a simple tap of his finger, he activated his innate curse technique. Energy flowed from him into the dry well, transmuting into fresh ink and refilling it.

Just as he put pen to paper to resume where he had left off, he heard the doorknob jostle. Among those present, the list of people with the gall or confidence to enter his humble abode uninvited was limited to just three. Though it had been several hours, Marcus and his partner were still deliberating the new contract, no doubt taking advantage of the tower's food and drink stores while doing so.

So, with those two preoccupied, that left only one possibility.

"Samael!"

The door flung open with excessive force, the back striking the wall and knocking some of his books from their shelves. Through the opening strode his charge, her expression twisted in a familiar annoyance he found oh-so-adorable.

"Oh? I wasn't aware that we were using our given names, Ultear," The Voice, now revealed to be Samael, stated with his usual cheer. His eyes briefly flicked to the fallen books. "Would you be a kind soul and return those?"

Ultear stared at him.

He returned the stare with one of his own.

The staredown continued for several seconds, neither so much as blinking. But eventually, as always, Ultear broke first. Turning away, she waved a hand. The books that had been scattered about glowed with a purplish hue before floating back to their assigned places.

To most, it would appear that she had utilized a telekinetic-based spell. But with the gifts granted to him by his eyes, Samael saw the truth. She hadn't simply placed the books back where they belonged.

The thin layer of dust they had accumulated from weeks of not being opened? Not a single speck was missing. The micro-tears and scratches gained from striking the floor? Gone as if they had never existed. Everything was as it was.

"Glorious."

The Arc of Time. Despite having seen her perform it countless times, he still found watching her manipulate the time of organic and inorganic objects utterly captivating, as his eyes granted him attention to detail that no one else could witness. He saw every minute detail, every molecule as it flowed in reverse.

Ultear, despite hating the man's guts, preened at the rare show of praise.

"But your energy control is as sloppy as ever. Far too wasteful. You could've cast that spell three times over with how much you throw away."

And just like that, the minimum amount of goodwill he had garnered was thrown to the wayside, her glare turning with murderous intent. Not that it did anything to sway his opinion on the matter. Gifted though she was—no ordinary ten-year-old could learn a once-lost magic—she was still a child at the end of the day. She had much to learn and room to grow.

So while Samael would give her credit where it was due, he would not shower her with near-endless praise like that old codger of a Guild Master.

Turning back to his journal, he resumed where he had left off. "Now. What was so important that it couldn't have waited until after I was finished? Oh! Could it be that you missed my company that much?"

"I—" Ultear cut herself off. Knowing that yelling would only reinforce his already low opinion of her, she took a composed breath. "I just finished reporting your progress to Master Hades. He, like myself, has questions regarding—"

"Well, we are both more than aware of how little I value your opinion, but do continue."

"...Questions regarding your methods."

He didn't so much as look up from his writing, merely beckoning for her to continue with a casual gesture.

"While there are many, the main point of contention is your hiring of those mercenaries."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Well, they did come highly recommended. Besides, this place wouldn't have nearly the manpower to operate as a launching point, let alone continue construction if they weren't around."

"Maybe if the fossil took the time to recruit competent followers, I wouldn't have sought them out. Honestly, it's as if he wants this operation to fail!"

A powerful burst of magic flooded the room, creating a gust of wind that caused his journal to flip forward several pages. Radiating magical energy, Ultear fixed him with a vicious glare that would've caused all but the most seasoned of mages to second-guess their standing.

For Samael, though, he found the display about as threatening as a growling puppy. One that he no longer found adorable. Perhaps it was high time that the record got set straight.

Closing his journal, he scooted his chair back and stood with no strain despite the pressure in the room. Taking up the tome, he returned it to its shelf before finally moving to stand before the young girl.

"Let's be clear, Ultear. Your guild came to me because I hold the keys to the greatest reservoir of knowledge in the world."

"Your guild came to me because I was the only one capable of translating the book with the knowledge to construct this tower—the very tower that you plan to use in the resurrection of your dark messiah."

"Without me, you all would still be scrambling about like a blind man who has lost his cane. You are not my equal. Your Master Hades is not my equal. Grimoire Heart is not my equal."

"So you can continue to hate me and mistrust me as much as you want. I don't, nor will I ever, care."

"But never call my methods into question again."

Throughout the dressing down, not once did his voice rise above an acceptable speaking level. He did not shout. He did not whisper. He spoke plainly and simply, never breaking eye contact.

Knowing that he was speaking the truth, Ultear could do little more than glare hatefully back into those piercing blue orbs that, deep down, she found hauntingly beautiful.

"If you're so much greater than us, then why even accept our work to begin with?"

Though his face was hidden behind that stupid mask, she instinctively knew he was smiling.

Reaching out a hand, he ruffled her hair, ruining her once-straight locks and making them resemble a bird's nest.

"The same reason anyone strikes a deal with another. Hades and I have something that the other wants. And as per the conditions of the Binding Vow, once I fulfill my end of the bargain, he will fulfill his."

Shoving his hand away, Ultear did what she could to salvage her hair. "And what is it that you want?"

Despite being Master Hades' right hand, Ultear had not been privy to all the details of the bargain struck between him and this freelancer. But even so, she would never doubt the man who had given her purpose. A cause that she could stand for.

The same couldn't be said for the man in front of her. A man too afraid even to reveal his face.

"Oh, why spoil the fun?" He headed toward the door, opened it, and gestured for her to leave. "Now, why don't you be a good little lamb and return to your quarters? Oh! And do be careful not to be spotted. After all, we can't have the common rabble spotting you if we want this little charade of ours to continue."

He didn't bother awaiting a response and walked into the corridor. Despite not appreciating the interruption of his work, he couldn't deny that it would do him some good to walk about the tower. For as much as he enjoyed his work, it did get boring now and again.

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When she first awoke a few hours ago to find herself in a cold, darkened cell with her wrists and ankles shackled in iron cuffs, Erza had wanted to cry. To scream and call out for her parents. For her Mama and Papa. For her Uncle. For somebody to come and save her from this nightmare that she was unable to wake from.

But she knew that this was no bad dream. She couldn't just get up and go into her parents' room and spend the rest of the night sleeping peacefully in their loving embrace. This was very much real. And she was learning that life outside of her village was far harsher than she could have possibly imagined.

It wasn't long after her awakening that she and several others from the village were put to work.

Due to her smaller stature and being less physically capable than even the weakest of the adults, she was given a brown sack and told to fill it with debris and transfer it to one of the many growing piles within the massive chamber.

All of this had happened without her even getting a chance to find Kagura or Simon. Kagura had been with her when she had been knocked unconscious, so it seemed reasonable to assume that she was in a similar position, perhaps slightly better since she was still a toddler and couldn't do much in the form of labor.

But Simon…she simply hadn't the slightest clue about his whereabouts.

A crack of a whip and a cry of pain caused her to flinch and nearly drop the bag. Facing the sound's direction, Erza saw that the one being struck was a boy. One who appeared to be around her age.

Much like her and everyone else, he wore little more than the rags that had been so "graciously" provided to them. But what caught her attention was his hair. Like hers, the boy's locks stood out greatly from the other slaves. But, whereas Erza's hair was scarlet, the boy's was a dark shade of blue.

The sound of the whip cracking again dragged her out of her mind, bringing her focus to the scene as a whole instead of a small part of it. Spying the now spilled bag of rubble lying mere inches from the boy, she was reasonably sure it was the cause of this punishment.

The whip was poised to strike again, and before she even realized what was going on, Erza had thrown her bag to the side and was across the room.

A crack resounded once more. The only difference was that she was the one who felt the sting of its barbed tips as they lashed across her back.

"What the hell are you doing, brat!?"

There was another crack, followed shortly by another. Both struck her—once across the back again and the other on the back of her left shoulder. Neither earned so much as a peep from the girl. Only the gritting of her teeth and the tightening of her eyes.

It wasn't that she felt no pain. Both the strikes and the ones that followed were the most painful things she had experienced in her life. But if there was one thing that her parents had told her time and time again, it was that she was by far the most stubborn and bullish girl in their lives.

And it was on that knowledge alone that she refused to give the slaver the satisfaction of seeing her cry. But for all her stubbornness, at the end of the day, Erza was still just a child. Just as she was beginning to think that the slaver wouldn't stop, the lashing ended abruptly.

"Oh my! What seems to be the problem here?"

Blinking away the pain, Erza risked a glance over her to see that the slave master's hand had been seized at the wrist by a masked stranger clad in form fighting armor and robes. The man glanced at her before returning his gaze to the one who had been punishing her.

"Well?" He questioned, relinquishing his hold on the man's wrist. "Don't make me ask a third time."

"Lord Voice." The slaver took several steps back and dropped to his hands and knees. His forehead all by smacking the stone floor. "I was merely administering punishment to the boy when this brat-"

"Ah, I see," The Voice tilted his head towards her. "This one got it the way so you saw fit to shift punishment her. An understandable action-"

"Yes, my Lord!" The slaver cried, raising his head.

Only for the hand that had been holding the whip to explode in a shower of blood and gore. Blinking, the slaver stared at the bloody stump seemingly not understanding what he was seeing. When it finally registered, he opened his mouth and screamed but was quickly silenced when a mass of dark liquid invaded his mouth before wrapping around his lower jaw, muffling his cries. The added weight dragged his head back towards the ground, forcing him to lay in the steadily expanding pool of his blood.

"Don't interrupt me." Slowly turning about, The Voice saw that he now had the undivided attention of everyone within the chamber, both slave and slaver alike. Good. Turning around, he flicked a finger.

More of the black mass spawned from seemingly nothing, enveloping the slaver's body, forcing him onto his knees while his arms were bent, snapped, and twisted till they stretched back. The man's muffled screams sounded throughout the whole process.

"Why is it that nearly every time I decide to leave my office, I find myself having to re-educate overindulging little shits like yourself?"

The Voice raised a finger. "For this tower to reach its destined perfection, pain and suffering must be endured by those that lay its very foundation. Endured. That is that keyword. Not suffer until passing out or death, but endured."

Fixing his gaze upon Erza, who looked on in silent horror at what was happening, The Voice strode toward her with measured steps. She fell on her bottom, gazing up at him with fear and apprehension.

She flinched back when he raised a hand, shielding herself with her arms. But then the pain in her back began to lessen. Opening her eyes, Erza saw that her body was washed in a white glow.

A glow that she was more than familiar with.

"Papa," the word was barely a whisper.

But a whisper that was heard nonetheless.

'This girl. She has experienced RCT before? How interesting.' While this was something that must be investigated, he had a prior engagement that had to be attended to. Once The Voice felt that he had undone the damage dealt by the unnecessary punishment, he lowered his open palm, cutting the flow of Reverse Cursed Energy.

"There now," he patted the girl's head.

Returning his attention to the slaver, he put one hand on his hip and stroked the chin of his mask with the other. What to do with this one? He could just end him where he knelt. After all, this wasn't the first time he had to come up and curb the sick and twisted desires of these fanatics. But he had killed similar individuals before and the lesson never seemed to stick.

What could he do to-oh! That might work. It wouldn't be a swift end. But it would certainly get the point across. Yes. Yes! That would do nicely.

Turning on his heels, The Voice returned the way he came. Behind him, the slaver followed. With his legs being forced to move like he was little more than a puppet, he could do naught but weep silently as he was led to what would be certain doom.

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"Well…god damn."

"Trust me, Marcus. Most of the Gods I know of want nothing to do with this."

Marcus and Issac stood outside the main hallway that led to the taskmaster's quarters. It was a spot of corridor that every slaver had to pass through at the start of every day when on their way to breakfast and whenever they returned to rest for the night.

The duo had been on their way to accept the contract that had been offered to them by The Voice but had stopped at the sight before them.

Strewn above the entrance like a sick display of art was one of the slavers. The man was stripped completely bare, with only a loin cloth to offer some modicum of modesty. He was held aloft by metal vines that twisted around his form with his limbs outstretched. Each vice was dotted with thorns that pierced ever-so-slightly into his bare skin. Not enough to draw blood, but surely caused an immense amount of discomfort.

The Slaver twitched.

One of the thorns dug a bit deeper.

The brief instant of pain caused the man to instinctively pull away.

Doing such caused other thorns to dig into his flesh, this time drawing blood.

"Fuck me," Issac breathed under his breath.

Marcus was thinking similar thoughts but didn't put them into words. He had done many things throughout his career as a hired killer, but he could safely say that forcing a man to slowly tear himself apart wasn't under his belt.

"Tell me," The Voice stepped out from the nearby shadows, having gone completely undetected until that point. Stopping beside them, he watched as the blood slowly began to run down the man's legs before eventually finding its way onto the floor. "Do you think it will get the message across?"

Issac folded his arms across his chest. "Not that I care, but I am curious about what he did?"

"The same as many before. Overindulgence in administering punishment. Before, I simply killed them and added their bodies to the foundation of the tower. But now, I feel that the rest of the flock should witness his demise."

"For it will be a fate they shall share should they follow his example."

"But enough of that," With a pep in his stride, The Voice gestured for them to follow him into his office, completely ignoring the droplets of blood that dripped into his robes.

The two followed after, but not before Issac created an electric shield that vaporized any droplets that threatened to land on them. Well, Issac did it more for himself. Red was difficult to wash out of white after all.

Closing the door once inside, The Voice quickly sat in his chair. "Now then, what can I do for you gentleman? I do hope that you have decided to accept my new contract."

Sitting in one of the chairs, Issac crossed one leg over the other and rested his hands atop the knee. "We have," reaching into his jacket, he retrieved the contract and passed it over.

Seeing that both of them had signed, The Voice nodded before grabbing his ink pen and signing his name as well. Just like before, the three felt what could only be described as a chain tightening around their forearm as the Binding Vow took effect. The deal had been struck.

"Excellent," The Voice snapped his fingers and the contract was replaced by a pouch. "One-fourth of the payment, as agreed. As I said before, The Soul will be leaving in a few days. Until then feel free to-"

The Voice fell silent, his gaze peering past Issac and Marcus. Then abruptly, he was at the opposite side of the room, his arm buried up to his elbow in the stone wall. Wrenching his arm free, the mercs witnessed him tear out a root, bringing most of the wall along with it.

"Impressive," Clenching his fist, the black mass from earlier flowed around the roots, eating away until nothing remained. "To think you would go unnoticed till now."

Before Issac and Marcus could question who he was talking to, the entire room began to rumble. Roots erupted from the walls, attempting to surround the trio. But their response was faster.

Hands in pockets, Marcus' leg struck out, rendering an entire portion of roots to splinters with nothing more than sheer strength while Issac simply blasted the rest away with an electric wave.

Marcus brushed away the stray bits of rubble that found their way onto him. "Well then. It would seem that the tower is under assault."

"It's more than that," Approaching the door, The Voice cocked back a fist and let it fly. The door and the space were blown away, revealing to the three that the hall was filled to the brim with twisting and knarled roots.

The Voice could not help but admire what his eyes told him. The roots themselves were neither constructs of pure Cursed Energy nor Ethernano, but a bastardization of both. This unique property allowed it to blend into the natural energies of the environment. Not even his eyes had been able to discern the roots from the walls until the last possible moment.

'Intreaging.' But his admiration would have to wait until afterward. He brought his hands together with a loud clap. "Gentlemen! There has been a change of plans! Marcus. You are by far the stealthiest of you two. Would you be so kind as to go to The Soul and secure her safe passage? My benefactor would be quite cross with me should she come to harm."

The aged merc looked annoyed at the request, but his retort was halted by Issac extending his arm in front of him.

"Just do as he requests," He flashed him a smirk. "Besides, you had all the fun last time. So step back, Oldman. It's my turn."

"...Fine," Marcus bit out, shoving his partner's arm out of his way. Retrieving an unassuming short sword from his jacket, he marched into the hall, slicing through the still-growing roots with ease.

The others followed him into the hallway, with The Voice giving him a playful smack on the back. A silent signal to wish him good luck.

Marcus paid him no mind and took a sharp breath through his nose. Other than Issac, who wore that overly pricey cologne, she was the only other person in the damn place that carried the scent of perfume.

Tracking her down wouldn't be an issue at all.

With another sniff, he picked out the scent he was looking for, determined where it was strongest, and began hacking his way through anything that barred his path at a blistering pace.

Issac rubbed his neck, loosening up his muscles. "So, what kind of damage am I allowed to do to this place?"

"Hmmm," The Voice pondered for a moment. Then, he shrugged. "Just try not to destroy the entire structure."

The mage gave an uncharacteristically savage grin. Lightning sparked off his body, carving trenches through the floor and turning more roots into cinders. It was about damn time that he got to cut loose.

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-30 minutes earlier-

The journey was lasting much longer than any of them had anticipated. They had traveled so far that land no longer passed below them. Now there was only the seemingly endless ocean for as far as the eye can see.

Day had long since become night and if Irene's tuition was right, then morning's first rays would peak over the horizon sometime within the hour. They had been on the trail of the people that had destroyed their home faster than anyone else could have managed and Choso would periodically inform her that they were drawing ever closer.

Even so, it still wasn't fast enough. Not for her.

She was pacing. Had been for a long time. She probably would've worn a path into the roots had they not been cursed constructs.

How much further? How much longer would it be before they arrived? And how many was she going to have to kill before she held Erza in her arms? All. She would kill all that stood between her and her baby. Every last one of them-

Irene almost lashed out when a hand fell on her shoulder. She did lash out. There was a popping sound, followed by something splashing against her cheek and her vision was suddenly red.

The snarl that Irene hadn't even known that she was wearing fell. Wiping her eyes she saw blood and a jelly-like fluid covering her palms. Blinking, she looked to see Yuji massaging his jaw as he spat out a tooth. She also saw the bloody pit that used to be his bottom left eye.

"Well. At least we know that your training is paying off," he quipped. The empty socket steamed and flesh bubbled. An instant later, a fresh eye filled the void.

Her mouth hung open, horrified by what she had done.

"Yuji, I'm so sorry-" She was silenced by a finger pressing against her lips.

"Do you think I couldn't have dodged that if I had wanted to?" He didn't wait for a reply. Cupping her chin, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I know better than most how good of a motivator anger is. I also know that you can't be the only thing that drives you."

She took a step back and turned away. Unable to look at him. Her shoulders shaking with concern and rage. What was this anger? Even back during the Dragon War, she had never felt such overwhelming hatred. The only thing that had ever come close was right before she had fully transformed into a dragon.

When the life of her unborn child had been at risk.

Yuji's arms wrapped around her and he rested his chin on her shoulder. She didn't retreat this time.

"The fury and protectiveness of a mother is something to be feared," He murmured. "Hold onto it, but don't let it consume you. Focus on Erza. Focus on keeping her safe."

She responded with a kiss the one of his hands. They remained silent after that. His embrace calmed the fury that still boiled within, but alongside it now sat shame. Almost of decade of training. Of harnessing her emotions and regaining control of her life. And though it had been for an instant, she had lost control.

Had it been anyone but Yuji, that blow would've been the end of them. She would've taken a life that she hadn't intended to take.

Yuji, just like always, seemed to sense the storm that was her emotions. Rather than address it aloud, he simply held her closer. While the action didn't magically erase what she was feeling, it certainly made her feel better.

Just a bit anyway.

"We're almost there."

The two separated, their attention now on Choso. The Blood Manipulator was no longer seated. They had grown so close to the blood fragment that he could passively sense the direction.

Coming forward so that they stood alongside his brother, Irene, and Yuji looked out over the ocean. With the wind rushing past, it was only a couple of minutes later when something appeared on the horizon.

"Well then. If that's not where Erza was taken, then I'll renounce my title," quipped Yuji. There was no response. Everyone simply watched as the distant object grew closer and closer. Soon enough, the small island, perhaps only a couple hundred meters in diameter, was within their enhanced eyesight.

It was rocky, bereft of any kind of vegetation. But the most noticeable thing was the tower that took up nearly the entire island. It was clearly in the middle of being constructed, but even so, it was already quite tall. But the most interesting thing about what was before them had nothing to do with the tower itself, but what lay beneath the surface.

"It's a convergence point."

Irene wasn't sure what surprised her more. The words Yuji had said, or how concerned he sounded when he said. She had never heard that sort of tone from him. Anger and frustration, yes, but never concern.

She understood though. A convergence point was the result of several lay lines converging in on a single place, resulting in the surrounding area being drenched in ethernano. The boon it could provide to anyone who controlled it. Countries have gone to war for less.

"That the little ones' captors are constructing something here is cause for concern, it won't be for long," raising their hand, Hanami willed the roots to come to a halt. They were roughly a mile away and in the air. At this height and distance, they shouldn't have been spotted. Not only that, but the amount of Magic Energy that seeped up from underneath the island would've made sensing their approach nigh impossible.

Hamami spread their arms out. Behind them, a large flower grew into being. The center of which were hundreds of seeds that split open, revealing a row of razor-sharp teeth. With a casual wave, they were all launched towards the tower.

Irene tilted her head, "What are you doing?"

"Seeding the area," Hanami folded their arms. "While the energy-dense air has masked our approach, it too masks our foes from us. The cursed buds will penetrate the island's soil and quickly sprout. From there, their roots will spread throughout the tower undetected. From them, I'll be able to see what lies inside."

"Then, we can plan our attack."

Slowly, the rage that Irene felt before started to emerge. But this time, she managed to keep the lid on it. They were close. So close that she wanted to say fuck it and go charging in. But she knew that going in without a plan would only endanger Erza and anyone else who was being held captive.

So they waited, the minutes slowly ticking by. While they did so, Irene briefly looked at their unconscious charges. Ur and the boys were still secured where they lay, but, "What about them?"

"I'll remain here to watch over them. Besides, from what I'm seeing, there's no one inside that will-"

"!"

Hanami didn't need to elaborate on why they halted mid-sentence. Even from their perch and through the magic-rich air, all of them were able to sense the burst of energy from within the tower.

"I retract my premature evaluation," Though it had only been for an instant, through their roots, Hanami had seen the one that had discovered what was happening within the tower's walls. They had instinctively tried to end them, but the mages inside had acted much faster than they had anticipated and eliminated the surrounding roots.

Even now, they could sense their connection to the plants in that immediate area being systematically destroyed.

"Have you found Erza," questioned Irene. Her form practically shook in anticipation. Regardless of the answer she was given, she was done waiting around.

"...Yes. It seems she is being held in the lower levels along with hundreds of others."

They were unable to elaborate further. Down below, a massive bolt of lightning came bursting out from the top of the tower. An instant later, a white speck, one cloaked in lighting stepped into the opening.

The three leaped off, Hanami being the only one who remained behind.

Angling herself to minimize wind resistance, Irene fell at a blistering pace with magic augmenting her speed. It was when she had reached the halfway point that the figure below finally noticed their approach.

She merely blinked and in that instant, the figure that she had only just been able to make any details of was now mere feet from her. And had it been in any other circumstance, she would've blushed.

He was incredibly attractive, but not in the ruggedly handsome way that she found Yuji to be. The young man before her was the definition of a heartthrob. A pretty boy who could probably get any woman he wanted with a simple wink.

That look, however, was ruined by the maniacal grin that threatened to split his face in two.

Before they could collide, a black blur crashed into the man. The blur turned out to be Yuji, who was now holding the man's wrists. The man tried to grabble with him, but Yuji curled his feet to his chest and kicked, launching the stranger into the sea with such force the water momentarily cratered before cascading back in on itself.

The man wasn't gone for long and came erupting out in a geyser, barreling back towards Yuji. Their forearms met in a thunderous clash. The two hung there, suspended in the air as their gazes locked for the first time.

"Issac," the man introduced himself.

Yuji merely met the savage grin with a look of indifference.

That was all Irene was able to catch before she and Choso touched down in the newly created hole. Looking around, the two saw dozens of men and women dressed in hooded clothes that all bore a symbol.

The same symbol that had been on the corpse of the one Choso had killed.

"Slicing Exorcism."

Crimson flashed throughout the room in the shape of narrow crescents. The cultists didn't even register what had occurred before their bodies fell to the floor in meaty chunks.

Irene didn't bat so much as an eye at the carnage. She had fought in war before and as far as she was concerned, this was no different.

"Hanami said Erza is being held in the lower levels."

Choso nodded and the two took off running, making sure to cut down anyone that appeared to be a cult member that they came across. While the tower itself was large, there were only so many ways they could go before heading down.

Hold on just a little longer, Erza. They would be there soon enough.

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-End-