Somewhere in the vast forests of Devi, a laser of purple magic fell to the earth and rocked the ground. Its impact echoed through the woods for miles on end, shaking the nearby trees and causing a tremor that rivaled an earthquake.
Huh...
To Midnight, it just looked like an excellent little light show was going off on Cobra's side of the forest.
It looks like Jellal's still kicking after all.
Whatever battle Midnight had thought would be over by now might have come to a different conclusion than he predicted. He hadn't seen any poison magic since Cobra's little spat with the sky earlier, and it wasn't hard to guess which mage the last attack belonged to.
Cobra might have lost...
Jellal might have won, and that was just...
What a loser.
Fucking hilarious.
His stupid snake died, and he still couldn't kill Jellal.
Midnight scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as he turned from the fight in the distance and admired his handiwork. The breeze blew his hair as he stood in front of the new field of freshly fallen trees directly before him; everything that had come into contact with his barrage had been severed without a chance of remaining whole.
Midnight whistled as he walked through the cut-up battlefield. His head lazily glanced at the scars his attack had left through the forest before his gaze tilted towards a threaded shield, cut cleanly in half, and then towards the trail of broken strings that trailed out of the field and away from his scythe's path. The moonlight revealed the set of footprints that were trailing into the depths of the forest. Every few steps were tinged with a few drops of blood that dotted fallen leaves and matted blades of grass.
"How interesting."
One of Midnight's countless slashes had hit its mark, but now he was conflicted. On the one hand, he now had very little reason not to pick up Racer's sorry ass and go head over to Jellal's location to finish the job Cobra had fucked up. On the other hand, Jellal's brother had woken him up, and Midnight didn't kindly take that decision. It was conflicting, and for a bit, he was very tempted to ditch his little side quest and look at the main course.
"Hm..."
But Midnight didn't feel right going through all this work and not getting the kill.
"Sorry, Cobra."
Midnight gave a half-hearted non-apology as he idly glanced toward where the laser had fallen in the distance before staring into the depths of the forests. Following the footprints tinged with blood and desperation, he tracked the idiot who scampered off.
"Looks like you're on your own this time."
How could Midnight resist killing the deer when he'd already shot it in the leg?
It had been so long since Cobra had been truly alone.
Coballios...
Had it always felt this empty?
Where's Coballios...
Had it always felt so heavy, like the earth was sinking and trying to drag him in? He couldn't remember because it had been so long since he'd spent those nights alone on the cold rock in his dark and dreary cell. Since he first heard Coballios call him back to the tower of heaven, he never had to worry about being alone again.
Coballios...
Cobra didn't want to feel it. That's why he was grateful when his rage took over, and his anger controlled his heart. It made the world disappear so he wouldn't have to feel that loneliness, but it didn't last. Cobra vaguely remembered a flash of purple light that he tried to dash away from to little avail.
I have to find Coballios.
He got hit; he could feel it, but that wasn't the worst part. The attack had woken Cobra up, slapped him out of the berserker state his dragon slayer magic had put him under, and now he felt it again. That loneliness. That sinking feeling buried into his bones and made them feel like lead as he lay with the left half of his shirt and cloak torn to shreds and his back to the ground after the attack.
Where are you...
His left arm was broken, splintered in its socket, and left a bruised and purpled mess, but as he watched the blurry open sky, he didn't feel it.
Not in the slightest.
There you are.
Cobra was too busy searching for his friend, letting his ears roam past every falling rubble and cracking stone of the debris. Listening to everything until he caught traces of his friend's sound, and when he did, he heard his friend's fading heartbeats across the ravaged field. He listened and listened and wished to die so he could join his friend; he wanted so badly to stop moving and expire on his back.
Dont die...
He would give anything...
Why are you dying...
He would give anything for his friend not to die.
Why are you leaving me alone?
Yet he knew that was an impossibility. He could hear the injuries; he could listen to the blood slowly pouring from his friend's muscles. He could hear the full breath that wasn't even strong enough to move Coballios' ribs anymore. He could listen to it all, and it reminded him of why he wasn't allowed to die.
I'm sorry, Coballios...
Cobra forced himself off his back, his bones creaking and his lungs burning as he roared defiantly. The fragments of dirt fell off his body as he stood on his two heavy feet, his left arm limp by his side and his left shoulder black with bruised skin. The attack had hit the upper left side of his torso, cutting off the pointed tip of his left ear and leaving a trail of blood running down his neck.
I promise after this...
Cobra took a long breath, standing at the edge of the new splintering crater the last attack had formed. He shattered dirt and rock-strewn across the ground as he stood without his claws or scaled arms. His earlier transformation had vanished once he woke up, leaving a mess of blood trickling down his brutalized left shoulder to his limp appendage.
I'll join you.
The blood trailed off the edge of his twisted and gnarled fingers, the falling drops counting down the moments until Cobra saw the one responsible step out on the other side of the gorge. Cobra let out a raspy laugh; his head rang, and his body screamed in protest, but he kept standing, staring daggers into the distance as he spoke with a struggling breath.
"Your stupid stick doesn't look too good, Jellal."
Jellal's right arm was hanging limp by his side with only a few shards of the old cloud in his limp grip. The eye totem was hanging from his right hand, the actual eye on the end closed as if it was resting well. Cobra got the vague sense that it was recharging from the last attack. That could be why Jellal refused to say anything and switched it with the one on his back, now holding that stupid fan in his right hand before giving a quiet speech.
"I understand that you want to kill me..."
Oh, how infuriating it was to hear his dull voice.
"But this is your last chance."
But before Cobra could lose himself again and probably get himself killed, his ears twitched. It was weird; even with his head ringing and his body feeling like a thousand pounds, his hearing was still functioning and working overtime. It was like now that his other senses were dull with exhaustion and damage; his ears had become sharper.
"Stay down."
He could hear his friend's lulled heartbeat, just like always, but he could listen to more than that. He could hear the sound of the sloshing blood in his body, the faintest twitches in Jellal's muscles, and the footsteps of Midnight echoing across the forest. He could hear more than ever before...
"I don't want to kill you."
That's why he could hear it.
"Please don't make me take another life."
He heard the absolute strain hidden deep in Jellal's words; he listened to the sound of Jellal's bloodstream becoming tainted with poison; he heard the slight creaking and tremors of Jellal's bones; he listened to the rotting flesh of Jellal's right arm, and the sound brought a sudden jolt down Cobra's spine.
He's on his last legs.
Cobra's lips twitched into a feral grin as a sarcastic growl crawled up his throat.
"My life..."
Cobra loosed an incredulous laugh before bathing himself in the height of tension and lowering his center of gravity, planting his feet in the dirt as he extended his right fist forward. His eyes laced with concentration as he tried to grasp that earlier sensation, the power that had taken control of him, and wrangle it underneath his grasp.
"You don't want to take my life?"
Cobra felt like he was balancing on the edge of a knife as he felt the dragon lacrimal in his chest pulse and instantly tried to overwhelm him with power. It wanted to make him a mindless monster of wrath, but Cobra didn't let it; he clamped his fangs into it and only pulled the inch he could control.
"You already did."
Cobra met Jellal's resigned gaze from across the crater as his right arm was lined, inch by inch, with maroon scales. The toxic scent wafted through the air as his right arm was replaced with a dragon's claw, and wisps of toxins flowed from his dagger-like nails.
"My life's nothing without Coballios."
Only his right arm had been transformed; that was all he could handle in his current state, but it was enough. Cobra would use this ancient power planted in his body until it ran out, squeezing even more out of it. He tapped into the most primal part of himself as he spoke with a nasty truth.
"If you let me live, I swear one day I'll come back and take everything from you..."
Right here, and right now, Cobra would wring his lacrimal dry until either he won or died...
"So come on..."
Whichever came first.
"Let's end this."
Cobra spoke with conviction found in dead men, a feral snarl plastered on his face as his heartbeat skyrocketed. His body was pumping with the last bits of poison magic he could handle, and adrenaline burning the faintest hints of a freshly cast sleeping spell from his system as he glared brazenly across the crater. He was staring into the moonlit eyes of the one who took everything from him.
"I see..."
How odd was it...
"So be it."
That the eyes that would gleefully torment his nights had become so saddened at the idea of killing?
What is his problem-
"Left Wing of Beezlebub"
Cobra's thoughts died as the air shifted, and the gloved hand grasping the wooden fan sparked with purple static. The sound buzzed through the air as the wooden totem began glowing with purple energy, spreading from underneath the glove until it reached the end of the totem, crawling like veins into the fan until purple magic sprouted slowly from its blades and curled into a crescent edge.
"Sorath Vau"
Bright purple light highlighted Jellal's blue hair. His totem became a wooden scythe with a violet blade of buzzing energy sprouting from the fan at its end. The scythe danced through the air as Jellal wielded it with his left hand, flourishing it before settling it behind him. Its buzzing energy scraped against the ground behind him as he lowered himself and tensed his legs like springs.
The ground crunched underneath Jellal's feet as he shot forward like a bullet, gliding across the crater as Cobra released a feral grin of nerves and adrenaline to meet him—the two clashing in the epicenter with the purple blade scraping across maroon scales. Sparks flew through the air as the two met each other's eyes, downtrodden brown on burning maroon before the final whistle blew.
Blood trickled from Jellal's lips to the ground, and the two blurred in a final series of sparking blows.
Blood dripped from Siegrain's right arm as he limped further into the forest, his breath heavy as he tried to keep one foot in front of the other.
My vision's blurry...
Every step shot up a bit of pain through his left leg, and every time he shifted his weight to it, there was a stabbing pain in his thigh. A burning sensation, like there was a hot iron pressed against the side of his leg, courtesy of the deep gash on the side of his thigh, oozing blood that was flowing endlessly.
My head's pounding...
Siegrain also had a cut in his right bicep, a quarter inch deep, not enough to hit bone, but still a good gash. Yet that was nothing compared to his leg; he was sure Midnight's attack had hit bone, but it would be impossible to tell anytime soon.
I'm losing too much blood...
Siegrain didn't have the luxury of figuring out the specifics.
I have to stop it before I pass out.
Siegrain took a deep breath, his head screaming as he looked towards a lone tree and walked towards it. The moonlight trickled over his head as he sat down with his back against it, his eyes low as he let threads trail from his left hand toward his leg. His wire-like lines began stitching the wound shut with questionable precision; all the while, Siegrain stared at the bloody process.
How can I beat him...
Siegrain had run as far as he could before his leg demanded him to stop, but he was sure he hadn't lost the dark mage. This would be Siegrain's last chance to recover and devise a plan to beat the enemy that had overwhelmed him, pushing him past his limits for the first time in a long time.
My threads can't get past his defenses.
Siegrain's threads couldn't get through the mage's strange magic, and when he made a shield in his initial dash to escape the path of destruction, it was cleaved in two effortlessly. Even if he gave himself the benefit of the doubt since the shield was hastily made, a split-second spell to try and buy him some time to escape the attack, it didn't change the fact that it had been rendered utterly useless.
His attacks can get through my defenses easily.
Siegrain hadn't come up against a wall, a genuine threat this big since Aria. Midnight had nearly killed him, and he had made it look easy. Handling the threads Siegrain had spent his entire life perfecting like they were just strings of yarn.
How do I win...
Siegrain was outclassed entirely in both offensive and defensive capabilities.
How do I get past his magic...
No matter how many options he ran through, he couldn't think of a way to get his threads past that twisting magic barrier.
How do I defeat the enemy in front of me...
Weaker, stronger, sharper, duller, stretchier, stickier, faster, or even camouflaging them, no matter what Siegrain thought to do with his strings, the simulations came back the same.
How do I make it through this practical...
Siegrain's threads couldn't touch the dark mage.
How do I...
Siegrain's threads...
Survive.
Siegrain released a shaky breath as he finished stitching up his leg, and his threads moved to the gash on his arm. His gaze tilted to the sky as he began seeping between consciousness and unconsciousness. His eyes looked at the moon as he forced himself to stay awake and reached a startling realization for the first time in years.
Why do I want to survive so badly...
Since when did he get so desperate to stay alive? Since when did he push himself this far when it was only his life on the line? Since when did he run through every single option to make it out of a hole he'd been stuck in? Since when did he care if he didn't make it out of a death sentence?
When did it happen...
Siegrain couldn't remember how long he'd spent waiting, wishing for death. After Seven died, he'd only stuck around because that was one of the last things he'd promised her, but that was it. He never cared about dying; he'd spent years waiting for it, but now that desperate and dull yearning was gone.
When did I care about living...
It had been replaced with this strange desire to see the sunrise back home.
When...
Siegrain desperately wanted to go back home.
When did that place become home?
Siegrain, as his threads finished stitching up the gash in his arm, began thinking of Oak Town. He wanted to go back and see Totamaru and Sol. He wanted to talk to Pause and Doronbo. He wanted to train with Aria and ask the guild master for more advice. He wanted to talk to Wendy and Raubol some more. He wanted to see Vera and tell him he understood why he hid Jellal's existence from him; he had been right.
Since when did I care so much about living...
Siegrain had been naive, just like the guild master said back in Oak Town.
In a world where she's gone.
Siegrain had been given a little bubble, and he had felt safe in it for the first time in forever. So he stayed in it and never tried to leave. He thought he was taking his time, but he wasn't. He was running.
'Your magic is beautiful, just like you are.'
He ran from Seven's death by waiting for his own. Then he ran from the truth of the big and scary world and into Oak Town's little bubble. Then, when that bubble started shaking, he traded it for the projection of Cait Shelter. Making excuses like he'd do it later, or it didn't matter if he waited because he didn't want to face reality.
Well, he'd run out of excuses. Cait Shelter's bubble was popping, and the reason for it was close to arriving. Midnight's lazy whistle echoed through the forest, inching towards Siegrain's sitting figure. Siegrain heard the echoes getting closer as he forced himself to a dull stand and turned to leave before flinching and clenching his fist.
What am I doing?
Siegrain let out a confused breath as he turned back and walked out from under the tree, standing with sagging shoulders and shaking legs while his mind waded in the middle of a sea of warring voices.
'What else would I need?'
The light, hopeful words tinted with Raubol's aged wisdom, and the darker words whispered with the cold truths. Their mirage of words drowned out his psyche, battling each other for a foothold until one side buried the other completely.
'Ever since you came here, you've lived in your little happy bubble.'
It was the guild master's telling him the hard truth he never wanted to hear from anyone.
'Doing missions easily and learning magic you hope you'll never have to use.'
Siegrain had always, whether he realized it or not, had this childish dream that he could live in this scarily wide world with only the magic Seven loved and survive in it. That he could become strong enough to survive in it with just the magic he treasured as much as his name.
'All the while reading books to try and glimpse the world too wide for you to understand.'
Siegrain had been wrong.
'The world's more complicated than that.'
The world was wide and cruel, and childish dreams like his didn't have a place there. His weak magic didn't have a place in it; Aria had told him as much every time they sparred; he had done it back on the night of the meteor shower a year ago. At the rate Siegrain went, he'd get left behind, and the world wasn't nice enough to offer forgiveness.
I don't want to die...
Siegrain wanted to live and keep using the magic he loved, the magic Seven had taught him, the magic he treasured more than anything.
I want to go back to Oak Town...
The world wasn't caring enough to let him have both.
I want to see everyone again.
So when the steps of his enemy inched closer, enough to pop out of the nearby tree line and catch sight of Siegrain's figure, standing in front of a blood-stained tree with a hunched back, Siegrain didn't notice the gleeful tilt of Midnight's red eyes or the mocking words that escaped the mage's lips.
"Oh? Did you finally stop running? Well, that makes this easier."
Siegrain was only listening to the voice running through his head.
'You already know the answer.'
Aria's words rang in Siegrain's ears as he gently lifted a tired arm towards Midnight, who leisurely approached to finish him off. Magic streamed through Siegrain's body and into his outstretched hand. Except this time, it didn't go towards his fingertips as it had always done before.
"Fire Magic"
It roared and rushed to his open palm, the orange flames flickering under his grasp as they merged into a ball of sweltering heat. The orange light flickering off their tails highlighted Siegrain's red tattoo and dead brown eyes as he looked up, catching the surprise that flashed across Midnight's face before Siegrain uttered the final word that killed the most naive part of himself.
"Plume"
The ball of flames in Siegrain's hand burst in a billowing explosion that shook the ground and razed his foolish dream to ash.