After a surprisingly civilised breakfast, albeit seasoned with Mirajane’s usual, highly effective teasing and Erza’s adorably explosive, entirely predictable reactions, we decided, or rather, Erza decided for both of us, that it was high time we dragged our tired backsides to the Fairy Tail guild and looked for a new, exciting, hopefully lucrative mission.
The sun, with an irritating, entirely unsuitable joy for someone still feeling half asleep, shone brightly in the clear blue sky, illuminating the path we followed through the bustling, noisy city of Magnolia, and the weather was, I must admit with a certain regret, perfect for an adventure. Or, in my humble, generally ignored opinion, for a long, deep, refreshing nap under the shade of a leafy tree with a gentle breeze. The options, unfortunately, were not open for debate.
As we walked side by side, in a silence that wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but wasn't entirely relaxed either – mainly because Erza still seemed to be stewing over the morning’s provocations – I couldn't help but notice, with secret amusement, that our little, stubborn Titania-in-training was still rather… visibly irritated.
The memories of Mirajane’s somewhat suggestive jests about ‘perfect wives’ and ‘sharing Azra’il’ still hung in the air like a miniature storm cloud stubbornly hovering over her red head. And she, with her characteristic stubbornness, her strong sense of possessiveness regarding… well, me, and her total inability to take a bit of teasing in her stride, seemed not in the least bit inclined to let them go so easily.
[Ah, young Erza’s morning drama and her unrequited romantic insecurities… or perhaps just an acute case of possessive jealousy regarding her older sister/best friend/object of confused affection figure,] Eos’s voice, always so timely and as subtle as an elephant in a china shop, sounded in my mind, laden with her usual, irritating tone of condescending amusement. [It’s almost as entertaining as watching those other-dimensional reality shows of yours about the mating rituals of exotic species. Almost.]
(You and your entirely unnecessary comments on others' emotional lives, Eos. How about focusing on something more productive, like calculating the probability of us encountering a giant sea monster on the way to the guild?) I retorted mentally, with an eye-roll she certainly detected.
[Probability of a giant sea monster in Magnolia: 0.0003%. Probability of Erza exploding with jealousy if Mirajane gives you another hug: approximately 87.9%. My teenage drama analysis algorithms are razor-sharp today, Azra’il.] Damn AI and her ability to read the situation with frightening accuracy.
"I still can’t believe it, Azra’il!" Erza exclaimed suddenly, breaking the tense silence with an indignation that was almost palpable, her voice still laden with the morning’s ill-contained frustration. "That cheeky Mirajane had the audacity, the complete, absolute shamelessness, to say she wanted you to be her wife! Just like that, in front of everyone! It’s preposterous!"
(And here we go again…) I thought, with an internal sigh.
"I know it’s just a daft joke of hers, to provoke me, Azra’il, but still… it’s utter nonsense! And totally, completely inappropriate!" She gestured dramatically with her hands as she walked, almost knocking over a flowerpot of petunias from a particularly unfortunate resident’s unlucky windowsill.
I smiled, an amused, perhaps slightly condescending, but genuinely entertained smile, as I listened to her passionate, slightly exaggerated complaints. It was incredibly amusing to see her so… emotionally invested in something so trivial. "Ah, Erza, my little, jealous protector of questionable honours, you know full well, better than anyone, that Mirajane loves to tease everyone who breathes, especially, and with particular sadistic pleasure, you. It’s her favourite pastime, besides, probably, polishing her imaginary demonic horns and planning new ways to get on your nerves. And the inconvenient truth is that, in a way, she was just mucking about to wind you up. And, let’s face it, my dear redhead, it worked marvellously, spectacularly well."
[Objective successfully achieved by Unit Mirajane. Unit Erza’s irritation level: Elevated. Unit Azra’il’s amusement level: Considerably high. Morning provocation mission: Completed with honours. Next phase: Observe the inevitable sparks when they meet at the guild.] Eos’s precision was, as always, impeccable and a little frightening.
"Mucking about or not, I don’t like it one bit!" Erza replied with adorable stubbornness, crossing her arms over her chest and pulling a determined expression that made her look like a particularly cross squirrel in armour.
"No one, absolutely no one, should have the audacity to call you a potential ‘wife’, especially when I, and only I, am your best friend! And that’s final!" Her logic was simple, direct, and, I must admit, a little frightening in its possessiveness.
"You’re so adorably protective, little redhead," I commented, chuckling softly, which only seemed to irritate her further and make her cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red. "But don’t you worry about such nonsense. You’ll always be my number one stubborn troublemaker. No albino demoness with culinary ulterior motives or any other creature in the multiverse will steal your spot. I promise." I winked at her, trying to calm her nerves… or perhaps just amuse myself a little more with the situation.
Erza, oblivious to my internal amusement and Eos’s analyses, cast a quick glance at me, looking a little less furious, but still decidedly determined not to let Mirajane’s morning provocation go entirely unaddressed. "Well, if that cheeky Mirajane carries on with her daft jokes and absurd insinuations about you, I’ll have to show her, once and for all and with concrete proof, who here is really the strongest and who truly deserves your culinary attention… and your friendship!" The veiled threat in her voice was almost palpable, and I didn’t doubt for a second her ability to turn the guild into a battlefield over a misplaced comment.
"That’s right, Erza! Show her who’s boss! Defend my honour… and, more importantly, my precious kitchen skills!" I encouraged with feigned enthusiasm and an amused smile, laughing inwardly at the situation. "But perhaps, just perhaps, my little, jealous warrior, you could postpone this epic battle for my affection and culinary talents until after we find a minimally interesting, challenging, and, above all, lucrative mission at the guild. Priorities, my dear. Priorities."
We both continued to walk towards the imposing, ever-chaotic Fairy Tail guildhall, light conversation, amusing teasing, and Erza’s occasional indignant complaint about Mirajane’s audacity and lack of respect accompanying us along the way, whilst the morning sun warmed us and promised another day of… well, peculiar, utterly unpredictable normality at the Fairy Tail Guild.
When we finally reached the guild a few minutes later, we were greeted, as usual, by the familiar, comforting, entirely predictable sounds of loud laughter that sounded more like roars, enthusiastic battle cries that were probably just a friendly argument, distinct noises of valuable, easily breakable things being, well, broken, and the constant, cheerful clinking of ale tankards clashing in raucous toasts, all mixed with the ominous, frequent crack of solid wooden tables and chairs being merrily, routinely reduced to mere kindling for the fireplace. It was to be expected, of course.
Even first thing in the morning, such an edifying, culturally enriching, entirely free spectacle as a full-blown brawl was already in full swing in the main hall. Ah, the sweet, predictable, chaotic routine of Fairy Tail. It never changed. And, secretly, I loved it.
Curious as two cats with a particularly interesting, noisy ball of yarn, we both approached with calculated caution – after all, one never knew when a flying barrel or a drunken mage might cross one’s path – to get a better look at what, or more likely who, was causing all the morning commotion and gleeful destruction of guild property. And, to our utter, absolute lack of surprise, as if it were an immutable law of the universe, we found the famous, infamous, apparently inseparable dynamic duo known as "fire and ice" at the exact epicentre of the confusion, as always.
There they were, in all their youthful glory and contagious stupidity: Natsu Dragneel, the self-proclaimed Salamander with bubblegum-pink hair, a mischievous, irritating, eternally hungry grin plastered on his face, launching powerful jets of fire magic in all directions with destructive enthusiasm and a total lack of aim, whilst Gray Fullbuster, with his dark, rebellious hair and, for some reason I would probably never understand or accept, wearing only a lamentable, entirely inappropriate pair of rather dodgy boxer shorts (apparently, he had the irritating habit of stripping off in moments of excitement or combat, which was unsettling on several levels), retaliated with equally impressive ferocity, using his creative, versatile, dangerously slippery ice magic. An instant classic. An unmissable morning spectacle.
The two lads, who apparently had a chronic, incurable, mutually destructive allergy to each other, traded creative, colourful, anatomically questionable insults that would make a drunken sailor blush. Clumsy kicks that rarely hit their mark, noisy punches that sounded more like pillows clashing, and a truly impressive amount of misdirected fire and ice spells that ended up hitting everything except their opponents. They created, with enviable efficiency, a chaotic, noisy, surprisingly amusing scene with a high potential for collateral damage that, from what I had patiently observed and analysed over the past four years, seemed to have become an almost sacred morning routine, a daily rite of passage in the guild.
The atmosphere in the main hall was, to say the very least, electrically amusing, dangerously unstable, and highly prone to accidents involving fire, ice, and broken furniture. All normal, then. Until Erza, who was visibly impatient with their monumental stupidity, probably hungry for more of my delicious Tamago Kake Gohan and with zero tolerance for morning clowning, decided, with her usual subtlety of a tank in a china shop, to intervene and bring some order to the mess.
"THAT’S ENOUGH, YOU TWO NOISY, DESTRUCTIVE, AMOEBA-BRAINED IDIOTS!" she yelled, her surprisingly powerful voice echoing through the hall with a cold, unquestionable authority that made even the toughest, most experienced guild members stop what they were doing to look on with a mixture of fear and admiration. And then, with a speed and strength that still surprised me, despite having witnessed it countless times, she simply grabbed the two troublesome juvenile delinquents by the scruff of their necks, one in each hand, lifting them off the ground as easily as one lifts two disobedient, noisy kittens.
Natsu and Gray, caught completely off guard in the midst of their epic, utterly senseless battle, were momentarily stunned, their expressions changing from angry confusion to one of pure, abject fear as they realised who held them. They knew full well, from numerous, painful past experiences, the frightening strength Erza possessed and her total, absolute lack of patience for their childish antics.
"Can’t you two, you mage-wannabes with a few screws loose, go a single, blessed morning without getting into stupid, senseless fights that result in the destruction of half the guild’s property?! Behave like minimally civilised mages with an ounce of respect for others’ property, or I swear by all the strawberry cakes in the world I’ll use you both as training weights for my new set of armour!"
Erza put them back on the ground with a firm movement, a look that promised pain, suffering, and possibly a few broken bones, whilst the two poor blighters, now pale as ghosts and trembling like leaves, tried to recover from the little, furious redhead’s steel grip and her sudden, terrifying, highly effective intervention.
This peculiar, almost ritualistic interaction between the three had already become as predictable and familiar a routine in Fairy Tail as sunrise, Natsu’s insatiable hunger, or the Master’s endless speeches about the power of friendship. As soon as the initial brawl inevitably cooled under Erza’s icy glare and she turned her back on them, visibly pleased with her temporary display of authority and order, Natsu and Gray, driven by a stupid impulse of youthful revenge, a stubbornness that defied logic, or perhaps just plain, simple chronic stupidity, would invariably join forces in an unlikely, temporary, utterly doomed alliance to try and attack Erza from behind, in a pathetic, suicidal attempt to avenge their public humiliation and physical pain.
And, of course, as always happened and as everyone in the guild already expected with a mixture of boredom and amusement, they would end up being brutally, hilariously crushed, totally humiliated, and, with alarming frequency, forcefully, precisely hurled through some wall, window, or guild support pillar once more, to the raucous delight, contagious laughter, and lively betting of the other guild members watching the daily spectacle. It was a vicious, painful, utterly predictable cycle of stupidity, pain, and free entertainment.
And, I must admit, it was hilarious to watch.
And as if all that, all that gratuitous destruction and morning slapstick comedy, were just a carefully orchestrated, rehearsed show for her exclusive, sadistic personal entertainment, Mirajane, who was watching the whole scene from the safe, strategic comfort of the bar counter, with an amused smile that didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes and an unmistakable glint of pure, crystalline malice in them, didn’t miss, as usual, the precious opportunity to tease her eternal rival.
"Just look at you, Erza! With all that uncontrolled brute force of yours and your incredibly delicate, subtle way of resolving interpersonal conflicts, you look like a furious, PMT-ing gorilla trying to break up a petty squabble between squirrels! All you need to do now is beat your chest and let out a few guttural grunts to complete the look!"
The little, stubborn, now doubly irritated redhead, whose mood was already not at its best thanks to my own subtle earlier provocations and now Mirajane’s direct, venomous ones, shot a withering glare, laden with promises of pain and suffering that would make a basilisk envious, at the albino girl with the falsely angelic smile, who just laughed heartily at her predictable reaction.
"You’re not staying out of this argument, you meddling albino demoness with a terrible taste in metaphors!" Erza retorted through gritted teeth, her voice dangerously low, as she visibly braced herself, fists clenched and an aura of power beginning to emanate from her body, to enter a new, different, probably even more destructive and noisy brawl. Ah, teenagers and their uncontrolled hormones. So predictable. And so amusing.
And so, with a speed, an inevitability, a lack of surprise that was almost poetic in its repetition, things in the Fairy Tail Guild quickly transformed, once again, into new, glorious, utterly free-for-all chaos.
The two strongest, most promising mages of Fairy Tail’s new generation, Erza and Mirajane, eternal rivals with a clear, mutual antipathy bordering on the pathological, began to trade surprisingly powerful punches, accurate, flying kicks, and impressive, highly destructive spells, merrily, contagiously enthusiastically destroying everything and everyone unfortunate enough to be around them, whilst Natsu and Gray, completely, conveniently forgetting their previous differences and their recent, painful defeat at Erza’s hands, joyfully, admirably opportunistically joined the generalised confusion, trying, with terrible aim and a notable lack of strategy, to land a few cowardly blows on their respective, now distracted rivals and, mainly, desperately, panickedly dodging Erza and Mirajane’s furious onslaughts, flying debris, and stray spells.
It was, for all practical, observable purposes, just another typical, normal, utterly predictable, wonderfully chaotic day at the Fairy Tail Guild. An ordinary day, full of contagious laughter that sounded more like roars, spectacular, entirely unnecessary fights, unshakeable friendships forged in the heat of battle (or some monumental drinking session), and a vibrant, chaotic, contagious, utterly unique energy that made anyone, even an ancient, cynical entity with relationship issues like myself, feel, deep down and against all my resistances, that here, in this nest of noisy, destructive, loyal lunatics with surprisingly enormous hearts, was exactly the right place, perhaps the only place in the universe, where someone like me, and someone like Erza, could truly belong. Or, at the very least, it was, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, the most amusing, most interesting, considerably less boring place in the entire bloody, predictable universe.
After things, miraculously and against all expectations, finally calmed down a bit – and that only happened, as usual and to the relief of the building’s structure, after Master Makarov, with his divine patience and blood pressure probably through the roof, appeared floating in mid-air with an aura of restrained fury that made the glasses tremble and a vein dangerously throbbing on his shiny bald head, to finally stop the generalised brawl with one of his famous, long, moving, fiery speeches about the true meaning of family, friendship, responsibility, and, most importantly, about the exorbitant cost of guild repairs, especially after a particularly expensive, rare, irreplaceable barrel of red wine imported from Bosco had been accidentally, tragically, utterly stupidly broken in the confusion by an overly enthusiastic Natsu – Erza and I, now a little less irritated by the morning’s provocations, a little dirtier from dust and debris, and considerably more focused on our original goal, decided it was finally time to look for an interesting, challenging, and, above all, financially rewarding mission on the guild’s famous, chaotic, ever-updated request board.
With a clear objective in mind, and skilfully trying to avoid the curious glances, amused comments, and possible teasing from other guild members still slowly recovering from the last glorious free-for-all, we walked with determined steps and an air of professionalism that probably fooled no one to the large, imposing, traditional dark wooden board that dominated one of the more intact walls of the main hall, where dozens, if not hundreds, of mission requests of all types, difficulties, and danger levels were pinned in a totally disorderly, overlapping, vibrantly colourful fashion, like an abstract work of art by a chaotic bureaucrat with a terrible sense of organisation.
The variety of tasks, challenges, and adventures available was, as always, impressive, somewhat bizarre, and, occasionally, utterly ridiculous. There were missions ranging from incredibly mundane, tedious, probably underpaid tasks, like mending the leaky roof of a lonely, likely very talkative elderly lady living on the outskirts of town, finding the spoilt, fat, pompously named pet cat that had run away from some eccentric noble with too much money to spend, or even something as prosaic as delivering a secret love letter to a reluctant recipient. And, of course, there were also the epic, grand, potentially deadly challenges, like dealing with a giant, smelly monster with terrible morning breath that was sadistically terrorising an entire, peaceful village in the distant mountains, or investigating an ancient, mysterious, almost certainly cursed ruin full of ingenious traps, unsolvable puzzles, terribly resentful, relationship-issue-ridden ghosts.
The board was, as usual, a chaotic, fascinating mosaic, filled with papers of every imaginable colour, varied sizes, and different levels of desperation and urgency, each one telling a small, unfinished story of adventure, danger, mystery, and, most importantly for two young mages with bills to pay, a tempting promise of a hefty, welcome cash reward.
"Right then, my dear, now officially named Titania," I began, with an air of false importance and an arched eyebrow in contemplation, as my blue eyes scanned with critical, calculating attention the diverse, varied, occasionally hilarious job offers pinned to the board.
"Let’s see what interesting, minimally challenging, and, if possible, low-probability-of-painful-death-or-dismemberment options we have for two mages of our undeniable calibre and refined taste for adventure today. This one, for example," I pointed to a yellowed piece of paper with shaky handwriting, "says we urgently, compassionately need to mend the leaky roof of a lovely old lady who lives near the river and is, apparently, afraid of pigeons. The offered reward is a generous basket of homemade biscuits, probably made with love and a bit of arthritis, and her eternal, noisy gratitude. Seems… a bit dull, with a clear lack of danger and a considerably low return on investment of time, effort, and dignity, don’t you think?"
Erza pulled a face of genuine, total disapproval, clearly sharing my utter, absolute lack of enthusiasm for unpaid manual labour with a high probability of having to listen to endless stories about cats and grandchildren.
"Absolutely, Azra’il. That’s clearly a job for Macao, Wakaba, or some other guild member desperately in need of some biscuits and a surrogate mother figure. We need something more… exciting! Something that truly tests our skills, our strength, our courage! And, most importantly, something that pays well enough for us to buy that incredibly expensive, delicious strawberry cake we saw in the confectioner's window yesterday!"
Her practicality and love for sweets were admirable, entirely understandable.
I continued to read aloud, with a tone of growing amusement and disbelief, some of the more… peculiar, bizarre, utterly absurd mission descriptions available, for our mutual, growing entertainment. "Here’s one that looks promising and has a surprisingly high reward, considering the apparent simplicity of the task: ‘Defeat a band of terribly sneaky bandits, with dreadful personal hygiene habits, a limited vocabulary, and a clear lack of respect for others’ property, who are sadistically, repeatedly robbing innocent travellers, greedy merchants, and the occasional, unlucky postman on an important, supposedly safe trade route on the outskirts of Magnolia.’ This, my dear Erza, looks like it has potential! A bit of righteous, necessary action, the glorious chance to help the needy and oppressed, and, most importantly, a good, considerable sum of jewels to line our pockets."
"Ah! Just look at this mission here, Azra’il! This one is simply first-class in terms of pure, crystalline bizarreness!" I continued, letting out a small, amused chuckle as I read the next notice, which was written in elegant calligraphy on perfumed paper. "This, my dear, is a true work of art! It says we need, with utmost urgency, discretion, and delicacy, to help an extremely spoilt, obese Persian cat, with a pedigree longer than my arm and a ridiculously pompous name like ‘Sir Reginald Fluffington III’, find its way safely back to the sumptuous mansion of its rich, eccentric, probably lonely owner with an unhealthy love for felines. The offered reward? A truly absurd, utterly disproportionate amount of hard cash and, get this, a lifetime, unlimited supply of the best, most expensive tinned tuna imported from somewhere exotic. Now, tell me, Erza, what’s so special, so valuable, so irreplaceable about a simple, fat, probably arrogant house cat to justify such an extravagant, frankly ridiculous reward?"
Erza couldn’t suppress a small but genuine, amused smile upon hearing the description of the feline mission and its princely reward.
"Why, Azra’il, don’t be so cynical and materialistic! Perhaps Sir Reginald Fluffington III is, in fact, secretly a legendary, incredibly powerful mage disguised as a pet, who is merely testing the kindness, patience, and tracking skills of the pure, noble hearts of Fairy Tail’s adventurers! Or perhaps, who knows, he’s a rare, ancient mystical creature, with the power to grant wishes, predict the future, or find lost socks! One never knows what to expect from cats, especially those with such long names and such rich owners!"
Her fertile imagination and incurable optimism were, at times, almost touching.
"Or perhaps, my dear, dreamy Erza, and this is my far more probable, logical, considerably less magical theory," I laughed, shaking my head at her overflowing imagination and inexplicable love for animals, "he is merely, solely a fat, spoilt, lazy cat with an excellent, highly selective nose for the finest quality tinned tuna, who, in a moment of feline boredom and in search of adventure, got lost whilst chasing a particularly plump, appetising, probably imaginary mouse, and now his rich, eccentric, lonely, desperate owner is willing to pay a veritable fortune to have her precious, irreplaceable furball back in her arms. And, honestly, who in their right mind can truly blame her for that? I, personally, would do exactly the same, and perhaps even more, for a good, large, delicious piece of chocolate cake with extra icing." Priorities, after all.
We continued to discuss, analyse, and mock the diverse, varied, frequently utterly absurd missions pinned to the board, and each new, bizarre, unbelievable description I read aloud seemed even more ridiculous, more implausible, more absurd than the last. There was one, for example, that spoke of the pressing, urgent need to find a single, delicate transparent crystal slipper that had been mysteriously lost by a spoilt, clumsy princess with a terrible, utterly irresponsible sense of responsibility for her royal belongings, which made Erza smile subtly and roll her eyes with almost imperceptible elegance.
"I don’t know, Azra’il, if I’m exactly the most qualified person, or even minimally interested, in running around looking for a lost crystal slipper belonging to a probably frivolous, forgetful princess with balance issues," Erza joked, with a small, almost imperceptible eye-roll that was, in itself, a work of art of subtlety. "I’d probably end up accidentally breaking the bloody slipper with my brute force, or, more likely, using it as an improvised, highly stylish weapon to bash some particularly irritating bandit over the head."
"Ah, but you could, my dear, sceptical Erza, become a true, noble, incredibly charming knight in shining armour – or rather, an enchanted princess in stylish armour – by finding and returning the precious, probably uncomfortable lost crystal slipper to the beautiful, helpless, perhaps slightly clumsy princess," I commented, with a mischievous smile that promised no good and a glint of pure, crystalline malice in my eyes. I loved to tease her. "With that natural charm of yours as a knight-errant and defender of the weak and oppressed, that undeniable aura of pure, noble heroism, and that shining silver armour of yours that makes hearts sigh, I am absolutely, unshakeably certain you would win not only the princess’s soft, grateful heart, but also, who knows, the entire kingdom, and perhaps even a pet dragon, without the slightest, most infinitesimal effort! Who needs a white horse and a title of nobility when one has a Titania on the rise?"
Erza became visibly, adorably, utterly embarrassed by my shamelessly flattering comment and the rather ridiculous mental image I had so enthusiastically painted. Her previously pale, concentrated cheeks now turned a vivid, intense shade of red that rivalled the brightness and intensity of her scarlet hair. It was a glorious sight. "Do… do you really think I’m… charming, Azra’il?" she asked, in a tone so shy, so hesitant, almost incredulous, it almost made me feel sorry for her. Almost. Her eyes avoided mine with palpable embarrassment.
"Absolutely, positively, unshakeably, stubborn little redhead!" I replied with genuine enthusiasm, unshakeable conviction, and an even broader, more teasing smile forming on my face. She was so incredibly easy to tease and make flustered. It was practically a sport. "You have all the raw, untamed charm of a force of nature, all the indomitable, stubborn bravery of a lioness protecting her cubs, and all the inherent nobility of a true, predestined heroine from ancient fairy tales and bards’ songs! It’s practically, utterly impossible for any being with a modicum of good taste and a still-beating heart not to fall head over heels in love with you at first, or perhaps, for the slower ones, at second or third, sight! Even the ugliest monsters and cruellest demons probably develop a secret, platonic crush on you before being brutally, efficiently, mercilessly defeated by your strength and withering glare."
Erza turned even redder, if that was humanly or magically possible, her shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of my exaggerated compliments and shameless teasing. And I, of course, couldn’t help a small, satisfied, perhaps slightly sadistic chuckle at the hilarious, adorable situation. The way she became embarrassed by sincere compliments, or even by light, well-intentioned teasing, was incredibly, irresistibly adorable and, to be completely, painfully honest, made the moment much more fun, much more rewarding, much more… special for me.
After a few more minutes of careful, highly professional analysis on our part, some heated debates full of logical (or not so logical) arguments about the pros and cons of each bizarre mission, and many, many laughs and teases (mostly from me), finally, and to the relief of my stomach, which was rumbling again, we made up our minds.
"I think, considering our current combat abilities, our uncontrollable desire for a bit of real, dangerous action, and, most importantly, our pressing need for a decent, financially satisfying reward to fund our future, inevitable strawberry cakes," I suggested, with an air of calculated seriousness, pointing with a decisive finger at the bandit notice we had read earlier. "We should, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, take the bandit mission. It seems these poor blighters are really causing a lot of trouble, disruption, and losses for innocent travellers and greedy merchants in this region, and stopping their nefarious, morally questionable activities would not only be a noble, heroic act on our part but also, and this is crucial, an excellent, welcome source of income."
"I entirely agree, Azra’il," Erza said, with a firm nod, her usual determination and indomitable fighting spirit returning with full force. Her previous embarrassment had vanished as if by magic, replaced by a fierce, almost predatory glint in her eyes. She was ready for battle. "We’ll finish off these cowardly bandits and their dreadful hygiene habits once and for all! And we’ll ensure that innocent travellers and honest (or not so honest) merchants can pass along that route in complete, absolute, unquestionable safety again! And afterwards, we’ll eat lots of strawberry cake!" Her priority regarding the cake was admirable.
With the decision finally, irrevocably made, and Erza’s stomach already dreaming of strawberry cakes, we took the crumpled mission paper from the board with an air of newfound professionalism and headed with firm, determined steps to the guild counter, to officially register our choice with Mirajane.
The albino demoness, who was busy polishing some glasses with visible boredom, looked at us with a smile that was a peculiar mixture of genuine amusement, a hint of envy at not being able to go with us on a real mission, and, probably, some new, brilliant idea to tease Erza later. As soon as I, as the ‘older’, supposedly more responsible of the duo (which was a joke in itself), officially accepted the mission to put an end to the reign of terror of the bandit gang cursing the outskirts of Magnolia, a small, discreet, familiar notification from my personal AI system, Eos, pinged softly in my mind. A translucent tab full of useful information about the mission opened in my peripheral vision, and Eos’s calm, efficient, slightly bored voice began to read out the relevant details.
[Arbitrary, Occasionally Generous Reward System Mission successfully accepted, Azra’il. Official Mission Title: ‘Operation Rustic, Uninspiring Route Clearance Level’. Primary, Non-Negotiable Objective: Defeat, preferably non-lethally and with minimal collateral damage to the local landscape, the low-threat, poorly organised, likely strategically unintelligent bandit gang currently causing trouble, disruption, and a significant decrease in commercial flow on the route north of Magnolia city. Estimated reward for successful mission completion, to be paid by the system in easily convertible universal currency: 30,000 jewels. Estimated Experience to be gained upon mission completion, for the development of your skills and strengthening of your current body: 2,500 experience points. Bonus skill points to be distributed as per your preference: 1. Optional secondary objectives, bonuses for flawless performance, lethal efficiency, and/or creativity in problem resolution yet to be duly determined and calculated based on your field performance. Good luck. And try not to blow up anything too big this time, please.] Eos’s precision and veiled sarcasm were, as always, a comforting constant in my chaotic life.
I smiled internally, with genuine satisfaction and a touch of avarice, always appreciating the numerous, convenient, frequently lucrative advantages of having a personal, super-advanced, omniscient, occasionally generous Artificial Intelligence system integrated into my immortal, adventurous soul. It wasn’t exactly a surprising novelty for me, as good old Eos had accompanied me, for better or worse, for countless, frequently tedious ages and in countless, varied worlds, but knowing we’d have a significant, guaranteed reward directly from the system, besides, of course, the rather modest payment the poor, desperate merchant who had originally posted the mission request would pay us, and on top of that, we’d gain precious experience points to strengthen this limited body of mine and a valuable skill point to invest in some new, interesting, possibly amusing form of causing controlled destruction… I mean, of helping the needy and oppressed, was always an excellent, welcome, highly motivating incentive to perform even the most mundane, repetitive, potentially dangerous tasks with a smile on my face. Or, in my case, with an air of resigned boredom and a great deal of sarcasm.
(Excellent, Eos. Simply magnificent. Besides the hard, probably dirty cash we’ll receive from the poor, exploited merchant who had the misfortune to post the request for help, I’ll also pocket a good, considerable extra sum directly from the system, which is always delightful. And, to boot, I’ll also gain a decent amount of experience to continue strengthening this current, frustratingly limited mortal shell of mine, and a precious, coveted skill point to invest in some new, interesting, possibly amusing form of causing controlled destruction… I mean, of helping the needy and oppressed, of course,) I thought, with satisfied inner reflection and mental planning already underway regarding the numerous, promising possibilities this small but significant power increase would bring to my near future… and, consequently, to Erza’s safety and well-being. After all, a stronger Azra’il meant a more protected Erza. It was impeccable logic. And entirely altruistic, of course.
[And don’t forget, Azra’il, a small, crucial detail you seem to conveniently ignore in your cost-benefit calculations,] Eos added, with that irritatingly omniscient, slightly condescending tone of hers that I so detested and, secretly, appreciated. [That you also can, and with a high probability, will, level up with the experience accumulated from these small, frequent ‘charity missions’ of yours. Which means, in practical terms and for your limited human understanding, that your current skills and powers may increase even further and, who knows, with a bit of luck and a lot of effort, you might even start to unlock some of your true, glorious real abilities a little earlier than predicted by my algorithms. Which, in turn, means more power and control for you and, consequently, many more headaches, worries, and extra work for me in trying to stop you from accidentally blowing up this planet or starting some interdimensional war out of sheer boredom.]
Her optimism was, as always, contagious.
Erza, completely oblivious to my complex, frequently contradictory mental conversation with my personal AI and my philosophical considerations on the intrinsic benefits of being a mercenary adventurer with an integrated reward system, was, predictably, completely, utterly focused on the mission at hand and the prospect of some righteous action. She looked at me, her eyes shining with fierce determination, contained excitement, and a thirst for justice that was almost palpable.
"We’ll do our best, Azra’il! And we will, most certainly, show these despicable, cowardly bandits what happens to those who dare mess with the mages of the Fairy Tail Guild and threaten the peace of Magnolia! They won’t even know what hit them! And afterwards, we’ll celebrate with lots of strawberry cake!" Her confidence was, as always, admirably contagious. And a little frightening in its intensity.
With a slight, almost imperceptible sigh of resignation, which was more a reflection of my centuries of experience with missions that invariably spiralled out of control than any real lack of enthusiasm, I mentally prepared myself for another ‘simple’, ‘easy’ bandit-hunting mission. The inconvenient truth, which I would never admit aloud to the fervent Erza, was that I felt nowhere near the same youthful excitement, heroic idealism, or thirst for justice she displayed with such passion.
Especially so early in the morning and before I’d had my second, or perhaps third, strong, bitter coffee. For me, an ancient entity who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the death of stars, and the creation of universes, this was, at best, just another mundane task to be completed, another small problem to be resolved efficiently, another tedious day at the office, so to speak. But, if it made the little, stubborn, incredibly strong redhead happy, if it helped her grow stronger, more confident, and find her place in the world, then who was I, a cynical, weary traveller of time and space, to complain? "Right, right. Let’s be off then, my little, furious, occasionally adorable Scarlet Valkyrie. Just another routine mission. Nothing major. No dramas, please," I murmured with a certain, familiar laziness in my voice, a laziness that contrasted comically with Erza’s urgency and excitement, as we headed out of the guild together, towards imminent danger, uncertain glory, and, with a great deal of luck, a minimally decent financial reward. And perhaps, just perhaps, a really good strawberry cake. There was always that hope.
--------------------(*)--------------------
We were now actively scouting the picturesque, surprisingly dangerous outskirts of Magnolia, following the somewhat vague, frequently contradictory, occasionally utterly useless information we had patiently managed to extract from various guild members (and some unlucky passers-by on the street), in search of the last known location where the infamous, apparently very active bandit gang had been seen in full, glorious criminal action.
The main road, which snaked through verdant fields and small forests, was, to our surprise, surprisingly busy, full of hurried travellers with anxious expressions, noisy merchants’ carts with visibly valuable cargo, and the occasional, colourful group of dodgy-looking adventurers, probably from some smaller, less well-resourced guild. We decided, at my ‘brilliant’, entirely original suggestion to interact with the locals, to ask some of these passers-by what they knew, or thought they knew, about our illustrious, wanted targets.
As we chatted with different people along the road – an old farmer with a beard that looked like it housed a small ecosystem, a young fabric merchant with a tongue sharper than her scissors, a travelling bard with an out-of-tune lute and many exaggerated tales – each of them seemed to have a different, unique, increasingly unbelievable, fanciful version to tell about the terrible, feared bandits. Some of the more recent, understandably more frightened victims described them with tears in their eyes as true, fierce, relentless, bloodthirsty monsters, with razor-sharp teeth, red eyes that glinted menacingly in the darkness, and a peculiar, worrying taste for gratuitous, unnecessary violence.
Others, usually the more experienced, jaded, deeply cynical merchants, who had probably been robbed countless times in their long careers, spoke with amused disdain of a utterly disorganised, lamentably incompetent, surprisingly ridiculous group of mere chicken thieves with an entirely unjustified overconfidence and a glaring, almost comical lack of real skill in combat or any other activity requiring a modicum of intelligence. It was hard to know who to believe.
We patiently, with a healthy dose of scepticism, collected a truly impressive diversity of information, the vast majority of it likely grossly exaggerated, entirely fabricated, or, at best, based on third-rate tavern gossip. We also investigated, with due caution and my keen sense of danger, some of the most probable, strategically positioned ambush points along the trade route, those dark, isolated places with plenty of trees to hide behind. And so, gradually, with a bit of logic, a lot of deduction, and a dash of pure luck, we began to form a slightly clearer, somewhat less fanciful, considerably more realistic idea of where, in the blazes, the secret base and hideout of said wanted bandits might be located.
"Well, considering the prevailing wind direction over the past few days, the curious phase of the moon we’ll have tonight, and the particularly auspicious alignment of stars in the Capricorn quadrant, I’d say, with a minimal margin of error, that this must be the last, most crucial, utterly irrefutable piece of information we needed to finally, with mathematical precision, triangulate the exact location of their secret, probably malodorous den," I said, with an air of false, deep arcane wisdom, an arched eyebrow in contemplation, and a conspiratorial wink at Erza, whilst discreetly, without her noticing, I mentally asked good old Eos to mark the most probable location, based on her data analysis algorithms and not my entirely fabricated astrological observations, on our shared internal map.
As soon as the small, discreet, glowing dot appeared in my peripheral vision, indicating a dense area of forest a few kilometres away, I began to walk with renewed confidence, surprising energy, and an air of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, towards the indicated point, with Erza confidently, unquestioningly following beside me, her eyes shining with a mixture of admiration for my supposed wisdom and a growing anticipation for the imminent battle. Children. So easy to impress with a bit of theatrics and a few difficult words.
As we walked along the narrow, winding path that now delved deeper and deeper into the dense, dark forest, smelling suspiciously of imminent danger, Erza, who seemed to have completely recovered from her morning irritation and was now fully focused on the mission, commented with a small, amused smile on her lips: "You know, Azra’il, despite all your eccentricities and constant sarcasm, you’ve always had a surprisingly good, almost infallible sense of direction. Entirely, completely unlike our dear Natsu, who usually runs randomly in any direction like a dizzy cockroach with its hair on fire, without the slightest concern or consideration whether he’s going the right way, the wrong way, or, as has happened a few times, straight into the mouth of an erupting volcano or the nest of some hungry, bad-breathed creature."
I laughed, a genuine, amused laugh, as I remembered with almost painful clarity a particularly chaotic, hilarious, utterly disastrous mission I’d had the dubious pleasure, or perhaps the sadistic, secret pleasure, of undertaking as a team with the impulsive Natsu and his inseparable, equally troublesome flying blue cat, Happy, a few months ago. An experience that still gave me nightmares and an uncontrollable urge to bang my head against the wall repeatedly.
"Ah, don’t even get me started on Natsu’s navigational skills! I still get shivers just thinking about it! I remember perfectly, with all the traumatising details, that time when he and Happy, in their brilliant, genius, utterly misguided search for a supposed ‘secret, magical shortcut’ to reach our destination faster, got completely, spectacularly lost in the forest, like two incompetent children on a picnic gone wrong. And, somehow inexplicably, defying all laws of logic and probability, they ended up clandestinely, with the discretion of a rhinoceros in a china shop, on a pirate ship very poorly disguised as a merchant vessel, which was, by one of those unfortunate coincidences that only happen to Fairy Tail, conveniently anchored in a nearby, suspiciously isolated river, and which was, to complete the picturesque scene, completely crammed to the brim with goods of highly suspicious, probably illegal, certainly very dangerous origin. It was total, absolute chaos, complete with hair-raising chases through the ship’s dark corridors, colourful, entirely unnecessary explosions caused by an overly enthusiastic Natsu, and a very, very irritated pirate captain, with a sharp hook for a hand, an ill-mannered parrot on his shoulder, and an extensive vocabulary of nautical curses."
"Yes! I remember that story!" Erza said, shaking her head with an amused smile and an expression of pure disbelief as she recalled the absurd details of that mission. "And the worst part, or perhaps the funniest, is that they, the two geniuses, still thought for a good while they were on a grand, exciting, secret international espionage adventure, and not that they had just got themselves, up to their necks, into a huge, dangerous, potentially deadly mess with dangerous, cruel, bad-humoured arms smugglers!" She laughed heartily. "Meanwhile, we, the supposedly responsible, minimally competent, vaguely sensible members of the team, were running around the forest like headless chickens, desperately trying to figure out where on earth those two noisy, trouble-prone idiots had got to, and, more importantly, how we were going to get them out of that whole mess without causing an international war, a diplomatic crisis, or, worst-case scenario, the complete destruction of the ship and all its illegal cargo."
"Exactly! It was an epic, memorable spectacle in its pure, crystalline stupidity!" I continued, immensely amused by the vivid memory of their monumental incompetence and the general panic that ensued.
"And when we, finally, after many hours of fruitless searching, bribing local squirrels for information, and veiled threats to forest goblins, found the two espionage geniuses, they were, to our utter, absolute despair, completely, totally surrounded by a considerable band of surly-looking pirates, with rusty knives between their teeth, murderous glares, and a clear lack of patience for intruders. And, of course, the pirates had not the slightest, most remote idea that the queasy pink-haired lad and the talking blue cat were, in fact, surprisingly powerful mages from the infamous Fairy Tail Guild. Natsu, as always happened when he was on any sort of vessel or transport, was terribly seasick, green as a sea cucumber, and bravely, though not very successfully, trying not to vomit all over the pirate captain holding him by the collar. Meanwhile, poor, desperate Happy flew in frantic, chaotic circles around him, futilely trying to fan him with his small, ineffective wings and crying for help in his high-pitched, irritating little voice! It was, without a doubt, a truly memorable, utterly embarrassing scene that provided much laughter in the guild for weeks."
The rest of the journey through the forest proceeded relatively peacefully after that, with only the soft sounds of nature around us and our occasional, amused laughter breaking the afternoon silence. But, despite the apparent calm and funny recollections, with every step we took towards our objective, my mind focused more and more intensely on the mission ahead. I knew, from painful personal experience, that however funny, absurd, harmless the stories about Natsu’s and other guild members’ countless, unbelievable misadventures were, our current task was serious, and we, especially Erza, needed to be completely prepared, focused, alert for any unexpected, dangerous, or simply irritating situation that might arise in our path. Bandits, even the most incompetent, amoeba-IQ ones, could still be dangerous, especially when in a group, desperate, or simply bored.
"Well, Azra’il, let’s just make sure that we two, with our superior intelligence and unshakeable common sense, don’t end up in a situation remotely similar to Natsu’s today, or any other day, right?" Erza commented with a cheeky smile, a glint of defiance and newfound confidence in her eyes.
"Absolutely, stubborn little redhead," I replied with an equally confident, perhaps slightly smug smile, as I could already visualise, with my sharpened senses and supernatural perception, the bandits’ improvised, malodorous base a few precious metres ahead, cunningly, predictably hidden amongst the dense trees and moss-covered rocks.
"We’ll finish them off quickly, efficiently, and, if possible, with a minimum of unnecessary mess and excessive noise," I continued, my voice now low and focused. "And, most importantly, we’ll ensure that innocent travellers, greedy merchants, and perhaps even a few unlucky postmen can finally pass along this route in complete, absolute, unquestionable safety again. And then, and only then, will we go for that strawberry cake."
After a few more hours of cautious, silent, increasingly tense walking through a dense, dark forest smelling suspiciously of imminent danger and lack of bathing, we finally found what we were looking for, or rather, what the bandits were trying so hard to hide: a rudimentary, improvised, very well-hidden camp amongst the trees and rock formations of the region. Before us, nestled in a small, discreet, strategically positioned clearing, stood a few rustic, crude, clearly poorly constructed huts, hastily made from stolen wood, dry branches, and a lot of hope.
The camp's perimeter was ‘protected’ by a series of primitive but potentially painful, certainly humiliating traps, carefully arranged to deter unwary intruders or particularly stupid animals. The atmosphere in the camp, despite the apparent, deceptive tranquillity of the afternoon, was tense, charged with nervous energy and palpable paranoia. And the strong, characteristic smell of a poorly extinguished campfire, dubiously roasted meat over embers, and the unmistakable, rather unpleasant odour of unwashed human sweat and repressed fear drifted lazily through the air, unequivocally betraying the recent, continuous presence of its unsavoury inhabitants.
"Bingo. There’s our illustrious target, Erza," I whispered to my redhead companion, who was crouching with surprising grace beside me, behind a particularly thick, conveniently positioned bush for observation. I discreetly gestured with my chin towards the largest hut, slightly better constructed and looking marginally less miserable than the others, strategically positioned at the back of the camp, probably serving as the sumptuous, malodorous headquarters of the gang leader and as the storehouse for their stolen treasures. "That one there, with the lazy smoke still rising from the improvised chimney and animal skins hanging on the door, is probably where they keep the precious loot and where their big boss, the great, feared ‘Lord of Chicken Thieves’, takes his well-deserved, noisy beauty naps."
Erza observed the site intently for a few long, silent moments, her eye sweeping every detail of the camp with the cold, calculating concentration of an experienced predator assessing its prey. "From what I can see from here, and considering the worrying number of still-lit campfires, the muffled conversations I can hear, and the amount of dirty clothes hanging out to dry, I’d say there must be about forty bandits around here, perhaps a few more. They don’t seem very organised or disciplined, judging by the general mess, but they are definitely numerous. We’ll need to be extremely strategic, quick, and precise if we want to avoid a direct, prolonged, potentially dangerous confrontation." She was absolutely right. Their numerical superiority was a factor to be seriously considered.
Whilst I carefully assessed the tactical situation, possible routes of approach and infiltration, and the probable weaknesses in the camp’s improvised defence, I couldn't help but remember, with a certain weariness and a hint of irritation, the specific details and annoying restrictions of the mission we had accepted at the guild: defeat the bandits, yes, but, more importantly and considerably more tedious, was to call the competent local authorities to arrest them and, if possible, recover the stolen goods to return them to their rightful, probably very ungrateful owners. Which, to be completely, painfully honest with myself, bothered me deeply and tested the limits of my millennial patience, was this irritating, inefficient, frequently dangerous guild policy of 'don’t kill, just incapacitate and hand over to justice.'
For me, a jaded veteran of countless bloody wars, interdimensional conflicts, and small-scale genocides over many, many varied lives, it would be infinitely easier, considerably faster, much more efficient, and, I must admit, immensely more satisfying to deal with the current situation by simply… permanently, quietly eliminating these inconvenient, socially useless bandits. Without leaving a trace, without problematic witnesses, without unnecessary bureaucracy, and, most importantly, without future problems. Simple, clean, and straight to the point. But, as always happened, the bloody guild, with its noble, lofty ideals, its questionably pacifist morality, and its concern for public image, had its irritating rules, its tedious guidelines, and its ‘good deeds’ policies.
(Frankly, it’s a right pain in the arse having to hold back so much and act like a babysitter for incompetent criminals,) I thought with palpable frustration and an internal eye-roll, knowing that, deep down and despite my cynicism, I couldn’t entirely blame them for this rather naive policy. If Fairy Tail, or any other self-respecting mages’ guild wanting to maintain its legal licence, openly adopted a policy allowing, or worse, encouraging its members to kill their opponents indiscriminately, they wouldn’t, in practice, be so far removed from the infamous, feared dark guilds, which gladly accepted assassination contracts, spread terror wherever they went, and had dreadful taste in interior decorating.
It was a thin, dangerous, frequently blurred line between justice and vengeance, between protecting and oppressing. And I understood, albeit reluctantly and with a large dose of scepticism, the pressing need not to cross that line lightly. But that, of course, didn’t mean I, personally, liked or agreed with this excessively… civilised approach.
"We need to find an effective, and if possible, minimally noisy way to deal with all of them without… without causing unnecessary fatalities or excessive bloodshed," Erza said suddenly, as if, once again, she had read my dark thoughts and my more… direct inclinations. Her voice, breaking my reflective silence and my fantasies of efficient carnage, brought me back to reality. She looked at me with her usual seriousness, her eye fixed on mine, awaiting confirmation.
"Yes, I know, I know, my little, morally upright scarlet righter-of-wrongs," I replied, with a slight, resigned sigh, as I mentally pushed away the satisfying images of exploding bandit heads. Damn newfound conscience and its irritating influence on my tactical decisions. "Although, technically and according to the law, it’s not strictly forbidden or morally condemnable to eliminate an enemy in clear, indisputable self-defence or when facing a direct, deadly threat to one’s own life or the lives of innocents, what we have here, much to our great, profound frustration, is just a group of low-level bandits, probably dafter than genuinely evil, and with terrible career planning. We cannot, and, much to my great regret, we must not, become like them, using excessive, unnecessary, and, above all, ill-justified violence." The words, incredibly noble and entirely out of my usual character, sounded strange, almost hypocritical, coming from my mouth. I barely recognised myself. Eos was probably having a fit of laughter in my mind.
Erza nodded slowly, an expression of relief and new determination on her face. She trusted my judgement, even when my words sounded strangely noble. "So, let’s plan our attack carefully, Azra’il. We need to be quick, precise, silent, and use our element of surprise to our advantage. No mistakes. No unnecessary casualties on either side, if possible." Her compassion was, at times, a burden. But it was also one of her greatest strengths.
With the bandits’ camp now clearly visible and analysed before us, I quickly began to draw up a detailed plan of attack in my mind, considering all tactical variables, possible complications, and the personalities of our targets. I knew, from experience, that we absolutely could not underestimate the simple fact of their numbers, even if they were individually incompetent and with a collective IQ probably not exceeding that of a burnt toaster.
Forty against two, even if one of those two was me, was still a considerable numerical disadvantage that demanded an intelligent approach and not just brute force. But our greatest, most significant advantage, as Erza herself had observed with her usual, shrewd tactical intelligence, was the element of surprise and, of course, my… peculiar, highly effective skills for sowing chaos and mental confusion. I looked at Erza, who awaited my instructions with a tense calm and almost palpable anticipation in her eyes. She was ready.
"Right then, little redhead. Listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. This is the plan," I proposed, my voice low, firm, laden with the authority of one who has led armies and toppled empires, as I mentally traced a detailed three-dimensional map of the camp and the estimated positions of guards and lookouts. "We are going to use the growing darkness of the surrounding forest and their natural complacency, sheer stupidity to our absolute, total advantage. We need to sneak as close as possible to the camp perimeter, like two hungry shadows, without being seen, heard, or sniffed out by those disgusting guard dogs of theirs. And then, my dear Erza, when we’re in position, we’ll create a small, noisy, chaotic, utterly unexpected diversion to sow panic, chaos, and the most delicious, paralysing confusion amongst them. Whilst they are understandably busy, terrified, trying to figure out what in the blazes is happening and where the imaginary monsters are coming from, you, with your speed and strength, spring into action like a bolt of lightning. I, on the other hand, with my subtle charm and mental persuasion skills, can… shall we say, ‘subtly’ enter their minds, starting with the weakest, most suggestible, least strong-willed, and cause some particularly vivid, creative, deeply unpleasant visual and auditory hallucinations. Something like making them firmly believe they’re being attacked by a swarm of giant, carnivorous wasps, or that their own criminal companions have suddenly transformed into disgusting, slimy monsters with an uncontrollable desire to devour their insides. That will, without the slightest, most remote shadow of a doubt, sow pure terror, widespread panic, delicious, useful discord amongst them, completely, irreversibly breaking any pathetic semblance of organisation, discipline, or bravery they might possess." A cold, cruel, utterly satisfied smile played on my lips as I imagined the chaotic, hilarious scene. I loved using my mental powers to play with the weak, easily manipulated minds of mortals. It was so… relaxing. And educational.
Erza nodded in silent agreement, her eye shining with a peculiar mixture of fierce determination, reluctant admiration for my subtly sadistic plan, and perhaps a hint of concern for my mental sanity. "Understood, Azra’il. An excellent plan. Whilst they are suitably distracted, in complete panic, likely hysterically attacking each other in their induced paranoia, I can use my Requip skills to deliver a series of swift, precise, utterly incapacitating attacks. We’ll focus first, full force on the largest hut, the one that seems to be their leader’s den, and quickly neutralise anyone inside, especially the big boss. And then, we’ll take care of the remaining lackeys, one by one, if necessary." She was frighteningly efficient, focused, utterly relentless when she wanted to be. And I loved that about her.
"Perfect, Erza. A simple, elegant, efficient plan with a statistically high probability of success, controlled destruction, and, most importantly, much, glorious fun," I replied with a satisfied smile, feeling the familiar, welcome, addictive rush of adrenaline begin to slowly rise in my veins, banishing any lingering remnants of boredom, laziness, or existential worries. The battle was about to begin. "I’ll take up a high, strategic position, preferably atop that large, leafy, conveniently positioned tree over there in the corner," I pointed, "where I can have a clear, privileged overview of the entire camp and can thus better, more precisely direct my… shall we say, mental ‘incentives’ to maximise the panic effect. As soon as I start sowing chaos and madness and you hear the first screams of terror and confusion, you advance with the fury of a thousand demons and attack without mercy. The primary, non-negotiable objective, remember, is to completely destabilise them, break their fragile morale, pulverise any semblance of resistance, before they can even react in a minimally coordinated manner or even understand what in the blazes hit them."
With the battle plan duly defined, approved by both parties, and with growing enthusiasm, we found, with my discreet help and a small dose of luck on our side, a high, well-hidden, strategically perfect observation point behind some tall, dense, conveniently leafy trees, at the edge of the small clearing where the camp was set up. From there, I could clearly see, like a predator observing its helpless prey, the numerous bandits moving carelessly, entirely relaxed around the camp, laughing loudly, drinking something from a suspicious barrel, eating dubiously, poorly cooked meat over a crackling fire, completely, utterly oblivious to the small but deadly storm about to break over their ignorant, probably unwashed heads. Poor, stupid idiots. They had no idea what awaited them.
"Right then, my dear, furious little redhead. Get ready," I whispered, a predatory, cold, utterly satisfied smile slowly spreading across my lips, as my eyes shone with a dangerous light in the forest’s gloom. "Let the spectacle of psychological horror and physical destruction commence! And try not to have too much fun." I closed my eyes for an instant, concentrating all my will and mental power. With a minimal, almost imperceptible effort of pure, crystalline will, I began to channel my considerable, though still limited, mental powers, extending my subtle, invisible consciousness like a complex, inescapable web over the entire camp. I felt the weak, scattered, unprotected minds, full of trivial, lustful, violent thoughts of the bandits around me, like small, flickering, vulnerable lights blinking intermittently in the vast darkness. And, with a subtle but incredibly powerful, precise impulse of my ancient will, I began to invade their superficial, unprepared consciousnesses, carefully, precisely planting the black seeds of purest fear, deepest confusion, most delicious, paralysing paranoia.
— (Wake up, you useless, lazy, horribly smelly worms!) — I thought, projecting the mental message with the overwhelming force of a silent but deafening scream, directly into their small, unprepared, easily influenced minds. — (You are completely, utterly surrounded! Deadly, bloodthirsty enemies everywhere! Creatures of shadow hungry for your souls! Flee while you still can for your miserable, insignificant lives! Save yourselves if you can!) —
Immediately, as if by black magic or a fit of collective madness, I saw, with sadistic satisfaction, their previously carefree, relaxed, arrogant expressions change drastically, almost instantly to palpable, growing confusion, then to clear, uncomfortable apprehension, and finally, to abject, primitive, utterly irrational terror that froze the blood in their veins and made their hearts pound wildly in their chests.
The first, carefully crafted hallucinations, created by me with a touch of evil genius and a healthy dose of knowledge about the deepest, most primitive fears of the human (and bandit) psyche, began to take vivid, terrifying form in their suggestible, now utterly unprotected minds: dark, long, menacing shadows moving stealthily, with supernatural speed amongst the forest trees, grotesque, misshapen creatures with razor-sharp teeth and multiple gleaming red eyes appearing from nowhere with guttural growls, the solid ground of the clearing trembling violently beneath their feet as if an earthquake were happening, and the air filling with sinister whispers and demonic laughter.
The bandits, caught completely off guard, utterly unprepared for this psychological assault, with not the slightest, most remote idea of what was truly happening, began to scream in panic and terror, some desperately throwing themselves to the ground in search of non-existent protection, others pathetically trying to hide behind any object offering minimal, illusory cover, and some, the most suggestible, impressionable, weakest-nerved, already beginning to hysterically attack their own, equally terrified companions, firmly convinced they had suddenly transformed into the horrible monsters of their hallucinations. It was glorious, chaotic, wonderfully efficient pandemonium. And I, I confess, was only just beginning to truly enjoy myself.
"Now, Erza! That’s your glorious cue! Make your entrance and have a bit of fun with these poor blighters!" I shouted to my impatient, eager redhead companion, who was already poised like a hungry predator ready to strike, her muscles tense, her eyes shining with almost palpable anticipation. And she, with the lethal grace of a panther hunting in the night and the contained fury of a storm about to break, advanced silently, deadly into the now utterly chaotic camp, plunged into pure terror, her silver armour shining sinisterly, menacingly under the faint, filtered light of the forest beginning to darken. With an elegant, incredibly swift, brutally precise movement, she delivered a powerful, accurate, utterly incapacitating blow to the first of the bandits who, in his hallucinatory terror and pathetic attempt to flee an imaginary monster, had the misfortune to cross her path.
Whilst Erza, with her growing combat skill, impressive physical strength, natural, almost frightening ferocity, began to efficiently, non-lethally (much to my slight disappointment) ‘take care’ of the nearest, unluckiest, noisiest bandits, I continued to use my telekinesis subtly, discreetly, almost invisibly, just to ensure things tilted decisively in our favour, to minimise risks for Erza, and, of course, to add an extra touch of chaos and amusement to the already chaotic situation. With small, almost imperceptible gestures of my hand, or just with the power of my mind, I deflected objects that could be used as improvised weapons against us, made swords and axes mysteriously fall from the trembling, sweaty hands of the terrified bandits, and even, in a moment of particular inspiration and dark humour, made a particularly large, heavy, conveniently fallen log nearby lazily rise into the air and launch itself with considerable force, perfect comedic timing against a small, unlucky group of two or three bandits who, in a rare, stupid moment of lucidity or perhaps collective, suicidal stupidity, were trying to sneak up on Erza from behind with clearly hostile intentions, knocking them to the ground with a dull, satisfying, probably painful thud. Small, subtle adjustments to ensure the plan’s efficiency and, of course, for my personal entertainment.
"This is absolutely, utterly incredible, Azra’il! I’ve never seen anything like it!" Erza exclaimed with a guttural war cry and a wild, almost maniacal grin on her dirty, sweaty face, as she delivered an impressive series of swift, precise, powerful, surprisingly non-lethal cuts with her newly-requipped sword, which now glinted menacingly, almost hypnotically in the scant, weak sunlight still stubbornly filtering through the dense forest trees. She was clearly in her element, dancing amongst the panicked enemies like an angel of vengeance with hair of fire. "Keep it up! They’re completely, utterly disoriented and terrified! They’re dropping like flies!"
"I’m almost there, little redhead! Just one more small, gentle nudge into the abyss of complete, total madness!" I replied with an equally satisfied, perhaps slightly sadistic smile, as I focused my mental attention, psychic powers on a larger group of bandits who, despite the widespread chaos, palpable terror, still stupidly, with a stubbornness bordering on suicidal, tried to gather, organise some pathetic, desperate defence near the leader’s main hut.
With a slightly greater effort of concentration, a touch of creative cruelty, I intensified their hallucinations to a truly epic, cinematic level, making them see, with terrifying, vivid, utterly convincing clarity, a gigantic, hungry black dragon, with scales like sharp obsidian, incandescent eyes of pure liquid fire, fetid breath smelling of sulphur, death, eternal regrets, menacingly approaching them with enormous wings darkening the sky, insatiable hunger clearly visible in its gaping jaws full of dagger-like teeth.
Pure, absolute, utterly irrational terror spread even faster, more effectively than any forest fire, and they, as one would expect from men with walnut-sized brains, even smaller courage, began to run in all directions like frightened, dizzy cockroaches, screaming hysterically, tripping over each other in their desperate flight, abandoning in the process any remnant of bravery, organisation, dignity they might have possessed at some remote, unlikely point in their miserable, insignificant lives. Ah, poor, impressionable humans and their overly fertile imaginations. So incredibly easy to manipulate. And so amusing to watch in a panic.
Whilst I observed with almost guilty pleasure the beautiful, chaotic spectacle of widespread panic, absolute disorder, unbridled cowardice I had so skilfully, artistically orchestrated, I briefly conversed, with an air of superiority, with my faithful Eos in my mind.
(You know, Eos, my dear, efficient multi-purpose tool, these mental powers of mine, telekinesis, telepathy, even in my current, limited, somewhat underdeveloped form, are incredibly, wonderfully, deliciously convenient, amusing to use. Why, tell me, should I even bother to dirty my delicate hands with the filthy blood of these worms, or physically tire myself with unnecessary effort, when I can simply, elegantly do all the dirty, tedious, unpleasant work with the superior, refined power of my brilliant mind, a healthy dose of creative, well-directed sadism?)
Eos’s voice, always so calm, so logical, so irritatingly analytical, but with an unmistakable hint of restrained amusement, perhaps even a small, almost imperceptible trace of reluctant admiration for my… abilities, echoed softly in my mind. [Ah, Azra’il, my dear, cunning, occasionally frighteningly lazy ancient entity! You are, once again, with almost palpable pleasure, using your considerable, dangerous mental powers inherited from that particularly powerful, volatile, somewhat dramatically unstable incarnation of yours as the omega-level mutant known as Jean Grey, one of your many, varied, frequently explosive past lives in alternate universes with dreadful urban planning. And I must admit, with a certain scientific reluctance, that even with only a minuscule, almost insignificant fraction of your true, overwhelming, potentially planet-destroying telepathic, telekinetic power currently available in this small, fragile teenage body of yours, these psychic gifts of yours are, indeed, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, quite broken, utterly unbalanced, incredibly effective, dangerously amusing for causing maximum confusion, chaos, psychological terror with minimal physical effort, maximum sadistic satisfaction. I vividly recall, with a certain degree of retrospective alarm, when you, at the tender, innocent age of nine in this current life, to maintain your disguise as a normal, harmless child, first displayed your ‘powers’ to the other, noisy members of the Fairy Tail guild. You pretended, with an Oscar-worthy performance of dramatic acting, an expression of superhuman effort, that it was an almost fatal challenge, a feat of willpower merely to lift a simple, light, probably empty ale tankard with the power of your mind, all to appear weak, pathetic, harmless, utterly mediocre in their eyes. The irony of the situation was, and continues to be, absolutely delicious, noteworthy.] She never missed an opportunity to remind me of my more… theatrical moments.
I chuckled silently at the vivid memory of that pathetic, hilarious, utterly convincing scene. (Ah, yes! Good, innocent times those were, weren’t they, Eos? They, the poor, gullible, easily impressed blighters of Fairy Tail, had, and still have, not the slightest, most remote, most insignificant idea of what I truly was, what I am, what I am truly, frighteningly capable of doing when I’m in the mood. Or when I’m particularly bored. It was, and continues to be, rather comical, immensely amusing to observe their reactions of genuine astonishment, paternal concern, misguided admiration at my supposed ‘enormous effort’, my ‘limited powers’. The art of deception, my dear, logical Eos, is, and always will be, a powerful, useful, incredibly amusing tool to master.)
With the vast, overwhelming majority of bandits now in complete, absolute, total panic, fleeing uncontrollably through the forest like frightened, headless chickens, or utterly incapacitated by Erza’s righteous, implacable fury, it was only a simple matter of time, a bit more sadistic, creative fun on my part to spice things up, until the ‘battle’, if one could truly, honestly call it a battle and not a one-sided, psychologically traumatising massacre, turned into a clear, crushing, utterly inevitable, I must admit, somewhat anticlimactic victory for both of us. But, even so, I continued to weave, manipulate, play with their weak, terrified minds with new, creative, increasingly disturbing illusions, making them see a scene of pure, abject destruction, of imminent, inescapable death, their worst, deepest, most secret nightmares materialising vividly around them with all the horrible details.
Confusion, fear, pure, absolute terror reigned supreme, uncontested in the once so arrogant, self-assured camp. And soon, as was to be expected from a band of incompetent cowards with less willpower than a squirrel, the few, pathetic bandits who hadn’t yet been brutally knocked out by Erza’s fury, or weren’t completely catatonic with pure, absolute fear in some dark corner, began to flee in blind, pathetic desperation through the dense forest, leaving behind in their cowardly escape their weapons, their loot, their less fortunate companions, any remnant of dignity, bravery, intelligence they might have possessed at some remote, unlikely point in their miserable, insignificant lives. Cowards. Predictable. And, as always, hilariously pathetic in their defeat.
"We need to capture them and ensure they can’t escape and cause more trouble around here, Azra’il!" said Erza, her breath a little ragged, uneven from the battle’s exertion, but with an unmistakable glint of triumph, satisfaction in her eyes, as the so-called ‘battle’ finally, rather anticlimactically reached its predictable, inevitable end. "They can’t continue to terrorise innocent travellers and tarnish the reputation of this peaceful forest!" Her thirst for justice, her concern for others’ safety were, as always, admirable. And, occasionally, a little tiring for my more… pragmatic taste.
With victory easily, quickly, predictably assured, the battlefield now looking more like an open-air lunatic asylum than a bandit camp, we two, with cold, calculating efficiency, joined our considerable, varied forces to quickly capture the few, pathetic bandits still trying, with the speed of frightened slugs, to flee through the forest like terrified rats, and to securely, efficiently, perhaps a little too tightly bind those remaining in the camp, the vast majority of them still in a state of deep shock, babbling incoherently about hungry black dragons, slimy monsters, murderous shadows. Poor blighters.
They’d probably need a lot of therapy after this. Or a good exorcism. Next, like two good, responsible, law-abiding mages from a legal, respectable guild (most of the time, anyway), we ‘summoned’, via a mechanical carrier pigeon I conveniently ‘found’ in my inventory, which seemed to possess an inexplicable sense of direction, the competent local authorities – or at least, the sleepy, badly paid guards from the nearest village – so they could, with due bureaucracy, lack of enthusiasm, take these incompetent, traumatised, likely in-need-of-psychiatric-treatment criminals to face the slow, tedious justice of men. Or, what was far more probable, considerably less satisfying, to slowly, forgottenly rot in some stinking, dark, overcrowded dungeon.
I, honestly, couldn't help but think, with a deep sigh of resigned boredom, a persistent, ill-contained frustration, how infinitely simpler, considerably faster, much more efficient, I must admit with a certain guilty pleasure, immensely more satisfying it would have been to use my telekinetic powers to simply, elegantly explode all their heads in a beautiful, cathartic, artistically gratifying shower of blood, brains, bone fragments, instead of having to go through this whole elaborate, time-consuming plan of psychological distraction, this charade of restrained battle, worst of all, this tiresome, hypocritical pantomime of mercy, respect for mortal laws.
Throughout my numerous, varied, frequently bloody lives, I had already killed, without the slightest, most infinitesimal trace of remorse or hesitation, countless, uncountable people, both good and bad, for far more trivial, futile reasons, or simply out of sheer, absolute boredom. To me, all this irritating bureaucracy, this excessive concern with ‘not killing’, this selective, convenient morality seemed, most of the time, entirely unnecessary, incredibly inefficient, frankly, a bit pathetically hypocritical. But, such are the occupational hazards of trying to be a ‘heroine’ in this world.
But, for now, and to my great, profound sigh of relief, justice, or at least something vaguely resembling it, satisfying the mission criteria, had been done. The bandits were caught, traumatised, likely in need of many years of therapy. And the innocent travellers, greedy merchants, unlucky postmen of the region could, at least for a considerable time, continue their journeys in relative, welcome safety. And Erza, my little, furious Scarlet Valkyrie, was visibly happy, proud of herself, probably already dreaming of the strawberry cake we would devour as a reward. And that, for some strange, disconcerting, utterly illogical reason I was still trying to understand, seemed to be, for the moment, enough for me. For now.