The beach, with its scent of brine and vague promises of adventure (or, more likely, some colossal scrape orchestrated by the Master), now stared back at us with three dark, uninviting cave mouths. They looked like the sort of place the old man would love to hide some deadly practical joke, the kind that leaves your heart in your mouth and has you questioning your life choices. The tension was almost palpable; you could have cut it with one of my demonic claws if I were so inclined.
Azra'il, with her typical, and, I admit with a certain internal blush, fascinating aplomb, had applied her own method of 'highly logical, albeit seemingly random selection', or as I suspected, she simply used that talking artefact of hers to sniff out the path most likely to yield a good fight or an opportunity to humiliate someone. And, with an almost imperceptible nod, she disappeared into the left-hand cave, sealing it with a magical barrier that muffled Natsu's fiery protests as if they were the distant cries of a child deprived of their favourite toy.
That girl… an involuntary, almost daft smile played on my lips. She was an enigma wrapped in black silk and cutting sarcasm, and every time I thought I had figured her out a little, she would surprise me with some unexpected depth or a melody that struck chords in my soul I didn't even know existed.
Her guitar lessons were a delightful torment; she'd complain about my 'ogre-like delicacy' with the strings, calling my chords 'the screams of a tone-deaf banshee', but between one sarcastic grumble and the next, she'd let slip phrases about finding the melody within the storm, about how even darkness had its own music, a cold, wild beauty. Things that, as much as I tried to ignore with a scowl or a jibe, would echo in my head in the quietest moments. She saw… something in me, something I myself still struggled to understand.
Now there were two entrances left. And two pairs. The maths was simple, but the decision, not so much.
I stared at the remaining options. One had an eye drawn on it, rather sinister, with a pupil that seemed to follow your movements, almost as if it were judging you, ready to devour your darkest secrets. The sort of thing Azra'il would probably analyse for hours, muttering about psychic energies, 'portals to the collective unconscious', and other philosophical nonsense of hers, whilst sipping some exotic tea with a scent that defied any pleasant description.
The other, to the right, bore a design of a spiral that seemed to writhe and draw the eye in, like a vortex to the island's entrails, promising a dive into something deep, primordial, perhaps a little dizzying, a descent into the heart of wild, untamed magic.
"Right then," Erza broke the silence, her voice as firm as the steel of her swords, crossing her arms and analysing the options with the intensity of a general planning an entire military campaign. Natsu, beside her, had stopped spitting fire (a small miracle) and was now grumbling about Azra'il having 'nicked' the cave he had secretly wanted for some reason incomprehensible to any rational being with more than two functioning neurons, while my brother, Elfman, hovered near me, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his large brown eyes nervously flitting between the caves and my face, like a loyal puppy awaiting a command, or a treat.
My poor Elfman, so big and strong on the outside, but still with that gentle, easily frightened heart inside, a heart I would protect with tooth and claw, literally.
"The one with the eye seems… watchful," Erza pondered aloud, her brow furrowed in concentration, a crease of pure analysis appearing between her eyebrows. "It could be a test of perception, or perhaps something that requires a more subtle, more intelligent approach, a puzzle or a mental trap." Her gaze fixed on me for an instant, a glint of recognition, or perhaps just a cold, calculating assessment, typical of her, in her brown eye. She knew. She knew that Azra'il had dedicated a considerable amount of time to my 'training', as she called it with that air of one doing the universe a massive favour and having a whale of a time doing it.
The 'Path of Cultivation', Azra'il had said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, teaching me to refine my demonic magic, to channel my raw power more effectively and less… chaotically, to feel the nuances of energy like a musician feels the vibrations of their instrument, to control the internal, frequently tempestuous tides of my Satan Soul with a precision that had previously eluded me completely. A subtle, less destructive, more controlled approach was something I had been exploring, seeking to tame the beast within me, so that it would no longer define or haunt me like a ghost from the past.
"And the one on the right, with the spiral," I continued the line of reasoning, trying to keep my voice steady, but my own eyes were irredeemably drawn to the pulse of raw energy that seemed to emanate from that entrance, an almost wild, primal call that made something deep within me vibrate in response, like a taut lute string plucked by an unseen finger. "That one has a… a different vibe. More visceral. More… powerful. Almost hungry, as if it's waiting for a challenge."
It was an energy that resonated with a part of me, the part I tried to keep under control, that demonic shadow many feared, the one that had cost me and my family so much, but which was also a source of indomitable strength, a storm waiting to be unleashed on my terms, no longer by accident or fear.
"Hmm," Erza nodded, a thoughtful look on her face, her fingers drumming on her armoured arm, the metallic sound a counterpoint to the tense quiet. "My intuition tells me the spiral path could be a test of raw power, or perhaps pure endurance. Strength against strength. Given the Master's history with these exams, he has likely designated two paths to lead us to different S-Class Mages, whose fighting styles or assessment methods would exploit our natures and combat specialities." She looked at me, her head tilted slightly, as if she were sizing me up.
"Many would expect you to choose the Eye, Mirajane. Your intelligence, your analytical skills, and your growing capacity for magical control are your most recent assets, the tools you have been sharpening. You would leave the path of 'strength', of direct, potentially destructive confrontation, to me, as has always been our dynamic."
There was a painful, familiar truth there. The old rivalry, the Titania of indomitable strength and a thousand swords against the She-Devil of chaotic power and frightening transformation. For an instant, I considered it. The path of the Eye could be a chance to apply Azra'il's more subtle teachings, to demonstrate the control I had fought so hard to achieve, to prove that I was more than just the fury of Satan Soul, more than the girl everyone feared. It would be the… sensible choice. The safe choice. And a part of me, that part tired of always having to be the 'tough one', longed for that safety.
But something in the Spiral's energy called to me, a siren's song for the wildest part of my soul, a promise of a challenge that would make my blood boil. A provocation. A chance. And Azra'il's words, spoken with that unnerving, almost supernatural calm of hers, but with a wisdom I couldn't deny, echoed in my mind like a temple bell: "Growth, dear Mira, is rarely found in the comfort of repetition or the safety of the predictable. It is in the unknown, in what forces you to break your own moulds, that true transformation happens. You have an ocean of power in there, a slumbering storm; it's time to learn to navigate its most furious waves, not just dam its tides for fear of drowning."
"Perhaps, Erza," I said, and a new kind of smile began to form on my lips, a smile not of shallow provocation, but of a newfound determination, a spark of stubborn fire in my blue eyes that reflected the pulsating energy of the spiral. "But you know, sometimes it gets a little tiring always doing what others expect of us. Or what we ourselves, for so long and out of so much fear, have come to expect." I thought of all the times I had repressed my power, afraid of it, afraid of myself, afraid of hurting those I loved.
"Sometimes, the best way to grow is to throw yourself headfirst into what scares you the most, or into what seems the greatest challenge. A chance to truly test what we've learned, to see what we're really made of, don't you think?" My eyes fixed on the entrance of the Spiral, and I could feel the power pulsing within, calling to me, an invitation to a dangerous dance.
"I want to test myself. Not just my mind or my newly acquired control, which still feels so fragile at times. I want to test my true power, my ability to endure the unendurable, to break down the barriers I've built around my heart and my strength. To go beyond. I want to see how far the 'Cultivation' Azra'il taught me has truly taken me, how far my demonic soul can be pushed and still hold firm, find its own balance, its own melody in the darkness."
Erza stared at me, genuine surprise on her normally so composed features, her impeccable eyebrows arched almost to her hairline. "Are you saying you want the path of brute force, Mira? Even knowing it could be… considerably more dangerous?" There was genuine concern in her voice, but also a hint of admiration that did not go unnoticed, a spark of recognition that something had changed in me since our teenage rivalry days. "You, who spent so long learning to refine and control your inner power, now want to unleash it against the most direct, potentially self-destructive challenge?"
"Dangerous?" I repeated, the smile widening, an almost feverish excitement beginning to take hold of me, the blood pulsing in my veins with anticipation. Danger had never truly frightened me; what frightened me was stagnation, weakness, the shadow of that scared girl I used to be, hiding from her own power, her own nature. Not anymore. I would not be weak again.
"My dear Erza, since when do we, of Fairy Tail, run from danger? We weren't trained to choose the easy path, were we? Besides," I looked at Elfman, who seemed even more terrified by my sudden choice, his eyes wide as saucers, his mouth slightly agape in shock, "if I want to protect my family, Elfman, Lisanna, everyone in the guild, I need to be strong in every aspect. I can no longer hide behind a smile and precarious control. I need my power to be unshakeable, a wall against any threat, a controlled storm that only breaks upon our enemies. And if there is a chance to face someone who can push me to my absolute limits of power, someone who can show me where I am still weak, where I still hesitate, where fear still holds me back, then that is the path I must take. To evolve. To solidify what Azra'il taught me about focus and control, not by avoiding the storm, but by learning to dance in it, putting it to the test against an overwhelming force."
The image of Azra'il, calm and deadly, likely dismantling Laxus's ego at that very moment because I had no doubt (from the mischievous grin she gave upon entering the cave) who she had chosen to face and what the predictably humiliating outcome would be for the Master's grandson, flashed in my mind. If she could face her challenges with such conviction and a dash of calculated sadism, so could I, in my own way. I had to.
"Sis..." Elfman whispered, his large, slightly trembling hand gripping my arm, his fingers tightening. "Are you sure? It-it seems really… intense. I… I don't want you to get hurt… I don't want to lose anyone else…" His voice faltered on the last part, and my heart clenched with a familiar, sharp pain. He still carried so much fear, so much pain, because of me, because of my power.
"I'm sure, Elf," I replied, placing my hand over his, squeezing it firmly, trying to convey all the strength and security I could, even if a part of me was trembling inside. "And you'll be there with me, won't you? With you by my side, giving me strength, there's nothing I can't face. Let's show them the power of our family, the power of the Strausses. Together."
He swallowed hard, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but he nodded, his stubborn loyalty and brotherly love conquering the fear that haunted him. "A-always, sis. I-I'll… I'll protect you! Whatever it takes! I'll be a man who protects you!"
Erza continued to watch me, a new kind of respect in her eye, surprise giving way to a silent understanding and perhaps even a reluctant pride. "Your determination is… admirable, Mirajane. And perhaps a little reckless, as has always been your style when something truly matters to you." She gave a small smile, a determined glint in her own eye, accepting my choice, perhaps even approving of it. "In that case, if you insist on embracing the storm of the Spiral, then I shall face the enigma of the Eye. It might be… refreshing. A chance to apply the 'Path of the Sword' that Azra'il so emphasised, not just in the raw strength of my blows and the variety of my blades, but in the ability to adapt, to read the opponent, to find the chink in the most impenetrable armour. To think before I cut, as she herself said with that amusedly superior air of hers." She seemed almost intrigued by the idea, as if a new horizon of combat possibilities was opening up for her, a different challenge than what she was used to. "But if I find out you only chose the harder path to show off or out of sheer stubbornness, our chat about the efficient use of energy and the foolishness of unnecessary masochism will be long and painful, Mira. And you know how persuasive I can be."
"The only person I need to impress is myself, Erza," I said, my tone soft but firm, a small, teasing smile appearing, reminiscent of our old days, when that sentence would have had an entirely different meaning, more competitive, sharper. "And, who knows, perhaps a certain rather lazy but surprisingly perceptive instructor might even raise an eyebrow in approval if I manage to come out of this in one piece and, who knows, a little stronger, with a better understanding of my own cultivation. Besides, think of it as a way to validate our… peculiar instructor's teachings. She would certainly appreciate the drama and the data for her sadistic analyses."
The word 'peculiar' came out with an affection I tried, without much success, to disguise under a layer of irony and perhaps a slight blush that I hope Erza didn't notice.
She laughed, a short, genuine laugh, acknowledging who I was referring to, and perhaps even my slight embarrassment. "Fair enough. Azra'il would certainly be… 'amused' by our choices, to say the least. She'd probably make a bet on who would pass out first, and with what level of collateral damage, while sipping tea and reading one of her suspicious books."
Erza shook her head, but there was an undeniable respect in her tone, an acceptance of the silent but powerful influence the mysterious mage had begun to exert on us, on our fighting styles, on our way of thinking. "Take care of yourself, Mirajane. And Elfman."
"You too, Erza. And Natsu," I replied, feeling a strange camaraderie in that moment, a truce in our rivalry, replaced by mutual respect and a shared determination to overcome our own limits. "May your blade be sharp and your mind sharper."
With a final nod, Erza turned towards the cave of the Eye, grabbing a now-confused Natsu, who probably expected a fight over the choice and was clearly disappointed there wasn't one. "Come on, Natsu! Looks like today we'll be using our brains more than our fists. Try to keep up! And remember what Azra'il said about not being a complete, impulsive, noisy idiot, or she'll turn you into fireplace fuel!" And with that, they disappeared into the darkness, the entrance sealing behind them.
Only one path remained. The one on the right. The one with the spiral that looked like a portal to the island's entrails and the raw energy pulsing within. It was ours. And, strangely, I felt more alive than ever, a mixture of bone-chilling fear and an excitement that made my blood boil bubbling in my chest, eager to test the limits of my power and the teachings I had received.
This was my moment to prove, to myself above all, that I could be more. That I could control the demon, and not be controlled by it.
"Well, Elfman," I said, turning to my brother with a now entirely confident smile, hesitation vanishing like mist in the morning sun, replaced by a steely determination. "It seems adventure awaits. Ready to show this island what the Strausses are capable of facing? Remember, we're a team. And I won't let anything happen to you."
Elfman swallowed hard, looking at the dark cave entrance as if it would swallow him whole. His shoulders were still a little tense, but he lifted his chin, a spark of familiar determination in his eye, the kind that always appeared when it came to protecting me or Lisanna, a strength he was still learning to control, to understand. "F-for you, sis… I-I'll face anything! I-I'll be strong! I'll… be a man!" Even if his voice trembled a little on the last part, the loyalty and love in his words were unshakeable. And that was all I needed.
With a nod and a reassuring squeeze of his arm, I led the way. Elfman, straightening his posture, taking a deep breath as if about to dive into deep waters, followed closely behind. We entered the darkness of the cave with the spiral symbol, and the energy I had felt from afar now enveloped us like a heavy, vibrating cloak, a silent promise of a challenge that would test every fibre of my being, every limit of my soul. And, in the bottom of my heart, a voice whispered that this was exactly what I needed.
The interior of the cave was a rocky, damp, and cold tunnel, the kind of place that makes you feel as if you're being swallowed by the earth itself. The air smelt of wet stone and ancient earth, and the only sound, besides our hesitant, strangely echoing footsteps, was the constant dripping of water somewhere further ahead, a steady rhythm like a hidden heart of the mountain, or perhaps the ticking of a time bomb.
For some minutes, we walked in almost total gloom, my senses sharpened for any hidden danger, each shadow seeming to hide a threat, every sound making my heart leap, Elfman staying close, his broad shoulders occasionally brushing the narrow walls, his breathing a little faster than normal, almost like a small, frightened animal despite his size. Then, a faint light appeared in the distance, at the end of the tunnel, a promise of space or, more likely, more danger.
As we approached, the passage widened, and the smell of damp stone began to mix with something different, something that made me hold my breath for an instant, my senses tingling with a silent warning. It was an acrid, almost metallic odour, as if the very rock around us was being crushed into fine dust, a dust of destruction that hung in the air and scratched the throat.
The air also grew heavier, laden with a palpable energy, a pressure I felt in my lungs with every breath, as if we were entering the heart of an immensely powerful and unstable magic. It wasn't fire or lightning, not the familiar darkness of my own power, but something that seemed to vibrate in the very essence of things, a silent promise of disintegration.
We emerged from the tunnel, and the scene that unfolded before us made my jaw drop, and I heard Elfman let out a gasp of pure astonishment beside me, a sound that was a mixture of admiration and absolute terror. We were no longer in an enclosed cave, but a vast open area, as if a gigantic dome of the mountain had been… torn open by an unimaginable force, ripped away and tossed aside like the lid of a toy box.
The island's sky was a distant ceiling above us, stained with grey clouds that seemed to weigh down on us, but what really captured the eye, what made the blood run cold in one's veins, was the surrounding landscape, a testament to the fury of a god or a mage of equivalent power.
It was a bizarre vision of destruction. Immense trees, with trunks that would defy Elfman's arms even in his most powerful Take Over form, were not just uprooted, but many seemed to have been cut into strangely uniform pieces, as if giant toys had been disassembled and abandoned by a cosmic child in a fit of rage.
Where massive rocks should have been, there were now mounds of smaller fragments, with edges and faces that seemed almost… intentional in their cuts, as if an insane sculptor had used the landscape as their canvas, with a blade the size of a mountain. Even the ground and the rocky walls around displayed straight lines and angles that didn't look natural, as if something had sliced through the very earth with frightening precision.
The air here was charged with a residual energy that was palpable, dense, almost suffocating, vibrating with a latent power that made my skin tingle. It wasn't the fury of a chaotic explosion I had felt before, the kind of destruction Natsu or even I in my wilder, more uncontrolled days could cause. It was something more… fundamental, precise, almost surgical in its ability to unmake matter. And there was only one mage in Fairy Tail, a living legend, known for such a singular, absolute power of deconstruction.
A knot formed in my stomach, a mixture of apprehension that chilled me to the bone and an almost feverish excitement that made my blood run faster, a wild beat in my ears. So it was him. The Master had truly put us up against the Ace of the guild, the man who could reshape the landscape with a thought. A slight shiver ran down my spine, and it wasn't from the cold.
This landscape of geometric destruction, this feeling that reality itself had been briefly dismantled and reorganised... it was the unmistakable signature of Gildarts Clive. And, it seemed, he would be my opponent. My greatest challenge to date. The mountain I desperately needed to try and climb, even if it seemed impossible.
"Sis... this place…" Elfman's voice, still retaining a lower tone of his youth but tinged with an unusual apprehension he couldn't hide, broke the heavy silence. His wide eyes swept over the destruction around us, disbelief and fear fighting for space on his young face. "It looks like a very, very big monster has been having a party around here. It's… it's frightening. I've never seen anything like it." He clenched his fists, the already considerable muscles in his arms tensing under his skin, but his shoulders were slumped, and he stayed close to me, subconsciously seeking my protection, as he always did when fear threatened to overwhelm him.
"But it doesn't matter! I… I'll protect you, sis! A man protects his sister, no matter the size of the monster! I will!" The last part came out with a forced determination, an attempt to sound braver than he probably felt, but the sincerity in his eyes was undeniable, and that gave me strength.
I smiled at him, a genuine, affectionate smile, my heart filling with warmth for his unwavering loyalty. "You're a good brother, Elfman. The best." I touched his arm, conveying all the security I could, even if my own was wavering a little. "And I'll protect you too, always. Both of us, together." I sighed, facing the vast destruction. "And I am stronger than any monster or mage that might have caused this. I have to be." The sentence came out with a conviction I needed to feel, that he needed to hear. For me. For him. For Lisanna. For our family. And perhaps, just perhaps, for a certain lupine bard who believed there was more to me than I myself could see. No more would I turn away from my strength, no more hiding behind a false smile or a hard shell.
We continued forward, the heavy silence broken only by the sound of our footsteps on the devastated earth and the wind whistling through the ruins of the trees like a funeral dirge. With every clearing, every stretch of pulverised forest, the sense of a colossal, dormant power intensified, making my skin tingle and my heart beat like a war drum. Then, we saw him.
In a relatively intact area, like the quiet eye of a hurricane, sitting by the edge of a small stream that miraculously still ran with crystal-clear water, was Gildarts Clive. The Ace of Fairy Tail. He didn't look like a harbinger of imminent destruction, nor a bloodthirsty monster. He was surprisingly… relaxed, almost bored, with the air of someone who had been waiting for us for hours and had nearly fallen asleep.
There was an improvised fishing rod in his hands, the line dipped in the gentle current, and he hummed an off-key tune, utterly oblivious to the destruction surrounding him, a destruction that, I was almost certain, was his own handiwork, perhaps a mere morning warm-up or a particularly strong sneeze.
The aura emanating from him, however, was another story. It was like being near a contained sun, a power so vast, so oppressive it seemed to distort the very air around him, even in his apparent passivity. It was almost casual, yet overwhelming, like a constant promise of total annihilation if he so wished.
He sensed us before we could announce our presence, even with all the care I had taken to mask our approach, a little trick of energy control Azra'il had taught me. He turned his head slowly, his eyes, surprisingly kind, almost tired, but with an unfathomable depth behind them, as if they held the wisdom of ages, meeting mine with a glint of amusement and an ancient wisdom that suggested he saw much more than just a nervous mage and her even more nervous brother.
"Well, well," his voice was deep and resonant, carrying an echo of power even in its friendly tone, a voice that could calm a storm or start one with equal ease. "If it isn't one of our rising young stars. The She-Devil in person, I hear. Took you long enough, eh? I was about to catch some fish for lunch." He smiled. "Ready for a little test of strength, Mirajane? Or should I say, a little dance with the devil… or rather, with a tired old mage?" A broad smile, but with an almost imperceptible hint of a challenge, spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.
I felt my own blood heat up, the adrenaline beginning to flow like a river of lava in my veins, drowning the fear, replacing it with a wild, dangerous excitement. Fear? Yes, there was a sharp pang, a spark of apprehension at the magnitude of the power before me, like a small boat facing an inevitable tsunami. But above that, there was an almost painful eagerness to test myself against the best, to prove my worth, to see how far I could go, to justify the bet I had placed on myself.
My confidence, always a constant companion, even in the darkest moments, when I hated myself for my power, swelled in my chest. Azra'il's teachings on channelling energy, on the dance between raw power and calculated precision, on finding strength in inner calm even in the face of the outer storm, on not letting fear paralyse, but using it as fuel, echoed in my mind like a sacred mantra. This would be the greatest test yet. And I was ready. Or, at least, I would do my best to be, and that would have to be enough.
"You can bet on it, Gildarts-san," I replied, my own smile mirroring his, confident on the outside, the mask of the She-Devil firmly in place, but with every fibre of my being on high alert, every sense tuned to the oppressive energy emanating from him like invisible waves of heat. "I hope you're ready to be surprised. After all, 'demons' can be very… unpredictable. And I'm not one to turn down a good dance, even if the rhythm is a bit… destructive."
Gildarts laughed, a full-bodied, genuine laugh that seemed to shake the remaining trees around us and dispel a little of the oppressive tension in the air. "I like your spirit, lass! That's the way! Courage and a dash of recklessness, the hallmark of Fairy Tail!" He turned to my brother, who was as tense as a lute string about to snap, and who flinched slightly at being directly addressed. "Elfman, my boy, you can watch from here. Try not to get hit by any… flying debris. I promise I won't go too overboard with your sister. Maybe." He winked, and for an instant, I saw an almost paternal glint in his eyes, a kindness that contrasted with the devastation around us.
Elfman opened his mouth to protest, perhaps to say he would stay by my side, fight with me, protect me as he had sworn, but a look from me, quick and firm, silenced him. He knew this was my fight, my test. He had to trust me, just as I trusted him.
With a reluctant nod, worry stamped on every line of his young face, he stepped back a few paces, his eyes fixed on me, a mixture of fear, hope, and a fierce pride that almost made me cry right there. He was the reason I had to be strong. He and Lisanna. They were my everything.
The tension in the air became almost electric, more palpable than any of Laxus's lightning, a silent promise of power about to be unleashed. Gildarts stood up, stretching like a lion waking from a long sleep, each casual movement exuding a contained strength that was almost frightening. The fishing rod fell forgotten by his side, a reminder of the calm before the storm.
The friendly smile remained on his lips, but his eyes now shone with the intensity of impending combat, an ancient power awakening within them, the true face of the Ace of Fairy Tail slowly revealing itself, like a full moon emerging from behind storm clouds.
"So, Mirajane Strauss," he said, his voice now serious, each syllable carrying the weight of his almost unimaginable power, a pressure that seemed to compress the very air and steal the breath from my lungs. "Show me what you're made of. Show me the strength that resides behind that smile. Show me if you have what it takes to bear the burden of being strong."
And then, he moved.
Or rather, the world around me moved, or better yet, it came undone. With an almost casual gesture of his hand, as if he were just shooing away an irritating fly that had landed in front of him, the very ground beneath my feet seemed to disintegrate, the earth and rocks separating into thousands of perfect little cubes as if they were made of sugar, the very structure of reality unravelling before my eyes like a jigsaw puzzle being dismantled by an invisible, implacable force. It was Crash Magic. Raw, absolute, inescapable. The force that could divide anything, even magic itself, even the soul itself.
"Take Over: Satan Soul!"
The transformation enveloped me like a second skin, a familiar but always slightly frightening, wild wave of power surging through my veins like a torrent of liquid fire and ancient darkness.
My features altered, becoming more angular, more predatory, curved black horns sprouted from my head like a demonic crown, dark, leathery wings erupted from my back like a harbinger of the night, tearing my clothes, sharp claws on my hands thirsting for battle, my white hair lengthening, fluttering like a wild banner in an unseen wind.
I flew upwards, propelled by an explosion of demonic energy, narrowly escaping the area of disintegration that spread like a geometric plague, the wind from the blast of power whipping my hair, adrenaline singing in my blood, a furious battle song. The raw force of his attack, even being so… casual, was immense, enough to wipe a small army or a careless town off the map.
"Impressive speed, lass!" Gildarts praised from below, his arms crossed over his broad chest, looking utterly unperturbed, as if he had just shooed away a particularly irritating, noisy fly. His smile was still there, but his eyes shone with renewed interest, like a predator who has finally found prey that might offer some amusement.
"Don't expect me to fall so easily, Gildarts-san!" I yelled back, my voice now more guttural, more bestial, echoing with the power of the demon I had embraced as part of me, no longer as a burden, but as a weapon.
I channelled my energy, remembering Azra'il's lessons, her precise instructions on focus and controlled release, on feeling the flow of power within me as an extension of my own being, like the blood running in my veins, on not wasting a single spark in blind fury or useless movements. Not just raw power, but precision. Direction. Purpose. I concentrated a sphere of dark energy in my hands, dense and pulsating like a heart stolen from the depths of hell, a small black star of pure destruction. "Soul Extinction!"
The black beam shot towards Gildarts, charged with the fury of a thousand tormented souls, a scream of power that tore through the air, leaving a vacuum trail in its wake, a promise of annihilation. He just smiled, that irritatingly calm, superior smile of the absurdly powerful, and with another simple gesture, almost a disdainful wave of his hand, the very trajectory of my attack unravelled in the air, the dark energy harmlessly dissipating like smoke in the wind before it even reached him.
As if he had simply decided that my attack, my effort, no longer existed. As if he could erase my power with a thought. Frustration began to bubble, hot and bitter, but I swallowed it down, turning it into more fuel for my inner fire. This was no time for that. It was time to fight.
"Interesting control, Mirajane," Gildarts commented, his voice echoing through the destroyed clearing, each word falling like a stone into a silent lake. "You've refined that demonic power of yours quite a bit since I last heard of your… youthful antics. Your control over the energy is more precise, more focused. The rumours about your training with our new and… enigmatic colleague seem to have substance. But will it be enough to even scratch the surface of what I can do? Does that tough 'She-Devil' shell of yours really have anything underneath besides more raw power?"
I gritted my teeth, feeling the ancient demoness within me snarl in defiance, my claws twitching. "I have much more to show! Don't underestimate me, old man!"
I tried different approaches, a barrage of calculated attacks to test his defences, to find an opening, however small. Stunning speed, using my demonic wings to manoeuvre at impossible angles, almost breaking the sound barrier, becoming a black blur against the grey sky, launching volleys of Darkness Stream that could pulverise mountains, each black beam seeking a flaw in his seemingly relaxed stance, a hesitation in his eyes.
Afterwards, I switched to long-range attacks with my Evil Explosion, each sphere of purple energy charged with a destructive force that would make most mages tremble in dread, exploding with the force of demonic bombs, shaking the ground beneath our feet. Then, area spells, trying to turn the battlefield into a private hell with demonic flames that danced and consumed, licking at the ruins of trees and rocks, seeking to trap him, limit him, force him to move.
Every attempt, every display of my power, every strategy I formulated in a fraction of a second, was met with a display of his crushing power. He wasn't even trying, I could feel it in every fibre of my being. His movements were minimal, almost lazy, but each of them carried a devastating finality.
He disintegrated my attacks with a glance, dodged with an almost imperceptible movement that seemed to distort the very space around him, or simply let them pass through him, as if they were made of air, harmless. It was like a curious child playing with a new and powerful doll, testing its limits without any real intention of breaking it. But each 'play' of his was a wave of power that forced me to use everything in me just to survive, to stay on my feet, to continue fighting, not to drown in that ocean of strength.
The trees he hadn't destroyed before were now mere matchsticks, crushed under his power as if they were dry twigs. The ground was a testament to overlapping craters, a lunar landscape of cold, calculated destruction, a monument to his strength.
I was panting, my body beginning to protest against the constant effort, every muscle burning, the demonic energy flowing like a furious river from within me, but always meeting an insurmountable dam, a wall of absolute power that simply couldn't be bypassed or broken. I felt impotent, small, my demonic forms, once so feared, the terror of Fairy Tail, now seeming like just empty husks, power fantasies against the raw force of reality itself which he commanded.
The remnant of my hope, that small flame of confidence I had so painstakingly lit over the years, especially with Azra'il's unexpected help, seemed to shatter around me, growing fainter and fainter with each attack of his that passed through my defences as if they didn't exist, with each defence of mine that proved useless against his strength.
Every beam of power, every attack I launched with all my soul, with every fibre of my being, with all my stubborn faith, was reduced to nothing, to dust before a force that defined reality itself. The darkness of my Satan Soul, once my greatest asset, the power I had learned to embrace instead of fear, fought in vain against a force that was like the universe itself, vast, indifferent, eternal. And I was losing. Terribly. Inevitably.
But the song in my heart, the one that reminded me why I fought, that melody of protection and love for my siblings, for my family, the reason I had to be strong, the reason I couldn't, wouldn't, give up, had not yet fallen silent. It pulsed, a stubborn light in the oppressive darkness, a silent defiance to the hopelessness threatening to swallow me. I'm still here. And as long as I am, as long as I can breathe, I will fight.
"You're strong, Mirajane," Gildarts said, his voice now devoid of its earlier playful tone, replaced by a genuine respect that, in a way, was more impactful than any insult, heavier than any blow. His gaze was serious, almost solemn. "Stronger than many who have crossed my path, much stronger than I expected for someone your age. Your control has improved, your determination is admirable, almost frightening. But being strong isn't just about the power you can unleash, or how fiercely you can fight. It's about how you use it, about what drives you, about the clarity of your purpose when all else fails."
He advanced, and this time there was no casualness in his movements. The pressure emanating from him increased tenfold, twentyfold, becoming a physical force that pushed me back, that threatened to crush me like an insect.
I felt the air being crushed around me, my demonic wings struggling to keep me aloft, the weight of an invisible mountain on my shoulders, the very atmosphere becoming dense and difficult to breathe. It was like trying to fly against a hurricane of cosmic proportions, a storm of pure power threatening to erase my existence.
The strange daylight, filtered by the dust and the residual energy hanging in the air, seemed trapped in my eyes, making everything unreal, distorted, like a fever dream I couldn't wake from.
I remembered Azra'il, her enigmatic words, spoken with that unsettling, almost supernatural calm, as her fingers danced over the strings of her lute, her deep blue eyes fixed on some point beyond our world, as if she were seeing the threads of fate itself.
"Don't fight the tide, Mira, when the tide is the ocean itself," she had told me once, after one of our training sessions where I tried, in vain, to overcome her impenetrable defence with sheer demonic force, leaving me frustrated and exhausted. "Brute force is like a dammed river; impressive in its contained power, but easily broken if there's no channel to direct it. Or, worse, it overflows and causes indiscriminate destruction, even to yourself." Her gaze seemed to pierce my soul at that moment.
"Sometimes, true strength isn't in breaking the wave, in crashing against it until you're exhausted. It's in understanding its flow, finding the gaps, the hidden currents, in becoming the water itself that moulds and bypasses, that erodes the hardest stone with patience and persistence, but is never truly broken. Strength manifests in many forms, not always in the loudest explosion or the most frightening form."
Not just raw power. Adaptability. Focus. Control. And the ability to find strength in what drove me: my love for Elfman and Lisanna, my need to protect them at all costs. It's in my blood, it's in my veins... this need, this duty. The need to protect them was etched into my soul, it was my reason for being.
With a cry that tore my throat, a sound that was both defiance and a painful acceptance of my current limits, a silent promise to overcome them, I forced my Take Over to change, to adapt, to seek a new way to exist under that crushing pressure. I felt my body contort, the demonic energy reconfiguring in a way I had never tried before, something Azra'il had only suggested, a dangerous path of cultivation.
My standard Satan Soul form, even with all its power, wasn't enough. I needed something more. Something… different. Satan Soul: Lilith, the Silent Tempest! A form, born of my determination and desperate need, a manifestation of my will to find a strength that wasn't just destructive. My wings became more ethereal, like ribbons of shadow and flickering light, allowing for greater manoeuvrability, a dance with the wind instead of a fight against it.
My skin took on a pale, almost lunar sheen, and my horns lengthened, curving backwards like a dark gazelle's. Sharp claws, yes, but thinner, more precise, like scalpels. My tail, once thick and powerful, was now slenderer and more agile, the tip glowing with a concentrated energy. This form was less about overwhelming destructive power and more about speed, precision, and the subtle manipulation of energies, channelled attacks that could exploit the slightest of openings, the slightest of hesitations.
I wouldn't be the wave crashing on the rock; I would be the current finding its way, the storm that moves in silence before it strikes with full force.
I surprised Gildarts for an instant. His eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine surprise crossing his face before being replaced by an even broader, hungrier smile. My speed increased dramatically, making me a pale, dark blur against the devastated landscape, my movements no longer just powerful, but fluid, almost graceful in their lethality.
I managed to slide through one of his crashing waves like a drop of mercury, the pressure of his magic still overwhelming, but now I could find the small gaps, the fluctuations. I got close enough to try a direct strike with my claws imbued with a cold, concentrated demonic energy, a beam of pure darkness, aiming for a point that seemed, for a split second, like an opening in his almost casual stance.
He blocked it. Easily. With a single finger. Damn him.
The shock of the abrupt stop reverberated through my body like a cracked bell, forcing the air from my lungs with a frustrated groan. But, at that instant, on that single finger holding all my power, all my desperate hope, I felt something. A lesson. He hadn't just used strength; there was a technique there, an understanding of energy that went beyond simple release, a control so absolute it seemed part of him.
He had found the exact point of balance, the nexus of my attack, and neutralised it with minimal effort, almost with boredom. Azra'il would talk about this for hours, about energy flows and breaking points, about the difference between raw power and true mastery. I was seeing, and feeling, the difference on my skin. He was teaching me, even as he defeated me, even as my heart screamed in frustration and despair.
"Clever," he said, a smile of genuine approval on his lips, like a master praising a diligent student who has finally grasped a difficult concept. "You learn fast, lass. Very fast. This new form of yours... has potential. A lot of precision, a lot of speed. You almost caught me by surprise."
The fight continued, a deadly dance under a gloomy sky. But something had fundamentally changed in me. I knew, with a cold, absolute certainty, that I couldn't beat him in a direct confrontation. The difference was an impassable chasm, a mountain I still lacked the strength to climb in a single leap. But now, it was no longer just about winning. It was about learning. About absorbing every painful lesson. About pushing myself beyond my known limits, not out of foolish pride or blind stubbornness, but from the visceral need to become stronger.
More strong to protect Elfman, who watched me from the edge of the clearing with wide eyes, a mixture of admiration and fear stamped on his young face, his faith in me unwavering even in the face of my imminent defeat. He needed me, and I couldn't fail him.
More strong to protect Lisanna, my stubborn, life-filled little sister. I imagined her bright smile, her contagious energy, the way her eyes shone with mischief and love. And the idea that anything could threaten her, that I might not be strong enough to keep her safe, was a fire burning in my soul, a terror deeper than any opponent, sharper than any claw. She trusted me, just as Elfman did. And I wouldn't let them down. Never again. That pain, that fear, would not paralyse me again.
I had to get stronger to protect my family that was Fairy Tail, all of them, with their irritating quirks, their mad dreams, and their unconditional loyalty that warmed my heart like a campfire on a cold night.
I didn't want pain or loss to touch them, and I knew that, as one of the strongest of the new generation, the responsibility to protect them rested on my shoulders, a weight I would bear with pride and determination. And, selfishly, I didn't want my own power, the darkness I carried within me, the one that one day almost consumed me, ever to turn against those I loved and had sworn to protect with every fibre of my being, with every beat of my heart.
I had fought so hard to control this power, to make it my ally, and not my gaoler. And this fight, this impending defeat, was another step on that arduous path.
Even if the stars were to go out, one by one, around me, and even if the moon were to become a cold, lifeless disc, tinting the world in shades of despair and loneliness, I would continue to fight. For the promise of a new dawn, for the stubborn flame that burned in my chest, the flame that they lit, the flame of family, of belonging, of love.
Every blow I received, every time I was thrown against the ground with the force of a meteor, crushed under his power, I got up. My bones might protest, my body might beg for rest, my magic might be slipping away like water through my fingers, but my spirit… my spirit refused to yield. Not for me. Never just for me. But for them. Always for them. Replaying in my mind all the times I had to fight… all the times I felt fear, all the times I felt weak… I'm still here, I need to be here.
I could feel my power reaching its limits, my body screaming in protest, every muscle burning with a searing pain. The Lilith form demanded a concentration and an energy expenditure different, more subtle, but equally draining.
Transformations demanded a price, and I was paying dearly, feeling the energy drain away like sand through my fingers, my vision beginning to blur. But, each time Gildarts knocked me down, each look from his experienced eyes, I saw an opportunity. Saw how he moved, how he controlled that overwhelming energy with such… precision, almost with gentleness, despite the cataclysmic destruction he caused.
He wasn't just a brute with unlimited power; there was an art to his destruction, a terrible, ancient wisdom. And I was determined to learn every note of that song of power, even if the melody was painful, even if it took me to the brink of collapse.
In a last, desperate effort, when my wings felt as heavy as lead and my vision began to dangerously darken at the edges, when every breath was an agony, I gathered all my remaining energy, every drop of demonic power left to me, every fragment of my indomitable will, into a single final attack. It wasn't about finesse this time, not about strategy or control. It was about pure, absolute determination, a final cry of defiance from a soul that refused to be extinguished.
"Soul Finale: Annihilation Wave!"
A ring of pure black energy, so dense it seemed to suck the very light from around it, distorting the air, expanded from me, not as a beam, but as a crushing shockwave, a pulse of pure annihilation, the last gasp of my power. It was all I had. My everything. It roared towards Gildarts, a promise of obliteration, a testament to my refusal to surrender, a final challenge to the mountain that stood before me.
He watched, unmoving, his face serene, almost melancholic, until the wave was almost upon him, prestes a consumi-lo. Then, with an almost bored sigh, as if he were parting an irritating curtain, he simply… opened his hand. And the wave, all that energy, all that fury, all my desperate hope, broke against his palm as if it were a summer breeze, disintegrating into nothing, into silence.
Exhaustion hit me like a physical, brutal, final blow. I fell to my knees, my demonic form unravelling like a dream at dawn, black smoke dissipating around me, revealing my human, fragile, wounded body. I was panting, aching, my body trembling uncontrollably, the world spinning dizzily, the colours blending into a chaotic blur.
The silence descended upon the destroyed battlefield, heavy and absolute, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing and the distant cry of Elfman. I had lost. Completely. But, strangely, there was no bitterness in my heart. Just a deep exhaustion, that went beyond the physical, and a painful clarity, the certainty of having touched my limits and, perhaps, just perhaps, peeked a little beyond them. I had faced the Ace of Fairy Tail and, even in defeat, I had learned. I had fought with everything. And, somehow, that felt… like a victory.
Gildarts approached, his imposing shadow falling over me. I waited for the final blow, or for words of mockery about my weakness. Instead, he offered me his hand, a surprisingly gentle gesture, his large, calloused fingers touching mine.
"You have incredible power, lass," he said, his voice now gentle but firm, the friendly smile back on his face, a warm sun after the storm. "And an iron will that would make many experienced S-Class Mages envious, even old Makarov. You didn't give up. You adapted. You learned. And, above all, you fought with your heart." He helped me to my feet, my legs still trembling like a newborn foal's, but my spirit, somehow, strangely, stronger, lighter. "Fighting to protect those you love… that is the true source of strength, Mirajane. More powerful than any demon, more resilient than any armour, brighter than any star. Never forget that."
He looked me in the eye, and for an instant, I saw beyond the Ace of Fairy Tail, beyond the legendary mage. I saw a man who understood the weight of power and the value of sacrifice, someone who also carried his own losses and his own battles on his long journey. And, in that moment, there was a connection, a silent understanding that transcended the fight.
"Mirajane Strauss," he declared, his voice resonating with the authority of one who had witnessed countless battles and judged countless warriors, a voice that sealed fates. "You have the heart of a lion and the soul of a true Fairy Tail mage. You are approved."
The words hit me with more force than any of his Crash attacks. Approved? Even after such a crushing, complete defeat? My heart leapt, a wave of warmth spreading through my tired body.
Tears welled in my eyes, not of sadness or physical pain, but of an emotional exhaustion and an overwhelming relief that made me stagger. Elfman ran towards me, his face a mixture of concern and a fierce pride that almost made me laugh amidst the tears. His large, strong arms wrapped around me in a clumsy but incredibly comforting hug, and I allowed myself to collapse against him for a moment, feeling the solidity of his presence, the security of his loyalty.
I had lost the fight. Undeniably. My body was broken, my magic exhausted. But, somehow, on that field of destruction, under the gaze of one of the most powerful mages in the world, I had found something more. I had grown. I had learned. I had faced my limits and refused to be defined by them. And this, I knew, was just the beginning. A new path to follow, harder, perhaps, but truer. And I would walk it, stronger than before. For my siblings. For my family. For myself. Always.
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----------Author's notes------------
Usually, these points of view are always Azra'il's. This time I wanted to try something different, switching the point of view to Mirajane. I confess it was a challenge trying to write a narrative that captured "Mirajane's voice" and was distinct from "Azra'il's voice." I plan to do this with other characters in the future. I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you thought of reading from Mirajane's perspective.