October, X774.
Six months had passed since the four newcomers joined Fairy Tail, and the bustling guild had long since woven them into its chaotic, colorful fabric. The autumn leaves painted Magnolia in brilliant streaks of gold, orange, and crimson as the annual Harvest Festival approached, and the excitement in the guildhall was palpable.
Krampus stood near the guild's massive entrance windows, watching the wind carry bundles of dry leaves across the cobbled street outside. The towering black-furred demon had changed too—literally. His already imposing figure had grown taller, standing at a staggering 7 ft1, and his muscles had thickened like ripened fruit on a sacred tree. His cloak rippled with subtle magical force, and a faint electric aura clung to his body like mist.
He ran a clawed hand through his grey-white mane, letting out a sigh. "I suppose I really am still growing. Earthland, you sneaky minx."
It had been three months since Krampus had experienced his greatest breakthrough yet: establishing a direct spiritual connection with Earthland, treating it as a living planetary soul. Inspired by a certain show from his previous life, where a certain Kamen Rider accessed Gaia's Memory to retrieve planetary knowledge, Krampus had built his own version—Earthland's Memory. With it, he could ask the world itself for common and lost magical knowledge as easily as if Earthland were a divine search engine.
But the knowledge was only the first benefit.
Krampus had reasoned that if he could treat Earthland not just as a data provider, but as a living entity with whom he shared a mutual bond, he might unlock a new level of symbiosis. He didn't want to just read from Earthland—he wanted to interface with it. And so, using ritualized spirit communion magic layered with the Rule of Binding and reinforced with holiday faith circuits, he created a two-way spiritual channel. The result was everything he hoped for—and more.
Now, whenever Krampus expended his vast magical power, Earthland would respond in kind—like a living battery of divine scale—feeding him a slow but constant stream of mana to replenish his reserves. His natural regeneration rate had tripled. Even long, complex spellwork like cloning and crafting no longer left him drained. As he theorized, Earthland saw Krampus not as a parasite, but as one of its saints—a vessel of seasonal faith and planetary purpose. In return for his offerings of order and tradition, the planet seemed to support his continued growth.
And grow he did.
His height increased by another inch seemingly overnight. His skeletal frame, optimized for both intimidation and efficiency, subtly thickened in density and magical conductivity. His mana pool, once vast, had now become nearly oceanic in scope. He didn't just feel like a force of nature—he was quickly becoming one.
Heck, he felt like he could grow even bigger still.
Then there's the underground library that had nearly tripled in its collection. Ancient tomes, long-lost grimoires, and forgotten magical theories now lined the shelves, newly printed by Krampus's transmuted runes. It was from Earthland's Memory that he retrieved the Arc of Time grimoire, and he had delivered it personally to Ultear.
The girl had cried. Not in despair, but in overwhelmed gratitude.
Ultear had changed dramatically in half a year. Her once-sickly frame had become firm and defined, thanks to Krampus's meticulously tailored bodybuilding magic program, which not only accelerated muscle synthesis but also regulated hormones for optimal growth and stamina. That, combined with the daily encouragement and antics of her new best friend—Cana Alberona—had made her glow with health and confidence.
The two had become as thick as thieves. Whether it was tackling beginner missions, gossiping during lunch breaks, or sunbathing under the amber-hued maple trees in the courtyard, they were always together. Cana eagerly shared her love of card tricks and secret methods for rigging board games in her favor, while Ultear returned the favor with her mother's training—drilling Cana in mental discipline, meditation, and theoretical applications of elemental magic.
Now, Ultear was no longer just a prodigy in name. She could manifest temporal bubbles to slow, reverse or accelerate time around objects—a feat most mages twice her age struggled to manage. But what truly impressed Krampus was how seamlessly she began combining her time magic with her mother's ice-make magic, creating elegant but devastating hybrid spells that manipulated both duration and structure simultaneously. It reminded him of a certain powerful anime general—Esdeath—whose ice abilities paired lethally with her dominion over time. Krampus couldn't help but wonder: if Ultear kept pushing her fusion of time and ice, would she eventually achieve Time Stop in an area around her? A frozen battlefield where only she could move? He watched her progress with silent satisfaction. There was a sharpness to her now, a budding elegance in her spellcraft that whispered of great things to come. She wasn't just smart—she was dangerous.
As for Ur, her legend had only deepened. Six months into her Fairy Tail life, she had been formally named an S-Class mage, one of the guild's elite. While she seldom took missions—declining even high-paying ones—her role as a mentor had become central to the guild's development. She spent her days walking the line between gentle motherhood and fierce instruction, shaping not only Ultear's path, but also guiding her two ice apprentices, Gray and Lyon.
Under her dual training regime with Krampus, the boys had become almost unrecognizable. Their formerly bony limbs had bulked up into lean muscle, their once-wild tempers tempered by discipline and healthy rivalry. Gray's biceps were the size of small melons, and Lyon's back could support a bookshelf—neither bad for boys of just eight and nine years old.
Of course, despite their progress, Ur was uncompromising. She had a single rule: no missions outside Magnolia until they could defeat her in single combat. And so far? She hadn't even needed to dodge.
As for Krampus, the last three months had been as productive as they were transformative. While training alongside Laxus, who was preparing for this year's S-Class Trial, Krampus had also devoted time to magical innovation.
With the inspiration from Earthland's crafting knowledge and driven by a nostalgic longing, and also by annoyance of just how inconvenient and bulky the communication lacrima is, Krampus birthed a modern miracle:
The Fairy Phone.
The first generation of magical smartphones.
The public version allowed voice, video calls, and messaging, all powered by enchanted lacrima and regulated mana flow. But the guild-only version had an additional feature: Guild Archives Search, a magically integrated function that accessed the entire guild's library and mission logs, allowing even the laziest meathead mages to research before taking jobs.
To mass-produce these devices, Krampus activated a new spell—the Rule of Christmas variant called Santa's Workshop. It generated a semi-divine space where faith in Santa translated into free magical materials. Inside, a hundred tiny 3-foot chibi Krampus clones, dressed in puffy red-and-green Santa's elf uniforms with tiny golden-rimmed spectacles, curly-toed shoes, oversized floppy hats with jingling bells, and puffy cheeks, ran about like caffeinated squirrels.
Their eyes were wide and sparkly, their fangs adorably short, and each had a faint aura of magic glowing at the tips of their fingers. Despite their cute appearances, they were miracle workers of fabrication—able to craft a Fairy Phone from start to finish in just ten seconds. The sound of rapid-fire enchanting, lacrima infusion, and gem embedding filled the air with a crisp, harmonious clatter.
"Mana stabilizer check!" squeaked one clone. "Micro-array calibrated!" yelled another. "Engraving the guild crest now!" came a third, already sliding the finished phone into a velvet-lined box.
The workshop buzzed with constant, precise motion—an almost mechanical harmony of elf-Krampuses scampering on enchanted conveyor belts, riding floating discs, and occasionally bickering over mana allocation ratios. It was like watching a Christmas-themed honeybee hive if the bees were hyperactive nerds with an obsession for perfect craftsmanship.
And off to one cozy corner, sitting in front of a miniature customer service kiosk was a single chibi Krampus clone with a headset and a steaming mug of cinnamon cocoa. He looked entirely too serious for someone whose legs didn't reach the floor.
"Yes, Master Makarov," he said patiently, adjusting his spectacles. "No, pressing the green icon will not cause an explosion—it opens the contact list. No, you can't summon a spirit by dialing the number 666. No, your Fairy Phone does not grant wishes either."
"Then what in blazes is the point of it!" Makarov's voice squawked through the line. "Back in my day, if a lacrima sparkled, it did something, dammit!"
The clone gave a sigh that sounded far too ancient for his toddler-sized frame. "Would you like me to re-enable guided tutorial mode again, sir?"
Krampus, peeking into the workshop, stifled a snort. Watching Makarov try to navigate the digital arcane landscape was like watching an elderly man discover the internet for the first time. Bewilderment, suspicion, and awe danced across Makarov's face with every new screen he encountered, as though he were deciphering ancient scripture instead of setting up a contact profile.
Krampus swore that if he made an app that simulated dial-up screeching and old modem buffering, Makarov might actually trust it more.
The whole situation was almost as entertaining as watching the guys at the guild do squats from behind—particularly the part where their glutes quivered under the weight like jiggling jelly on a pressure plate. Both scenes, Krampus mused, appealed to the connoisseur of comedy and carnality alike.
He was delighted.
"Boss!" one clone squeaked during a mass production session. "We've met the quota for Fiore's Southern Market!"
"Excellent. Next batch—prepare the ones with lacrima compass apps and long-distance locator runes."
"Aye aye!"
Laxus, meanwhile, had never studied harder in his life.
After receiving the Secret Arts of Lightning Dragon Slaying—a high-tier tome recovered from Earthland's Memory—Laxus dove into its theories with a hunger that even surprised Krampus. The book delved into electromagnetic field manipulation, advanced ionization, and even a move that could eliminate the electromagnetic cohesion in atomic structures, causing pure disintegration.
What Laxus didn't know, however, was that this spell—described in simplified terms—was merely the surface. Krampus had already discovered the secret behind it: by rending the electromagnetic force that binds electrons and protons, he could essentially destabilize atoms at the quantum level, reducing matter to raw energy or particulate vapor. The spell was, in essence, atomic disintegration.
But Krampus chose not to tell Laxus the full truth. Not yet. Partly because the boy is still a bit sulky because of their suddenly widening height gap.
The height gap between them had grown again. Krampus now stood an inch taller and will grow more, and Laxus was none too pleased.
"Dammit!" Laxus barked one day, pointing a crackling finger at Krampus's chest. "How the hell do you keep getting taller?! What's your secret?!"
Krampus gave a solemn shrug. "It's called being the Santa of Divine Proportions. Maybe if you believed a little harder, you'd grow too."
Laxus muttered something about magic steroids and stomped off to bench-press a thunder golem in frustration.
What Krampus didn't share with anyone yet was the next step in his magical research: moving beyond electromagnetic disintegration to something even more terrifying—atomic fission. By using the Rule of Rending not just to disrupt the electromagnetic force, but to tear apart the strong nuclear bonds that held atomic nuclei together, Krampus theorized he could induce nuclear fission. If he could then use the Rule of Binding to contain that energy, he could craft compact weapons—nuclear-powered grenades, magically stabilized.
The only problem was precision.
Any slight miscalculation would cause the reaction to spiral out of control and blow off his own arm, or worse, vaporize half a city. So for now, Krampus filed the idea away as a long-term project... and quietly went back to pouting about Laxus complaining over height.
"Brat," he grumbled.
Back upstairs, the guildhall was bustling.
Gray and Lyon were arguing over who would get to wear their custom Harvest Festival yukatas, while Ultear and Cana had already claimed matching kimonos and were practicing festival dances in the courtyard. Ur smiled at the sight, a warm flask of tea in hand as she leaned beside Gildarts and Mira.
Krampus stood in the corner, a giant with a clipboard, silently inspecting a holographic budget list for the Fairy Phone Division.
Fairy Tail had changed.
Grown.
And autumn had never felt warmer.
Time passes quickly, and before you know it, the time has come.
The late afternoon sun bathed Magnolia in amber light, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone streets and the fields of festive decorations. Strings of golden flowers, sheaves of wheat, corn dolls, and mana-infused lanterns gave the city a rustic splendor. Music floated from every direction. Laughter rang out, and the scent of roasted pumpkin, grilled corn, and sweet chestnuts wafted from every corner. The Harvest Festival was in full swing.
But for Krampus and Laxus, this year was special. No longer just spectators to the grand parade, they were part of the show.
"Hard to believe, huh?" Laxus said, stretching his arms over his head as he gazed down from the rooftop where they'd been watching final setup preparations. "Feels like just yesterday I was watchin' this thing from your shoulders."
Krampus chuckled, his voice rich and low. "You were watching it from my shoulders. Every year until you hit your growth spurt."
He didn't say the rest aloud, but the memory bloomed vividly in his mind. A young Laxus, maybe ten at the time, had once straddled his massive shoulders, fists pumping in the air, golden lightning crackling excitedly around them as he yelled, "Look! They've got fireworks shaped like dragons!" His laughter, warm and innocent, had filled Krampus's heart like sunlight. Those moments had been some of the happiest in his second life.
Nowadays, Laxus still sometimes climbed atop his shoulders—not out of childishness, but as a weird form of affectionate teasing and wrestling. Playfighting always began with a shove or challenge and ended with Laxus's muscular thighs wrapped around Krampus's lion-like head, pinning him in a pseudo-headlock.
Krampus always blushed under his fur.
It was stupid. He could lift boulders, demolish fortresses, and crack a demon's ribcage—but the moment Laxus's strong thighs squeezed around his head and he felt the warmth of Laxus's groin resting just behind his horns, his knees turned to jelly and his heart thumped like a taiko drum in a war festival. It made him dizzy. Vulnerable. Overstimulated in the worst—and best—ways.
He'd never told Laxus what it did to him.
Which made it all the more infuriating when Laxus started using the move strategically to win their wrestling matches.
"Wrestle me, old man!"
"No."
Crotch-to-head takedown.
"DAMMIT, LAXUS!"
Putting those thoughts aside, Krampus had his own nerves to deal with. He had performed onstage at Fairy Tail before, sure—low-stakes magic showcases and goofy songs during guild parties—but the Harvest Festival Parade was another beast entirely. Thousands of people. Roaring crowds. Floating crystal recorders from Sorcery Magazine capturing every move.
Krampus used to get stage fright so intense it short-circuited his mana flow. His hands would tremble. His knees would lock. His fangs would chatter. His anxiety would feed back into his magic until he risked accidentally blowing up the stage just by existing. He was fine with smaller crowds—he could handle the guild's teasing cheers, their drunken chants, their warm familiarity. But the sheer mass of strangers, the press of unfamiliar energy, the overwhelming scrutiny—it trampled over his tolerance like a stampede. The thought alone made his claws twitch. He'd come so far… but the idea of thousands of strangers watching him still made his instincts scream.
Laxus, on the other hand, had never performed before. Not because he lacked talent, but because his magic was too volatile for showmanship. Lightning was raw, explosive, and destructive—perfect for battle, dangerous for parades. His power crackled with unpredictable intensity, making him more of a walking natural disaster than a stage performer. Until now, there had never been a safe enough venue for him to try.
But this time… Laxus would be with him.
And that changed everything.
"Yo," Laxus nudged him with his elbow. "You still good?"
Krampus took a breath. "Yeah. I've got an idea for the show. It's a bit… dramatic."
Laxus smirked. "Dramatic's our middle name."
They spent the next several days rehearsing—singing, dancing, experimenting with magical special effects, and trying to sync their timing so they didn't blow each other up. Krampus summoned holograms and light constructs. Laxus brought thunderous sound, flashing strobes of lightning, and magnetic levitation to enhance their choreography.
Together, they built a performance worthy of Fairy Tail.
The day of the festival arrived.
The streets were bustling with life. Chibi Krampus clones in festive uniforms ran amok across the town, handing out flyers with glittery Fairy Phone ads and offering free photo ops with visitors. Some even put on mini shows of their own, juggling fireworks or using illusion magic to make it snow petals of gold.
As the parade hour drew near, Krampus and Laxus wandered the festival together, having finished their prep.
Their first stop: The Guildhall, where the first major event was about to kick off.
The Mister Fairy Tail Contest.
What began as a spontaneous post-training pose-off had, in just over a year, evolved into one of the most anticipated events in Magnolia. Officially inducted into the festival schedule a year after Krampus introduced his innovative bodybuilding magic, the contest exploded in popularity. With enchanted weights, hypertrophy-enhancing aura circuits, and illusion-refined posing styles, Fairy Tail's muscleheads found a whole new arena to test their strength—and strut their stuff.
Krampus's bodybuilding magic didn't just strengthen muscles. It helped mages visualize their ideal physique, circulate mana in ways that optimized bulk and aesthetics, and resist fatigue during workouts. The magic spread through the guild like wildfire. It became a culture.
Now, the Mister Fairy Tail Contest was not only a crowd-pleaser—it had become a regular feature in Sorcery Magazine, showcasing the physiques and personal styles of Fairy Tail's most sculpted men. For the women (and many of the men) in the audience, it was a muscle-filled fantasy of oiled skin and power stances. For the male competitors, it was a sacred war of aesthetics, ego, and legacy.
Spotlights bathed the guild stage in theatrical glow. Pyrotechnics flared with every flex. Posing music pulsed with aggressive flair. Celebrity judges sat at a magically elevated dais, enchanted clipboards hovering in front of them, enchanted sunglasses glinting.
Half the guild's male population was now jacked to the heavens, oil-slicked and shirtless. Muscles flexed like magic weapons. Biceps gleamed under spotlight-enhanced enchantments. The crowd—mostly screaming women and admiring men—was so loud it nearly cracked the windows.
Laxus walked on stage, flexed once, and the crowd erupted.
Krampus cheered from the front row, cupping his massive claws to his muzzle. "THAT'S MY THUNDER GOD!! WOOO!! GET IT!!"
It wasn't even close.
Laxus's body had undergone explosive growth this past year. His already massive frame had thickened into full adult proportions, all golden muscle and broad shoulders, veins like lightning bolts. He posed with confidence and raw power, electrifying the audience with every turn.
He won by a landslide.
As Laxus took his victory cape (which looked suspiciously like a glittery bedsheet), he winked at Krampus.
The next event came fast: the Miss Fairy Tail Contest.
Even more crowded. Even more feral. The atmosphere hit a fever pitch.
If Mister Fairy Tail was a celebration of raw power and physical glory, then Miss Fairy Tail was its untamed, radiant counterpoint. The women of Fairy Tail didn't come to be dainty or demure. They came to conquer. Each contestant embodied a wild, amazonian energy—commanding, fierce, and dazzling. Unlike the poised and pristine girls of Blue Pegasus, who moved with delicate grace and practiced elegance, the Fairy Tail women were like elemental forces given form.
Beauty. Strength. Glamour. Magic. From firework fans and mid-air dance routines to conjured illusions, martial arts displays, and magical light shows, it was an all-out spectacle. They didn't just perform—they challenged the audience to dare look away.
It came down to a narrow showdown between Cornelia, the reigning champion whose flawless glamor magic turned the stage into a living dreamscape, and Ur, the icy dark horse whose elegant, wintry performance radiated both grace and hidden power.
In the end, Cornelia retained her title—but Ur had clearly gained a roaring fanbase and the judges' respect.
The crowd loved every second of it. Some were already chanting Ur's name for next year.
As twilight deepened, the city began preparing for the final act: the Parade of Lights.
Krampus and Laxus retreated to the float prep zone, where their performance float—a massive rockstar stage on wheels—waited. Instruments glowed with ambient magic. Spotlights hovered, waiting to activate. Mana amplifiers buzzed quietly.
Both men stood behind the float, getting dressed.
Krampus's costume resembled his usual shirtless soldier aesthetic—bare chest, broad shoulders, and his signature long, sleeveless red Christmas coat—but everything had been reimagined. His sleeveless long coat was now white on the outside, red on the inside, with bold red lapels that stood out against the white fabric. It was finished with gold trim and swirling ornamental runes embroidered along the hem. His pants and boots matched the palette—white leather with red arcane patterns and gold accessories. Around his neck hung thick golden chains from which dangled a massive ceremonial bell—the very one that Laxus had gifted him during their first Christmas together. It gleamed with magical inscriptions and gave a deep, resonant chime whenever Krampus moved, a sound rich with memory and meaning.
He looked like a holiday-themed underground idol about to drop the hottest track of the year.
Laxus went for a matching aesthetic—a sleeveless short vest styled after Krampus's coat, white on the outside with red lapels and crimson lining, cut to show off his powerful chest and arms. He paired it with crimson pants that clung to his muscular legs and combat-grade white boots with gold trim. A faint scar shaped like a lightning bolt traced along Laxus's face, the only visible mark left from the rough and painful installment of his lacrima years ago, before he ever met Krampus. A single gold earring glinted beside it, catching the stage lights like a spark waiting to ignite.
They glanced at each other.
"Nervous?" Krampus asked.
Laxus grinned. "Only 'cause I don't wanna trip over my own awesome."
Krampus snorted. "Let's go melt some faces."
The float began to roll forward, drawn by glowing stone wheels and pushed by enchanted lacrima engines. As the crowd roared and the spotlights turned toward them, Krampus took a deep breath, his fur tingling with excitement.
The stage lights activated.
Their microphones hummed to life.
And just like that—
It was show time.