Laxus's POV
The moment Laxus stepped into the hall, the air was already alive with heat—not from magic, but from sheer excitement. The morning sunlight spilled through the tall guild windows, catching swirls of dust that danced like sparks over the heads of mages leaning on tables, pacing floors, and gesturing wildly in half-shouted conversations. The notice board was already stripped bare in several places, and even from across the hall, Laxus could hear the scuffling of boots as members jockeyed for position in front of the remaining job postings.
"Hands off, that's mine!"
"You grabbed two already, leave some for the rest of us!"
"Oh, like you're gonna finish that cursed relic job without crying for backup again?"
The words weren't venomous—no, there was laughter threaded through them, a rough camaraderie that made the atmosphere electric. Men and women alike, all broad-shouldered and battle-tested thanks to years under Krampus's… unique training, moved like restless stormclouds ready to burst. It wasn't just a guild hall today—it was a marketplace of ambition, each mission slip treated like a hot bun fresh out of the oven.
Billy, with his sunlit blond hair and easy, heroic grin, loomed over a cluster of younger mages as he pointed out a lucrative escort request. His presence radiated confidence, like the captain of some victorious sports team who knew he'd win again tomorrow. Beside him, Matthew—dark-skinned, built like a boulder, and with that deep, warm laugh that could settle a tavern brawl before it started—was scanning through a pile of monster subjugation postings, already teasing the others about being "too scared to take the big ones."
Laxus could feel the pulse of the place in his veins. This wasn't just excitement—it was his kind of excitement. Every muscle in his body thrummed with anticipation, every flicker of magic in the air sparking against his own lightning. He'd been at this since he was six, grinding day in and day out under Krampus's brutal-but-effective drills, enduring the lectures, the punishments, the impossible exercises. It wasn't just combat—it was theory, strategy, control. His lightning wasn't just a blunt weapon anymore; it was a living arsenal. He could shape it into whips, spears, shields; he could use it to supercharge his movements, overload enemy weapons, even carve through stone without a sound.
And today? Today felt like the perfect time to test it all.
That's when the atmosphere shifted. The murmurs and shouts dulled, like a tide pulling back before a wave. All eyes turned toward the front of the hall, where the main doors had swung open.
Makarov stood there, small in stature but towering in presence. His face was serious, but his eyes glittered with something between pride and challenge. And behind him—like the carved guardians of some ancient, sacred gate—stood Gildarts and Krampus.
Gildarts was all casual swagger and quiet power, his arms crossed, a faint grin on his face as if he already knew what was about to happen. Beside him, Krampus was a vision out of myth—black fur gleaming under the sun, grey-white mane framing his face like a king's crown, ram-like horns casting shadows across the walls, and that neon-blue snowflake halo burning like a shard of winter sky. Together, they made Makarov look like the leader of an unstoppable pantheon.
Laxus's pulse kicked into overdrive. This is it, he thought. Whatever the old man was about to say, it was going to change things. He could feel it. And with that lineup behind him? There wasn't a single person in the hall who wasn't standing a little straighter, breathing a little deeper, ready to leap at the chance to prove themselves.
"Alright, quiet down, you brats!" His voice rolled through the hall. "It's that time of year again. The S-Class Promotion Test!"
The announcement sent the hall into an uproar. Cheers, whistles, and excited shouts echoed off the walls. Makarov grinned and let the energy flow before holding up his hand for silence.
"This year's candidates are..." He paused for effect, his gaze sweeping the room. "Laxus Dreyar! Matthew Rush! Billy Herrington!"
The cheers redoubled, and Laxus felt a small surge of pride in his chest, though he kept his arms crossed and face composed. Makarov continued, "Your proctors will be none other than Krampus and Gildarts. The exam site... Tenrou Island. You set off in three days."
Makarov's voice dropped just enough to add weight. "Your first task is to reach the marked spot on the island. How you get there is up to you—but get there fast. The fastest will have first pick of the challenges awaiting you."
Over the next three days, Laxus threw himself into preparation with the same intensity he'd use for a real battlefield. First, he spent hours in his quarters methodically checking his Requip inventory, summoning each piece of equipment one by one into the air before him. Every piece of armor was inspected for cracks or dents, every strap tested for wear. His consumables—potions, magic talismans, emergency lacrima—were counted and sorted into neat rows. Anything missing was swiftly replaced with a trip into town, where he purchased rare spell scrolls, a few sealing tags, and some extra rations that wouldn't spoil in Tenrou Island's humid air.
His magic halberd received special attention. Knowing that Krampus's divine interference might restrict or outright nullify certain magic during the exam, Laxus treated the weapon as if it would be his lifeline. He spent hours polishing the silvered steel, sharpening its blade until it could cleave a falling leaf in two, and reinforcing the haft with enchanted bindings to make it more resistant to impact. Between polishing sessions, he practiced pure physical combat with it—thrusts, sweeps, spinning strikes—training himself to rely less on lightning magic and more on raw skill.
The training itself was grueling. On the first day, he blasted through high-intensity sparring with enchanted dummies that simulated the reflexes of a living opponent, focusing on weapon transitions mid-combat. On the second, he hit the wilderness outside Magnolia, sprinting through rough terrain to improve his footwork and endurance while carrying full gear. He pushed his body to the brink with resistance training—weighted strikes, push-ups with boulders balanced on his back, and shadow-fighting while wearing weighted bracers that made every swing a battle in itself.
Then came the day before the test—a rare moment of calm. Laxus allowed himself to relax, strolling through Magnolia with no agenda but to enjoy the air, the streets, and the quiet. Yet something felt… off. Krampus was nowhere to be found, having already left to prepare the test site. It was strange—Laxus had gotten so used to seeing him every day, even if just for a word or a nod, that the absence seemed louder than any noise.
As he lounged in the guild hall that afternoon, a nervous energy gnawed at him. He reminded himself why he wanted this—why he had to become an S-Class Mage. It wasn't just about strength or status. It was about responsibility—about being someone who could protect the guild and help it grow, about being worthy of being Makarov's grandson, about catching up to Krampus's level so that Krampus would never have to inconvenience himself to make time for Laxus. He wanted to fight those difficult battles side by side with him, to make sure Krampus never faced those fights alone. Even though Krampus got along with everyone in the guild and could banter or even toss the occasional lecherous comment at the guys—something that made Laxus bristle with a faint, unexpected jealousy—there were moments when Krampus seemed… lonely. Like even in a crowd, he stood a step apart. Laxus didn't want him to feel that way, not ever.
There was a whirlwind of emotions tangled up in that thought—pride, competitiveness, loyalty, and something Laxus couldn't quite name. All he knew was that he wanted to spend more time with Krampus, and he chalked it up to what any normal best friend—or "best bro"—would feel. Still, the feeling sat heavier than he expected as night fell and the eve of the S-Class Exam arrived.
When the day came, Makarov stood before the three candidates, his expression equal parts pride and gravity, holding three small silver keys that gleamed in the morning light. "These will open the Fairy Gate to your trial. Don't lose 'em," he said, the weight in his voice making it feel as though each key carried more than just metal.
Laxus, dressed for the heat of Tenrou's tropics, wore the male counterpart to an adventurer's kit—tight, rugged shorts paired with a white sleeveless vest, crisscrossed with straps that hugged his frame and a utility belt riding low at his hips. The cut of his outfit left plenty of skin exposed for ventilation, but every inch of it was enchanted for full coverage defense. His broad shoulders and solid chest gleamed faintly in the light, his powerful thighs flexing with each shift of stance. Billy and Matthew had taken similar approaches: Billy's sunny blond hair framed a wrestling singlet that clung to his muscular build, the fabric stretching over his heroic chest and rounded glutes, cinched with his own utility belt; Matthew, darker-skinned and exuding big-brother warmth, wore an open, bright flowery shirt that bared his thick torso, paired with loose beach shorts that allowed his powerful legs free range of motion. Despite the relaxed, beach-vacation look, all three outfits were fortified by layered enchantments, marrying form, function, and raw physical presence.
Laxus took his key, feeling the cool metal against his palm, and exchanged a quick, charged glance with Matthew and Billy. They were rivals now, and they all knew it. On Makarov's signal, all three turned their keys in the air at once. The metal flared, light bursting from the tips until a shimmering oval of radiance bloomed before them. The air hummed, then roared, and with a sudden pull that yanked the breath from Laxus's lungs, the Fairy Gate dragged them inside.
The world flipped. The next heartbeat was nothing but the deafening rush of wind tearing past his ears. His stomach lurched as he realized he was falling—no, skydiving—through an endless vault of blue. The ocean stretched in every direction, and five kilometers ahead, Tenrou Island rose like an emerald crown from the sea. Even from this height—nearly a kilometer up—the island's great central tree loomed higher still, its crown brushing the clouds as if defying the sky itself. A thin column of smoke marked their target near the shore.
The three were scattered by about fifty meters, tumbling through the air. Laxus grinned despite the roar of the wind. One kilometer drop? Easy. Lightning surged through his veins, crackling over his skin, and in the next instant he became a spear of living thunder, streaking toward the target in a blazing arc.
Off to his left, Billy's magic flared in bright, iridescent colors as massive, glistening soap bubbles formed beneath him—each one springy as a trampoline. He bounced from one to the next in long, arcing leaps, his laughter nearly audible over the wind. To the right, Matthew slammed his palms together, unleashing sharp blasts of sound that kicked him forward in sonic bursts, the shockwaves rippling the air around him.
But even with their unique styles, Laxus's lightning form hit the sand first, detonating in a burst of static and grit as he landed just beyond the surf, the target column of smoke rising steadily ahead.
When Laxus landed, the impact sent sand spraying in all directions, his boots sinking into the damp shore. The salty wind hit him full in the face, mingling with the faint scent of burning wood. Ahead, a weathered quest board stood beside a roaring bonfire, its flames crackling and snapping, the thick smoke curling into the sky—the very column they'd been racing toward from above. The light from the fire danced over the rough boards, casting shifting shadows across the three neatly pinned requests: Search, Subjugation, Bodyguard. Above them, a simple but commanding notice was scrawled in bold, deliberate ink: Choose one. No changes once taken.
Laxus smirked. First place meant first pick, and he wasn't going to waste it. His eyes went immediately to the search quest—a wealthy man lost somewhere in a dungeon maze to the east. He knew instantly why it was perfect: with Heart Net, his magic that could sense life and magical signatures within twenty kilometers with pinpoint precision, he'd have a massive advantage. Still, the way the request was worded made a prickle of suspicion run down his spine. No way it's as simple as it looks, he thought, but he reached out and tore the slip from the board all the same.
The maze loomed ahead, its outer walls deceptively modest compared to the sprawling labyrinth within. The moment Laxus stepped inside, the scale warped—corridors twisted and stretched on in impossible directions, as if the very geometry mocked him. Immediately, a hovering lacrima screen shimmered into view in front of his eyes, its surface flickering with text and diagrams. A calm, almost mocking voice read aloud: Welcome, contestant. Offensive magic is restricted except when channeled through approved melee weapons. Heart Net and Requip are permitted. This labyrinth's interior dimensions exceed external limits by a factor of twenty. Traps and hostile entities will be encountered frequently. Information on any object or foe you touch or defeat will be displayed here.
He snorted. Krampus. No doubt.
The moment the interface appeared, a flicker of recognition ran through him. Months ago, Krampus had gone on about an idea for an "immersive quest game," a whole simulated adventure where adventurers would explore, fight, and solve puzzles with guidance from magical pop-up screens. At the time, Laxus had laughed it off, half-thinking it was one of those wild ideas that would never leave the drawing board. But now, with each crisp line of text, each detailed diagram, and the way the system seemed to know everything he touched or struck, the familiarity was undeniable.
Is this… a finished version? And I'm the product tester? he wondered, a mix of suspicion and begrudging admiration curling in his gut.
His hunch proved right. Within minutes, he was weaving through corridors far larger and more complex than their modest exterior hinted—dodging spring-loaded spear traps hidden in the walls, ducking under pendulum blades that whistled past his head, and leaping aside as entire sections of floor collapsed into spike pits. The screen would flash warnings in crimson glyphs each time, tallying his evasion successes as if this were some twisted game.
In one hall, a barrage of darts hissed toward him from the ceiling; he swept his halberd in a wide arc, deflecting them with a clang before charging forward. In another, a panel beneath his boot clicked and released a pack of squat, snarling beasts. Without his full magic, he met them head-on, bare fists snapping out in precise, brutal strikes—hooking one under the jaw, elbowing another in the ribs, and driving a knee into a third before finishing them with a halberd sweep that sent them tumbling. The lacrima helpfully identified them as "Maze Hounds – pack hunters – weak to blunt trauma."
Stone guardians twice his size lumbered from alcoves, their fists heavy as hammers. The screen labeled them "Obsidian Sentinels – enchanted stone constructs – durability high." Laxus slipped between their blows, halberd cutting deep as he pivoted and used the weapon's shaft to vault over a crushing strike. Each encounter left his muscles burning, the metal haft vibrating in his hands, bruises blooming under his armor.
Finally, Heart Net flared in his mind's eye, illuminating a clear route through the madness—a winding path that led to the largest chamber. The aura radiating from beyond that door was calm and steady. Familiar.
By now, he looked like he'd clawed his way through a battlefield. His shirt and straps were torn in several places, faint scorch marks streaked across his side from a trap he'd barely avoided, and his forearms bore shallow cuts and mottled bruises. Dust and grit clung to his sweat-soaked skin, and the knuckles of his hands—one still gripping the halberd—were reddened from repeated impacts. His breath came ragged, each inhale pulling the mingled scent of stone dust, sweat, and faint ozone into his lungs.
Still, he squared his shoulders, pushed the door open— —and froze, eyes wide, at what awaited him inside.
Krampus's POV
Krampus lounged at the very heart of his latest masterpiece—the depths of the Search Quest maze. Every stone corridor, every hidden trigger, every misdirection had been personally crafted by him with meticulous, almost obsessive care. He had poured hours into shaping it into a living challenge, drawing inspiration from every RPG, dungeon crawler, and epic fantasy adventure he could remember, weaving them into one cunning, sprawling labyrinth designed to test mind, muscle, and willpower alike. Around him, the walls were lined with a panoramic ring of crystalline monitors, each shimmering with a different scrying feed of Tenrou Island. The glow painted his fur in pale blues and greens, and before him, the central console displayed a split-screen: the main feed of his maze and a sweeping island-wide overview.
A matching setup, he knew, was ready for Makarov at his own observation post, and right on cue, one monitor flared as the Fairy Gate shimmered and deposited the old master at his designated site.
Krampus's attention snapped to another feed—just in time to watch the three candidates tumble from the Fairy Gate's exit, falling from a kilometer up. The endless blue ocean curved beneath them, the emerald crown of Tenrou Island rising ahead.
The instant Laxus reacted—lightning bursting over his frame before he became a living thunderbolt arrowing toward the smoke-marked shore—Krampus's lips curled into a broad, toothy grin, his tail swaying with pride. As expected of my boy Laxus. Fastest reflexes, cleanest drop, no hesitation. It was beautiful.
He leaned forward, eyes locked on the moment Laxus reached the quest board. Which one will you pick, hmm? His claws drummed idly against the armrest—until Laxus's hand went unerringly for the Search Quest.
"Oh?" Krampus froze for a beat before a low, delighted chuckle rumbled in his chest. Oh, this is going to be fun.
It had only been three days since he'd last seen Laxus, and yet Krampus felt the absence like a hollowness in his chest. Normally, he'd steal time with him daily—whether for training, missions, or just sharing a drink. Now, cut off from his usual Laxus energy, he was starved. He needed those easy grins, the sparring banter, the casual touches—hell, he'd even take having his head sandwiched between those powerful thighs again, fight outcome be damned. At this point, he'd take anything.
On the feeds, Laxus plunged into the labyrinth and began ripping through its dangers. He ducked pendulums with feline grace, batted down arrow storms with his halberd, and dismantled ambushing beasts with clean, devastating martial arts. Krampus caught himself lingering, tracing the way that heroic yet scandalously practical outfit clung to him. The snug white sleeveless vest framed his chest perfectly, the straps cut bold lines across his torso, and those tight shorts—Dat ass though. Lara Croft utility with Solid Snake strapping. Which genius designed this? Oh, Heart Kreuz? Of course. Perfect. Super good job Heart Kreuz! You've earned a loyal customer for life. I, Krampus, will send you Erza as soon as she join us in the future.
He glanced briefly at the other feeds. Matthew landed second, dreadlocks stylishly tousled, his dark skin gleaming in the sun, wearing an open, floral-print shirt that fluttered in the wind to frame his broad, well-defined chest and loose beach shorts that showed the power in his legs. The easygoing island style gave him a laid-back charm, but Krampus knew the man's physique was all hard-earned muscle, each movement balanced and controlled. He'd taken the Monster Subjugation quest—actually a disguised trap. Beyond the monster horde, a roaming "S-class beast" waited: Gildarts, under suppressors but still terrifyingly strong. Krampus smirked as Matthew cleverly baited Gildarts toward his target horde, weaving between trees and rocks with bursts of sound-enhanced speed, letting the chaos work in his favor. Clever boy, and smart enough to weaponize both his magic and the sheer physicality that made him look like the strongest big brother on the beach.
Billy arrived last, his skintight wrestling singlet leaving little to the imagination and making his bubble butt almost criminally spankable, the fabric stretching snug over the sculpted curves of his glutes and thighs. His broad chest and shoulders filled the singlet's upper half, every muscle group defined from years of sparring and conditioning. He'd drawn the Bodyguard quest—ironically the easiest on paper, though deceptively chaotic in execution. The job: escort a chibi Krampus clone from the island's west to the giant tree's base, braving swarms of monsters and ambushes from an armed chibi army. Billy's soap magic—developed and refined under Krampus's personal guidance—was purpose-built for such chaos. Huge, elastic bubbles swelled around his client like shimmering shields, absorbing blows and muffling impact, while a fine foam mist from his own skin leeched the fighting spirit out of attackers in close range, leaving them dazed and docile. The singlet's second-skin fit suddenly made perfect sense for his slick, evasive, close-combat style, granting him unimpeded movement—though it also stood as undeniable proof of how seriously Billy took leg day, each step showing the flex and power in his calves and quads.
Still, Krampus's gaze kept returning to Laxus's feed. The maze's rules—offensive magic restricted, traps and monsters everywhere—were just the appetizer. The main course was him. The script: a "lost rich man" possessed by a demon, freed only if the challenger could score three knockdowns in a pure martial arts duel. And fighting Krampus under those terms was no small feat; after all, he was the one who had introduced martial arts to Fairy Tail in the first place. Every strike, block, and counter he taught the guild was honed over years of brutal, hands-on experience. He knew how to exploit an opponent's stance, how to turn their momentum against them, and how to punish even the smallest hesitation. Against him, the usual tricks wouldn't work—Laxus would have to bring every scrap of skill, stamina, and cunning he had just to have a hope of toppling him three times.
Watching Laxus storm through the last gauntlet lit a mischievous spark. It had been too long since he'd gotten under the kid's skin. He reshaped the boss chamber in an instant—furniture shimmering into place, himself sprawled like some shameless Sleeping Beauty on a lush bed, a floating projection reading: Kiss to awaken.
He could already see it: Laxus's scowl, the inevitable thunderbolt (which never hurt, but always left Krampus's mane hilariously explosive), the duel commencing right on cue.
At least, that was the plan.
But then… he felt it. A presence, close enough to stir the air. Laxus lingered, hesitating. Krampus's ears twitched. No way. He wouldn't.
And then he did.
Warmth pressed to the fur along his cheek—a kiss. From Laxus's warm lips. For a stunned moment, Krampus's brain simply short-circuited, the sensation far softer, more electric, and far more intimate than he was ready for. His tail fluffed to full volume, claws curled involuntarily, and a molten rush of heat burned from the base of his horns clear down to his boots, making his knees feel treacherously weak. A full-body blush slammed into him like a hammer blow, scattering every thought of duels, pranks, elaborate scripts, or even the exam itself. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each pulse replaying the contact in vivid detail—the warmth, the pressure, the intent.
...What just happened?