Krampus's mind was a storm.
On the outside, he lay there in his mock "Sleeping Beauty" pose, eyes fluttering half-open in a slow, theatrical stir, the faintest twitch of his mouth keeping up the act. Inside, however, he was screaming—a silent, chaotic roar of panic and fluster. That kiss still seared against his cheek like a brand, the heat refusing to fade. His gaze snapped to Laxus at once, drinking in the sight: the younger man standing with a faint blush dusting his cheeks, scratching awkwardly at the side of his face, golden eyes avoiding direct contact as he mumbled, "Uh… did I do it right?"
Krampus tried to answer. Tried. His throat felt dry, his tongue tripping over itself as heat climbed all the way up to his ears. What came out at first was a jumble of half-formed sounds, a mess of stutters and swallowed syllables, before he finally wrestled something vaguely coherent into existence: "Y-you… y-yeah. You did fine. Ten minutes rest before the next segment starts. Take this time to change gear if you need and drink the potions to heal up and recharge." Even that came out breathy, betraying how hard he was working to keep his voice steady.
Before he could stop himself, Krampus closed the distance in a few quick strides and wrapped Laxus in a tight, almost desperate hug, the kind that spoke of three long days feeling like weeks. "I missed you," he murmured, voice low, raw, and trembling at the edges.
Laxus blinked, stiffening for a heartbeat before his arms came up in a solid embrace, holding Krampus just as firmly. "I missed you too," he said quietly, the words rumbling against Krampus's ear. "Days without you just ain't the same… it feels empty without you around."
Krampus huffed out a shaky breath, his chest tightening at the sincerity in Laxus's tone. "Three days felt like forever," he admitted, his claws subtly curling into the fabric of Laxus's shirt. "Don't you go making me get used to that again."
A faint smirk tugged at Laxus's lips. "Then don't disappear on me."
For a long moment, neither of them moved, both breathing in the other's scent, feeling the press and weight of their closeness as if trying to memorize it before letting go.
Then Krampus pulled away abruptly, muttering something about setup, and retreated into the inner chamber. Alone, the swell of emotions he'd been holding back came rushing to the surface. His tail twitched erratically, his ears burned, and his chest felt too tight. He tried to get a grip—slapping himself a couple of times with open palms that left his cheeks tingling, even thunking his head against the wall in short bursts of frustrated energy that made his mane rustle with each impact. His claws brushed the exact spot on his cheek where Laxus's lips had touched, and every time he did, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. The heat there seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. More than once, he caught himself grinning—no, giggling—like a fool, the sound echoing off the walls, equal parts disbelief and giddy delight.
Focus, damn it. He had work to do.
He began transforming the chamber for the next stage, swapping out the décor while changing into his ring gear. The long sleeveless coat was replaced by a short, cape-like mantle that barely reached low enough to cover just his ass, framing the powerful taper of his back and the swell of his glutes. His camo pants were gone, replaced with literal black fishnet tights that left almost everything visible beneath—thick, corded thighs, hamstrings like coiled steel, and calves carved with definition—save for a few strategically placed white spandex panels outlined in magenta that covered only his crotch and formed sharp, stylish patterns across his hips, accentuating the cut of his obliques. His boots became tall, heavy wrestling boots, their snug fit showing the flex of his calves with every step. The overall effect was devastating: fierce like a heel wrestler, every inch of him radiating coiled strength; provocative to the point of danger, the fishnet revealing the sculpted musculature he'd honed over decades; powerful and unapologetically showy, a living blend of raw athleticism and shameless spectacle.
Given the… situation, Krampus took extreme precautions. He activated the Rule of Binding on himself, not only sealing away the anxious, panicky swirl in his chest but also encasing his own crotch in a magical lock—like a chastity cage woven from glowing runes—to remove even the faintest chance of an untimely reaction in front of Laxus. Between his own scandalously revealing fishnet-and-spandex outfit, Laxus's ruggedly heroic ensemble that hugged every contour of his powerful frame, and that kiss, the risk was astronomically high.
"Pathetic," he muttered to himself. "It's just a peck on the cheek. Not even tongue." Yet, despite his words, a flicker of imagery popped unbidden into his mind—Laxus leaning in closer, heat mingling, mouths meeting in a slow, heated tangle of tongues. The sheer vividness made his tail bristle, and he slapped himself harder to chase the image away, cheeks burning hotter under his fur. "Get it together," he hissed, shaking his head as if to dislodge the fantasy.
A couple more self-slaps later, he was ready.
With a deliberate, almost theatrical sweep of his hand, the entire chamber began to ripple and shift as if reality itself were melting away. The floor unfurled in waves of magic, stone giving way to glossy, reinforced mats as the walls rolled outward, expanding until the space matched the sheer immensity of a football stadium. Towering ring posts thrust upward like the pillars of a coliseum, their massive ropes thick as ship's hawsers, stretching taut and gleaming under the conjured light. The air filled with a charged haze, shimmering motes drifting like dust in a sunbeam, while the scent of resin and sweat—faint but unmistakable—settled over the arena. Spotlights flared to life in perfect synchronization, beams carving through the magical mist until one brilliant column locked onto Krampus. He now stood balanced on the apex of a corner post, cape snapping behind him in an illusory wind, the perfect picture of a larger-than-life gladiator about to descend into battle.
He spread his arms wide, his cloak flaring, and let his voice roll out like thunder over the arena: "Laxus Dreyar! Behold the final trial of your Search Quest! I am the demon who has taken possession of this wealthy man's body, twisting his will to my own. To release him from my grasp, you must best me in a trial of pure physical might—score three knockdowns using nothing but your body, your wits, and your skill! All offensive magic is forbidden, and only your own strength may break my hold!"
Laxus stood in the center of the massive ring, gaze lifted to meet Krampus's from below. For an instant, his brow furrowed in surprise at the theatrics, as if processing the layered role-play. Then, slowly, his posture straightened, his shoulders squaring, and his eyes sharpened into molten gold resolve.
Krampus grinned, baring his fangs. "So let's begin this dreamlike martial performance!"
He leapt down, boots thudding against the mat, and the clash began.
From the first clash of bodies, Krampus became a living tempest—his movements a seamless tapestry of skill and style. "Let's see if you can keep up, boy!" he taunted, exploding forward into a bone-rattling wrestling grapple, locking Laxus in a crushing clinch before pivoting into a textbook judo hip throw. The impact of Laxus's back on the mat was like a gunshot. Without pause, Krampus rebounded into the ropes, springing up for a dizzying lucha libre aerial maneuver, cape flaring wide as he twisted in mid-air. "How's that for flair?!" he called mid-spin before landing in a low stance, muscles coiled, eyes glittering. Every move was calculated—perfect leverage, relentless balance, punishing precision—his vast martial repertoire flashing one after another.
Laxus snarled, teeth bared, charging back in with raw determination. "Don't think I'm just gonna stand here and take it!" he barked, voice cutting through the thrum of the crowd-like magic ambiance. His fists came like piledrivers, smashing through Krampus's guards with sharp, echoing thuds; low, snapping kicks hammered into Krampus's legs in an effort to break his stance; heavy clinch work followed, Laxus forcing his way in to pry himself free from counter-grips. The air rang with the meaty crack of impacts, the squeak and drag of boots on the mat, and the guttural grunts and growls of two powerhouses straining at their limits. Sweat gleamed on their muscles, dripping in rivulets as they circled warily, locked up in bone-grinding grapples, broke apart with explosive force, and crashed together again like battling titans in a relentless, sweat-slick storm of pure physical combat.
Krampus scored the first knockdown with a sudden, explosive double-leg takedown, his powerful shoulders slamming into Laxus's midsection and driving him hard to the mat with a reverberating thud. "Too slow!" he barked, voice sharp and challenging. Laxus grunted, rolling to a knee, only to be met moments later by Krampus chaining a deceptive feinting jab into a lightning-fast spinning back elbow that clipped his jaw and sent him reeling sideways. The younger mage spat to the side, shaking his head clear. But with no penalty for knockdowns unless he surrendered, Laxus adapted quickly, narrowing his eyes, watching Krampus's footwork, and beginning to read the subtle beats and rhythms hidden in his movements.
Laxus ducked low with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk, and delivered a quick surprise crotch tap with a flick of his wrist.
Krampus's ears twitched violently and his eyes went wide. "Oi! That's cheating!" he barked, his tail lashing.
"Not in the rules!" Laxus shot back immediately, using the moment to lunge in and give Krampus's tail a firm yank.
Krampus grunted and twisted, glaring down at him. "That's dirty fighting!"
"Call it… tactical," Laxus replied with a broad grin, not even pretending to hide the satisfaction in his voice.
Krampus snapped forward for a collar tie, but Laxus slipped inside his reach and—without warning—clamped a sudden nipple squeeze.
"What the—!?!" Krampus yelped, stumbling back in genuine shock, ears flattening and muscles tensing.
These moves were feints—mostly—but that squeeze had been absolutely real, the sharp jolt shooting through Krampus's nerves and straight down his spine. He fought to keep his composure, lips curling into a growl. "You little brat…!" His voice was low, edged with heat, as he grit his teeth, desperately suppressing any sound that might betray how much it startled him. As expected of Laxus, he thought wryly, managing to find a brand new erogenous zone even when I've sealed my crotch in magical locks.
Krampus roared, muscles flexing as he hoisted Laxus high overhead before bringing him crashing down in a devastating overhead suplex—"Demon's Backbreaker!"—the impact reverberating through the colossal ring and making the ropes quake. Laxus coughed from the shock, rolling quickly to his feet, sweat flying, then lunged forward with a brutal shoulder tackle that forced Krampus back a step. Without missing a beat, Laxus dropped low, sweeping Krampus's legs out from under him in a clean, decisive motion that sent the older fighter sprawling onto the mat for his first knockdown. "One for me," Laxus panted, smirking as he wiped sweat from his brow.
They clashed again—Krampus chaining judo throws into choke feints, slipping between grips with catlike precision, while Laxus hammered in with rapid-fire boxing combinations and sudden, sneaky trips aimed at breaking Krampus's stance. "Take this—Thunder Hook!" Laxus roared, pivoting on his lead foot and driving a hook deep into Krampus's ribs with a satisfying thud. The impact forced a sharp grunt from the older fighter, his body jolting sideways before he steadied himself. "Not bad, kid!" Krampus growled, a flash of respect in his eyes before he surged forward, arms snaking around Laxus's torso in one fluid motion. With a flex of his massive back and arms, he spun the younger man off his feet into a bone-crushing bear hug, the hold tightening like an iron vice. "Hell's Embrace!" he bellowed, the name booming over the roar of the conjured crowd.
Finally, after a brutal exchange near the ropes—boots squealing on the mat, both fighters panting hard—Laxus baited Krampus with a quick shoulder feint that made the older fighter shift his guard for just a fraction of a second. In that instant, Laxus surged low and tight, slipping behind for a crushing waist lock. Muscles bunched under his vest, veins standing out along his arms as he growled, "Let's end this—Lightning German Suplex!" In a blur of motion he bridged back with explosive force, the world flipping for Krampus before the mat thundered beneath them like a cannon blast as the suplex landed, scoring the decisive third knockdown.
Ever committed to the act, Krampus staggered back with a guttural gasp, throwing his head to the side as if resisting some unseen torment. "No…! My hold… it's breaking!" he roared, his voice trembling with mock agony. His body shuddered in great convulsions, each movement timed like a stage actor delivering a perfect death scene. Dropping to one knee, he let his eyes roll back dramatically, jaw slack, as though an invisible parasite was being torn from his soul. With a final, exaggerated groan, he thrust his chest forward and exhaled in a shudder, banishing the "demon" with a flourish worthy of an opera.
A swirl of shimmering light erupted around him, twisting upward like a cyclone. The scandalous wrestling gear dissolved in a glittering cascade, each spark flashing briefly against the curves and planes of his body before bursting into nothing. When the radiance dimmed, Krampus now stood tall in a regal aristocratic suit—the coat tailored to stretch across his broad, battle-built shoulders, its edges cut with precision, the silk vest beneath gleaming faintly with each breath. Polished shoes caught the light with mirror perfection, and the white gloves at his clawed hands lent an almost noble menace to his imposing figure. The shift from provocative fighter to dignified nobleman was jarring in its elegance, every line of the suit framing his burly muscular build with a restrained authority that only made his raw power more apparent.
He strode toward Laxus, cape trailing just enough to stir the air, and clapped a heavy, clawed hand on the young man's shoulder with a satisfying thump. "Well done, Laxus Dreyar. You've passed this stage," he rumbled, his tone now rich with gravitas rather than the earlier playful heat.
Laxus gave a faint grin, his chest still rising and falling from exertion. "Didn't think you'd go down that easy," he teased.
Krampus's lips quirked in a small, knowing smirk. "I didn't. You earned every count."
"Now… let's go," Krampus continued, giving Laxus's shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze. "I'll tell you what you need to know about the rest of the trial."
As they walked out of the ring together, Krampus began explaining in detail the other quests—their hidden traps, the trick conditions, and how Billy and Matthew were faring so far. Laxus listened intently, occasionally glancing at Krampus with that faintly competitive smirk that said he was already planning how he'd measure up.
"So Billy's just got to escort a chibi version of you? Sounds easy," Laxus commented, one brow arched, his tone half-teasing, half-testing.
Krampus snorted softly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Easy until an army of them ambushes you with magic weapons. He's holding his own, though. Stubborn as ever."
"And Matthew?" Laxus asked, genuinely curious now.
"Currently using Gildarts as bait for the monster horde," Krampus replied with a sly grin. "Risky, but clever. I'll give him that."
Krampus, in turn, allowed himself a small smile at Laxus's focused questions, answering with calm precision while his tail gave the occasional betraying flick. His voice stayed steady, but there was a warmth there, an undercurrent of pride and familiarity.
The guild hall air beyond the illusionary maze seemed to cling faintly to them in memory, the imagined murmur of distant voices adding to the strange, electric quiet between them. Outwardly, the two moved and spoke like everything was back to normal, their banter flowing with familiar ease, but in the pauses—those tiny beats between words—there was an almost tangible charge.
"Bet I could've handled either of those," Laxus added with a slow smirk, tilting his head just enough to catch Krampus's eye.
"Confident as ever," Krampus replied, eyes narrowing playfully, though there was the faintest, unspoken "and I like that" lingering in his gaze.
Yet beneath that calm surface, the air between them thrummed—charged and unsteady, the kind that lingered in the space between glances and in the brush of a hand on a shoulder. It was a low, magnetic pull neither acknowledged but both felt. Neither of them put words to it. Neither tried. And both knew they didn't mind it one bit, the mood growing thicker with each step they took together.
Krampus kept the conversation flowing with Laxus as they walked side by side out of the massive illusionary stadium, the distant echoes of their bout still thrumming in his ears like the aftershocks of a storm. Outwardly, he wore the calm, unbothered air of someone in control, but inside, his thoughts twisted in a dizzying spiral.
We've gotten so close, Krampus mused privately, the words almost tasting strange in his own mind. Closer than I expected… maybe even closer than Laxus realizes. The possibility of where this closeness could lead flickered across his thoughts, a mixture of curiosity and cautious longing, yet he suspected the younger man might still be blissfully unsure. Makarov had given Laxus the birds and bees talk ages ago, but that endearing, blockheaded dullness of his seemed untouched. It wasn't ignorance exactly—more like a stubborn innocence that refused to fade. And damn it all, that unguarded charm only made him seem even more magnetic… and, frustratingly, cuter for it.
Krampus was so lost in his own head that the question slipped out before he could stop himself. He tilted his head toward Laxus, brows knitting slightly. "So why the dirty moves back there? That's not like you." His voice carried an easy, almost conversational tone, but there was a sharpened thread of curiosity running under it. "I taught you to be smart in a fight, yeah, but that's about staying sharp and cautious while going head‑on. You know damn well I don't mean that kind of dirty."
Laxus chuckled, a slow, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate in his chest. "Context, old man. I'm on a mission here. You always told me professionalism comes first—do whatever it takes to save the victim. My personal preferences don't mean a damn thing when lives are on the line." His lips curved into a sly, almost boyish grin as his eyes flicked to Krampus. "And besides… I had to pay you back for that whole Sleeping Beauty stunt. You strut around teasing me like that, so I figured I'd tease you right back, using those little sensitive spots I've picked up on over the years. Can't help it if finding an opening for a takedown was a happy accident while I was at it."
Krampus stopped mid-step, blinking, his mind flashing vividly to those earlier years. He could see a young Laxus in his memory, practically glued to his side like a little shadow, bombarding him with endless questions and an almost reckless curiosity. The boy's small hands had roamed over anything within reach—his tail, ears, horns, abs, even giving an experimental tweak to his nipples, and on one unforgettable, regrettable occasion, daring to touch his crotch. Back then, Krampus had thought little of it beyond the need to scold him when he crossed the line; Laxus was just a kid, after all, too innocent to know the weight of such actions. But now—standing here, grown and confident—did Laxus actually remember how Krampus had reacted back then, every startled twitch, every sharp reprimand?
"Wait… you remember all that?" Krampus asked, narrowing his eyes, voice tinged with equal parts disbelief and curiosity.
Laxus slowed, gaze drifting ahead as if sorting through fogged memories. "I don't know, man. Most of my past is a blur—faces, places, half‑forgotten days. But the time I've spent with you? That's crystal clear, like it all happened yesterday. Every moment we've had was fun, exciting, and…it mattered to me. I'm grateful for what you did for me and for Grandpa." His voice dropped into something softer, warmer, yet his eyes never wavered. "Honestly, I think things between me and Grandpa might've turned out real bad if you weren't there. You helped me let go of the crap with my father, stopped me from turning bitter at the world. You let me grow up happy instead of angry. Meeting you—it's a blessing from the heavens, and I want to keep cherishing every single moment I get with you."
Krampus froze in place, his ears giving the faintest twitch. Laxus had spoken the words with such effortless calm and quiet conviction, without the faintest hint of embarrassment, as though baring his soul was as ordinary as discussing the weather. The sincerity in his tone struck like a hammer blow, heavy and sure, and if Krampus hadn't already been burning red beneath his fur, he might have told Laxus outright that this kind of courage outshone that of any warrior he had ever met.
What came out of Krampus's mouth, however, was a weak, "…Yeah. I cherish my time with you too." His voice came out quieter than intended, almost swallowed by the thrum of the air between them. It sounded painfully small and lacking compared to the weight and warmth of Laxus's words—like he'd just been struck point‑blank by an unintentional love cannon, his chest aching from the impact as his mind scrambled for anything better to say.
Needing to steer the conversation back before his thoughts could spiral too far, Krampus straightened and gave a deliberate gesture toward his still-pristine aristocratic suit, the fine fabric catching the light. "Anyway, focus on your mission for a moment. Why do you think I'm still dressed like this? Your Search Quest isn't done yet—it's a trap, remember? The 'rich man' role's still in play."
Laxus's eyes widened slightly in realization, a faint huff escaping him. "Right. Guess I got caught up in the talk."
Almost on cue, the ground trembled beneath their feet, dust trickling from the maze walls. A massive boulder whistled through the air above and slammed into the ground ahead with a bone-rattling crash, sending a spray of dirt and pebbles over them. Krampus's ears twitched as he eyed the stone with a frown. "Not my doing."
"Grandpa," Laxus guessed flatly, his tone equal parts annoyance and certainty.
Krampus nodded. "After you get the victim out of the maze, you've got to escort them to the base of the giant tree. Guess he decided to spice things up. At least we're closer to the tree than Billy is."
Laxus rolled his shoulders, eyes already scanning ahead. "Fine. Let's get moving."
Krampus followed, hiding the small smile that tugged at his lips. Whatever this thing between them was—however undefined—he wasn't in any hurry to push it away.