May, Year X775, Krampus POV
Six months had passed since the S-Class Trials, and in that time Fairy Tail had blossomed into something almost unrecognizable compared to the rowdy guild it once was. The hall was no longer just a raucous tavern of shouting mages but had matured into a living hearth for the whole guild. The rafters shook with boisterous laughter, mugs clattered in endless toasts, and from outside came the ringing clash of sparring spells in the training yard. Even the quiet corners, once home only to solitary drinkers, now buzzed with hushed mission planning, playful teasing, or small circles of friends bent close together over maps and dice. The sense of family had thickened—woven like a tapestry where every thread, new or old, bound itself into something warmer and stronger than before.
For Krampus, those months were a blur of duty, battles, and an unsettling amount of personal reflection. His eighth year as Santa, ever since he had begun this strange yearly duty at the end of X767, had been nothing short of triumphant. On Christmas morning, children across Fiore woke to gifts lovingly delivered, their joy a testament to his growing legend. Among them was a young Lucy Heartfilia, who swore she caught a glimpse of the shadowy figure of Santa Krampus slipping through her room as the bells of midnight tolled. She would later find a lovingly wrapped present at the foot of her bed—a felt doll dressed in a frilly gown and bonnet. Lucy hugged it close and decided to name her Gonzales, a name that would stick for years to come. Meanwhile, the wicked found no such comfort—criminals and wrongdoers felt the lash of his divine punishments, some still trembling at the memory of golden chains and cursed daggers.
Ur, Ultear, Gray, and Lyon had been with Fairy Tail for a little over a year now, and their progress was evident to anyone who watched them train or fight. Ultear, once distant and mistrustful, had grown stronger in both body and will; long-term exposure to the antics of Gray and Lyon had softened her heart until she thought of them as younger brothers, teasing them one moment and shielding them the next. Gray and Lyon, meanwhile, had bulked up significantly thanks to the bodybuilding magic Krampus had introduced, their Ice-Make spells sharper and more efficient than ever. Their rivalry still burned hot, but under Krampus's watchful gaze it had evolved into something closer to mutual respect, each pushing the other to reach new heights. Ur herself was proud to see how far they had come—she could now entrust her students to handle smaller missions independently, knowing their strength and discipline had grown immensely. To them all, Krampus was more than just another guildmate; he was a mentor whose words carried the weight of authority, a protector whose immense shadow offered safety, and a living reminder that Fairy Tail was home to miracles as well as dreamers.
Fairy Tail itself was also reshaping through innovation, and no idea had proven more transformative than Krampus's brainchild—the magic consultation service. What began as a small experiment over the guild's Fairy Phones soon became a daily cornerstone of training. Members could call into the special alternate space of Santa's Workshop, where they were greeted by chibi-sized projections of Krampus acting as tutors. These avatars, armed with spectacles and clipboards, guided mages through drills, corrected sloppy rune formations, and barked advice on posture and focus with the severity of a drill sergeant and the care of a doting parent. Many members joked about how the little projections would wag their fingers or pace across their desk screens as though they were truly present in the guild hall, and though the clones never physically entered the guild, their influence was felt in every corner of Fairy Tail's training and growth.
The results were impossible to ignore. Once-mediocre members who barely scraped by on low-paying jobs now wielded spells with precision and power. Circuits became cleaner, wasted mana all but disappeared, and teamwork flourished. Dozens of A-Class mages had emerged in half a year, and a handful already showed promise of S-Class potential. Macao and Wakaba, once considered dependable but unremarkable veterans, surprised everyone by bulking up through the bodybuilding magic while sharpening their respective Fire and Smoke techniques under consultation. On missions they now fought with a vigor that reminded younger members why they were seniors, Macao unleashing refined firestorms with cleaner control and Wakaba smothering enemies in choking clouds that could be shaped like walls or whips. The guild hall buzzed with pride every time someone demonstrated a new technique credited to the chibi consultation sessions, and even the lazier members began to line up for guidance rather than be left behind.
Billy, for instance, reinvented his Soap Magic in ways no one thought possible. Once dismissed as a harmless party trick, his bubbles evolved into instruments of strategy and destruction. He mastered the art of compressing torrents of air or water within them until they burst as volatile bombs, and learned to bend light across their curved surfaces to fire concentrated lasers. These innovations solved his lack of firepower, transforming Soap Magic into a versatile and feared arsenal. On recent missions, Billy astonished his teammates by using bubbles to trap entire bands of bandits inside shimmering spheres, suffocating their morale until they surrendered. Against a rampaging wyvern, he created a massive containment bubble filled with compressed water that detonated like a tidal cannon, blasting the beast out of the sky. Even during escort jobs, his bubbles provided protection as floating shields or carried supplies with weightless ease. Yet for all his newfound strength, Billy still moonlighted cheerfully as the guild's cleaner, whistling tunes as he scrubbed the floors with bubbles that could just as easily level a building.
Matthew, meanwhile, undertook his own metamorphosis. He shaved his long dreads nearly bald in a symbolic gesture of seriousness and dove headlong into the musical depths of Sound Magic. His spells, carried by rhythm and beat, could enhance the reflexes and stamina of allies, unravel the composure of enemies with discordant tones, or inspire whole crowds into motion. On missions he proved invaluable: during one bandit raid, his pounding bass-line spell boosted the speed and coordination of Macao and Wakaba so dramatically they overwhelmed the enemy in minutes; against a swamp-dwelling demon, he unleashed shrieking chords that scrambled the creature's senses long enough for Ur's disciples to strike it down.
Within the guild hall, Matthew transformed celebrations into all-night parties, the very walls pulsing to his magic-infused rhythms. Members began to call him the unofficial DJ of Fairy Tail. Sometimes, he even collaborated with Krampus and Laxus for special shows—Matthew providing the beats, Laxus shaping dazzling arcs of lightning to dance in time with the music, and Krampus projecting shimmering illusions of snowflakes and golden chains overhead. These performances electrified the hall, cementing Matthew not only as a combat asset but also as the heart of Fairy Tail's celebrations, proving that sound could be as powerful as any blade or fireball.
Elsewhere, Gildarts felt wanderlust tugging again. This time he refused to go alone; Cornelia and Cana accompanied him on regular family trips made possible by Fairy Gate. These outings became treasured rituals, with the three of them vanishing through the portal for a day and returning home with stories of strange markets, exotic beasts, and rare foods. For Cana, these journeys were priceless—adventures with her father that stitched together the gaps in their relationship, moments of laughter around campfires and quiet talks while traveling roads she would never have seen otherwise. Cornelia kept the two in balance with her warm laughter and steady hand, often mediating when Gildarts's reckless curiosity led them into trouble. One memorable outing saw Gildarts insisting on arm-wrestling a friendly giant in a distant mountain village; Cana cheered him on while Cornelia negotiated their way out of paying for the damage his loss caused to the tavern. These trips not only strengthened their bond but also gave Cana the kind of family memories she had once thought impossible.
Ur, watching this, realized the value of such time together and took Ultear, Gray, and Lyon on their own family-style excursions. Sometimes they blended these trips with mission work, tackling odd jobs as they traveled, other times simply venturing to scenic lakes or bustling towns to share a meal and laughter. Long exposure to Gray and Lyon softened Ultear's heart, and she began to treat the boys as her younger brothers, joining them in their rivalries and encouraging them when they faltered. One outing saw her mischievously freezing the surface of a pond so the boys could clumsily skate while she laughed from the shore, only to fall victim to their snowball ambush moments later. Ur's steady training, combined with Krampus's bodybuilding magic, honed the two into capable fighters. At last, she judged them strong enough to handle small missions on their own, a milestone that filled both teacher and students with pride and deepened the sense of family they had built together.
Krampus himself never stopped tinkering. With Earthland's wealth of magical knowledge, he created new spells: REPARO, directly inspired by the repair charm from the world of Harry Potter, to restore broken things, and inorganic matter-to-mana conversion magic, which Laxus immediately dubbed "Shit-begone Magic." The guild voted unanimously for the name, laughing all the while. The spell converted waste—shit, pee, gas, anything unwanted—into mana. The women adored Krampus for freeing them from toilet runs; the men called it a lifesaver during long battles. Krampus couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu at this christening, remembering how his carefully named "Martial God Body Cultivation Magic" had been irreverently shortened by the guild to simply "bodybuilding magic." No matter how lofty his intentions, Fairy Tail had a knack for renaming his creations into something more down-to-earth, and he found himself both exasperated and secretly amused by the pattern.
While guild life thrived, Krampus's personal life grew complicated. He and Laxus had long since become a well‑known duo within Fairy Tail, their teamwork already feared by petty criminals and rival guilds alike. But now, with Laxus throwing himself into an S‑Class quest frenzy, Krampus found himself pulled into even greater challenges. Together they turned their partnership loose on high‑profile targets—storm and judgment descending on S‑class criminals. Laxus's paralyzing electrocution and railgun barrages left enemies broken but alive, while Krampus's divine bindings and curses made escape impossible. Between fights, their bond deepened in ways Krampus found both exhilarating and terrifying.
Krampus would sometimes catch himself studying Laxus more closely than he should: the way lightning flickered along his shoulders in battle like a second skin, or how he laughed in triumph after an overwhelming victory, pride written across his face. In quieter moments, Krampus remembered how Laxus would tilt his head back at campfires, golden hair shimmering in the glow, and brag lightly about his kills while absently flexing his arms as if unaware of the effect it had on those watching. Every glance, every careless stretch, etched itself into Krampus's memory and left him unsettled by the intensity of his own reactions.
Sometimes Laxus insisted on crashing at Krampus's cottage after long missions, and he would never take the guest bed. Instead, he dragged Krampus into the same bed with him, claiming it was warmer and more comfortable that way. Both had the habit of sleeping stripped down to only their jockstraps in the summer heat, a state of undress that made Krampus's pulse race every time. Laxus, a natural hugger, wrapped his arms around Krampus in his sleep and held him close through the night, his body hot and solid like a living furnace. For Laxus, it was the casual comfort of a trusted companion, something he did without a second thought. For Krampus, it was bliss and terror combined—he reveled in the contact, in the trust, in the feel of Laxus's steady breathing against his chest, yet every embrace left him trembling with confusion at his own joy. He cherished those nights more than he dared admit, knowing that each one was both a gift and a torment, keeping his heart balanced on the knife's edge between happiness and fear.
Sometimes Krampus would wake to find Laxus hugging him tightly, and realize his own body had betrayed him—one arm subconsciously pulling Laxus closer in return. In those moments he could feel Laxus's morning wood straining against the thin fabric of his jockstrap and pressing insistently against his thigh. His own arousal would surge so fiercely it broke through even the sealing charms he had placed on himself, leaving his straining length barely contained by the taut bands of his own jockstrap. Krampus would then have to carefully and quietly pry Laxus's arms off him, heart hammering, and retreat to the washroom to relieve himself in secret. Thankfully, Laxus slept like a log through it all—but part of Krampus was strangely disappointed that he did not wake to see the effect his closeness had wrought. In the end, Krampus could only sigh at himself and conclude that the heart was full of contradictions, both longing and fearing in equal measure.
He'd catch himself noticing small, harmless things—the way laughter loosened Laxus's shoulders after a hard fight, or how the boy's confidence brightened a room—and then steer the talk back to training plans before his thoughts ran ahead of him. To Krampus, the feelings building in his chest felt like dangerous ground: by Earth's standards, falling for someone like Laxus might be considered wrong, yet in Earthland the boundaries were far less rigid. Still, to warn himself, he would hum snatches of "The Trouble with Love" under his breath, reminding himself of the risks. But the feelings only grew stronger with each passing day, until he even found himself rehearsing what he might say if he confessed. That courage always crumbled, however, the moment he recalled a haunting nightmare—Laxus grinning casually while singing "F.R.I.E.N.D.S." to friendzone him. The vision alone was enough to knock the wind out of him, and so he chose silence: better to guard the friendship than risk destroying it with a confession spoken at the wrong time.
Laxus's growth only made the line harder to walk. Now 6'7" with a neat golden chinstrap beard framing his face, he carried himself like a man in full. Krampus himself had stretched to 7'3", yet even his towering frame sometimes felt small beside the sheer presence Laxus brought into every room. It became harder and harder to see him as a boy; he walked, spoke, and fought like a seasoned man in his prime. Krampus longed, sometimes, to lay everything bare—but the fear of wrecking what they already had gnawed deeper than any battle scar.
To distract himself, Krampus took more quests with Laxus, hurling himself into battle after battle in hopes of drowning out the noise of his heart. Yet darker currents stirred beneath the surface of these missions. Increasingly, dark guilds targeted children, snatching them from towns and villages with chilling persistence. Time and again, he and Laxus shattered their operations—raiding hideouts, breaking chains, and returning little ones to their families—but the traffickers never stopped. Each victory felt hollow when another report arrived days later from a different corner of Fiore. The persistence hinted at something larger, an organized effort far beyond scattered criminals.
The missions left Krampus uneasy. He noticed the way rescued children clung to him, eyes wide with awe and fear, whispering that the beastman Santa had saved them. Laxus, grim-faced, often stood silent nearby, fists sparking as if eager to punish the unseen masterminds behind it all. Back at the guild, the atmosphere shifted, and Makarov himself grew troubled. One evening, as the hall emptied and the lamps burned low, the master confided a personal worry—he had lost all contact with an old friend, Rob, who had retired from Fairy Tail long before Krampus ever joined. The timing gnawed at them both, a shadowy thread tying the disappearances to something yet unseen.
Makarov's request weighed heavily on Krampus. The recent surge in mass abductions was troubling enough, but when word came that old Rob had gone silent in Bluebell Village, it became personal. Krampus and Laxus wasted no time. Calling upon his Rule of Binding, Krampus wove golden chains of runes into a great circular gate, its surface shimmering like frozen glass. "Come on, Laxus," Krampus rumbled, stepping through. "We're not wasting a second." Laxus nodded grimly, lightning already crackling at his fists. "Right behind you." Together they crossed the distance in a heartbeat and arrived at the edge of Bluebell.
What greeted them was devastation.
The once-peaceful village lay in ruins, a ghost town steeped in ash and silence. Roofs had caved in, charred beams jutted from the wreckage like broken bones, and the main well was filled with blackened debris. Livestock lay butchered in the streets or were dragged away in bloody trails that disappeared into the forest. The air carried the acrid tang of burnt wood, spilled blood, and something fouler still—the heavy stench of despair. Not a single villager remained alive; every hut, every alley whispered of lives stolen in terror. Krampus's stomach churned, his halo dimming as he crouched to press clawed fingers into the soil, feeling the lingering residue of violence and sorrow. His pointed ears twitched at the echo of children's screams that still seemed to hang in the atmosphere, remnants only he could perceive. "Monsters," he growled under his breath. Laxus's fists sparked with low growls of lightning, his teeth grinding so hard it was audible in the dead silence. "I'll make them pay," he said coldly, his whole frame vibrating with the fury of a storm barely contained, the reality of the slaughter burning itself into his mind until his eyes shone with lethal intent.
Krampus's nostrils flared. The scent of sin clung to the air, a reek of cruelty and malice that only he could track. He remembered the faint sweetness of Bluebell on his last visit years ago—fresh bread from the baker, the laughter of children near the well—now drowned beneath the stench of cruelty. Without a word, he turned sharply and set off across the hills, Laxus at his side. "You've got the trail?" Laxus asked. "Clear as blood in snow," Krampus muttered. They moved like shadows of wrath, following the invisible trail. The closer they came, the stronger the reek became, until the night opened onto a hidden camp. Torches ringed the encampment, where cages of iron held children and even some adults, all beaten, hungry, and terrified, their eyes wide as if hope itself were slipping away.
The two didn't hesitate.
"LIGHTNING DRAGON'S ARTILERY!" Laxus roared, summoning a storm of metal spheres, each the size of a clenched fist, which spun around him in a deadly orbit. With a snarl he flooded them with lightning and fired them off in rapid succession, each sphere becoming a blazing railgun round that detonated against the watchtowers. The barrage cracked the air like thunderbolts, slicing through guards before they even had a chance to scream. His eyes burned with rage, every strike carrying the weight of Bluebell's slaughter. Krampus followed a heartbeat later, golden chains lashing outward like living serpents. "You prey on children?" he bellowed. "Then feel the weight of your sins!" Each rune-bound link slammed traffickers to the earth mid-step, pinning them helplessly as he yanked them screaming across the dirt. With practiced efficiency, Krampus drew his sabers and invoked Disconnector, each strike wreathed in the Rule of Punishment. The blades bit into flesh without drawing blood, severing the traffickers from their strength and flooding their nerves with magnified agony that scaled with the weight of their sins. Swift and merciless, his punishment left them writhing on the ground. "Mercy?" one slaver cried. "We were just following orders!" Krampus snarled. "Then share in the pain you carried out." Their screams echoed into the night, every cry a mirror of the cruelty they had inflicted on others.
The camp descended into chaos, cries of the slavers swallowed by thunder and holy wrath. Captives watched in stunned silence as the storm of lightning and chains ripped their tormentors apart, awe and disbelief warring on their faces. Within minutes, the traffickers were nothing but broken, pleading figures strewn across the ground, their arrogance extinguished under the combined fury of storm and judgment, while whispers of hope began to spread among the freed. The children, in particular, stared wide-eyed at Krampus. To them he looked like both monster and savior—the horns, the glowing halo, the hulking frame that had just shattered their cages with claws sharp enough to tear iron. Yet when he bent down and offered his arms, his voice rumbling low and steady, "You're safe now… Santa's here," many of the little ones clung to him instinctively. One boy buried his face in Krampus's mane to hide from the world, while a girl whispered through her tears, "I prayed for Santa—and you came." Their awe mingled with fear, but hope took root, fragile yet real, as they realized this frightening giant had fought for them.
Beside him, Laxus showed a softer side that few outside Fairy Tail ever witnessed. He crouched down to eye level with the children, his usual sharp scowl softening into something almost gentle. Sparks danced faintly along his arms, not in anger but like playful fireflies meant to distract them. He let a little girl tug at his sleeve and lifted her into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he murmured, "Nobody's gonna hurt you again, I promise." Another boy shyly reached out, and Laxus ruffled his hair with a gruff chuckle. "Tch. Brave kid." The boy laughed weakly, and to the rescued, the lightning mage was no longer just fury and destruction—he was strength they could lean on, a storm that shielded rather than struck.
Krampus tore open the cages, scooping children into his arms, his immense form both terrifying and protective. Laxus calmed the adults, assuring them with a growl, "Stay calm—we've got you." In the largest cage, battered but alive, they found Rob—his face pale, body weakened, but eyes still holding that gentle spark of Fairy Tail's past. When Krampus's magic washed through the captives, Rob stared in awe, recognizing in those runes a power far beyond anything he had seen in his younger days at Fairy Tail. His cracked lips curved into a faint smile as he whispered hoarsely, "Fairy Tail… still watches over me."
Krampus lowered himself to Rob's side, horns catching the torchlight as he said softly, "I am Krampus, spirit of Christmas and mage of Fairy Tail. You must be Rob. Makarov speaks of you often—bragging about how far the guild has come, and cursing me just as much for turning it into a macho house with barely any girls left." Rob blinked through the haze of exhaustion, recognition dawning in his eyes. "So… you're the one the old man never stops going on about," he rasped, a weak smile tugging at his lips. "The miracle worker… and the reason half the guild struts around like bodybuilders." Krampus chuckled quietly, steadying Rob with one arm. "Guilty as charged. Are you holding up, old friend?" Rob's answer came weak but resolute: "I am now. With you here… with Fairy Tail here." His faith in family rekindled by the sight of storm and Christmas spirit standing side by side.
The traffickers that survived quickly regretted it. Krampus first turned his attention to the abductees. With a solemn breath, he summoned a great sword into his hand, its edge blazing with runes of the Rule of Rending. Raising it high, he swept the blade through the air in a single arcing slash that passed harmlessly across the children and adults. The steel never cut flesh, but instead rended away the suffering etched into their bodies and souls. Their bruises and broken spirits shimmered briefly before vanishing altogether, as if they had never been harmed. The collected agony condensed into glowing spectral daggers that hung in the air for a heartbeat before whistling toward the slavers. Each blade buried itself into a trafficker, forcing them to convulse as the torment they had inflicted was sealed into their own flesh. "Make it stop!" one screamed. "We'll talk—we'll tell you everything!" The captives felt their aches ease, their breath return, and for the first time since their abduction, hope flickered in their eyes.
Only once the rescued were stabilized did Krampus kneel before the remaining traffickers, his halo flaring brighter and his anti-criminal aura surging at full blast. The ground itself seemed to shudder as his Revelation Eyes opened: the whites of his eyes and his slit pupils turned red, while each golden iris now bore a thin red ring encircling the vertical slit. The demonic glow of that gaze was impossible to mistake. The traffickers recoiled, some whimpering outright under the crushing weight of his presence, for those eyes promised no escape and no mercy. Claws pressed into the dirt as he demanded answers. "Who commands you? Where are the others?" he growled, his voice reverberating with judgment. Every lie was punished by searing pain through the golden chains, layered atop the agonies Fate Render had already delivered. Between their sobs and screams, the truth spilled out: this was no small operation. "We… we build towers," one stammered. "The R-System… they need labor… so they take the villages…" A vast, coordinated effort was underway, abducting innocents to supply labor for constructing R-System towers—monuments of forbidden magic meant to defy the natural order itself.
Krampus and Laxus exchanged grim looks. "The bastards are building those towers again," Laxus spat, sparks crawling down his arm. Both knew the weight of those words. The R-System had been conceived decades ago, only to be swiftly condemned by the Magic Council as an abomination. Its towers had been destroyed and the research banned, the very name meant to fade into history. Yet here it was again, resurrected in the hands of traffickers and the dark forces behind them. Destroying the towers was inevitable, but before that, every trafficking cell on the mainland needed to be wiped out. Mercy would only breed more chains.
Through force, fear, and magic, Krampus extracted details of the operation—names, locations, target villages. The picture that unfolded was staggering: dozens of cells spread across the mainland, each linked to the forbidden revival of the R-System. As he poured over the revelations, one name made his blood run cold: Rosemary Village. The next abduction was already planned there. Something about the name struck deep within his memory, like a warning echo from the future, as if fate itself were circling back to test him. His jaw tightened, aura flaring darker for a moment.
Before they moved on, Krampus contacted the Council through the Fairy Phone, formally handing over the captured traffickers and arranging safe transport for the rescued villagers. A squad of Rune Knights promised to arrive within the hour. Krampus crouched beside Rob and asked gently, "Do you want to be sent to Makarov's side, old friend? He'll be relieved to see you safe." Rob hesitated, then gave a weary nod. "Aye… it's been too long. Take me home."
Nodding, Krampus drew a new portal with the Rule of Binding, golden chains forming a circular gate that shimmered with light. On the other side appeared the familiar warmth of the Fairy Tail guild hall, with Makarov waiting anxiously at the table. Rob's eyes welled as he saw his old master. "Go," Krampus said, steadying him. "Your family awaits." Rob stepped through, his form swallowed by the light as Makarov rushed to greet him.
Only then did Krampus turn to Laxus, eyes burning with resolve. "We move fast. Rosemary is next."