Night descended over the sprawling town of Magnolia, casting a veil of sapphire and charcoal over the bustling landscape.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the lively energy of the day began to dissipate, replaced by the hurried footsteps of citizens retreating to the warmth of their homes.
Lanterns flickered to life along the canals, their reflections dancing on the water like scattered coins.
The entire city seemed to exhale, flowing into a state of distant, serene dormancy.
High above, the enchanting moon reclined among the drifting clouds, a silent guardian tirelessly casting its gentle, silver glow over the rooftops, safeguarding the dreams of those drifting peacefully into slumber.
Even the loudest building in the city—the Fairy Tail guild hall—had fallen silent.
Usually, this structure was a chaotic symphony of brawls, laughter, and clinking tankards that lasted well into the early hours.
But tonight, it lay as quiet as a sleeping child, its windows dark and its massive doors shut tight against the evening breeze.
However, the stillness was merely a facade.
A swift, dark figure cut through the tranquility, leaping with predatory agility across the slate rooftops.
The silhouette moved with the heavy grace of a beast on the prowl, boots making no sound as they connected with the tiles.
The figure vaulted over the final gap and landed with a heavy, deliberate thud before the guild's main entrance.
Gajeel Redfox slowly straightened his spine.
Clad in a tattered black sleeveless shirt that exposed his muscular, pale arms, he lifted his head to glare at the building looming before him.
The moonlight caught the iron studs piercing his brow and the bridge of his nose, casting jagged shadows across his face and giving him a truly menacing, demonic appearance.
He stood there for a moment, letting the silence of the enemy territory wash over him.
He hated this place!
He hated the rumors of their camaraderie, their sickening warmth, and their reputation.
"Mere fairies don't deserve to live in a place like this," he sneered, his voice a low gravelly rasp that scratched against the silence.
With an arrogant stride, Gajeel approached the heavy double doors.
He didn't bother with stealth anymore.
He placed a hand on the wood and shoved. The doors groaned in protest, swinging open to reveal the cavernous main hall that had been vibrant and full of life just hours earlier.
He strode into the darkness.
The guild hall was pitch-black, stripped of any candlelight or magic lamps.
The air smelled of stale ale and old wood, a scent that Gajeel found irritatingly domestic.
"So this is the famous Fairy Tail," Gajeel muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the empty void.
"Pathetic. Leaving your home unguarded is begging for it to be crushed."
He stopped in the center of the hall.
A cruel, jagged grin stretched across his face, revealing sharp, canine-like teeth. He began to flex his wrists, cracking his knuckles one by one.
The sound was like gunshots in the quiet room.
"Well then," he whispered, feeling the familiar hum of magic rising in his gut, hot and heavy.
"Time to get to work."
He lowered his stance, spreading his feet against the floorboards. The magic surged through his veins, seeking an outlet.
"Iron Dragon's..."
The transformation was instant.
Gajeel's skin rippled, the flesh hardening and darkening into an ashen steel color.
Metallic scales emerged along his forearm, locking together with the sound of grinding gears. Just as he drew his arm back, preparing to unleash a torrent of destruction that would bring the ceiling down, a voice cut through the darkness.
"Ara ara... This won't do..." a gentle voice rang out.
Soft, feminine, and terrifyingly calm.
Gajeel's scalp prickled.
His survival instincts, honed by years of brutal combat, screamed at him.
He instinctively withdrew his magic, the metal scales receding instantly as he spun around on his heel.
He clenched both hands into fists, raising them in a defensive guard, his eyes darting wildly into the mysterious shadows of the guild's second floor.
"Who's there?" he growled, his body tense as a coiled spring.
Under Gajeel's wary gaze, the darkness seemed to part.
An elegant figure gracefully stepped forward, the moonlight filtering through the high windows finally catching her features.
She was stunning.
She wore a long, crimson dress that hugged her figure, and her long white hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of silk.
On her exquisitely beautiful face, she wore a smile—but it wasn't the smile of a frightened civilian.
It was calm and unnervingly polite.
Gajeel narrowed his eyes, searching his memory.
The pin-up girl from Sorcerer Weekly? No, there was a different energy about her. A distinct pressure that radiated from her petite frame.
"Mirajane," he muttered, recognizing the name. "So, you're the so-called Demon?"
Once he recognized the identity of the newcomer, Gajeel's previously tense heart immediately relaxed.
He stood up straighter, dropping his guard slightly.
A mocking, arrogant sneer returned to his face. He had expected the Guild Master, or perhaps the Salamander.
But a damn model?
"I expected a monster," Gajeel scoffed. "But I found a barmaid."
Mirajane didn't flinch.
Her beautiful blue eyes shifted, scanning Gajeel's form until they locked onto the dark emblem tattooed on his shoulder.
Phantom Lord.
She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, though her face remained a mask of pleasantry.
'Ankh was right after all,' she thought. 'Phantom Lord's members really were launching a night raid on the guild.'
A flicker of gratitude passed through her mind.
If Ankh hadn't warned her, if she hadn't decided to trust that information and stay behind in the dark while the others slept, the guild hall would likely be a pile of rubble by morning.
It was a good thing she had waited.
Finally, she had caught someone red-handed.
Hearing Gajeel's taunt, Mirajane didn't get angry.
She didn't scream or posture.
Instead, her smile deepened, turning into something that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Attacking an empty guild in the middle of the night," she said softly, her tone carrying a disappointed lilt.
"Is this all the Iron Dragon of Phantom Lord is capable of? Striking from the shadows like a common thief?"
Gajeel's expression shifted instantly.
The mockery vanished, replaced by genuine irritation. His back slowly arched like a wild wolf eyeing its prey, his muscles bunching up.
"Watch your mouth, woman," he hissed, his tone dark and dripping with malice. "I don't care who you are. I'll start by smashing that annoying smile of yours to pieces, and then I'll turn this entire place into ruins!"
He lunged.
"Iron Dragon's Steel Fist!!"
Gajeel's right arm suddenly transformed again, turning a deep, ashen black.
The metallic luster of his scales reflected a cold, deadly gleam in the moonlight.
He put his entire body weight behind the blow, creating a massive whooshing sound as the hardened steel fist tore through the air, aiming ruthlessly for Mirajane's face.
It was a killing blow.
A strike meant to pulverize rock and bone alike!
Thud!!
The sound that echoed through the hall was not the wet crunch of bone, nor the shattering of the floorboards.
It was a clean, dull thud.
The wind from the punch blasted Mirajane's hair back, but she did not move an inch.
Gajeel froze.
He looked up, his eyes widening in sheer disbelief. The momentum of his attack had been completely arrested.
His wavering gaze fixed on Mirajane's face.
She was still smiling.
She looked calm, composed, and utterly bored.
Slowly, Gajeel's eyes traveled down to the point of impact.
He saw Mirajane's fair, delicate hand raised in front of her.
Her fingers were wrapped firmly around his massive, iron-scaled fist. There was no strain in her arm, no trembling in her posture.
With nothing but her bare hand, she had stopped the Iron Dragon cold.