"Let me teach you something, Gajeel... from one guildmate to another."
The air in the pit instantly curdled. Gajeel's chest heaved, his lungs burning as he watched Damian's fingers wrap around the grip of his katana.
A slow, agonizingly smooth motion. The blade slid free by a mere few inches, but the polished steel caught the dim light of the hall with a silver glint that felt like a needle driving straight into Gajeel's retinas.
"When you throw a punch, you put your whole body behind it," Damian whispered. His amber-lit eyes locked onto Gajeel's, heavy with absolute finality. "And when you've got a weapon in your hand..."
The S-class mage's smile vanished completely.
"...you fight to kill."
An invisible wave of pressure detonated from where the wizard stood. It hit Gajeel like a physical wall—heavy, suffocating, and dripping with an unadulterated, murderous intent.
'What… what is this?!'
Cold sweat cut through the grime on Gajeel's face. His instinct fired a warning shot straight down his spine, forcing his boots to drag backward through the floor. His heart hammered against his ribs.
'This guy… is he actually planning on ripping me apart? No, it's a bluff. We're in the same guild. He wouldn't do that… right?'
Gajeel looked into Damian's eyes. There was no hesitation there. No hidden punchline.
'He would. He is.'
In that terrifying silence, Master Jose's voice from the day he joined the guild came crawling back into his head, cold and echoing:
["I want it all. I will create a Guild whose foundation is not built upon childish ideals like friendship or unity but dominance. A place where the strong devour the strong to prove they deserve to stand at the top.]"
He could practically feel the temperature in the room plummeting as the memory of the Master's voice lowered in his mind.
"[And the weak? The weak will have only two choices. Climb… or be crushed beneath those who did.]"
"No…!" Gajeel shouted, his voice cracking as he forced his lungs to fight through the heavy pressure pinning him down. "I backed down once in my life, and I refuse to damn well do it again!"
He squeezed his fists until his knuckles popped, ignoring the agonizing ache in his shoulders and the bone-deep exhaustion clogging his muscles.
"The humiliation. The fear. Everything I felt on that day… I will not bow down to you! Not to anyone! My will is absolute!"
Denying the primal terror screaming at him to run, Gajeel let out a guttural, raw roar that rattled his own teeth.
Damian just stared. The brief amusement that had danced across the man's face earlier was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, unwavering stare. When he spoke, his voice dropped into a deep, masculine resonance that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.
"...I see. So, you believe the courage to stand against me is enough." A quiet, humorless chuckle escaped him, his head shaking slightly. "No... courage alone doesn't explain it. Tell me... why do you fight?"
The S-class wizard's grip tightened around the hilt of his katana.
"Is it because you dream of becoming the strongest? Or do you simply enjoy it? The thrill of battle... the rush of gambling your life every time blades are drawn? Perhaps you fight to prove something—to show the world how powerful you are." He paused, his amber eyes dissecting Gajeel's expression. "...Or is it because you're trying to protect someone? Something precious enough that you're willing to die for it?"
Damian tilted his wrist, lowering the blade until its silver tip hovered just inches above the dirt.
"As for me… I fight for the Master. I admire him with every fiber of my being. My loyalty isn't something that can be shaken. I am his blade. His shield. His strength made flesh. If anyone stands as the guardian of Phantom Lord... it is me."
There wasn't a flicker of doubt in his tone. It was the voice of a man who had completely cast aside his own humanity to become a weapon.
"And yet... here you are. Mocking this guild. Dismissing our beliefs as though they were meaningless. You didn't insult one of us. You insulted all of us." Damian's voice dropped to a near whisper, cutting through the silence of the hall. "So don't mistake what's about to happen. This isn't punishment. This is a lesson you'll carry for the rest of your life."
He snapped his wrist up, the edge of the blade pointing directly between Gajeel's eyes.
"I'll ask you one last time… Why do you fight?"
"Why do I fight...?"
Gajeel swallowed a mouthful of blood, his chest rising and falling in shallow, desperate gasps. He needed time. He needed his stamina to return, even just a fraction.
But as Damian's question hung heavily over the pit, the chaotic noise of the cheering guildhall faded into a dull, distant hum.
Instead of an easy answer… there was only silence inside his head.
His crimson eyes narrowed as the memories began to break through the static, flashing one after another behind his eyelids.
At the very beginning, it was simple. He just wanted to be strong. Not just a regular mage, either. He wanted to be the absolute apex. The words of his younger self echoed proudly in his mind, full of reckless ambition and a wide, toothy grin:
"[With strength of that caliber, there won't be a single wizard alive stronger than me! Perfect! I can't think of any other power in the whole friggin' world that would suit me better. With power like a dragon's... there's no way in hell I won't be the strongest.]"
Back then, the path was clear. He had inherited the unyielding power of the Iron Dragon. He had a father. He had a home. He had Metalicana.
The massive, iron-scaled dragon who had stumbled upon an abandoned, screaming child in the wild and raised him as his own. To anyone else, claiming to be the son of a literal dragon would sound completely insane. But to Gajeel, it was the only truth that mattered.
He didn't know the faces of the humans who had left him behind. He didn't care why they threw him away. He only knew the rough warmth of Metalicana's steel scales, the brutal lessons, the endless arguments, and the impossibly high expectations.
Gajeel had wanted to conquer the world just to prove the dragon had been right to choose him.
Then… Metalicana vanished.
No warning. No explanation. Not even a simple goodbye.
Something deep inside Gajeel's chest had quietly cracked that day, like raw iron left out in the rain to rust. He remembered the harsh words he had thrown at Albion not too long ago, a philosophy forged from the bitter sting of abandonment:
["I eat when I'm hungry. I fight because I want to. I don't wait around for anyone's permission to exist in this world. Live for yourself. Your own pleasures. Your own hates. That's the only thing that's real in this world.]"
He had spoken those words with absolute certainty. But standing here now, facing a drawn blade with a dry magic container, the truth laid itself bare.
He needed to believe those words. Because if he admitted he was still fighting for a shadow who was gone, he'd have to look in the mirror and face just how terrifyingly alone he actually was. He had buried his grief beneath layers of heavy iron armor. He convinced himself he hated kindness, despised people who preached about justice, and loathed anyone stupid enough to put their life on the line for someone else.
Because deep down, beneath the anger… he envied them.
Then that clumsy, weak idiot Albion had stumbled into his life.
The kid had nothing. No magic worth damn, no combat instincts, and no pride to speak of. He was always asking stupid questions, always reaching his hand out toward people who didn't want it, always blindly believing that things could change. It was irritating. It was infuriating.
...And it was painfully familiar.
Lately, Gajeel had started seeing stubborn, infuriating flashes of Metalicana in the kid. That same boneheaded refusal to turn his back on someone. That same hand extended outward, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurts.
Back in that corridor, the easy, logical choice would have been to hand Albion over. Juvia had only wanted a name. One answer, and the fight would have never happened. He wouldn't have been burned. He wouldn't have bled.
Instead... Gajeel had chosen the harder path. He had stepped between them. He had taken the punishment himself.
So… why did he fight?
For the thrill? For the title? For Metalicana? For the abandoned kids who had nobody else? For Albion?
The frantic spinning in his mind suddenly ground to a halt. A slow, cold breath escaped his lungs, clearing away the smog of confusion.
Gajeel reached up with his bruised hand, running his fingers through his unruly, spiky black hair and pushing it out of his eyes. His shoulders straightened, his posture locked into place.
The hesitation drained from his face—not because he had picked a single, neat answer from the pile, but because he finally realized he didn't damn well need to choose.
A fierce, jagged grin slowly spread across his face, exposing his sharp teeth.
"My name..." Gajeel slammed a heavy, solid fist directly against his own bare chest, the impact echoing over the noise of the hall. "...is Gajeel Lionheart!"
He locked his crimson eyes onto Damian's blade, the burning resolve in his stare cutting straight through the suffocating S-class pressure.
"I am the Iron Dragon Slayer! The son raised by Metalicana, the Metal Dragon! I fight for every single piece of my life! For the old man who gave me a roof when I had nothing! For the strength I've been chasing since I could remember! For the freedom I carved out with my own damn hands! For the people I've actually come to acknowledge..."
His grin widened, turning wild and dangerous as his instinct took complete control.
"...and for the ones who still need someone to stand beside them!"
Gajeel took a massive step forward, his boot slamming heavily into the floor of the pit.
"I don't have to choose just one, old man! I fight for all of it! Because every single scar… every lesson… every damn bond I make… they're what made me who I am! And that's exactly why… I'll never lose!"
A sharp grin crept back onto Damian's face. When he spoke, his tone was completely truthful, yet it carried a striking, dangerous edge.
"I'll admit, at nine years old... you're already a monster, kid. Give yourself another ten years and you'd probably give me a real fight. Unfortunately for you... today isn't ten years from now."
Damian's smile twisted, bordering on a slight, mocking chuckle.
"I respect you, Gajeel. Not many people are strong-willed like you in Phantom Lord. That said, I can't help but feel a little disrespected here. Do you seriously not plan on using your magic against me?"
Gajeel looked away, his wild smile finally falling. The silence in his head was heavy as he answered in a low, tight tone.
"I would if I could. But, unfortunately... I'm completely out of magic power. I'm running on empty here."
Slowly, he forced his gaze back up, his crimson eyes locking dead onto the S-Class mage.
"Thanks to my magic, I'm able to refill my container and get my stamina back if I eat iron. Metal works, too…"
'But we both know you won't just stand there and let me get stronger in the middle of a death match,' Gajeel thought bitterly, his fingers twitching against his thighs.
As if Damian could read the exact trajectory of the boy's thoughts, his loud voice cut Gajeel off instantly.
"Eat it."
Gajeel's eyes widened, staring at the older mage in absolute disbelief.
"Huh?"
"You heard me, didn't you? Eat it." Damian spread his arms wide, leaving his entire front completely exposed. "If you can use something—or someone, for that matter—to become stronger, then you should damn well do it. Do it right now. I want to face the strongest version of you, understand?"
Gajeel stared at Damian nervously, his instincts screaming that it was a trap. But he quickly dismissed the panic. What earthly reason would an S-Class wizard have to deceive a tapped-out nine-year-old? Damian was already more than strong enough to kill him where he stood.
Giving a sharp nod of his head, Gajeel bent down. Grabbing the jagged, dented iron railing right next to his boots, he jammed the metal into his mouth and began to chomp down. His teeth tore through the solid iron as if it were nothing more than stale bread, the loud, grinding crunch echoing over the quiet pit.
Within a few minutes, Gajeel had consumed the entire heavy structure.
Instantly, a violent spike of pure energy flooded his dry system, rapidly expanding throughout his muscles. A metallic, smoky gray aura began to ignite around his small frame, cracking the ground beneath his feet.
"That's it. That's exactly what I've been waiting for, my friend," Damian said, his voice dripping with an intense, chaotic excitement.
"I ain't your damn friend!" Gajeel growled, the fresh magical aura surging around his body. It wasn't nearly as massive or overwhelming as it had been during his desperate clash against Juvia, but the iron pressure now covered him from head to toe.
"Gajeel!" A massive, manic smile broke across Damian's face as his hand gripped his katana tightly. "Show me what you've got! I am Damian Ashenfell, S-Class Mage of Phantom Lord!"
A ferocious, unhinged expression took complete victory over Gajeel's face as he fell into his combat stance.
"My name is Gajeel Lionheart! I'm the Iron Dragon Slayer!"
The two stood perfectly still, separated by a few yards of wooden floor. The air between them tasted like ozone and blood. The true battle was finally beginning.
"I'll send you straight to hell, Gajeel!"
"You'll be going alone, Damian!"