A sudden, powerful whoosh tore through the air, instantly scattering the dense smoke. Sheila stood in the center, wrapped head to toe in a swirl of dense, howling gale-force winds that acted as a full suit of ethereal armor.
She had used her mastery over Wind Magic to shield her body from the relentless barrage of fiery explosions. While it had not nullified the damage completely, it had reduced what would have been a lethal assault down to manageable surface burns.
As Sheila dispersed the wind armor, scorch marks and reddened skin were visible across her hands and arms. Against any average mage, her wind armor would have blocked the fiery sparks entirely; the fact that heat had still seeped through proved just how terrifyingly potent Damian's fire magic really was.
Yet Sheila's expression did not show defeat. Her magical aura began to swell, churning before taking shape. Translucent, pale-white magic morphed into several hand-like tendrils—appendages that hovered around her like spectral limbs.
Damian caught sight of the transformation, a flash of genuine surprise breaking his calm composure.
'A Wizard Saint... No. Only someone at that level should manifest force of this caliber.'
'Ethernal Manipulation!'
While standard spellcasting relies on predefined formulas, Ethernal Manipulation was the advanced art of freely controlling raw magic's form, density, and state in real-time—solidifying energy into physical structures without casting gestures. It demanded flawless internal flow control, making it exceptionally rare among human mages.
Sheila's expression remained completely flat. "What made you think... that you were the only one holding back?"
Without a single hand gesture or physical movement, she directed the magical limbs. The array of spectral hands shot across the room at blinding speed, closing the gap between them in a fraction of a second.
Damian adjusted his grip on his katana with his right hand, dropping into a rock-solid stance. As the spectral hands lunged for him, his blade became a silver blur. He slashed and counter-struck with effortless precision, fending off the initial wave and cleanly severing every tendril that reached him.
Seconds later, a sickening tearing sound echoed through the air. From the freshly cut stumps of the severed appendages, more hands sprouted forth.For every hand Damian sliced away, two grew to replace it, doubling the cluster to fourteen writhing, telekinetic limbs.
"Ashura Disaster," Sheila murmured.
She surged all fourteen hands forward at once. Knowing he could not get caught in their grip—and unable to maneuver freely on the ground without crushing the unconscious Phantom Lord members scattered around them—Damian took the only path available.
'Jet Kindling!'
He detonated a burst of fire beneath the soles of his boots, launching himself straight into the air as his footwear scorched from the heat. The cluster of spectral hands smashed violently into the spot where he had stood an instant prior, utterly demolishing the heavy floorboards into flying splinters.
Airborne on jets of flame, Damian found no safety. All fourteen hands pivoted upward, shooting toward the ceiling in hot pursuit. What followed was a display of high-speed midair acrobatics. Damian contorted his frame sideways to let two hands pass by a hair's breadth, kicked a third hand away to throw off its trajectory, and ducked beneath a fourth. He wove through the writhing mass of limbs with impossible agility, but as the hands missed him, they slammed hard into the ceiling and walls, carving deep craters that shook the guildhall.
On the ground below, Sheila watched him fight defensively, her expression unreadable.
The white magic circle beneath her heels flared brightly, casting a harsh glow across the shattered floorboards. With a quick flick of two fingers, the air in front of her violently condensed, forming several razor-thin arcs of wind.
"Ventus."
The wind blades flew straight toward the airborne swordsman. Sheila put double the Magic Power into the spell, driving them at twice their previous speed.
Overwhelmed by dodging fourteen giant hands while suspended midair, Damian saw the incoming wind blades a fraction of a second too late. He twisted his torso violently to evade, successfully dodging most of them, but the final blade skittered past his left side.
The compressed wind cut deep into his shoulder, producing a sickening spray of blood.
Damian gritted his teeth, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as pain flooded his arm. The sudden shock shattered his concentration, causing the flames beneath his boots to falter and die out.
That single lapse was all Sheila needed.
Before he could recover his balance, the fourteen hands converged on his falling frame. Each hand clamped down tightly on a different section of his body, locking his limbs and torso in an inescapable grip.
In a single movement, the hands yanked Damian downward, dragging him through the air and slamming him directly into the wooden floor in front of Sheila. The impact detonated with a thunderous explosion of dust and splintering wood.
As the dust settled, the spectral hands rose back into the air, hoisting a battered Damian off the ground. A crimson stream of blood trickled down from his forehead, dripping steadily onto the ruined floor as he hung suspended before Sheila's cold gaze.
Without a word, Sheila walked over to where Gajeel lay unconscious, scooping him up with one arm and resting him against her shoulder.
Damian stayed silent for a long moment, his amber eyes narrowing despite his position.
"Healing magic to recover your stamina. Wind magic for offense and defense. Floating magic for mobility. Decades of combat experience. And finally... the ability to sense and shape raw magical energy."
He exhaled slowly.
"With an arsenal like that, it is no wonder you hold the rank of S-Class."
Sheila turned back around, her pitch-black, lusterless eyes meeting his. She remained silent, her long, awkward pause highlighting her distant nature.
"Allow me to ask a question," Damian continued, his voice calm and structured despite his injuries. "How are you able to utilize Ethernal Manipulation? That degree of control is reserved exclusively for master wizards, Wizard Saints, or magical beasts. Yet you manifest it effortlessly."
Finally, Sheila answered. Her tone was unnervingly level.
"I am not casting," Sheila said simply, raising her free hand. "There are no formulas. No incantations. No activation circles. It is not a matter of title, Damian. It is a matter of control."
She paused, letting her words sink in.
"You treat magic like a sequence—a formula you input to produce a fireball or a gust of wind. Ethernal Manipulation strips the intermediary away."
The air around her fingers distorted. Pure magic gathered around her skin like a localized gravitational pull.
"To move your arm, you do not recite a formula. Your body simply responds to your will," she continued, taking a slow step forward. "Magic flows through every living being like blood. Mages know it exists, but awareness does not grant control. Ethernal Manipulation is simply treating your magic as an extension of your own frame—altering its density, shape, and direction by thought alone."
Damian's eyes narrowed. "You are saying you simply... grab your own magic?"
"In essence, yes."
"That can't be. If it were that simple, every mage in the kingdom would employ it."
"They cannot," Sheila said plainly, "because they cannot see what they are trying to hold."
She closed her fingers. The condensed magic didn't ignite or freeze—it simply compressed until the wood beneath her feet cracked under the sheer weight of it.
"Ethernal Manipulation itself is merely muscle memory. The true prerequisite—the reason I can achieve this and you cannot—is Mahō Perception." She met his gaze. "I do not merely sense magic. I perceive its exact density, flow, and movement. Most importantly, I perceive my own."
Damian gritted his teeth. "You have not mastered it, have you?"
"No," Sheila admitted, her voice remaining composed as a thin strand of raw white magic hovered beside her face. "Mastery requires a lifetime. I have learned enough to control it. That is sufficient for this fight."
To emphasize her point, the spectral hand clamped around Damian's right thigh tightened its grip. A dull, sickening crunch echoed as blood began to seep through his trousers.
Damian clenched his jaw, letting out a low groan of agony. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but rather than panic, a fierce light ignited in his amber eyes. Steam began to rise from his skin.
"Don't write me off just yet," Damian growled, his voice dropping an octave. "The only one who decides my limits is me."
"Burn away."
The steam erupted into a brilliant, roaring white-hot flame. The fire enveloped Damian before surging up the spectral arms holding him in place. Under the intense heat, the magic lost its strength, unraveling and dissolving into particles of light.
'He burned through the Ashura Disaster?' Sheila thought, her mind calculating the anomaly instantly. "A standard fire mage lacks the heat to incinerate solidified magic energy."
Damian dropped heavily onto the ruined floorboards, embers drifting off his shoulders.
"Then it is fortunate I am not a standard fire mage. If you claim mastery over healing... I claim mastery over flame."
He rolled his shoulders, the fire around his body fading until it vanished entirely.
Sheila watched him for a beat, her expression remaining flat. "I would advise you to relax. I have no intention of killing a guild colleague. I am a doctor; I understand the value of life."
Damian glared at her, wiping a streak of blood from his chin. "A doctor? Is that the title you choose to hide behind? 'Unwanted child' seems more accurate."
For the first time, Sheila's eyes widened slightly.
"I find your narrative fascinating," Damian said, his voice dripping with calm mockery as he stepped forward. "You tell the guild you were abandoned. It would be far more accurate to say you were sold."
Sheila stood frozen. "How do you...?"
"How do I know?" Damian smiled, a sharp, cold expression. "It is quite simple. I was there. You may not remember me, but I certainly remember you."
He let the silence stretch between them.
"What is the matter? From that look on your face, it seems you would prefer your history remain buried." Damian raised an eyebrow. "Tell me... does that girl, Juvia, know that her precious guardian was traded away like common cargo?"
Sheila said nothing. Her breath caught in her throat.
"You went through a great deal of trouble constructing a fake past and a fake identity," Damian continued smoothly, taking another step toward her. "Sheila... that is the name you go by now, correct?"
His amber eyes locked onto hers with certainty.
"I know your real name. In fact, I am one of only two people in this guild who remembers who you actually are."
A memory flashed violently through Sheila's mind—dark, cold, and buried beneath years of silence—as Damian prepared to speak the name she had abandoned the day she entered Phantom Lord.