The first day was the day of deafening noise.
The sky above Tenrou Island had ceased to be a sky; it had become a canvas of catastrophe. To the S-Class mages left on the beach it looked as though the heavens were undergoing a violent seizure.
Blake Corvus, wreathed in the spectral black and crimson energy of his Bankai, True Tensa Zangetsu, was a blur of motion that defied the laws of aerodynamics. He was a gnat fighting a hurricane, but this gnat carried a stinger capable of piercing mountains. Acnologia, the Dragon King, was a fortress of black scales and blue arcane power, a creature that had forgotten the sensation of pain centuries ago.
"GRAAAAH!" Acnologia roared, a sound that flattened the waves for miles. He swiped a claw the size of a house, tearing through the clouds.
"Too slow!" Blake's voice cut through the wind.
Using Shukuchi, Blake vanished from the path of the claw, appearing instantly above the dragon's neck. He gripped the handle of his Khyber-knife blade, the heavy chain rattling against the steel.
"Black Divine Meteorite!"
SLASH.
A ribbon of black Haki cut across the dragon's throat scales. It didn't sever the head, but it carved a groove deep enough to draw blood—a glowing, blue ichor that hissed as it hit the air.
Acnologia recoiled, more out of insult than injury. "YOU DARE CUT ME?"
"I'll do more than cut it," Blake panted, hovering in the thin air, his coat flapping wildly. "I told you. I'm not letting you land."
For the first twenty-four hours, that was the dynamic. Acnologia would attempt to descend, to crush the island that smelled of Fairy Tail, and Blake would intercept him. Every time the dragon dipped his nose, Blake was there—a rising uppercut, a gravity-defying kick, a blast of Getsuga Tensho. He was the gatekeeper of the earth, forcing the battle to remain in the unforgiving domain of the stratosphere.
Day 3
By the third day, the shockwaves had traveled far beyond the ocean borders. The magical disturbances were so violent that they registered on seismographs in Era, the headquarters of the Magic Council.
A fleet of Rune Knight battleships and Council cruisers arrived at the perimeter of the ocean surrounding Tenrou. They couldn't get close—the air pressure within twenty miles of the island was enough to crush a normal human's lungs—but they watched through Lacrima telescopes.
"It's... it's impossible," high-ranking Councilor Gran Doma whispered, watching the feed. "That is Acnologia. The Black Dragon of the Apocalypse. But who... who is fighting him?"
"It's a human," Lahar reported, his voice trembling as he adjusted his glasses. "Blake Corvus, Black Blade of Fairy Tail."
"A human is fighting a Dragon?" another Councilor gasped. "And he's... he's holding his own?"
It wasn't just the Council. The Ten Wizard Saints, the strongest mages on the continent, had been summoned. They stood on the decks of the lead ships, their capes fluttering in the gale-force winds generated by the distant battle.
High above, the battle raged on, oblivious to the ants watching from the water.
Blake was beginning to feel the burn. Three days of non-stop high-speed combat. No sleep. No food. Just adrenaline and the spiritual consumption of the atmosphere.
Clang. Clang. BOOM.
Acnologia spun in the air, his tail whipping around like a master's whip. It slammed into Blake's defense.
Blake was sent skipping across the cloud layer like a stone on water. He coughed blood, correcting his flight with Geppo.
"Still here!" Blake yelled, diving back in.
Day 7
The turning point of the spectacle—and the grim reminder of reality—came on the seventh day.
Among the Wizard Saints, there was one who stood above the rest. The man ranked Number One. The strongest mage in Ishgar.
God Serena.
He stood on the bow of the Council ship, his expression one of manic excitement. He had eight Dragon Lacrimas implanted in his body. He was a Second Generation Dragon Slayer times eight. To him, dragons were not gods; they were prey.
"Marvelous!" God Serena spread his arms, his theatrics in full swing. "A Dragon King! And a mere human is hogging all the glory! This is my stage! This is where God Serena ascends to legend!"
"Serena, wait!" Hyberion warned. "The pressure up there is—"
"Silence!" God Serena laughed. "I am the hybrid theory! I am the Eight-Dragon God! Watch as I claim the head of the Apocalypse!"
With a burst of magic, God Serena launched himself from the ship. He flew with incredible speed, breaking the sound barrier, tearing toward the battlefield in the sky.
Blake, sensing a new presence with his Observation Haki, glanced down. Another one? Is that... a Dragon Slayer?
"Hey!" Blake shouted down. "Don't come up here! You'll die!"
God Serena ignored him. He reached the altitude of the combatants, glowing with a mix of Purgatory, Cavern, and Sea King dragon magic.
"ACNOLOGIA!" God Serena bellowed, striking a pose in mid-air. "I have come to end your reign! Prepare to face the might of Ishgar's Number One!"
Acnologia stopped his assault on Blake. The massive dragon hovered, turning his head slowly. His blue eyes, filled with centuries of boredom and malice, drifted toward the shouting human.
He didn't roar. He didn't charge magic.
He simply moved.
It was a casual swat. The kind of motion a human uses to deter a buzzing fly.
But at Acnologia's scale and speed, it was a catastrophe.
"Bug," Acnologia grunted.
SPLAT.
God Serena had started to cast his spell, his face twisted in a confident grin. That grin never had time to fade. Acnologia's claws, coated in magic-nullifying resistance, tore through God Serena's defenses as if they were wet tissue paper.
There was no battle. There was no exchange of blows.
God Serena was swatted out of the sky.
His body, broken and unconscious, plummeted toward the ocean like a meteor, skipping off the water's surface three times before sinking.
The battlefield fell silent for a microsecond.
Blake stared at the spot where the "Strongest Mage of Ishgar" had just been.
Acnologia turned his gaze back to Blake.
"Distractions," the Dragon hissed. "Are we done with the insects?"
Blake tightened his grip on True Tensa Zangetsu.
He was the only thing in the world that could stand here.
"Yeah," Blake spit out a mouthful of blood. "Just you and me, lizard."
Day 12
The fight had become a permanent fixture of the world. The sun rose and set, painting the battling silhouettes in gold, then red, then silver.
On the island below, the ecosystem was dying. The constant pressure of Acnologia's magic was withering the trees. But deep in the forest, near the base of the Great Tenrou Tree, a young man with black hair sat on a rock.
Zeref Dragneel.
The Black Wizardsimply watched, his eyes tracking the flashes of light in the sky.
He felt the magical disruption all the way to his empire in Alvarez, to the Spriggan 12. He knew Invel would be panicking. He knew August would be curious.
But Zeref was mesmerized.
"It wasn't in the books," Zeref whispered to himself, a rare spark of curiosity in his dull eyes. "I have lived for four hundred years. I have planned every variable. Natsu. END. The Eclipse Gate. Acnologia."
He looked at the black streak—Blake—that was currently dodging a breath attack that vaporized a cloud bank.
"Who are you?" Zeref mused. "You use magic, yet you deny it. You use a blade, yet it cuts souls. You fight the End of the World, and for twelve days... you have not fallen."
Zeref smiled, a sad, broken smile.
"Perhaps... you are the anomaly I have been waiting for. Or perhaps you are just another moth burning in the dragon's flame."
Day 15
The weather turned on the fifteenth day. The clash of Haki and Magic had destabilized the local atmosphere. Thunderstorms raged around Tenrou Island, lightning arcing between the combatants.
High up on the Tenrou Tree, sitting on a branch that overlooked the ocean, was a translucent, spectral girl.
Mavis Vermilion.
Her physical body was encased in crystal beneath the guild hall, but her thought projection was watching the sky with hands clasped in prayer.
She could see what others couldn't. She could see the spirit of the guild shielding Blake.
"He is tired," Mavis whispered, her ghost-voice carried by the wind.
She watched as Acnologia dove, attempting to crash into the island to destroy the Tenrou Tree—the source of the guild's protection.
"DIE, BASTARD!" Acnologia roared, diving vertically.
"NOT TODAY!"
Blake appeared from the storm clouds. He didn't look human anymore. He was covered in soot, blood, and burns. His coat was shredded to ribbons.
He intercepted the dive. He placed his sword horizontally, bracing it with his shoulder, his knee, his entire being.
CRASH.
The Dragon collided with the Human.
Mavis gasped. The force bowed the very air around the island. The Tenrou Tree groaned.
But Blake didn't budge. He coughed a spray of blood that painted his white blade red, but he pushed.
"GET... UP!"
With a scream of primal effort, Blake engaged his Bankai's chain. He wrapped it around Acnologia's neck and heaved, redirecting the dragon's momentum back.
"Thank you," Mavis wept silently. "Thank you for protecting our home."
Day 18
Pain was no longer a signal; it was a state of being.
Blake couldn't feel his left arm. He was pretty sure three of his ribs were floating loose in his chest cavity. His Haki reserves, usually deep as an ocean, were becoming a shallow puddle.
He was fighting on Observation Killer alone. He had to keep his mind empty. If he thought, Acnologia predicted him. If he planned, Acnologia countered him.
He had to be a machine. Move. Slash. Dodge. Block.
But Acnologia was hurting too.
The Dragon King, the Invincible, looked like he had been through a grinder.
His left wing had a massive gash where Blake had hit him.
His chest scales were cracked and oozing blue blood.
One of the blue markings on his arm had been slashed off completely.
The dragon was furious. For four hundred years, he had been the apex. He was the one who hunted. He was not the one who bled.
"WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!" Acnologia screamed, his voice cracking with rage.
He unleashed a barrage of arcane spheres, thousands of them, tracking Blake like heat-seeking missiles.
Blake spun True Tensa Zangetsu by the chain, creating a black vortex.
"Black Moon Hurricane!"
The spinning blade deflected the spheres, sending them detonating harmlessly in the distance.
"Because..." Blake wheezed, his voice raspy. "I promised... a drunk card dealer and a Demoness... I'd come back."
Day 21
The twenty-first day dawned with a deceptive calm. The storms had passed. The sky was a pale, exhausted blue.
The fight had slowed. It wasn't the frenetic, sonic-boom-filled clash of the first week. It was a slugfest. Heavy, brutal, singular blows.
Blake hovered in the sky. His Bankai coat was gone, dissolved by exhaustion. He was stripped to the waist, his body a map of violence. There were deep claw marks raked across his chest—three jagged lines that had nearly disemboweled him on Day 14, now cauterized by his own spiritual pressure. His left eye was swollen shut. His right arm was purple with bruising.
But True Tensa Zangetsu was still in his hand. The white part of the blade was chipped, but it still hummed.
Opposite him, fifty meters away, hovered Acnologia.
The Dragon King was panting. Great plumes of smoke drifted from his nostrils with every heave of his chest.
He was no longer the pristine image of the Apocalypse.
His right horn was chipped.
A long, deep cut ran vertically down his chest, exposing the raw muscle beneath the impenetrable scales.
His wings were tattered, riddled with holes from Blake's piercing Haki attacks.
Blood dripped from his jaw, falling like rain into the ocean miles below.
The Magic Council ships were still there, twenty-one days later. The mages on board were silent. They hadn't slept. They hadn't looked away. They were witnessing a myth being written in blood.
"He's... he's still standing," Lahar whispered, lowering his binoculars. "Twenty-one days. He stopped the Apocalypse for three weeks."
High in the sky, the wind whistled between the two warriors.
Blake raised his head. His remaining eye locked onto Acnologia's.
"Had enough...?" Blake asked. His voice was a whisper, but in the silence of the stratosphere, it carried.
Acnologia stared back. The arrogance was gone from the dragon's eyes. Replaced by something else. Hate? Yes. But also... recognition.