The silence that descended upon the world was heavier than the roar of the dragon. For twenty-one days, the sky above Tenrou Island had been a cacophony of thunder, screaming metal, and the terrifying bellow of the Apocalypse. Now, there was only the sound of the wind and the gentle lapping of the waves.
On the lead Magic Council battleship, The Justitia, the crew stood frozen on the deck. High-ranking officers, Rune Knights, and even the arrogant Wizard Saints peered through their Lacrima scopes and binoculars at the empty azure expanse where a god of destruction had just been hovering.
"He... he's gone," a young knight whispered, his voice trembling.
"The readings are dropping," a sensor mage announced, slumping over his console in sheer exhaustion. "The Dragon King's magical signature is retreating rapidly. He has exited the airs of Ishgar."
A collective breath, held for three weeks, was released. Cheers didn't erupt; they were too drained for that. Instead, there was a profound, shuddering sigh of relief. The end of the world had been postponed. The sun was still shining.
"Look!" a lookout shouted, pointing toward the island. "The human! He's falling!"
Every eye shifted to the small, limp black speck plummeting from the stratosphere. They watched as the white streak of Mirajane Strauss intercepted him, catching the broken hero before he could become a crater in the earth.
Councilor Gran Doma, watching from the bridge, straightened his robes. His fear was instantly replaced by the bureaucratic instinct of the Council.
"The threat is gone," Doma barked. "But we need answers. We need to secure the area and question that mage. How did he repel Acnologia? Helm, full speed ahead! Dock at Tenrou Island immediately!"
The engines of the massive fleet rumbled to life, churning the water as the iron armada began to close the distance to the holy ground of Fairy Tail.
The Clearing, Tenrou Island
The ground was soft where Mirajane landed, her Satan Soul dissipating into motes of light as she gently laid her burden on the grass.
"Blake..." she breathed, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
The sight that greeted the S-Class mages was the stuff of nightmares. Blake Corvus, the man who had stood tall against a Dragon King, was a ruin.
His clothes were gone, save for the tattered remains of his trousers. His body was a map of violence—bruises the color of plums, burns from atmospheric friction, and cuts that leaked a mixture of red human blood and glowing blue dragon ichor.
But it was his back that drew the horrified gasps of everyone present.
Three massive furrows, gouged by the claws of Acnologia, ran from his right shoulder to his left hip. The flesh was flayed open, stripped away with brutal efficiency. Through the torrent of blood, the white curve of his ribs and scapula was starkly, sickeningly visible.
"No..." Cana dropped to her knees.
She reached out a hand to touch him, then pulled back, terrified that even a gentle touch would cause him more pain. Tears streamed down her face, cutting through the dirt and grime.
"You idiot," Cana sobbed, her voice breaking. "You promised... You said you'd win... look at you!"
Mirajane was weeping silently, her hands hovering over the wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood with her palms, but it was like trying to stop a river. "He's losing too much blood! He's cold... he's too cold!"
Standing a few feet away, the strongest men of Fairy Tail were statues of impotent rage.
Master Makarov had his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. He had watched his child fight for twenty-one days. He had watched him bleed, break, and burn for the sake of the guild. And Makarov had done nothing. He could do nothing.
"Forgive me," Makarov whispered, his voice raspy with shame. "Forgive me for being too weak to stand beside you."
Gildarts Clive, the Ace of Fairy Tail, was staring at the ground. His jaw was clenched so tight that a tooth cracked. He was the shield. He was the one who was supposed to take the hits. But he had stood on the beach, useless, while his junior took the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Laxus stood with his arms crossed, but his fingernails were digging into his biceps, drawing blood. The lightning around him crackled erratically, betraying his inner turmoil.
They were the S-Class. The elite. And they had been reduced to spectators.
"We can't just stand here!" Erza's voice cut through the despair. She was battered from the war with Grimoire Heart, but her eyes were burning with desperate resolve. "Master! We need a healer! We don't have Porlyusica! We don't have Wendy!"
Makarov snapped his head up, seeing the Council ships approaching in the distance.
"Erza," Makarov commanded, his voice hard. "Go to those ships. Demand a healer. I don't care if you have to drag them by their hair. Get someone here who can stitch a wound."
"Understood!"
Erza didn't hesitate.
"Re-Equip: Black Wing Armor!"
Black wings sprouted from her back. With a sonic boom that kicked up dust, she launched herself into the air, flying straight toward the armada like a vengeful Valkyrie.
---
The deck of The Justitia was bustling with activity as they prepared to dock. Suddenly, a shadow fell over the bow.
THUD.
Erza Scarlet landed on the metal deck with enough force to dent the plating. She stood up, her black wings spread wide, her sword drawn. Her face was a mask of terrifying urgency.
The Rune Knights froze, their spears leveled at her. "Halt! Identify your—"
"SILENCE!" Erza roared. Her killing intent washed over the ship, making seasoned knights buckle at the knees.
She looked around wildly, her eyes scanning the crowd of mages and officers.
"We have a man dying on that island! A man who just saved all of your lives!"
She stepped forward, pointing her sword at the terrified captain.
"Do you have a healer?! Answer me!"
The crew stammered. They were prepared for negotiation, not an invasion by the Queen of Fairies.
"I... we..." the captain stuttered.
Erza's patience evaporated. She slammed the tip of her sword into the deck.
"I SAID, IS THERE A HEALER ON THIS SHIP?!"
The shout echoed across the water.
From the back of the group, a tentative hand raised.
"I... I know healing magic," a woman's voice said.
A medic officer, wearing the white robes of the Council's medical division, stepped forward. She looked terrified of Erza, but her duty compelled her. "I am a High-Level Medic. My name is—"
"I don't care about your name," Erza sheathed her sword and grabbed the woman by the arm. "Grab your kit. You're coming with me."
"W-wait! I need authorization to leave the ship!" the woman squeaked.
"I am your authorization," Erza growled. "Prepare your things for a critical injury. Massive lacerations. Internal injuries. Move!"
The woman, sensing that arguing would result in bodily harm, grabbed her medical satchel.
Erza didn't wait for her to walk. she grabbed the woman around the waist.
"Hold on."
"Wh-what?"
WHOOSH.
Erza took off, rocketing back toward the island, carrying the screaming healer like a sack of potatoes.
---
Erza landed back in the clearing moments later, dropping the dizzy healer onto her feet.
"Treat him," Erza ordered, pointing to Blake.
The healer stumbled forward, regaining her balance. She looked at the patient. She gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
"Great Isgar..." she whispered. "Is he... is he even alive?"
"He is," Makarov said, stepping forward. "Keep him that way."
The woman nodded frantically. She knelt beside Blake, her hands glowing with green restorative light. She began to chant, weaving spells to clot the blood and knit the flesh.
"The damage is catastrophic," she muttered, sweating profusely. "The bone is exposed... the muscles are shredded... and there's a strange energy preventing the healing magic from taking full effect. I can stabilize him, but I can't close these wounds fully. He needs a surgery room, not a field!"
"Just do what you can!" Cana pleaded.
While the healer worked, the sound of engines grew louder.
The Magic Council fleet was nearing the jagged rocks of Tenrou's coastline. They were preparing landing crafts.
Makarov looked at the ships. His expression darkened.
He remembered the Council's history. He knew that if they set foot on this island, it would be bad news. They would try to dissect the man who defied a dragon. They would desecrate the sacred ground of Fairy Tail.
"I will not allow it," Makarov growled.
He turned to his two heavy hitters.
"Gildarts. Laxus."
The two men looked at the Master.
"Do not let them set foot on this island," Makarov ordered.
Gildarts cracked his knuckles. A dark, dangerous grin spread across his face—the grin of a man who desperately needed to hit something.
"With pleasure, Master."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Laxus grunted, electricity sparking from his shoulders.
The two S-Class mages turned and walked toward the cliffs overlooking the sea.
---
The Council ships were five hundred meters out. Landing boats were being lowered.
"Prepare to disembark!" the Commander shouted through a magic amplifier. "By order of the Magic Council, this island is under investigation!"
Suddenly, the sky darkened.
Clouds swirled rapidly, not from wind, but from a sudden spike in ozone.
CRACK-BOOM!
A bolt of yellow lightning, thick as a redwood tree, slammed into the ocean directly in front of the lead ship.
The water exploded, sending a tsunami of spray over the deck. The ship rocked violently, tossing knights around like toys.
"What was that?!" the Commander screamed, clinging to the railing.
On the cliff edge, Laxus Dreyar stood with one arm raised, smoke rising from his fingertips.
"Warning shot," Laxus muttered.
He gathered more magic.
"Lightning Dragon... Halberd!"
He didn't aim at the ships. He aimed at the water between the ships.
Spears of lightning rained down, creating a chaotic barrier of electrified water. The shockwaves pushed the massive steel vessels back as if they were made of paper. It was 'friendly fire' in the loosest sense—he wasn't vaporizing them, but he was making it physically impossible to move forward.
"They're attacking us!" a knight yelled. "Return fire?"
"No!" the Commander shouted. "That's Laxus Dreyar! If we fire, he'll sink us for real!"
Then, a voice boomed across the water. It wasn't amplified by technology, but by sheer magical pressure.
"TURN AROUND."
Gildarts Clive stepped to the edge of the cliff. His black cape fluttered in the wind. His aura flared, a crushing white pressure that made the air heavy for miles.
He looked at the ships. He thought about the last 21 days.
He thought about the fear he felt when Acnologia arrived.
He thought about the shame of watching Blake fight alone.
He thought about the blood pouring from Blake's back.
The frustration boiled over.
"This island is off-limits!" Gildarts roared. "It belongs to Fairy Tail! And if you so much as think about stepping foot on it..."
He didn't finish the sentence with words.
He raised his hand.
"CRASH."
He didn't aim at the ships. He aimed at the ocean floor, at the space between the ships, at the very concept of their advance.
He released the pent-up energy of a man who had faced the Apocalypse and survived.
KRRR-SSSSSHHHH!
The reality in front of the cliff fractured.
The ocean split into cubes. The air split into cubes. The waves were dismantled, disassembled, and thrown backward with violent force.
The shockwave hit the fleet. The ships didn't break, but they were lifted out of the water and shoved back a full mile by the sheer displacement of force.
The soldiers on the ships screamed as they were tossed backward.
The Commander stared in horror at the orange-haired man on the cliff.
"That's... that's Gildarts Clive," he whispered, pale as a sheet. "He's dismantling the ocean!"
Gildarts stood amidst the floating cubes of water, his eyes glowing white.
"GO HOME!"
The Commander didn't need to be told twice.
"Retreat!" he screamed. "Pull back! Get us out of range! They're insane! All of them are insane!"
The Council fleet turned. They scrambled over each other to escape the range of the monsters guarding the island.
Gildarts watched them go. He let out a long breath, the magic dissipating. The water crashed back down, filling the void.
He slumped his shoulders.
"That felt good," he muttered.
---
The sun had finally set, and the first stars were appearing. The Council ships were gone, retreated to the horizon.
In the distance, a familiar silhouette approached.
It wasn't a battleship. It was a beat-up, reliable guild ship.
The Fairy Tail vessel.
Natsu, Gray, Lucy, Gajeel, and the others were hanging off the railings. They knew the fight was over.
As soon as the gangplank lowered onto the sand, it was a stampede.
"BLAKE!" Natsu screamed, sprinting faster than he had ever run.
"Where is he?!" Gray yelled, sliding down the sand dunes.
"Is he okay?!" Lucy cried, clutching her keys.
They tore through the jungle, ignoring their own fatigue.
They burst into the clearing.
They stopped dead.
The silence returned. They saw the blood-soaked grass. They saw the Council healer, exhausted and pale, wiping her hands. They saw Mira and Cana, their eyes red and puffy.
And they saw Blake.
He was bandaged heavily. The healer had done her best to stitch the muscles, but the bandages were already staining red. He was breathing, but it was shallow and ragged.
"He's..." Natsu's voice failed him. He walked forward slowly, his fists clenched. "Is he..."
"He's alive," Makarov said softly. "But barely."
Then, a small figure pushed through the crowd.
"Move! Please, move!"
Wendy Marvell stumbled into the center of the circle. She was exhausted but she pushed herself forward.
She saw the wounds.
Wendy fell to her knees beside Blake's head.
"Grandeeney... please lend me your strength."
She placed her small hands over Blake's chest.
"Sky Dragon Secret Art..."
The air in the clearing shifted. The wind picked up, but it wasn't harsh. It was gentle, warm, and filled with life. A soft blue light, cleaner and purer than the Council healer's magic, began to envelope Blake.
"...Milky Way!"
The blue light seeped into the bandages. It sought out the residue of Acnologia's magic and began to scrub it away. It flowed into the crushed bones and the severed muscles, encouraging the cells to regenerate at a supernatural rate.
Blake's breathing hitched, then deepened. The pained furrow in his brow smoothed out.
Color began to return to his cheeks—not much, but enough.
The bleeding slowed to a stop.
Wendy held the spell for minutes, sweat pouring down her face, until she finally collapsed forward, caught by Carla.
"I... I stabilized him, but it will take time for him to fully heal," Wendy whispered, smiling weakly before passing out in Carla's arms. "He's going to be okay."
A collective sob broke out among the guild members. Natsu fell to his knees and roared at the sky—not in anger, but in pure, overwhelming relief.
They had survived. The Dragon was gone. And their hero was still with them.