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Chapter 13
Varion staggered forward, his body protesting every step—the corrosive taint of Jose's magic still eating at his wounds like acid on flesh. Blood trickled from the gash over his eye, mixing with sweat, and his shoulder burned where the Dark Pulse had charred skin. But the fight was over, Jose gone like a bad dream. He limped over to Gajeel, dropping to one knee beside the boy.
Gajeel was curled on the ground, breathing ragged but steady, his iron piercings glinting in the fading light. The kid's eyes fluttered, mostly fine—just drained from the aura's crush, not broken.
"Hey," Varion said softly, shaking his shoulder gently. "You okay?"
Gajeel groaned, pushing up on one elbow, red eyes hazy. "What… the hell was that? Felt like gettin' squashed by a mountain."
Varion managed a weak smile. "Bad guy. He's gone. But we need to leave—before people come to investigate. That fight lit up the sky like a beacon."
Gajeel nodded groggily, trying to stand, but his legs buckled, still out of it from the pressure. Varion didn't hesitate—he slid an arm under the boy's shoulders and another under his knees, lifting him carefully despite the flare of pain in his own body. Gajeel was heavy for a 10-year-old, all muscle and iron will, but Varion could manage.
"Oi, put me down," Gajeel grumbled weakly, but there was no real fight in it—he was too dazed.
"Save it," Varion replied. "We're getting out of here."
He gingerly spread his wings, wincing as the motion pulled at his corroded wounds—the silver-blue membranes stretching out slowly, aching from the lingering corrosion that ate at his edges like rust on metal. It burned, but he pushed through, taking a running start before lifting off with a grunt.
They rose low, skimming just above the treetops to avoid getting spotted—the scrap yard shrinking behind them as Varion angled toward the nearby mountains. The peaks loomed dark and jagged, a safe hideaway for now. He kept his flight steady but grounded, weaving through valleys to stay out of sight, the wind stinging his injuries but carrying them away from trouble.
Gajeel shifted slightly in his arms, mumbling. "Who… are you, really?"
Varion glanced down. "Your big brother. I'll explain everything soon."
Varion soared through the darkening sky, Gajeel cradled securely in his arms, the boy's breathing steady but shallow as he dozed fitfully. The wounds from the fight throbbed with every wingbeat—the necrotic taint from Jose's magic lingering like poison in his veins, making each movement a grind. But he pushed it aside; Gajeel was safe, and that was what mattered. The quest Makarov had given him—a simple extermination of mountain vulcans harassing a village—felt like a minor detour now. Quick stop, he thought. Get it done, then head home. The kids were waiting, and he was beyond ready to have everyone under one roof and safe.
The location on the mission slip wasn't far—a rugged valley nestled between craggy peaks, about an hour's flight at his current pace. He slowed as he approached, his senses sweeping the area. There they were: a pack of mountain vulcans, massive gorilla-like beasts with shaggy fur and rocky hides, lumbering around a cluster of caves. Their magic pulsed weakly—primal, earth-bound energy that barely registered against his own cosmic essence. "Weak," he muttered under his breath. No challenge here.
Staying high in the air to avoid drawing them into a prolonged brawl, Varion channeled his power. "Star Dragon's Wing Attack!" He swept his wings wide and pushed the energy out of them as he slashed them unleashing twin arcs of stellar energy that sliced downward like cosmic blades. The attacks cut through the vulcans' hides, scattering the pack in howls of pain as several dropped instantly, their bodies crumpling amid bursts of starlight.
The survivors roared, charging wildly below, but Varion was already preparing the next strike. "Star Dragon's Roar!" He inhaled deeply, then unleashed a beam of pure celestial fire from his mouth, swirling with fragments of starlight that pierced the dusk like a comet. The roar slammed into the remaining vulcans, engulfing them in radiant flames that burned through their rocky defenses, reducing the beasts to ash in seconds.
He hovered for a moment, scanning the valley with no survivors. All dead. Quick and clean, just as he'd hoped. With a nod to himself, he banked westward, angling back toward Magnolia and Fairy Tail.
Gajeel stirred slightly in his arms, still out of it from the earlier pressure. Varion focused his magic, weaving a protective shield of starlight around the boy; it was soft, insulating energy that blocked the wind and stabilized him for faster flight. It let Varion push his speed harder, wings beating with renewed force, the landscape blurring below. But the effort tugged at his wounds, the corrosive magic flaring slightly worse, fresh pain lancing through his side and shoulder. He gritted his teeth—home was close. Just a little longer.
Varion touched down just outside Magnolia as the sun dipped low, his wings retracting with a final ache that echoed through his battered body. Gajeel was still limp in his arms, breathing steady now but exhausted from the ordeal. The flight back had been grueling—the corrosive remnants of Jose's magic had lingered like thorns in his flesh, but his Dragonoid resilience had finally pushed it out most of the energy, purging the necrotic taint in a painful burst mid-air. His wounds remained—cuts, bruises, burns throbbing with every step—but honestly, at this point, they didn't bother him much. He'd had worse. Gajeel was safe; that was what counted.
He shifted the boy to his shoulder and walked the last stretch to the guild hall, the familiar banners fluttering in the evening breeze. The doors were open, light and laughter spilling out. Varion pushed through, the noise hitting him like a warm wave.
Someone at a nearby table turned—Macao, mid-drink—and froze. "O shit," he muttered loudly, eyes widening at the sight.
The words carried, heads turning one by one. Wakaba choked on his pipe. Cana paused her card game. Levy dropped her book. The cheers and chatter died down as eyes locked on Varion—bloody, bruised, clothes torn and singed, carrying an unconscious black-haired kid over his shoulder like it was nothing.
Immediate concern rippled through the guild. "What happened to the new guy?" someone whispered. Older members stood up, faces hardening—ready to fight who or whatever had done this. Makarov hopped off his stool at the bar, expression shifting to a serious expression.
But the kids, they reacted hardest. Wendy gasped, hands flying to her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Sting and Rogue froze mid-game with Cana, faces paling. Natsu jumped up from his seat, flames flickering involuntarily.
"Varion!" Wendy cried, rushing over, the others close behind. "You're hurt! What happened? You're bleeding everywhere!"
Sting's voice cracked. "Who did this? I'll punch 'em!"
Rogue grabbed Varion's sleeve, eyes wide and frightened. "You look… bad."
Natsu's fists clenched and flames rolled off them. "Oi, who messed you up? Tell me!"
Varion blinked, confused at first by the panic swirling around him—the kids' frightened faces, the guild's worried stares, even Erza standing up from her table with a hand on her sword. Why were they acting like this? He was fine, just a little—
Then he looked down at himself. Blood stained his shirt from the gash over his eye and the cuts on his side, bruises blooming dark across his exposed skin, burns reddening his shoulder. His clothes were shredded, dirt and scrap metal clinging to the tears. He remembered now—he hadn't stopped to clean up, too focused on getting back.
"Oh," he said quietly, a faint, sheepish smile tugging at his busted lip. "Yeah… I guess I do look pretty banged up."
Varion blinked at the sea of worried faces, the kids clustered around him like frightened birds, their eyes wide with fear. The guild hall had gone unusually quiet, all eyes on him—bloodied, bruised, and carrying the unconscious Gajeel over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Makarov pushed through the crowd, his small frame tense, Erza right behind him with her hand on her sword hilt.
"I'm fine," Varion said, his voice steady despite the busted lip making it slur slightly. He set Gajeel down gently on a bench, the boy stirring but not waking yet. "Just a scrap. This is Gajeel. He's okay, just worn out."
Wendy's lip trembled. "But… you're all hurt! What happened?"
Varion rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as it pulled at a bruise. "I found him in a scrap yard. Some old creep was talking to him. I think his name was Jose Plora, maybe flora, or something close to that. He was being weird, offering him a spot in his guild or something. Wouldn't take me telling him he wasn't allowed to finish talking to Gajeel very well, so… we got into a fight."
The reaction was immediate—and explosive. Makarov's eyes widened like saucers, his mug slipping from his hand and clattering on the floor. Gildarts, lounging nearby, choked on his drink, coughing violently. Erza's hand tightened on her sword, her face paling. Whispers erupted from the older members—Macao and Wakaba exchanging shocked glances, Cana freezing mid-card shuffle.
"Yoy mean Jose Porla?" Makarov repeated, his voice low and thunderous. "As in… the master of Phantom Lord? One of the Ten Wizard Saints?"
Varion frowned, wiping blood from his eye. "Yea, that sounds more like it but no clue about the Wizard Saint part. Didn't know that. He was strong, yeah, dark magic, shadows and stuff. But I handled it."
The guild erupted into murmurs—shock rippling like a wave. "He fought a Wizard Saint?" someone whispered. "And walked away?" Erza stepped closer, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and concern. "That's… impossible. Jose's one of the strongest in Fiore. How did you—?"
Varion shrugged, though it hurt. "Didn't have a choice. He was messing with Gajeel."
Makarov hopped onto a table, his expression a storm. "Everyone, calm down! Varion, get to Porlyusica, now. We'll handle the fallout if Jose comes sniffing around."
Varion blinked at the stunned faces around him, the kids still clinging to his legs with wide-eyed worry. The guild's reaction, whispers of "Wizard Saint" and "Phantom Lord", bounced around the hall like echoes, but it didn't click. He'd fought strong creatures before; this Jose guy was tough, sure, but not unbeatable. "Why's it such a big deal?" he asked, genuinely confused. "He was creepy, yeah, but I handled him. And… who's Porlyusica?"
The hall went dead silent for a beat. Makarov's eye twitched, then he slapped a hand to his forehead with a dramatic facepalm, groaning. "Of course he has no idea who our healer is, he just got here. Erza, drag him to Porlyusica before he bleeds even more on the floor!"
Erza nodded sharply, her expression a mix of concern and determination. In a flash of requip magic, her polished plate armor vanished, replaced by her casual clothes—a simple white blouse and red skirt that made her look less like a knight and more like… well, a girl his age. Before Varion could protest, she stepped forward, looping her arm through his with a firm but gentle grip, her hand warm against his sleeve.
"Come on," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of softness. "You need treatment."
Varion opened his mouth to argue—he was fine, really—but a wave of dizziness hit as the adrenaline faded, his busted lip throbbing and the cut over his eye still leaking blood. One of the older guild members—Macao, with a concerned frown—stepped up and carefully took Gajeel from the bench. "I'll get the kid to the infirmary," Macao said. "You focus on not keeling over, newbie."
Varion nodded, letting Erza guide him toward the back stairs, her arm linked with his in a way that felt strangely steadying amid the guild's worried murmurs.
Varion grumbled under his breath as Erza half-dragged him through the back streets of Magnolia, her arm still linked firmly with his. "I'm fine," he muttered for the third time, his voice rough from the busted lip. "Just a few scratches. I don't need a healer."
Erza shot him a sidelong glance, her grip tightening slightly to keep him steady. But her usual sternness was softened by genuine worry, her brows furrowed as she glanced at the blood still trickling from the cut over his eye. "Scratches? You're bleeding from half your face, and you can barely walk straight. Stop arguing, you're leaning on me more with every step."
He huffed, trying to pull away a little, but his body betrayed him, his side ached from the gash, the burn on his shoulder throbbed, and a wave of tiredness washed over him from the fight's toll. Without meaning to, he leaned more into her support, his shoulder brushing hers as they walked. The corrosive magic had been purged, but the exhaustion lingered, making his steps heavier.
Erza noticed immediately, her free hand hovering near his arm as if ready to catch him if he stumbled. "See?" she said, her voice quieter now, laced with concern rather than command. "You're not invincible, Varion. Let someone help you for once." She adjusted her hold, making sure he was stable, her touch careful around his bruises. "If you push too hard, you'll only make it worse, for yourself and the kids."
Varion grumbled again, quieter this time. "I've had worse. It's nothing."
She didn't reply right away, but her pace slowed just a fraction, making it easier for him to keep up. The streets gave way to a wooded path outside town, the trees closing in as they approached a small cottage hidden in the forest—Porlyusica's place. The air smelled of herbs and earth, a faint magical hum in the breeze.
Varion leaned even more as they reached the door, his vision blurring slightly from fatigue. "Fine… maybe a little rest wouldn't hurt."
Erza knocked firmly, her arm still supporting him. She gave his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, her voice soft but firm. "We'll get you patched up. Just hold on a little longer."
The door creaked open, revealing a stern woman with pink hair and sharp eyes. Porlyusica took one look at Varion and sighed. "Another reckless idiot from the guild? Get inside before you bleed on my porch."