A/N: So this idea came back to me. Figured I might as well work on it. Updates will probably be sporadic since I've got Fairy Tail High and Hangover to work on, but I'll handle it. Oh, and do show some love to this one, alright? It's one of those 'got deleted and is now back on the site with almost no following' type of fics. If you've been following me, you know what I'm talking about.

To Slay a God

Chapter Zero: Prologue

Life and death - neither of these things were pleasant. Life presented its own misery with a tiny glint of joy in it, but most of the time it was a pain in the ass to deal with. Death, on the other hand, was a whole other occurrence altogether. Death had given itself such a reputation that people had started personifying it, giving it the appearance of a skeleton in a black robe with a scythe in its hand; its purpose – to reap the souls of the living and give them safe passage to the other side. People could find salvation in death, but those who did were simply called cowards who couldn't resist the temptations of life. Others found only misery in death, wailing in its presence or when someone close to them was in its grasp. They tried praying to whatever God they believed in to save the souls of those who were going through the gates of Heaven or Hell, but none of them mattered as Death's will was absolute. Life was the beginning. Death was the end.

To a certain young boy, none of that mattered. Or rather, it would be more accurate to state that he didn't know whether it mattered or not. The little pink haired boy felt himself lying on the cold, hard ground, his whole body numb. His first instinct was almost feral, haunting his mind to move his body. He felt goosebumps litter his being, warning him that danger was close, forcing him to push himself back up on his feet.

The pinkette breathed in heavily, his body flailing to the side as his shaking legs slowly adjusted to his weight. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the dizziness in his eyes. He felt his head pounding and grit his teeth as the pulsations gradually became worse and worse. He groaned loudly as he fell on his knees and held his head with his hands; the pain was becoming unbearable.

His head pounded mercilessly, it had gotten bad to the point where he smashed his forehead on the ground in an attempt to knock himself out, but to no avail. All that did was upset his already numb and cold body even more. He finally stopped and balanced himself on the ground with his elbows supporting his weight. Panting, the pink haired boy felt his body shiver due to the cold wind almost penetrating his small and frail body.

'What's happening to me?!' He screamed in his mind, clueless as to what was going on. He had no recollection of the past; how he wound up where he was, or who he was in general, was a mystery to him. He didn't even know his own name.

His nose wrinkled almost instantly when he felt a sharp, disgusting stench invade his nostrils. He coughed, feeling himself being overtaken by the smell and felt himself on the verge of losing his consciousness, but he kept himself awake. He didn't know where he was or how he arrived there, but he instinctively knew he had to get away.

The pink haired boy shakily stood up and looked around. His emotionless eyes drifted around the small village he was in, his mind not quite understanding how he was supposed to react to the scene in front of him. What buildings were left in the small settlement were slowly burning to the ground, a good number of structures were already non-existent, some of them were reduced to nothing but holes in the ground, their former glory had all but evaporated. Smoke littered the entire landscape, providing a makeshift cover for the slaughter that had occurred here. The boy had no idea what happened here, but he could guess that it wasn't that long ago as the bodies still seemed fresh.

He walked. He didn't know for how long or how far, but the boy made his body move under the bloody ground below him, his feet soaking wet and leaving crimson footprints with each step he took. Eventually he stopped when he felt eyes on him; annoying and aggravating him. The pinkette had no idea why, but the single eye that was almost scrutinizing him enraged him to the point of fainting. The pink haired boy glanced forward where he saw an elderly man with long, greying hair watching him from a distance, standing next to a burning building, two corpses lying next to his feet.

Three eyes. Two hollow and lifeless, one aged and filled with wisdom. They stared back at one another, one pair betraying no emotion, while the single eye stared back at the two hollow orbs in front of him patiently, knowing the owner of them would speak sooner or later.

"Who… who are you?" The younger boy managed to gurgle out, his throat dry and voice almost lifeless.

The elder continued watching the boy for what seemed like hours, days, years and decades to him, but the pinkette endured it. He felt his vision blackening from pure rage, a rage he didn't know why he felt for the gray haired man, but he decided to not show it out of pure instinct.

"Who I am does not matter yet, boy." The old man said, his voice sounding as old as his whole form but, strangely enough, the boy felt as if he could trust this man. He hated him with a passion for reasons beyond him, but he knew that he could trust him, "What matters is if you know who you are. Do you remember your name?"

A cacophony of memories rained down on the little boy, memories that seemed blurry and distorted, impossible to decipher. The only things he could distinguish were a man, a woman and a single word.

"Natsu."

The old man nodded at the statement, yet he dared not ask more for he figured the boy must have not been able to remember anything else.

Natsu stared at the older man for a few moments before his almost hollow onyx eyes drifted downwards to the two bodies lying on the ground. Unbeknownst to the boy, tears started to form in his eyes and soon started flowing down his cheeks freely and uncontrollably. The two forms were a man and a woman, their dead eyes fixated on one another's being, their hands intertwined. Natsu didn't recognize either of them, but he felt an inexplicable sharp pain in his heart. It felt as if someone was holding it in the palm of their hand and was driving over a thousand needles through it. He felt hollow; what life was left in his eyes had all but evaporated into nothingness.

For a reason he couldn't explain or comprehend, Natsu felt dead, yet he was not. He was alive, but he was also dead.

The older man couldn't fight the feeling of sympathy for the younger boy. His face remained impassive, yet he couldn't help but feel the small tingle in his slowly beating heart when he witnessed the boy tearing up.

'Must be Fairy Tail's influence…' He thought with a sigh before his hand was placed on the pinkette's head and he ruffled his hair roughly, "You don't have a home anymore, do you?" He asked, his voice filled with mock concern. He knew everything that had happened here. Hell, the devil himself would smile at him right now if he saw the atrocities the old man had committed.

The grey haired man smiled faintly when Natsu shook his head and he ruffled his hair once more, "Then come with me, Natsu." He offered, causing the pinkette's onyx eyes to slowly drift to meet the old man's single eye, "My name-" He paused briefly as a coy smile formed on his lips.

"-is Hades."

Chapter One: Ghost

Out of place. It was so easy to tell when something didn't belong. A cat in the midst of dogs; a sheep in a pack of wolves; a saint in the midst of murderers. The Magic Council envoy consisting of only four guards formed a diamond shaped shield around their 'VIP'. The middle aged man fidgeted nervously and did his best to look around without drawing even more attention to himself and his guards.

A den of murderers, thieves and cutthroats. That's where they were. It was a canteen neigh-in the middle of nowhere which they were forced into due to a hurricane. There were tables spread all throughout the bar, most of them occupied, with the bar not too far from them. As soon as they walked in they instantly regretted it; dozens of bloodthirsty eyes turned towards them, a few sick grins forming at the thought of beating the Magic Council soldiers. They were quite literally in between a rock and a hard place; face the wrath of Mother Nature, or face the wrath of mankind. Neither would show mercy, but they could fight men.

They awkwardly and carefully made their way to the back of the canteen, constantly aware of the eyes that never left them, sizing them up like sheep to the slaughter – practically itching to kill them. They took their seats, back to a wall, with the entirety of the canteen spread out before them. They couldn't even count on their fingers all of the criminals and dark mages that were there; under normal circumstances they would have made attempts to arrest them, but the guards knew better. They were horribly outnumbered and if a commanding officer were to see them at the moment, they would be reprimanded for not attempting to apprehend any of the criminals before them. The problem was, they weren't stupid. If they attempted to 'uphold the law' they would be slaughtered along with their escort, and they would be berated in death for attempting a foolish action and not putting the mission first, and if their 'cowardice' was known, they would more than likely be jailed for having the common sense to not provoke the criminals that outnumbered them, for most of their lives.

Neither were great outcomes for them, but they'd rather try their hands at life rather than death.

The barkeep eyed the convoy as they took their seats to the back of the canteen before he returned his attention to the mysterious stranger that had entered moments before them. He wore a black hooded coat that shadowed most of his face, as if it was magically designed to do so, while a crimson bandana covered his face from the nose downwards, the only part the hoodie didn't cover. His legs were covered by black pants, tucked into a pair of black boots. The air the man exuded reeked of danger and death, as if he were prepared to take a life at a moment's notice.

The mysterious figure tapped the bar with a single finger and the barkeep took out a glass before filling it with alcohol which was quickly consumed by the man who moved his bandana away from his mouth slightly, revealing sharpened canines. He put the glass back down before tapping the bar once more, ordering the man to refill it. He repeated this process for the next hour, retaining his senses even though any other man would have been beyond drunk at that point, and the barkeep silently wondered how he was still alive. The mysterious figure looked over his shoulder when the magic envoy left their table, haste obviously present in their movements and his mouth twitched in a small smirk.

It was time to go to work.

To say the convoy was nervous would be an understatement. They reeked of fear which only served to water the mouths of the wolves that were the cause of their fear. The walk to the door seemed like an eternity, as if every step was only a crawl. Every footfall was another chance of a confrontation, another chance of a fight, another chance of death. Their throats were dry, the fact they hadn't pissed themselves was what surprised them the most. They walked, and walked, and walked, until they finally reached the door. The captain pushed it open and walked out with the 'VIP' and three other guards nervously waiting before he beckoned them forward.

They survived. They made it out.

The canteen was located in the midst of woods that paved the way to a Magic Council Stronghold, which was their destination. They disappeared into the thick foliage, their nervousness more or less gone since they were no longer surrounded by criminals. Unknown to them, the hooded figure that previously sat at the bar left the canteen after they did.

He stalked them like a lion stalks their prey. Closely; carefully; patiently. Waiting for the prime opportunity to strike, the thrill of it all injecting his blood with adrenaline, knowing their lives were in his hands. He could end it in a second, he could send them scurrying in fear; he could hunt them down, end their lives at his own leisure, rip that pulsing piece of muscle from their chest and crush it in his hands. They were trash waiting to be incinerated by the burning inferno that was his wrath.

He would enjoy this so, so much.

The five people increased their pace, already assuming the worst. They knew they were being tailed; it was stupid to assume they weren't considering the place they were forced to take shelter in. The captain of the group, a large, bulky man, was watching his surroundings like a hawk, ready to pounce on anything that came bumping in the night.

Minutes into their trek through the dark forest, the captain quickly raised his right arm, his hand balled into a fist as he gave the command to stop and stay still. His underlings instantly perked up knowing that their leader never did anything like that without knowing that something was up. And there was.

A single form blew through them. It was instantaneous, almost like a ghost. The council soldiers were caught off guard and could feel themselves shaking in their boots. One of them sent a bright blast of magic towards nowhere in particular, the small explosion covering the vast area they were in with a bright light. The captain reacted almost as if on impulse, his sharp eyes scanning their surroundings for their enemy. Yet another black form blew through them and the bulky man reacted again, swiping his arm towards the figure. His eyes widened when the darkness he thought he hit had appeared to be nothing but a shadow, scattering like leaves to the wind.

The light engulfing them had dissipated into nothingness, showering the council mages with darkness. The three white dressed mages breathed in heavily as they circled the VIP and watched their captain observe the trees that seemed almost alive, watching them, laughing at them. All three of them could feel their grasps on their weapons strengthening and their heart rates increasing. They watched patiently as their commander slowly turned towards them, an expression of relief practically written on his face.

"Whatever it was, it's go-" His deep, husky voice was interrupted by a single sound and a single gasp. His body jerked and the captain could feel the taste of metal in his throat. Something in his body was being crushed and he could feel the darkness overtaking him. His head fell forward as a single tear escaped his eye. What was left of his consciousness was trying to process the thought of what would happen to his family when he passed. The only image he received was his wife and child burning in a black inferno until all he saw was a dark and chaotic abyss.

He was dead. His existence nothing more than a lifeless body and a sad memory.

The four people that were standing a ways away from the captain all shook in horror, their eyes almost bulging out from the events unfolding before them. Their heart rates increased even more, as did the pace of their breathing. Sweat trailed down their bodies as they tried to comprehend what had just happened as they looked back at the captain's dead body.

The only problem was that it was no longer there.

"F-form around the VIP... now!" One of the three soldiers shouted through his shaking breath, trying his best to lead his comrades in need. He knew they were screwed if the captain died, but he'd be damned if they died without attempting to fight.

All of them tensed when they heard a branch crack. Their bodies still and their resolve steeled, they knew what they had to do.

Survive or die trying.

Without a moment's notice the ghost that was haunting them began its performance again, moving in circles around them, hiding its presence behind its speed and the trees that littered their surroundings. As fast as lightning, it lunged and one of them was gone. The two council mages looked around, shock and horror apparent on their beings. Another one of them was gone and neither of them knew what happened. Not a single rustle of a leaf, not a single step, not a single breath. They heard nothing, saw nothing. That only made the thought that they lost another comrade even worse.

"We have to get out of he-" The last soldier to guard the VIP turned to his comrade's direction only to see his body being carried up and through the trees into the darkness. Not a single sound, not even a whimper came out of the shadow's victim. He stared for what seemed like hours, not believing that a single turn of events had ended up with the complete annihilation of his squad. He didn't know what it was, one of the outlaws at the canteen, a wild beast or a supernatural entity haunting them; all he knew was that he needed to get the hell out of there.

The last soldier cast the same spell he used before and created a small ball of bright magical light in his palm to light their way. He quickly grabbed the arm of the shaking VIP and ordered him to continue moving if he wanted to survive. The VIP complied and they ran faster than they ever had. It seemed like hours and days, they felt their breath becoming heavier with each passing second and they could feel their legs giving in, but they continued without a second thought of rest.

They felt the wind blowing against their faces, their huffs and groans reverberated through the dark woodland as they simply kept running, already seeing feint signs of civilization just over twenty feet away. Then, as if out of nowhere the same dark entity decided to make itself known again and blew past the soldier and the VIP, knocking the latter off of his feet.

The VIP groaned loudly as his body touched the cold ground and he had to shake his head to rid himself of the dizziness that assaulted his retinas. When his eyes opened, the sight he saw made his eyes go as wide as saucers as he tried to contemplate the next thing he should say. All he could usher was a hollow scream.

The soldier turned to the VIP in shock, trying to figure out what the hell was happening besides a damned ghost trying to murder them. Then he felt it. The hot touch poking at his cheek, the feeling of something oozing down his neck. He touched his face and glanced at his finger; it was smeared in crimson red liquid. The council mage's eyes shifted upwards as he raised his hand to light the darkness above. He almost instantly regretted that decision.

His jaw dropped in horror as he watched his former comrades up above the folliage, their bodies mutilated and strung upside down a tree, holes on the left side of their chests, their faces morphed into ones of horror as blood flowed almost freely down from what was otherwise their eyes. The soldier froze. He couldn't take it. He grasped his weapon and allowed his magical power to flow out of his body freely. All that was fueling his mentality was the instinct to survive, the instinct to evade death and continue with life.

He didn't even flinch when the body parts of his three deceased allies started falling on him, showering him in their blood.

The VIP stared in horror at the event presenting itself. He saw the dark figure emerging from the trees, walking slowly towards the now broken down soldier, knowing that he, as the predator, had completed his task of completely mentally destroying his prey before he went for the kill. The VIP tried warning the council mage, but his body wouldn't move, his mouth wouldn't open and the words wouldn't come out of his throat. He was just as disabled as the soldier and he knew it, yet he couldn't do a single thing about it. He couldn't even avert his eyes as the monster that was stalking them shoved its arm into the soldier and ripped his heart out of his chest.

The man couldn't believe what he saw next; the black clad man that they thought was a ghost lowered the crimson bandana covering his mouth and pressed the heart against his lips, his tongue slowly going along the bloody piece of human flesh as he seemed to be reveling in the taste. His head turned towards the VIP, the only part of his face that was visible was the bloody grin directed towards him and the single word the murderer ushered made the VIP's senses go into overdrive.

"Run."

The middle aged man's body moved almost instantaneously.

Before he realized it himself he was already near the Magic Council's Stronghold, his lungs almost going up his throat, in need of air. He ran past the guards covering the main entrance, not even noticing their bodies exploding into a crimson smear on the wall. He ran; he continued to run in spite of the fact that every single soldier he passed died almost instantly thereafter.

The horrified man suddenly came to a stop when he felt himself hitting someone and falling back on the cold ground yet again. His terror-stricken eyes glanced upwards where he saw someone who made him feel a single ounce of relief.

"What happened?!" They grey haired man asked in surprise, his being covered in white robes, his old, wisdom-filled brown eyes watching the shaking man.

"M-monster…" The VIP barely managed to usher out in pure terror, his body tensing when he noticed the change in the elder man's expression. The younger man turned around and the sight almost made him lose his consciousness from pure shock. The black-clad man with the red bandana covering his face stood idly and stared at the two with his darkened eyes, his right hand holding a body of what was once a soldier by his collar, blood dripping out from where were once his arms.

"Ghost." The old man said in barely restrained anger and a hollow yet almost giddy chuckle sounded from behind the bandana as the entity now literally known as Ghost flung the body of the dead soldier towards the two men.

"Saint number ten... a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The hooded man spoke darkly, his body shaking slightly in anticipation of the battle to come while he watched the lifeless soldier's body land in front of the older mage.

"Why have you slaughtered my men?" The greying man asked and he could tell the grin forming behind the bandana. Before the saint could realize what had happened, blood sprayed in front of him. He glanced down and his eyes bulged out at the sight of the VIP's severed head hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

He couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Neither Ghost's cruelty, nor his speed.

"They were in my way." The hooded man said, his voice cold and merciless, betraying no emotion whatsoever, not showing a single ounce of remorse after the atrocities he committed, "You are too, old man." He finished with a barely audible whisper, the intent to kill almost visibly seeping out from under his feet. In mere moments Ghost was already in front of the older mage and swiped his fist, a gust of wind following closely behind the jab.

The saint was barely able to raise his hand in time and create a magical sigil in front of him. It shone a bright golden color and blocked the impact of Ghost's attack, the forces meeting each other, causing a small quake to shake the entire hallway, creating a small crater beneath their feet. The greying man groaned in response to the force Ghost used but he didn't waver. He started raising his other hand in an attempt to attack his enemy at the same time he was defending, but there was one problem.

"Too slow."

A burst of dark energy shot out from behind Ghost and his other hand came crashing down against the saint's stomach, effectively breaking through his sigil and sending him flying through the hallway. The older man coughed up blood mid-flight, yet he never once thought he was overpowered. On the contrary, distance was what he needed. The old man righted himself while maintaining his altitude before his feet touched the floor and dragged along the ground, leaving a trail of dust as he tried to stop. Upon stopping, the mage channeled golden magical energy in both of his palms before clapping them together, causing a small quake to reverberate through the immediate area. In mere moments the council saint spread his arms again, a wooden staff materializing in between his palms as he did so. He took the weapon in his right hand and pointed its tip at Ghost, multiple small beams of holy energy shooting out of the staff towards the hooded figure almost instantly.

The black-clad man chuckled in amusement at the old man's efforts as he started walking forward, without revering the attack to be as much as a mild threat. The first beam hit his shoulder, causing the left side of his body to jerk back slightly, but he continued his stride. A second beam hit his chest, but he didn't so much as flinch. Another shot hit his right knee, yet again causing him to barely stagger, but the attack caused little to no damage.

The greying man's eyes widened when he saw that Ghost was simply toying with him, taking the attack as if it were nothing more than a child throwing rocks at him. The tenth saint could feel anger overtaking his aging mind and he let his magic flow freely, roaring when he concentrated the majority of his magical resources into his staff, causing the number of attacks sent to multiply by over a hundred.

"Numbers won't work if there isn't any power behind them." Ghost spoke in sheer mock and resentment, finding the weakling in front of him to be nothing more than trash who barked louder than a stray hound. He took every single attack that came at him, barely flinching even when some of them hit him square on the forehead. The attacks numbered in tens, hundreds and eventually thousands, but that did little to no good as his walk continued.

That was when the councilor lost it.

He grasped his staff with both hands, temporarily pausing his merciless yet useless attempts at damaging Ghost and ran magic through his weapon once again before pointing it at his enemy.

"Omo no jikkai: Rengoku! (The Lord's Tenth Commandment: Purgatory)" The saint shouted and a massive blast of pure holy energy shot out from the staff, its width and height more than the hallway could handle, causing it to crumble as soon as the attack passed right through the structure.

The large magical attack blew through Ghost when he didn't even try to put an effort in dodging it, just like he did before. A massive explosion followed the impact, ripping the roof off of the large castle-like building that was the magic council's stronghold. The ground around them shook mercilessly, causing the walls around the saint to give, but he didn't even flinch. The elder kept his gaze fixated on the impact of the blast, careful of the enemy's condition, yet he was sure Ghost was dead. Nothing could be strong and sturdy enough to take such an attack head first and come out unscathed.

Oh was Ghost being underestimated.

The dust, smoke and debris slowly started to clear, making the eyes of the old councilman widen slightly when he noticed a lone shadowy form standing still. He was sure Ghost was at least damaged by the attack, but he was still awestruck that the dark mage managed to survive the initial blast. Finally, when the dust obscuring his view cleared completely the saint's jaw literally touched the floor when he noticed the hooded mage's state. He was completely untouched, the only thing that noted him getting hit was the steam coming off of his raised hand, his palm the only measure he employed to shield himself.

The hooded mage cracked his neck and glanced at the shocked saint, "Tickles." He said darkly before bringing his hands together and cracking his knuckles, a dark and dangerous aura of black flames forming around his being, setting fire to everything in its way, incinerating everything it touched into nothingness, "The Lord's Commandments, huh… You're his 'faithful servant' then. Good. Your death will send your God a message." Ghost whispered almost inaudibly before disappearing in a dark blur and reappearing above the greying man, "I'm coming for him."

"Enjin no Bakuen! (Flame God's Explosive Flame)" Ghost declared as he cocked his right fist back and charged it with black flames in less than half a second and brought it down on the tenth saint, engulfing him in a black inferno that sent him spiraling downwards through the hard floor. The destructive magic made the older man go through over three floors before the black flames expanded and exploded, shaking the whole stronghold and ripping through whatever life that used to exist in the immediate area around the explosion.

Ghost watched with almost palpable glee at the destruction a single one of his attacks caused. He watched the explosion scatter his flames around the whole stronghold and chuckled to himself, figuring that he wouldn't have to waste time burning the base to the ground anymore. He took a step forward and began falling down the massive hole he created in the floor before he reached the floor and landed gracefully, his eyes instantly scanning the area for his enemy who he was sure was still alive.

"Where are you old man? Stop wasting my time." He spoke with slight excitement, wondering what the saint's next move would be. He didn't have to wait for long as the saint suddenly appeared before him with a rather desperate expression, his staff cocked back with the tip pointing towards Ghost. The saint didn't even waste a second to attack the dark mage, but he was too slow. The greying man was instantly swept back by a flaming elbow sent to block the staff, shattering it into burning pieces in the process.

The hooded mage turned around slowly and stared at the elder's almost destroyed body. His whole being was covered in cuts, burns and bruises and what was once his left arm was no longer existent; the result of the mage trying to defend himself against the explosion that came with the attack, Ghost guessed. He grinned behind his crimson bandana as he watched the tenth saint struggle to stand up and breathe, an almost hollow chuckle escaping his throat.

"Where's your God now, tenth?" The hooded figure asked as he slowly removed the cloth covering his mouth, revealing a wide grin and extremely sharp canines which almost shone in contrast to their surroundings. Ghost stared at the saint, watching with mild amusement as the old man struggled just to breathe.

"I, Bartholomew Weismann, the tenth seat of the magic saints will not stand for the atrocities you have committed, nor will I stand idly by as you murder our soldiers. I vow to cease your existence once and for all!" The tenth saint shouted desperately yet with steeled resolve as he brought his remaining hand forward and channeled what was left of his magical power into a single magical circle that caused the ground to shake due to the vastness of power it exuded.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, you old fart." All signs of amusement disappeared from Ghost's features as he listened to the old man and watched him now bemusedly. He clicked his tongue in annoyance before dashing towards the saint and shattering his magical circle by grabbing his right hand's wrist and crushing it in his palm, erecting a shriek of pain from the elder. Ghost didn't waste a single moment to pierce the saint's chest with his remaining arm and dug deep until he reached his heart and grasped at it, literally holding the mage's life in the palm of his hand.

"Pathetic. How can you maintain even a single shred of hope after everything you've seen? How dare you hold the chance of victory in such high regard when you know that you will die at any given moment, regardless of what you say or do? It's sickening to see how you council dogs think that everything will solve itself if you simply believe it will be so." Ghost spat in barely restrained anger, his grip on the elder's heart strengthening, causing the man's eyes to almost bulge out of their sockets from the feeling of one of his most vital organs being crushed in his body.

"You're going to die by my hand, therefore you should feel the grief of those you have failed and allowed to travel from this world to the next." The words Ghost spoke echoed in Weismann's mind as images of his burning comrades washed over his consciousness. He yelled in grief loudly, the scream reverberating along what walls were left of the burning structure they resided in. A single tear escaped the man's eye as he felt death's embrace crushing his heart. His consciousness faded just like the hope he gave his underlings. The hope of survival was diminished and what light was left in the elder's eyes disappeared into a bleak nothingness.

The hooded mage pulled out his hand from the dead saint's body and let his form fall down to the ground with a sickening thud. He glanced at his dead, hollow eyes and felt victorious when he saw the horrified orbs of the old man, signs of flowing tears present on his cheeks.

Ghost looked around and marched towards the western end of the burning stronghold, remembering it to be the place where they held most of the secret 'items' they didn't want the public knowing about. He walked along the burning corridors, ignoring what soldiers he saw running past him towards the stage of the battle. He didn't care about them; they were neither his prey, nor his enemy. And they knew better than to become a possible threat to him as all they gave him were eyes filled with terror and resentment, nothing that warranted a death sentence.

They were scared for their lives. Things were as they should be.

Ghost tread along the long empty corridors of the burning stronghold until he finally reached a set of large double doors shielded by what he assumed was a holy sealing spell. Without even giving it a single thought, the dark mage rammed a black flame-enhanced punch through the door, causing a large explosion to erupt and dust to scatter around the area as the double doors were blown out of place, the seal that once reinforced them turning into nothingness.

He stepped into the large white room and saw his target. A single dark-red crystal floating in a square meter large glass tube. The cloaked mage released a small burst of magical power towards the tube, effectively shattering the glass to pieces before he grasped at the crystal with his bare hand and concentrated on his palm before he unclenched his fist, revealing that the magical lacrima had all but disappeared from existence. Turning around, he made his way out of the room and the stronghold, feeling sick of staying in these dogs' den.

In just a few moments Ghost was already outside of the stronghold and was met by multiple soldiers' eyes. He watched as the 'reinforcements' of the council all grasped their weapons and glared dangerously at the hooded figure, yet all that did was amuse him.

"Stop! Do not engage!" A rather familiar voice spoke from behind the soldiers before a figure with medium length black hair and a pair of glasses covering purple eyes emerged from the crowd, his gaze steeled, a pointed glare aimed at the hooded mage.

"Lahar." Ghost smirked slightly before lifting his bandana to cover his face, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Men, do not engage him. He is too strong even for us Rune Knights." Lahar spoke with a slightly shaking voice, yet Ghost did not know whether it was from fear or from knowing that the head captain was unable to do anything under his might.

He did not care either way.

"Wise choice." The dark mage commented with a slight nod as he walked past the many soldiers that unwillingly listened to their leading officer and allowed Ghost safe passage towards the dark forest he came from.

"Ghost, I will give you one single warning: even though we are letting you, do not expect such leniency the next time we meet." The black haired man said, causing the hooded figure to stop dead in his tracks before slowly turning towards the head captain, two pitch black eyes almost shining from below the hood, massive power and deadly intent to murder practically seeping out of them. The force literally shook the ground they stood on and caused some of the soldiers to be unable to hold out against this force and lose their consciousness, falling to the ground as if the life had been seeped out of their souls.

"No, I will give you one single warning, you pompous bastard. If you try to steal from us ever again, I will personally see to it that Era is burned to the ground." Ghost growled out through gritted teeth as he watched how Lahar struggled to maintain his sanity under the pressure of his raw magical power. Eventually he released his magical power and turned to continue his stride. Suddenly, he raised his fist which was covered in a fingerless glove upwards.

"Consider this a parting gift." He spoke before he clenched his fist and an explosion of enormous proportions raised the whole stronghold to the sky. The black flames that had been slowly eating away at the structure sparked and expanded before exploding, rendering the base as nothing more than a stain on the ground.

Lahar stared in horror at the explosion, his eyes not believing what had just happened to be true. Or rather, it would be safe to say that he didn't want any of it to be true; neither did any of the soldiers under his command. They were sent there to aid their allies in the defense of one of their strongholds that was suddenly attacked, yet all they could report back to their commanders was that it was destroyed before their very eyes.

Death had once again left its mark.

Ghost walked through the empty forest slowly, reveling in the light the rising sun emanated, encompassing the entire forest and the fog that covered the thick forestry. He continued his trek through the darkness of the forest until he made sure he was a ways away from the crater that was once one of the council's strongholds and slowly closed his eyes, feeling himself being immersed in his own thoughts.

A few moments later the hooded figure opened his eyes and saw himself being in a different location, a location he knew all too well; it was the place where he grew up, after all. The Thought Projection spell's created transparent body of Ghost glanced upwards where he met the single expectant eye of a greying old man sitting atop a large throne, his lips twitching into a small smirk upon the notion that one of his strongest underlings, one he raised himself, had returned, so to speak.

"Was the mission a success?" The old man asked with barely restrained glee as he watched the hooded man slowly remove the bandana that covered the lower part of his face.

"Yes, Master Hades." Ghost announced as he breathed in a breath of fresh air.

"And Weismann?"

"Dead. The stronghold – destroyed." He explained as he slowly began removing the hood covering his head.

"Splendid work. You are to return to our fortress and deliver the item-" Hades paused, his face almost morphing into a grin when he saw the hooded man's face. Bright, extremely spiky pink hair and pitch black onyx eyes that stared steeled at the old guild master. A light, barely noticeable scar ran down the right side of his mouth. His face betrayed no emotion and Hades remarked mentally on how the man had grown in the past years; all of his previous childish features gone and replaced with the hardened face of a man.

"-Natsu."

In the depths of the castle of the magic council controlled city of Era, the news of Weismann's death had just reached the ears of the ten councilors that ruled the land and a council meeting was called almost instantly thereafter. The ten mages debated what should be their next line of action. They sat around a magical table, most of them staring at each other with uneasy eyes, others watching curiously, trying to figure out how this predicament would solve itself.

"We cannot stand idly by and let them do as they please!" Org shouted angrily as he smashed his fist against the table, his eyes as wide as saucers, veins popping on his forehead as a show of the pure rage that had overtaken him upon gaining information of this crisis.

"What do you suppose we do, Councilor Org? Try taking Ghost down by ourselves? I doubt even you would be able to do a single thing against him." Siegrain spoke with a slight chuckle, watching in pure amusement as the older council member almost literally shook in anger.

Suddenly, Org's magical power flared as his eyes were directed at the azure haired man dangerously, "Why you impudent…"

"Enough, Org!" The Council's Chairman, Gran Doma spoke angrily and with a voice commanding the rest, resulting in Org almost instantly relenting, yet he was sure to maintain the dangerous glare situated on the young blue haired saint which only served to fuel his amusement, "Yajima, what do you propose we do?"

The small man known as Yajima scratched his temple as he tried to come up with solutions to the predicament. Finally, the old man sighed and glanced at the chairman in defeat, "There is nothing we can do against them. The location of Grimoire Heart's stronghold is unknown, moreover, we have no idea how strong that dark guild has become, as well as their allies in the Balam Alliance." He said and noticed that mostly everyone in the room shared an exasperated sigh, as if all of them knew the old man's rational train of thought would point to this eventual outcome, "We have no other choice. I suggest covering up everything that happened and keep this on a need-to-know basis."

"Grimoire Heart will regret this." Org said dangerously, his magic flaring once again. Gran Doma nodded in affirmation, yet he seemed more composed than the former. As the Chairman, he knew that he couldn't let personal feelings affect his ability to think rationally, but he knew that he was being pushed to the edge by Grimoire's actions.

A hum was heard from the left side of where Siegrain was sitting and most of the councilors glanced to where a woman with dark purple hair was, her face seeming serene, unaffected by the events that had taken place only moments ago. She wore a white one-piece dress held by a yellow ribbon on her waist. She played with a glass ball in her hands, her eyes betraying slight amusement as she watched the images the surveillance orbs managed to pick up before they were destroyed. She watched Ghost's form with mild curiosity, her eyes literally glued to his actions as if she was reveling in the destruction he was causing, almost seeming as if she was appreciating his handiwork.

"Do you find something amusing, Ultear?" Org asked, his voice dripping with venom, feeling hateful towards the mysterious woman that managed to join the magic council by Gods know what means.

"This Ghost is a peculiar one isn't he?" She asked the entirety of the council members with what seemed to be the sincerest smile they had ever seen, yet none of them knew the true meaning behind it.

And none of them ever would.