A/N: I do not own either Fairy Tail or The Wizard of Oz.

A man hovered a few feet above a floor inscribed with runes. He held an open book in one hand, its pages gently fluttering in the morning breeze. His fingers traveled down the page and located the spell he had in mind.

"That damn Makarov! He'll pay for what he did to me, the great Eligor!" he cried.

He closed his eyes, chanting verses in an obscure language. He felt a breeze swirling about his feet. Raising his voice, he extended his free hand in front of him. The wind sped up, whirling rapidly about his body.

"Hechizo estupidez!" he uttered.

The wind became a seething purple cyclone. Eligor stood in the center, cackling like a madman. The cyclone rose up into the sky and out of sight.

"Now to wait. That wizard wouldn't even know what hit him!" he crowed.

Lucy Heartphilia lay on her bed, skimming idly through the latest issue of Sorcerer. Finding nothing of interest, she tossed the magazine off her bed. It landed with a soft thump on the lush carpeted floor.

"Nothing interesting ever happens to me," she lamented, looking forlornly around her room.

It was lavishly decorated, just like the rest of the Heartphilia mansion. It had all the furnishings one could want in a room; a queen-sized bed, a mini-fridge in the corner, her own private bathroom, everything. Yet despite all its luxuries, she sometimes found herself wishing for something different.

She reached for the gate keys on her nightstand, contemplating on whether to call Plue or not. A quick glance at the calendar tacked above her bed told her that she couldn't summon it today. Sighing deeply, she grabbed a perfumed pillow and closed her eyes.

"I guess I'll just take a nap then," she murmured, burying her face into the pillow. She inhaled its fragrance and wrinkled her nose, deciding that she was sick to death of her pillows smelling like roses all the time.

Barely a minute later, her bedroom door was thrown open. Her hand instantly tightened around her keys.

"Lucy!"

She sat up slowly and glared at the intruder. She squinted at the grandfather clock to her right. 10 o'clock. It wasn't time for lunch yet. She wondered briefly why he was barging into her room before dismissing it as just another one of his habits.

"Gray! Ever heard of knocking? It's what civilized people do before they enter a room. Try to learn it sometime," she bit out irritably, loosening her grip on the keys.

"No time for that!" he replied hurriedly. He crossed the room as fast as he could and grabbed Lucy's arm. He pulled her towards the door, ignoring her protests.

"What's wrong? Where are we going? And where on earth are your clothes?" Lucy asked in one breath as they hastened along the corridors. The lamps lighting their way flickered ominously.

"Tornado. The underground cellar. The others are already there," Gray replied tersely, his jaw clenching as he tried to increase their pace.

Lucy stumbled, idly noting that he had ignored her last question. She fell to her knees, wincing slightly at the impact. Gray turned back and unceremoniously hauled her to her feet. At that moment, they heard the wind's howls grow louder. Lucy ran to the nearest window, pushed away the heavy embroidered curtain and peered out. She gasped.

A colossal column of air raged, grabbing hold of everything in its wake. It was an unnatural, venomous purple cyclone that was undoubtedly magical in origin. Lucy watched, thunderstruck, as the cyclone swiftly advanced towards them. She snapped out of her daze when Gray seized her and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. After securing her, he sprinted in the direction of the cellar.

"What do you think you're doing? Put me down this instant! That's an order!" Lucy commanded in her best Lady Heartphilia tone. She flushed, uncomfortably aware of her proximity to her bare-chested butler.

"Sorry, my lady. You're just too slow," Gray replied wryly. He glanced around and noted that they had reached the living room. They were almost there.

Just as Lucy was opening her mouth to object, the mansion lurched and Gray lost his balance. She yelped and squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the collision. He adjusted his hold on her at the last minute and cradled her against him, taking the brunt of the fall. His head hit the marble floor and his vision swam. He grimaced slightly, cursing the floor for being so damn hard.

In the meantime, while he had been busy proclaiming marble to be the scourge of mankind, Lucy had rolled off him and was now hovering over him, her pale face twisting with anxiety.

"Gray! Are you all right?" she asked.

He instinctively assessed the damage and concluded that the dizziness would fade and no permanent harm had been done. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Lucy mistook it for a sign that he wasn't okay.

"Don't die on me, you idiot!" she whimpered, shaking him fiercely. The floor pitched hard and she caught a glimpse outside the mansion. Her jaw dropped. She shook him even harder, willing him to snap out of it.

His head flopped back and forth. Too weak from both the impact to his head and the violent shaking to voice his protests, he felt his consciousness slip away.

"No! Gray!"

Eligor lounged on a moth-eaten couch, staring at a patch of peeling plaster on the wall. He traced the pattern, trying to discern where the peeling had begun. Then, he froze, realizing just how lame he was being.

"I have way too much time on my hands," he grumbled, looking around the dusty room. It had been hours since he had cast the spell and he hadn't heard any news about Fairy Tail at all. It was very disconcerting.

The room had felt empty ever since he was defeated in the battle against Makarov, the wizard master of the land of Fairy Tail. All his men had fled and abandoned him. So he retreated into his territory, Eisenwald. He sighed, the silence almost deafening.

"I am not feeling lonely," he said emphatically.

Just then, violent winds shattered the windows. Jerking upright, he ran to the door and threw it open. He held up a hand and tried to shield his face from flying debris. Confused, he sought the source of such powerful wind.

It was a cyclone. His cyclone which was supposed to lay waste to Makarov's Fairy Tail. He slammed the door shut and snatched up the book he had gotten the spell from.

"Where was it?" he mumbled, thumbing through the pages. After flipping past a page detailing how to contain wind in lachryma, he found it, hurriedly scanned the procedure and confirmed that he had done everything right. When he reached the bottom of the page, he saw a footnote he had dismissed as irrelevant before. He leaned in to read the tiny script.

Caution: Spell is experimental. There is no guarantee the cyclone will appear in the intended place. Use at your own risk.

P.S.: From further tests, it has been concluded that the cyclone always comes back to the caster. It is recommended that the caster take precautions (e.g. hiding underground, etc.) when attempting to cast this spell.

He flung the book away and tried to think of a way to get the situation under control. Suddenly, the wind died down. Filled with a sense of foreboding, he inched towards the door and cracked it open. He saw nothing.

He sighed in relief and sagged against the doorway. Then he heard an odd whistling and looked up.

A house was falling from the sky. He was about to be squashed by a house. No, wait. Scratch that. He was about to be squashed by a mansion falling from the sky.

"Damn."