A Fairy Tail reincarnation fanfic: Krampus in Earthland

Five Years Later - X772

The calendar flipped. Time, as always, marched forward like a drunken golem in steel boots. Before we knew it, it was X772.

Fairy Tail had changed.

Five years may not seem like much to outsiders, but for us inside this roaring madhouse of muscle and magic, it meant something. Fairy Tail had become known across the continent not just as a guild of strength, but the place to get swole if you were a man and beautiful if you were a woman. Sorcery Magazine ran a feature just last month calling it "The Temple of Gains and Glamour." Every muscle-bound merc and magic-model aspirant wanted in.

Laxus, once a sharp-tongued little brat with pain simmering behind his thunderbolt eyes, now stood like a young demigod-in-training. At only eleven years old, he looked closer to fourteen—tall, broad-shouldered, and thick with well-earned muscle. My brutal training regimen hadn't just toughened him up—it sculpted him. Lightning cracked when he stretched, and confidence surged in his gait. No longer the angry heir hiding from shadows. He stood in the light now. More than that—he'd grown into an A-Class mage already, known across the land as "Thor." With my help, he'd learned how to manipulate lightning to mimic other forms of magic: barriers, teleportation, even illusion and healing. He'd studied other support spells too, building a formidable arsenal. And true to his new nickname, he was becoming cheerful, boisterous, commanding—a manly storm incarnate, often needing only one or two blows to win a battle.

The rest of the guild hadn't fallen behind either. The men? Gods above, it was like someone cast a gym enchantment on the whole damn building. Biceps for days, shoulders like rolling hills, six-packs like iron washboards. Even Wakaba had pecs now—though he still kept the pipe. Macao looked like someone had carved him from seasoned oak. And Gildarts? He was basically a living avalanche in human form. Though property damage across the guild's missions had dropped significantly—thanks in part to new teamwork protocols and stricter review boards—Gildarts was the one glorious exception. He still blew through walls like paper doors and laughed like he'd done nothing wrong.

The women? Equally deadly. Each one a goddess in their own right. Models with magic cores, athletes with charm. Whether brawling, spell-slinging, or lounging, they looked like a calendar shoot for an arcane fitness magazine. Dangerous, beautiful, and brimming with spirit.

I fit right in. After five years as Fairy Tail's resident divine reaper and official Santa Claus, I had delivered five full seasons of gifts across Earthland. What once was a holiday of casual gift-swapping among friends had now become a sacred season of awe and anticipation. Children everywhere scrambled to behave all year long, terrified that if they ended up on the naughty list, they'd wake to find not coal, but mysterious charcoal-black plushies that whispered spooky secrets at night, or enchanted cookies that screamed when bitten. Yes, I'd gotten creative with non-lethal punishments—because even naughty children deserve education over damnation.

But the nice ones? Oh, they were in for wonders. My Gift Bag, linked directly to the world's magical essence, always generated what the child most needed or secretly yearned for. I didn't even know what was inside unless I deliberately checked. I remembered my first Christmas in this world vividly: the gift the bag generated for Laxus was a massive leather-bound grimoire containing the most complete, cutting-edge magical and scientific theories on electromagnetism. It was enchanted too—designed so that if Laxus read it cover to cover, he'd understand and internalize everything.

He did. And his magic skyrocketed.

That same year, he gave me a gift in return: a pendant shaped like a large ornate bell, forged from gold and silver, meant to clip onto the chains that hung from my neck. A touch sentimental, wildly thoughtful—and with it, I began to resemble the Krampus from Housamo even more, down to the details.

My connection to this world deepened with each sleigh ride and every chimney visit. My magic didn't just grow—it flourished. I could feel it: soon, I'd have enough resonance with Earthland to finally perform a unique spell I had long theorized in the quiet corners of my divine mind.

And as for reputation? I had one. As an S-Class mage of Fairy Tail, my name spread far and wide—"The Warden," they called me. The dark mages I captured whispered it like a curse, and with good reason. I'd sent hundreds to prison, many of them left emotionally scarred from the sheer psychological weight of my divine presence. My use of the spell "Disconnector"—a hybrid technique combining the Rule of Rending and Rule of Binding—made even the most hardened criminals beg for mercy. Inspired by the concept of the Operation Devil Fruit, Disconnector allowed me to simulate the agony of dismemberment without leaving any lasting damage. It was a brutal but effective form of punishment and interrogation, turning lawless brutes into shivering wrecks.

Criminals couldn't hide from me either. I could literally sniff them out if I broke into a sprint—my senses honed to catch the scent of guilt, malice, and unrepentant sin. It wasn't just metaphorical either—my nose could literally pick up the unique magical scent trails of those who had committed serious crimes. And when I locked eyes with them, my magic—born from divine law and celestial clarity—displayed a glowing ledger of their sins right before me. Theft, murder, curses, trafficking, enslavement—it all lit up like an accusation from the heavens themselves, a divine rap sheet visible only to me.

When confrontation was necessary, I did not hesitate to invoke "Disconnector"—a harrowing fusion of my Rule of Rending and Rule of Binding, inspired by the Operation Devil Fruit. This spell inflicted the sensory experience of dismemberment and mutilation without leaving a scratch. Limbs lost, nerves shredded, organs ruptured—all illusions, but real enough to make even the most callous murderer scream for mercy. It was a brutal, terrifying punishment—one that stayed with them far longer than a scar ever would.

My mere presence was often enough to make them surrender. Some even stayed in prison voluntarily, terrified that if they stepped out of line again, I'd come for them once more. My name alone kept entire pockets of the underworld in check. And whenever I did show up in person, dark guilds collapsed like sandcastles before a tidal wave of divine retribution. Over time, my Rule of Punishment evolved further, subtly altering my aura to match the weight of my divine role. To the innocent and the good, I was still a towering, intimidating figure—but they could sense the reliability and warmth behind my monstrous visage. Children especially adored me, tugging at my cloak or asking for stories and candy. Meanwhile, the guilty and unrepentant felt it differently. Criminals near me experienced intense unease, an instinctive fear proportionate to their sins, as though divine judgment hovered just behind my horns.

One time, even Makarov felt the bite of my aura. He'd gotten drunk and jokingly smacked a waiter's backside—who happened to be a rather muscular young man named Billy. It was harmless by Fairy Tail standards, but my presence still made Makarov break out in nervous sweat because it was technically sexual harassment. "I don't know why," he muttered the next day, pale and shaky. "It was just one slap… and that guy really did have a magnificent ass. Dammit, it's your fault, Krampus! Everyone's rear in this guild looks like it's been sculpted by angels with protein powder!"

I couldn't argue with that. Our bodybuilding magic regimen was working wonders, after all.

Billy, the unfortunate recipient of the ass-slap, was a newcomer mage who had chosen to work part-time as a waiter at the guild. He did it to buy time—to refine his control, to train harder, to rise stronger before taking on dangerous missions. It was actually a smart strategy I'd encouraged among newer mages, allowing them to develop steadily while contributing to the guild's operations. When it happened, Billy had turned bright red. First flustered, then confused, and finally a little flattered that the master himself had, albeit drunkenly, found his rear end worthy of a grope.

The incident triggered something unexpected: the ladies of Fairy Tail took it as a challenge. Suddenly, there was an unspoken competition over who had the finest posterior in the guild. Squat counts doubled. Stretching became a public event. The waitresses grew noticeably more defined—and more flirtatious. Patrons were treated to a visual feast for weeks.

As for Makarov? He spiraled briefly into a mid-life crisis, uncertain if he'd developed a new preference while intoxicated. That lasted all of two days—until he watched the ladies in action again and decided firmly, "Nope, I'm still good."

As for my relationship with Laxus, it had grown too—beyond mentor and student. We'd become brothers in arms, best friends who took on missions together like it was second nature. We shared laughter, strategies, meals, even post-battle naps in the sun like lazy lions. Of course, there were times I went off alone—usually to take care of S-rank missions that no one else could handle—but thanks to my ridiculous efficiency, I was back within one or two days, tops. Laxus never worried, not even once.

And speaking of Laxus—he couldn't really do PR for me anymore. With how he looked now—tall, jacked, and with a face that screamed 'my grandpa runs the place'—he was too eye-catching. Sorcery Magazine even ran a scandalous little article talking about the 'Thunder Prince and the Demon Warden' after catching a glimpse of us together during a mission. The piece went on and on about how Magnolia's local heartthrob was often accompanied by a towering beastman that made even rune knights flinch.

I used to care. Used to pull up my enchanted hood and hide my face in crowds, try not to draw attention. But then one day, Laxus looked at me and said, 'You look cool. Screw what anyone else thinks.' And that was it. Hood off. Horns out. I didn't give a damn anymore. Let them stare. Let them whisper. I knew who I was, and my best friend thought I looked awesome. That was enough.

Hell, I even started singing in public once. During a noisy pub night in Hargeon, when someone started poking fun at the rumors, I just belted out 'Shake It Off' by Taylor Swift. Laxus thought it was catchy as hell, even if he had no idea where the song came from. We ended up dueting the chorus together. Now it's kind of our thing whenever someone tries to talk crap.

Since then, I've become a regular at Fairy Tail's nightly karaoke sessions. Every evening, without fail, you'd find the guildhall alive with music, drinks, laughter, and muscle-flexing singalongs. I even went out of my way to learn a specialized form of magical sound manipulation—one that let me produce full background music tracks anytime, anywhere. Officially, I justified the effort by claiming that music uplifts the heart, and a heart full of rhythm and resolve fights better in battle. And that's technically true.

But the real reason? Before I ever became a divine lawyer, I once had a dream of being a popstar. Turns out, I still do. I just happen to also be really, really good at singing.

The guild agrees. Even the quieter members—like some of the older support staff and newer recruits—couldn't help but smile when I sang. Laxus, meanwhile, became my biggest fan. The man may look like a walking thunderstorm with abs, but he always shows up early for karaoke and insists I lead off the first round. He even taught me how to scream-sing in perfect pitch like a thunder god on fire.

The Warden and Thor. We didn't care what they said. We had a job to do. And we were damn good at it.

But even amidst the cheer and muscle oil, I remembered.

Because this was the year Cornelia was supposed to die.

One quiet evening, as the stars blinked overhead and the guild's laughter echoed below, something tugged at the corner of my mind—an ancient sense of intuition honed through divine years and countless reincarnations. The calendar. The date. I froze.

This was the year Cornelia died. The year a six-year-old girl named Cana would cry herself into sleep, orphaned and alone. My memory pulsed like a lightning strike.

I had to act.

I left the guild in a blur, not even bothering with my usual farewell grunt. My cloak whipped the wind as I arrived at the guild's mission board, tracing the sigils and entries left behind by Gildarts. The man had taken on a mission far to the west—but not yet departed.

I found him packing near the south gate, humming, relaxed.

"Gildarts," I said, voice sharp.

He looked up, raising a brow. "Krampus? What's up?"

"Delay your mission by a day. There's a surprise waiting for you. Trust me."

He blinked, slightly wary. "You're never this serious unless it's about criminals or Santa stuff."

"Today, it's both. Just… stay."

He agreed, puzzled but intrigued. As he turned to return to the guild, I reached into a pouch, retrieving a sealed crystal phial. Inside—just a single drop of Gildarts' blood, taken surreptitiously with a blood-siphoning glyph embedded in a handshake sigil weeks ago. Laxus would call that creepy. He wasn't wrong.

Time for Trace Relations.

I knelt, whispering incantations through the Rule of Binding, combined with the karmic clauses encoded into the Rule of Punishment. Magic swirled around me—chains erupted into the air like spectral serpents. Each chain shone in a unique color, linking back to people Gildarts shared bonds with. Most were faint or fractured, old flames, allies, enemies.

But two chains gleamed vividly.

One was red, thick and pulsing—a direct bloodline. It stretched toward the southern mountains.

The other was pink, resonant and trembling—a bond forged through passion and intimacy, though long dormant. It pointed in the same direction.

Cornelia and Cana.

I didn't waste time.

"Rending: Distance."

A cutting gesture split space before me, magic forming a jagged scar in the air. I stepped through.

The world reassembled itself in a quiet mountain village. The smell of ash and despair lingered. I followed the pink and red chains as they shimmered like neon threads through space. A worn cottage sat at the end of a dirt trail, weathered, broken. I pushed open the door gently.

Cornelia lay on a straw bed, pale and drenched in sweat. Her breathing was shallow, her magic flickering like a candle at the end of its wick. By her side, a tiny girl sobbed into her mother's arm.

Cana.

I exhaled. Good—I wasn't too late.

"Who—who are you!?" Cana shouted, turning with puffed cheeks, trying to be brave.

I lowered my hood slowly. "A friend. I'm here to help."

Cornelia blinked up at me, vision hazy. "...Krampus...?"

I paused. We had never met before—not in this life. But recognition lit her eyes nonetheless, not the kind born from shared memories, but from distant admiration. Her voice, weak though it was, held familiarity and awe.

"You're from Fairy Tail," she breathed. "The Warden. Santa Krampus. My daughter—she loves your songs."

I blinked in surprise.

"Songs?"

She gave a soft chuckle, pained but real. "You published some a few years ago, didn't you? Winter ballads, lullabies… she listens to them every holiday season."

My brows lifted, genuinely caught off guard. "I... hadn't thought anyone really listened. Laxus pestered me into putting them to sheet and record. Said the kids needed something to look forward to other than fear and coal. I didn't think they'd spread."

"They did," Cornelia whispered. "I recognized your voice right away. Cana made me replay that one—'All I Want For Christmas is You'—at least a dozen times last winter."

I blinked again. Cana, a fan? That explained the sparkle in her eyes when she wasn't trying to punch me.

Her voice trembled with relief now. Despite her frailty, something about seeing me—a figure both revered and feared—brought her peace. The divine pressure I exuded, once designed to crush the wicked, now settled gently around her like a woolen blanket. The innocent sensed it differently; to them, I was sanctuary.

I softened my voice. "Then you know I mean no harm. I'm here to make sure you both live to see next Christmas—and every one after that."

"Please. Help her…" she murmured, brushing Cana's hair weakly.

"I'm helping both of you."

From my chains, I drew a spectral dagger—sleek, translucent, its edge humming with primal law. This was Rending Fate, one of my most esoteric and dangerous spells. Born from the Rule of Rending and sealed with the Rule of Binding, it allowed me to carve away fates themselves—good or bad—and store them for later application.

I knelt beside Cornelia, placing a hand gently over her chest. She was clammy but warm, her breathing shallow. Her sickness wasn't dramatic, wasn't cursed or mystical—just bad luck. A cruel twist of chance and misfortune, the kind of thing most would call fate.

"Rending Fate."

My magic ignited. The dagger slashed through the invisible threads of destiny coiled around her, severing the affliction at its root. Black mist rose from her chest—no longer bound to her body. I channeled it into the dagger, locking the severed fate inside with a click of my chains. The blade pulsed once, then dimmed. The curse was no longer hers.

And just like that, Cornelia stirred.

Her color returned in seconds. The pallor faded from her cheeks, her lips reddening with vitality. She took a deep breath—clean, strong, steady. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Mama!" Cana squealed, throwing herself into her mother's arms. The sobs that followed were of joy now, not sorrow. Cornelia sat upright, confused but vibrant, holding her daughter tight.

I stood slowly, giving the dagger one last glance. The black fate inside it writhed gently, sealed and waiting for proper disposal or tactical use. For now, it would rest in my dimensional storage. No one else needed to carry this burden.

I turned to them both.

"Let's go," I said. "Your family's waiting."

Cornelia looked confused, but followed, leaning gently on my arm as Cana bounced around us. She still had no idea who waited back at the guild.

We crossed the landscape quickly. I warped us partway with spatial cuts and carried them the rest, avoiding strain.

As we entered Magnolia proper, the noise of the city returned like a heartbeat. Children laughed, bells rang faintly in shop windows. When we stepped through the doors of Fairy Tail, time seemed to freeze.

Gildarts turned at the sound of footsteps. He blinked.

"…Cornelia?"

She gasped. "Gildarts?"

He rushed forward, stopping only a breath away, his hand hovering like he couldn't believe she was real. "You're alive."

"I should be saying that to you," she said, reaching up and pressing a hand to his chest. "You're… bigger than I remember."

Gildarts gave a proud laugh, flexing one arm with theatrical flair. His bicep swelled like a mountain beneath his sleeve. "You like? Guild's been keeping me busy. Lots of punching."

Cornelia giggled, her eyes misting over. "You were always strong… but now you look like you wrestle bears for breakfast."

"Only on Tuesdays," he joked, his voice catching with emotion.

Cana stepped forward, uncertain at first. Gildarts turned to her, blinking as if seeing through time. His breath hitched.

"…My daughter?"

Cornelia nodded gently. "Our daughter."

Gildarts dropped to his knees and scooped Cana into his arms, cradling her as if afraid she might vanish. Cana stiffened at first—then melted, arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"You smell like booze and pinewood," she murmured.

He laughed wetly, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You smell like childhood I missed. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I should have been there."

"You're here now," Cornelia said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's what matters."

Cana pulled back just enough to study his face. "You're really my dad?"

Gildarts nodded. "I really am. And I've got a lot of making up to do."

I stepped back quietly, watching the reunion unfold. There was a rare warmth in my chest—an ember of something soft and sacred, like a carol sung only once a year.