Born to Steal Gods ( Fairy Tail )

Lucius returned to the Anchor Tavern with a restless mind, his steps echoing through Hargeon's dark streets. The weight of the waterskin under his cloak felt trivial compared to the thoughts tormenting him.

"How do I escape these Council mages? They're formidable… I'll have to outsmart them," he murmured to himself, blue eyes narrowed as he devised a plan. "What kind of magic do they use? Are they really that powerful? What kind of mages are they? What kind of people are they?" Curiosity and fear intertwined as he pondered his next moves. "What do I do now? Maybe I should hide, but what about the thugs? Damn it, I need to decide something."

Opening the tavern door, a heavy silence greeted him, starkly contrasting the lively clamor that once filled the place. The air was thick with tension, almost suffocating, and the few patrons present exchanged whispers, casting nervous glances around. The usual music was absent, replaced by anxious murmurs. Mara, behind the counter, wiped a glass with mechanical motions, her face etched with worry.

Lucius approached the counter, feeling the weight of their stares, and spotted two men seated in a corner. Their attire caught his eye immediately: the Magic Council's standard uniform, a dark blue cloak with golden trim, adorned with faintly glowing magical runes. The fabric was reinforced with lightweight metal plates on the shoulders, exuding an imposing aura, with the hood partially lowered.

One was robust, his short red hair glowing like embers in the dim light, radiating an intimidating presence. Something's going down, Lucius thought, a chill running down his spine. The other, slim with a sharp face and jet-black hair falling over his shoulders, had a cold gaze that seemed to pierce everything.

Lucius sat at the counter, ordered a beer from Mara, and sipped it, lost in thought.

"Damn it, so many places for these bastards to go, and they pick here," he grumbled to himself, fingers tapping the wood. "These Magic Council mages… intriguing." His eyes narrowed as he watched the robust mage from afar, keeping his head low.

From the corner, he caught snippets of the robust man's conversation, his voice muffled but clear enough.

"We're about to catch this so-called Black Cloak," he declared, his deep voice cutting through the silence. "We've tracked the three remaining thugs. Tomorrow, we'll nab them."

The mage laughed to himself, a low, sinister sound, before taking a swig from his mug.

Lucius froze, his heart racing. Damn it, I'm screwed now. Better get rid of those three, or the whole thing's coming down on me, he thought, fingers tightening around the mug as he maintained his composure.

Mara approached, wiping the counter beside him, and shot him a worried look.

"Look, Lucius, the tension's sky-high around here. These Council mages are turning the city upside down. Those thugs are really in for it now. It's only a matter of time before they catch everyone," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, taking a sip.

"Maybe. But these mages aren't as close as they think," he replied, his casual tone masking his unease.

Mara snorted, crossing her arms, and lowered her voice, eyes fixed on him.

"Don't underestimate them, kid. I saw what they did to one of the goons they caught yesterday. It was brutal. They dragged him outside the city, near the port. First, the slim one cast a spell that bound him with energy chains, glowing runes that burned his skin. The robust one threw a magical punch that sent him crashing into a wall, breaking his arm with a snap that echoed all the way here. Then they used a containment spell; the ground lit up with symbols, and the thug screamed as something invisible crushed him. When they were done, he was bloodied, face swollen, and they hauled him off in cuffs, barely conscious. They say they'll interrogate him until he spills everything," she said.

Lucius swallowed hard, a chill coursing through him.

"That's serious," he murmured, mind racing.

"Yeah, and it doesn't stop there," Mara continued, wiping her hands on her apron. "I heard they've got techniques to extract information. When they catch this Black Cloak, it won't be pretty."

He nodded, his gaze returning to the robust mage. I'll have to outsmart these two, he murmured to himself, planning his next steps. The two continued talking, oblivious to his attention.

"The plan is to surround the alley where the thugs were last seen," the robust one said, tracing something in the air with his finger. "If the Black Cloak shows up, he's done for."

Lucius finished his beer, tossed a few coins on the counter, and stood. I need to act fast, he thought, feeling the weight of the situation. He cast a final glance at the mage before leaving, his mind crafting a strategy. He decided dealing with the thugs was a priority. Better get rid of those three. They'll only drag me down, he concluded, dismissing any other considerations.

He left the tavern and passed through the market, still open with a few shops lit by lacrima lamps. He entered a costume shop, his eyes scanning the shelves until he found an odd mask. It was split in two: one side black with a grim expression, the other white with a wide, mime-like smile. Perfect for hiding his identity. He bought it for a few Jewels, put it on, and pulled the cloak's hood over his head, securing the waterskin. With the disguise complete, he headed to the alley where the thugs were, now with a clear intent to eliminate them.

The Confrontation in the Shadows

Hargeon's night enveloped the city like an oppressive cloak, the deep purple sky speckled with timid stars, while the warm glow of lacrima lanterns cast golden reflections on the damp cobblestones. The air carried the sea's salt and an almost suffocating tension, as if the earth itself sensed the chaos about to erupt.

Lucius Draganov breathed heavily in the narrow alley, his black cloak still fluttering from the effort. The mime mask, half black, half white with an ironic smile carved on the bright side, sat firmly on his face, hiding his expression as he finished what he'd started. With a final jet of water from the waterskin, he had silenced the three thugs—the big guy with the scar, the scrawny one, and the shorty—who now lay lifeless on the ground, bodies sprawled amid pools of blood and mingled water. The sound of their final gurgles echoed softly, blending with the dripping from the damp walls.

Lucius adjusted his cloak, his blue eyes flashing under the hood with a mix of satisfaction and alertness. He was about to turn and vanish into the shadows when a heavy step crunched behind him, making the stones creak. Before he could react, an imposing figure emerged from the darkness, blocking the alley's only exit. It was Garren Valtor, a B-class Magic Council mage, his ember-red hair glowing in the faint light, his dark blue uniform with golden trim exuding authority. The metal-plated shoulder guards gleamed, and his crossed arms radiated raw power. His eyes narrowed, locking onto Lucius with a predatory glint.

"I sensed a magical surge here," Garren said, his deep voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "Tracked it to this filthy hole. Looks like I arrived just in time to catch the infamous Black Cloak getting his hands dirty. Nowhere to run, kid."

Lucius froze, heart pounding. Garren's proximity, combined with the absolute silence around them, suggested the mage had come alone, drawn by the magical burst from the earlier fight. With no escape options, he clenched his fists, the black cross pulsing in his right palm with an almost burning heat. A crooked smile slipped out behind the mask.

"Alone, huh?" Lucius retorted, his voice distorted by the disguise. "Let's see if you can keep up with me, Garren Valtor."

Without hesitation, he raised his hand, and water from the waterskin surged like an untamed river, shaping into a sharp blade that sliced through the air with a shrill whistle. The attack aimed straight for Garren's chest, but the mage reacted with startling speed. His muscles tensed, and a body-hardening spell activated. Garren's arms and legs turned to pure iron, the metal glinting grayish in the lantern light. The water blade crashed against his iron forearm, exploding into a shower of droplets that splattered the ground like defeated tears.

"That was pathetic!" Garren roared, advancing with steps that shook the ground.

He threw a direct punch, his iron fist roaring through the air. Lucius dodged by a hair, feeling the rush of air graze his cheek. The blow smashed a rotting crate behind him, reducing it to splinters that flew in all directions.

"Let's see if you can take more!" Lucius shouted, spinning and conjuring two water blades simultaneously.

They whizzed in crossed arcs, aiming for Garren's torso and legs. The mage blocked with his iron arms, but one blade grazed his thigh, leaving a shallow cut before being stopped. Garren grunted, the metal creaking as he countered with a spinning kick. The impact hit Lucius's shoulder, hurling him against the alley wall with a crash that echoed through the lanes, cracking the masonry.

He fell to his knees, shoulder throbbing with sharp pain, but his eyes blazed with a wild glint.

"Not bad, you tin can!" he taunted, spitting blood onto the ground as he stood.

With a quick gesture, he raised a water wall from the damp ground, turning it into a wave that surged like a liquid hammer. Garren crossed his arms, the iron absorbing the impact with a deafening clang, but the force pushed him back a few steps, the stones beneath his feet cracking like glass.

"You're stubborn, kid!" Garren thundered, his iron muscles pulsing.

He leaped, his entire body glowing as the hardening spread to his torso. With a guttural shout, he delivered a downward strike, hands joined like an axe. Lucius rolled aside, the attack gouging a crater in the ground and raising a dust cloud that briefly obscured the alley.

Panting, Lucius focused his magical power into the waterskin. The water surged in a whirlwind, shaping into a spinning spear that he launched with all his strength. Garren blocked with his arms, but the attack's speed forced him back, the metal creaking under the pressure.

Seizing the opening, Lucius advanced, conjuring a short water blade he wielded like a sword. He struck at Garren's flank, but the iron held, only scratching the surface with a metallic screech.

"Good, but not enough!" Garren roared, grabbing Lucius's arm with an iron hand.

The grip was like a vice, crushing his bones with unbearable pressure. Lucius screamed, his face contorting in pain, but with his free hand, he conjured a point-blank water jet, hitting Garren's face. The impact forced him to let go, giving Lucius room to stagger back, gasping for breath.

The two locked eyes, the alley now a ruin of broken stones, water puddles, and debris. Sweat mixed with blood dripped from a cut on Lucius's cheek. Garren, imposing, adjusted his stance, the iron still gleaming. His eyes sparked with a mix of rage and admiration.

"You've got guts, kid," Garren said, voice hoarse. "But this ends here."

Lucius, body trembling from exertion, clutched the black cross, feeling the battle's weight in every muscle. His eyes scanned Garren, analyzing every move. Then, it hit him like a bolt: Garren's hardening magic had a weakness. When he reinforced his arms with iron, his legs were vulnerable; when he protected his legs, his arms lost defense. A risky, audacious plan formed in his mind. He had to act fast before exhaustion took him down.

With a hoarse shout, Lucius raised both hands, the waterskin's water surging in a chaotic stream. He shaped it into dozens of small arrows, each glinting silvery in the lantern light. With a sharp motion, he sent them skyward, where they scattered like a deadly rain before plummeting toward Garren.

Instinctively, the mage raised his arms to shield his face, the iron gleaming as the arrows clashed against him. Several scratches appeared on his unprotected torso and legs, blood trickling in thin streams, but Garren's defense held against the brunt of the attack.

Seizing the distraction, Lucius focused his remaining magical power into a short, razor-sharp water blade, almost a liquid dagger. With an agile leap, he aimed for Garren's right leg, still vulnerable. The blade pierced the exposed flesh with a wet sound, sinking deep.

Garren let out a deafening scream, sweat bursting from his face like raindrops, eyes wide with pain and shock. The impact threw him off balance, and Lucius, with a final effort, channeled all his strength into a concentrated water jet. The blow struck Garren's chest, hurling him against the alley wall with a crash that shattered the surrounding stones.

Garren slid to the ground, body half-collapsed, the iron on his arms beginning to fade as he struggled to breathe. Lucius dropped to his knees, body shaking, the waterskin nearly empty in his hands. The two locked eyes through the lingering dust, the silence broken only by their ragged breathing.