Born to Steal Gods ( Fairy Tail )

It was dusk when the mage burst through Hargeon's streets, the sky painted in deep shades of orange and purple as the sun sank below the horizon. His cloak billowed in the salty breeze, his face flushed and sweaty from exertion as he ran with hurried steps that echoed against the port's damp cobblestones.

He shoved open the flap of Kazimir Veyl's tent with force, nearly knocking over a lacrima stand that clinked to the ground, and stopped, panting, before the black-haired mage, whose chains jingled with a slight, irritated twitch.

"Kazimir!" the mage shouted, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, chest heaving in spasms. "I just spotted a man in the market! He… he was wearing golden rings on his left hand, exactly as you described! No way to miss that shine!"

Kazimir raised an eyebrow, his icy gaze locking onto the subordinate with a piercing intensity. The tent was cluttered with crumpled maps and whispering mages, but silence fell like a sharp blade at those words, the air thick with anticipation.

"Tell me more!" Kazimir ordered, stepping forward, his magical chains slithering around him like living serpents, their metallic clinks slicing through the quiet. "I want every damn detail, soldier. Don't make me ask twice!"

The mage straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with his cloak's sleeve, his voice trembling with excitement mixed with nerves.

"I was patrolling the market when I saw him, sir!" he began, eyes wide as if reliving the scene. "He wore a dark cloak and walked with a confidence that gave me chills. Those golden rings with red stones… they gleamed in the sunlight, almost hypnotic, like they were begging to be noticed! His left hand flaunted them boldly, as if daring anyone to see. It matches what Garren reported! He was entering an artifact shop near the central square, walking steady, not looking back!"

Kazimir clenched his fists, knuckles whitening with tension, a cold, predatory smile curling his lips, revealing a flash of teeth.

"Good work, soldier," he said, his voice sharp as a blade against stone. "Assemble a team immediately and prepare to surround the market. This masked bastard won't slip my chains this time. Move!"

Stepping out of the tent, Kazimir joined other Council mages, his imposing presence silencing their murmurs. He raised his voice, its tone thundering.

"Listen up, all of you!" he exclaimed, eyes blazing with determination. "The Black Cloak carries two golden rings with red stones—a detail that could lead us to him. Stay alert for any suspicious movement, any glint that seems out of place. Don't let this clue slip away!"

Meanwhile, in the artifact shop at the heart of the market, the air was heavy with dust and the sharp scent of old wood. Crooked shelves groaned under the weight of mystical objects, and the faint light of a flickering lacrima hung from the ceiling, casting dancing shadows on cracked walls.

Lucius Draganov haggled with the bald old man, whose head still bore marks of recent sleep, his half-closed eyes and wrinkled skin glistening with slight sweat. The counter was littered with worn items, and the old man, with a cunning smile revealing yellowed teeth, placed an aged wooden box on the table, the scraping sound echoing in the silence.

With a theatrical flourish, the old man opened the box, revealing a gray bracelet adorned with magical runes etched like ancient scars, and at its center, a small, vibrant blue sphere pulsing with latent energy. He looked up at Lucius, his tone brimming with pride and a hint of greed.

"This bracelet, kid, boosts the wearer's magical power!" he said, tapping calloused fingers on the box, the rhythmic sound like a war drum. "But don't think you'll get it for peanuts. This is a relic, and relics cost a fortune!"

He let out a satisfied chuckle, the hoarse sound bouncing off the walls, his eyes gleaming with avarice as he watched Lucius's reaction.

Lucius placed a hand on the counter, fingers firm against the worn wood, his expression cold as a frozen mountain's core.

"What's the price?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with faint impatience that cut through the air.

The old man's gaze drifted to the golden rings with rubies on Lucius's left hand, his eyes widening like a starving wolf's before prey. The jewels glinted in the dim light, casting a near-mythical shine that danced on the walls. He looked back at Lucius, a wide, calculated smile stretching his wrinkled face.

"How about a trade, huh?" he suggested, leaning over the counter, his sour breath invading the space between them. "My bracelet for your rings. Sounds fair, doesn't it, kid?"

Lucius stared at him, a mocking smile spreading across his face like a mask of scorn, his teeth briefly bared.

"Old man, even if I took all this junk piled up here, it wouldn't be worth half of what these rings mean to me," he retorted, his voice dripping with contempt, each word laced with sarcasm. "They're solid gold, the rubies are rare as hell in any kingdom, and my grandfather gave them to me himself. No way, not even in your dreams!"

The old man didn't flinch, tilting his head with a hoarse chuckle that seemed to scrape his throat.

"What's the point of gold and rare stones, kid?" he mocked, laughing loudly, the sound echoing like distant thunder. "It's just for show, to flash in front of others! No practical use, just eye candy! How about this, then? I'll give you the bracelet and this pair of black leather boots for the rings. What do you say, huh? A special deal for you!"

Lucius fixed him with a doubtful stare, crossing his arms over his chest, the black cloak rippling slightly.

"And what good are these boots, old man?" he asked, his voice dry as a desert, each syllable heavy with skepticism.

The old man made a face of mock disbelief, rolling his eyes as if dealing with a stubborn child, and sighed with exaggerated drama.

"Alright, alright!" he grumbled reluctantly, raising his hands in surrender. "I've got this black overcoat too. I'll throw it in the deal, but don't think I'm giving it away free, got it? I want extra cash to seal this!"

Lucius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing like a hawk sizing up its prey.

"What do they do?" he demanded, his voice sharp as a honed blade.

"The boots boost your agility a bit, perfect for dodging trouble!" the old man replied, pointing with a crooked finger. "The overcoat, though… that's the real treasure. It can self-repair! Just channel a bit of magic into it, and any tear fixes itself like a miracle. But, like I said, I want extra in jewels or coins, kid!"

Lucius shook his head slowly, his expression as impassive as a stone mask.

"Old man, the rings for these items, and that's final," he said, turning toward the exit with deliberate steps. "That's already generous of me. Take it or leave it, decide now."

He knew the items would be a huge help in the coming fight, but he kept his cool, hiding any interest behind his icy facade. The old man clenched his fists, his wrinkled face twisting in a mix of anger and frustration, veins pulsing on his forehead.

"Wait!" he shouted, his voice booming through the shop like thunder, making the shelves tremble.

Lucius stopped, turning slowly, his cold gaze fixed on the old man, whose expression was a storm of resentment and resignation, lips trembling with indignation.

"Speak!" Lucius snapped, impatient, tapping his fingers against his cloak. "I don't have all day to waste with you!"

The old man locked eyes with him, hesitating for a long moment, sweat dripping down his wrinkled brow, before nodding reluctantly.

"Fine, I accept the trade," he said, his voice low and almost defeated, each word seeming to sting. "Give me the rings and take your artifacts, but let's be clear about this!"

Lucius returned to the counter with calculated steps, his face indifferent as if the deal were trivial.

"I'm after another item too," he announced, his voice sharp as a command. "Got anything to carry a lot of water, but discreet and easy to hide?"

The old man scratched his chin, rough fingers scraping his skin, thoughtful, before standing with a grunt and rummaging through a dusty shelf, coughing as he stirred up a cloud of debris.

"Ah, I've got this water gourd!" he exclaimed, pulling out a small, rustic object with natural wood grain. "Looks tiny, but the inside's enchanted, can hold over 100 liters of water! Useful for someone who knows how to use it, eh, kid?"

Lucius examined the gourd, turning it in his hands to feel its surprisingly light weight, a rare smile curving his lips, briefly breaking his cold mask.

"This is exactly what I was looking for," he said, approving, his voice tinged with restrained satisfaction.

As the old man opened his mouth to name a price, his lips moving as if to demand a fortune, Lucius was already grabbing the gourd, bracelet, boots, and overcoat, heading for the exit with silent determination.

The old man nearly choked at the sight, eyes wide with shock and hands trembling with rage, but his gaze soon fell on the golden rings left on the counter. With shaky fingers, he picked them up, turning them under the lacrima light to admire the gleam of solid gold and rare rubies, a grin spreading ear to ear across his aged face. He ran his thumb over the jewels, feeling the weight of their history, and tucked them into his pocket with a satisfied sigh, muttering to himself in a victorious tone.

"These rings are worth more than this whole shop…" he whispered, his voice almost purring with contentment.

Lucius stepped out of the artifact shop with firm strides, his black cloak billowing in the dusk breeze, the bracelet, boots, overcoat, and gourd discreetly tucked under the fabric. He'd barely taken two steps into the market street when his eyes caught frantic movement: several Council mages, wands in hand and expressions resolute, converging on the shop, their cloaks flapping and boots echoing on the stone.

Without a second thought, Lucius acted, his sharp instincts driving him to sprint toward a nearby alley. He hid in the shadows, heart pounding but his face maintaining that calculated chill, watching the scene from afar, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light.

The mages surrounded the shop swiftly, forming an impenetrable perimeter. Scared merchants and residents watched from a distance, whispering among themselves as chaos set in. Barrels were knocked over, goods scattered, and the air grew heavy with tension.

Amid the turmoil, Kazimir Veyl emerged, his firm steps resounding like thunder, chains clinking around him. He stopped before the wrecked shop, his icy gaze sweeping the scene, and raised his voice in a powerful shout that echoed through the streets.

"Black Cloak! We know you're here!" he roared, his voice thick with authority, each word slicing the air like a blade. "Come out and surrender, and maybe I'll go easy on you, you coward!"

A few seconds of tense silence passed, the wind carrying only the sound of anxious breaths from those present. Nothing came from the shop. With a cold, determined look, Kazimir raised his hand, his magical chains slithering at his command like living creatures.

Suddenly, an ethereal gate materialized above his palm, and a colossal chain, thick as a tree trunk, surged forth, striking the shop like a starving snake's lunge. A deafening crash shook the market as the shop's front collapsed into rubble, dust and wood flying everywhere. But when the debris cloud settled, there was no sign of the Black Cloak—just the bald old man, cowering behind the counter, trembling with fear, eyes wide and hands shielding his head.

Kazimir approached with slow steps, his icy gaze fixed on the old man. He leaned in, his face inches from the terrified merchant, his warm breath contrasting with his cold expression.

"Where's the man who entered your shop?" he asked, his voice sharp as a honed blade, each syllable heavy with menace.

The old man stammered, his voice shaky and halting, teeth chattering in terror.

"H-he left a few minutes ago…" he mumbled, nearly pissing himself with fear, eyes darting to the floor.

Kazimir narrowed his eyes, leaning closer, his tone hardening.

"And what does he look like, you useless old fool? Speak now, or I swear I'll drag you along!" he pressed, his chains clinking like a warning.

"He's young… white hair…" the old man replied, his voice faltering as he avoided eye contact, his body shrinking as if expecting a blow.

Kazimir straightened, turning to the group of mages watching him silently, awaiting orders. His presence was commanding, his chains clinking like a war drum.

"You heard the description!" he shouted, pointing at the city with a fierce gesture. "Lock down Hargeon! No one in, no one out! Search every corner, look under crates if you have to! Today, this bastard won't slip through my hands!"

He made a sharp gesture, and the tracking mages, skilled in detecting magic, activated their spells. Glowing lines of energy traced through the air, probing for any trace of magical power with an ethereal shimmer. About 60 mages fanned out in all directions, rushing through streets, entering homes, and questioning residents, the chaos escalating by the second, shouts and footsteps echoing like a hunting symphony.

From afar, hidden in the alley's shadows, Lucius watched every move, his body pressed against the damp wall, his cold gaze analyzing the scene like a predator lying in wait. He clenched his fists, a curse escaping in a low voice, thick with restrained anger.

"Damn it! How do I get out of this place?" he growled, his hoarse voice softly echoing off the alley walls. "Fucking Magic Council, always sticking their noses where they don't belong!"

His eyes found Kazimir amid the chaos, and a dark glint crossed his face, like the prelude to a storm. He fixed his stare on the chain-wielding mage, his lips curling into a crooked, dangerous smile, teeth bared like a hungry wolf's. A soft chuckle escaped, laced with mockery, breaking the alley's silence.

"Pretty interesting magic…" he murmured, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm, each word heavy with disdain as he planned his next move, fingers tapping against the gourd hidden under his cloak.