"God-Slaying… Magic," Zeref mutters, like he's digging through a graveyard of ancient memories. He finally nods slowly. "If my foggy-ass brain's right, this shit was something I cooked up way back—reverse-engineered from that goddamn Ankhseram curse gnawing at me. All in a desperate bid for freedom."
"The original plan? Hunt down that bastard god who lords over life and death, Ankhseram, and shove this power right up his divine ass to end him."
His voice drips with nostalgia and a hefty dose of 'what the fuck was I thinking.'
"But I scoured every shithole corner of the world—known, unknown, forbidden hellscapes no one's dumb enough to touch—and never found a trace of the prick."
"As for whether this magic could actually fuck up a god…" He shakes his head. "Never got to test it. No target, no boom."
(So God-Slaying Magic's just Zeref flipping his curse inside out? Makes sense,) Roger thinks, piecing it together. (In the original story, whether it's Zancrow's black flames or other God Slayers, it's all that same inky void vibe as Zeref's curse.)
(Reverse-engineering from a god's curse? That shit probably taps into some faint divine law bullshit, putting it a notch above Dragon-Slaying Magic from those scaly fucks.)
(Explains why Zancrow chowed down on Natsu's flames like cheap takeout, but Natsu couldn't bite back—until he forced it with his freakish body.)
(Lunar Dragon God said no gods left in this world, but Zeref's curse is still kicking, so Ankhseram's not dead meat. Probably chilling in some higher plane or pocket dimension, only dropping in via some ritual like Luna did.)
Roger chews on that intel dump, then looks up for round two: "Question two: Why, in all these endless fucking years, besides you and the first Master, has no one else gotten slapped with Ankhseram's curse?"
He pushes: "This 'trespassing on life and death' crap—does it mean shit like the R-System, trying to yank the dead back to life?"
"If that's all, history's full of idiots chasing resurrection. Why no curses for them? Hell, most folks don't even know Ankhseram exists."
Zeref cracks a bitter, almost approving smirk. "Kid, you know more—and deeper—than I figured."
He takes a deep breath. "Ankhseram's a ghost because I wiped most traces of him off the map."
"Gods feed on faith. I tried starving the bastard out to weaken him, break my curse, or bait him into showing his face."
"No dice on either. Fuck knows why."
"As for no one else getting cursed? Their 'life and death' dabbling's skin-deep. Lifetimes wasted on surface-level bullshit, never deep enough to trigger the trap."
"Trespassing means wielding god-level power—even a sliver—and bam, divine radar pings, curse drops."
"But fear of Ankhseram kept folks away from that edge. Barely any magic touches life-death shit."
"That's why I'm the lone cursed fucker—besides me."
His gaze drifts, like he's staring into a black hole of time. "Mavis… she got hit because of me."
Pause. Voice heavy with guilt and sorrow: "Back then, in a dumbass impulse, I taught her the basics of this unfinished, hyper-dangerous black magic—'Law.'"
"Law?" Roger's brain clicks. "That tied to the super-magic Fairy Law?"
"Fairy Law…" Zeref recalls, nods. "Yeah, if memory serves, Mavis built that off my raw Law blueprint, mixing in her light vibes and unshakeable faith."
He breaks it down: "Fairy Law judges with the caster's inner holy light, smiting darkness. Targets whatever the caster deems 'enemy'—crushes 'em mentally and spiritually."
"But it costs. Big time."
"Caster burns a chunk of their life force."
"The more enemies—stronger ones—you nuke, the bigger the life tax."
"But my original Law? Total opposite. Pure, raw black magic."
"No extra cost. Just massive magic reserves and laser focus—boom, judge your enemies dead. Instant."
"No price?!" Roger's eyes bug out. "Bullshit! Magic's core rule: equivalent exchange!"
"The stronger, closer to world roots, the nastier the backlash!"
"That's why powerhouse ancient spells faded into Lost Magic—side effects too brutal."
"You're not wrong in the broad strokes," Zeref shakes his head lightly.
"But flip it: The real top-tier, ancient, root-deep magics? They're perfect. No bloat, no unnecessary kickbacks."
"Those 'Lost Magics' with obvious downsides? Mostly half-baked crap."
"Like Arc of Time—manipulates non-living time flow, but skips living shit."
"Incomplete as fuck."
"Force it on life? Sucks your life force dry, or worse."
"True, complete time magic—like my full Law vision—rolls smooth, no backlash."
"Could freeze a whole continent's time in a snap."
"Caster struts around in the paused world, unaffected."
"Deeper tiers? Jump parallel timelines, surf past-future rivers like a goddamn time tourist."
"Whoa, hold up?" Roger latches on, frowning.
"By that logic, a no-cost spell halting continental time—that's god-tier time domain shit, right?"
"Wouldn't the time god curse your ass for trespassing?"
"Nah," Zeref glances skyward, tone casual as death. "Chronos, the time god, bit the dust eons ago in mythic times."
"His last soul scrap got 'received' by his 'descendant' via some special magic, fused right in."
"That's why that heir can sling time magic somewhat recklessly—no full god backlash."
"Descendant—?" Roger's mind flashes to the Twelve Shields' War Princess, but something's off.
"Wait! You're saying the time god has descendants?"
"He had kids?!"
"Nope, you got it twisted," Zeref chuckles lightly at the leap, explaining patiently. "In god contexts, 'descendant' ain't bloodline kids."
"It's the last believers left, or some schmuck inheriting power or duty."
"Not literal offspring."
"Ah—gotcha," Roger nods, rubbing his nose awkwardly.
(Damn, four centuries alive—Zeref's a walking encyclopedia.)
His mind flickers to Luna Dragon God's chat.
Only three gods and a half left—and halves can ascend under conditions…
A question bubbles: Gods' thrones unique, right?
(Time god Chronos handles time, Luna moon laws—but why's Ankhseram double-dipping in life and death? Related but clashing.)
(Life and death gods usually split duties.)
(But he's got both—)
(Feels like his curse: pure contradiction.)
(Innate? Or snatched/fused via war?)
Roger's pupils shrink—he's onto something!
(Luna mentioned a war a millennium back—wars boil down to greed, power grabs.)
(What bigger prize than jacking another god's domain, fusing thrones for a power-up?)
He furrows deeper: (Core issue—)
(Why curse trespassers so viciously?)
(Per Zeref, these folks are genius freaks.)
(Unhindered, they climb, hit some 'condition'—)
(And ascend to gods!!)
Roger's eyes widen: (So curses are to cockblock climbers, stop 'em from stealing divine pie?)
The more he thinks, the tighter it fits!
He snaps up, staring Zeref down: "Zeref! For curse victims, besides immortality and contradiction bullshit, does their magic source—
—fundamentally shift?"
Zeref blinks, ponders, nods slowly: "Yeah."
"Their magic evolves—deeper, closer to roots."
"Kinda mirrors the curse's twisted essence."
It does!
Roger's mind quakes—puzzle piece clicks.
(Wait—original story hints at this!)
(Urtear freaking out at Zeref's leaked magic, soul-deep terror; and Zeref telling cursed Mavis her magic changed—)
(If true, Luna's three gods and half: Zeref and Mavis are the halves!)
(Luna's pause? Mavis in that weird 'fake death' seal, life force dormant—hard to sense.)
(So the last half-god… who?)
Zeref watches Roger's face twist through thoughts, curiosity burning.
This kid's the first in ages whose brain syncs with his, spitting fresh angles.
He breaks in: "What're you chewing on? More curse-god crap?"
Roger snaps back, meets the gaze, nods lightly: "Kinda. Thinking… this four-century curse ain't just punishment."
"Maybe it's a leash? Locking you from climbing higher, touching god turf?"
"Leash? Lock?" Zeref's baffled, but it's like a mind-fuck floodlight blasting his stale thoughts. Fresh as hell.
"Why a restriction?"
"Check it," Roger raises a finger, laying it out sharp.
"First: Curse hits, you get near-eternal life, right?"
"Yeah." Zeref nods.
"Second," second finger up.
"Contradiction trigger: Cherish life hard? Death waves nuke everything. Despise life? Curse sleeps."
"Solid fact, right?"
"Yeah," Zeref's eyes flash pain—his eternal hell.
"This curse—love life, unleash death; hate life, power naps."
"Key right here," Roger curls the finger back, eyes piercing.
"Hypothetical: Curse hits, someone stays stone-cold indifferent to life—could they snag true eternal life via immortality?"
"Impossible." Zeref shakes his head instinctively, from bitter experience.
"Deep life-death researchers? They love and revere life at core."
"Otherwise, no grasp on essence, no curse trigger."
"Life-haters never hit god-curse depths."
"That's the blind spot!" Roger's brow arches, sharp as a blade.
"Curse-worthy folks? Peak mortal talent, life-death mastery—half in god realm."
"Right as they breach, threatening divine monopoly—bam, curse drops."
"One hand: Long life gift."
"Watch? Or ulterior motive."
"Other hand: Crucial—contradiction agony and innocent-slaughter risk as chains. Twists your mind, blocks focused ascent to snag more god power!"
He pauses, bolder: "Maybe gods spread 'curse for angering gods' rumors to scare off dabblers, keep thrones secure."
"Restriction—ascension—" Zeref murmurs, brows knotted, face deep in unprecedented thought.
Four centuries shattered; new waves crashing his soul.
"Last question," Roger softens, guiding.
"In these four hundred years, curse aside—your magic, essence grasp, overall power—
Ever had a real leap? Qualitative jump?"