The wind howled around the upper spires of the Royal Palace, carrying the scent of ozone and the terrified screams of a city on the brink of war. High above the chaotic courtyard where Erza Scarlet clashed with her counterpart and the Dragon Slayers raged against the machine, two figures plummeted from the sky like meteors.
They weren't flying. They had been thrown.
CRASH.
Edolas Blake hit the stone balcony of the Control Tower first. Thanks to the Super Soldier Serum coursing through his veins and the kinetic-dampening soles of his boots, his legs absorbed the impact that would have shattered a normal man's femur. He rolled forward, dispersing the momentum, and skidded to a halt in a crouch, his rifle already raised.
Mystogan landed a second later, his magic staves flaring to create a cushion of air that softened his descent. He landed gracefully, his cape settling around him.
"That absolute maniac," Edolas Blake hissed, dusting off his jumpsuit and checking his goggles for cracks. "He threw me. He actually threw me. When this is over, I'm inventing a nuclear missile just for him."
"It was effective," Mystogan noted, adjusting his mask—which he had put back on to hide his identity from the guards until the final moment. "We are behind the main defensive line."
Edolas Blake checked the chamber of his compressed-magic rifle. "Yeah, well, 'effective' and 'sane' are two different things. Let's move. The countdown is at ninety seconds."
The balcony led directly into the upper sanctum of the palace, a maze of opulent corridors constructed from white marble and gold, lit by the cold, hum of Lacrima conduits running along the walls. These conduits were pulsing rapidly, feeding massive amounts of power toward the Dragon Cannon outside. The entire building vibrated with the lethal energy of the Code ETD launch sequence.
"The Control Room is three floors up, central spire," Edolas Blake said, his eidetic memory recalling the blueprints he had stolen months ago. "Fastest route is the Grand Staircase."
"Then we run," Mystogan said.
They burst through the balcony doors, shattering the lock. The corridor inside was not empty.
"INTRUDERS!" a squad of Royal Guard Elites shouted. These weren't the standard foot soldiers; these were heavily armored shock troopers wielding magic-amplified halberds.
"Clear the path," Edolas Blake ordered.
The fight was a collision of ancient mysticism and cutting-edge technology.
Two guards charged Edolas Blake. He didn't flinch. His mechanical mastery mind analyzed their trajectory, their armor weak points, and their weapon reach in a fraction of a second.
He ducked under a horizontal swing of a halberd, the blade passing inches from his goggles. In the same motion, he jammed the barrel of his rifle into the joint of the guard's knee armor and pulled the trigger.
THWUMP.
The compressed air blast shattered the armor and the kneecap beneath. The guard collapsed. Edolas Blake spun, using the stock of his rifle to smash the second guard's helmet visor, blinding him, before delivering a super-soldier-enhanced kick to the chest that sent the man flying back into his comrades.
"Magic is slow," Edolas Blake muttered, ejecting a spent cartridge and reloading. "Physics is forever."
On the other side of the hallway, Mystogan was a whirlwind of elegance. He didn't use brute force. He planted five staves in the ground in a pentagon formation.
"Five Layered Magic Circle: Sacred Song."
A pillar of purple light erupted from the floor. The guards caught in the radius didn't scream; they simply gasped as the magic distorted their equilibrium. They collapsed, clutching their heads, incapacitated by the illusion of a devastating sonic attack.
"We must hurry," Mystogan said, retrieving his staves with a wave of his hand.
They sprinted up the Grand Staircase. More guards poured over the railing.
"Grenade!" Edolas Blake shouted. He pulled a pin on a spherical device and tossed it.
It wasn't an explosive. It was a Flash-Freeze Grenade, reverse-engineered from Ice-Make magic theories. It detonated in a cloud of supercooled mist, freezing three guards to the banister instantly.
"Impressive," Mystogan commented, deflecting a magic missile with a barrier spell.
"I improvise," Edolas Blake grunted, shooting a sniper on the upper landing right between the eyes with a sleep-dart.
They reached the heavy oak doors of the antechamber.
"Locked," Edolas Blake said, seeing the glowing runes on the wood. "Magical seal. High level."
"Allow me," Mystogan stepped forward. He placed his hand on the wood. He was the Prince; his magical signature was keyed into the castle's defenses. The runes glowed green, recognizing the bloodline, and the lock clicked open.
"Royal privileges," Edolas Blake smirked.
"A burden," Mystogan replied solemnly.
They pushed through. The resistance intensified. They were now facing the King's personal honor guard.
"Stop them! For the King! For Eternal Magic!" the captain of the guard roared, firing a bazooka-like wand that shot fireballs.
Edolas Blake slid across the polished floor like a baseball player, dodging a fireball that scorched the wall where his head had been. He came up in a kneeling stance, his rifle leveled.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three shots. Three disabled weapons. He shot the wands right out of their hands.
"Suppressing fire!" he yelled.
Mystogan capitalized on the opening. "Mist Body."
He dissolved into a cloud of wind, bypassing the guards entirely and rematerializing behind them.
"Sleep."
He snapped his fingers. A wave of potent sleep magic washed over the honor guard. They slumped to the floor, snoring instantly.
"Show off," Edolas Blake said, standing up and checking his ammo. "I have to build my gadgets. You just wave your hands."
"Efficiency is paramount," Mystogan said, though his breathing was getting heavier. Using high-level magic in Edolas drained his personal reserves, and unlike the Earthlanders with their X-Balls, he had to be careful.
"One more door," Edolas Blake said, pointing to the massive, golden double doors at the end of the hall. "The Throne Room. The Control Center."
The sound of the sirens was deafening here.
COUNTDOWN: 30 SECONDS.
"We're cutting it close," Edolas Blake growled. He holstered his rifle and pulled out a heavy, motorized wrench. "If the King doesn't listen to reason, I'm dismantling his face."
"He is my father," Mystogan said quietly. "Let me try to speak to him first."
"You have ten seconds to speak," Edolas Blake said. "Then I start swinging."
They approached the doors. They didn't knock.
Edolas Blake kicked the golden doors open with enough force to warp the hinges.
BOOM.
The room was vast, dominated by a massive, panoramic window that looked out over the Royal Capital. Through the glass, the terrified face of the Dragon Cry Lacrima stared back at them, locked into the firing mechanism of the Dragon Cannon. The room was filled with banks of monitors, levers, and blinking lights.
And standing on a raised dais, his back to them, was King Faust.
He was an elderly man, but his posture was rigid with manic energy. He wore the royal robes, but they were disheveled. He was staring out the window, watching the cannon align with the distant floating island of Extalia.
"Father!" Mystogan shouted, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.
King Faust turned slowly. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a terrifying, desperate madness. He looked at the masked figure of Mystogan, and then at the mechanic standing beside him.
"Jellal," Faust whispered, a twisted smile spreading across his face. "You returned. You came to witness the dawn of the new age?"
"I came to stop this madness!" Mystogan ripped off his mask, revealing his face—the face of the Prince. "Look at what you are doing! You are about to destroy a civilization! You are about to kill thousands of innocents!"
"Innocents?" Faust laughed, a high, cracking sound. "They are hoarding magic! They sit on their island, looking down on us, while my people starve! While I starve! I am the King! I deserve the power! Edolas deserves the power!"
Edolas Blake stepped forward, his wrench gripped tight. "You're not saving Edolas, Faust. You're killing it. You're tearing the world apart for a battery."
Faust sneered, looking at Blake with disdain. "A peasant dares to speak to the King? You understand nothing of the burden of rule! Magic is life! Without it, we are nothing!"
"We are human!" Edolas Blake shouted. "We lived without magic before, and we can do it again! We have science! We have will! We don't need to steal souls to survive!"
"Lies!" Faust roared. He turned back to the control console. It was a massive panel of brass and crystal. In the center, protected by a glass case, was a single, large red button.
The Fire button.
COUNTDOWN: 10 SECONDS.
"Stop!" Mystogan charged, his staves raising.
"Don't do it!" Edolas Blake leveled his rifle.
"It is too late!" Faust screamed, his hand hovering over the console. "The future is mine! The magic is mine! Dragon Cannon... CODE ETD!"
The alignment lights on the console turned from red to green. The massive gears outside locked into place with a sound like thunder. The hum of the Lacrima reached a pitch that shattered the glass of the monitor screens.
Blake and Jellal tried to stop him. But Faust madness drove him faster than their reactions.
He smashed his fist down on the console, shattering the protective glass case.
And King Faust has pressed the button to launch the cannon.
CLICK.
The sound was small, mechanical, and final.
Instantly, the room was bathed in red emergency light. A robotic voice boomed through the castle, drowning out Mystogan's cry of despair.
"FIRING SEQUENCE INITIATED. DISCHARGE IN 3... 2... 1..."
Edolas Blake lowered his rifle, watching the lights on the console flash.
"He did it," Blake whispered, horror dawning on his face. "He actually pushed it."
Outside the window, the Dragon Cannon roared to life. A beam of concentrated magical energy began to gather at the barrel, directly behind the crystallized souls of Fairy Tail. The recoil tremors shook the entire palace.