CresGarurumon turned his attention back to Mystogan, slowly raising the Crescent Blade.
"Then let's begin round two."
Before the words fully faded, CresGarurumon moved.
There were no afterimages, no sonic booms—he simply vanished from his original position and reappeared directly in front of Mystogan, bringing the heavy blade crashing down!
Mystogan's eyes widened in shock.
He quickly gripped the "Nothingness" staff with both hands, raising it to block the overhead strike.
CLANG!
With a deafening crash of steel against magic, Mystogan was sent flying backward.
He crashed through three stone walls before finally slamming into a pile of rubble.
Deep cracks spiderwebbed across his staff, and his hands were torn and bleeding from the sheer force of the impact.
A single strike.
Just one strike had completely shattered Mystogan's defense.
"Impossible..." Mystogan gritted his teeth, struggling to stand.
"Three years have passed," CresGarurumon said, stepping forward steadily. "Did you think you were the only one making progress?"
He raised his blade once more.
Mystogan didn't dare take the blow head-on again.
He retreated rapidly, his hands flashing through a series of seals. A deep purple magic circle flared to life above his head.
"Dream Illusion!"
A wave of deep purple light surged toward CresGarurumon like a tidal wave.
This was an even more powerful forced-sleep magic than his previous spell.
But CresGarurumon simply swung his blade.
The metal gleamed like moonlight, slicing cleanly through the purple magic circle.
The spell exploded with a thunderous roar, and the magical backlash made Mystogan cough up blood.
"Illusions are useless against me," CresGarurumon stated calmly. "Three years ago, I could resist your sleep magic through sheer willpower alone. Now that I have evolved to the Mega level, my mind, will, and soul have been tempered to their absolute peak. Your illusions are nothing more than children's scribbles."
Mystogan knew long-range illusions were no longer an option.
He had to change tactics.
His hands shifted rapidly before his chest, and his five staves simultaneously rose from the ground.
But this time, instead of forming a defensive perimeter, Mystogan grabbed all five weapons at once.
Suddenly, Mystogan's figure split into five separate afterimages.
They surrounded CresGarurumon, attacking simultaneously from five different directions!
Each clone wielded a different staff, casting a different spell.
The golden staff erupted with blinding light, firing searing spears of energy!
The silver staff glowed like moonlight, condensing into freezing chains of ice.
The crimson staff gushed a bloody mist, weaving a cursed net, the pale blue staff vibrated violently, unleashing a piercing sonic boom.
Meanwhile, the colorless "Nothingness" staff quietly warped the space right in the center.
Five attacks, five attributes.
Every possible escape route was completely sealed off.
But CresGarurumon never even considered dodging.
He simply stood his ground, gripping his blade with both hands and holding it horizontally in front of him.
He spun the blade, transforming it into a perfect golden ring of motion.
Pale blue frost magic flowed over the ring, creating a flawless, 360-degree shield of ice and steel.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The five attacks struck the shield at the exact same time.
The light spears were deflected, the chains were shattered, the net was torn apart, the sonic boom was neutralized, and the spatial distortion was frozen solid by the frost.
An explosive flash of light engulfed the entire street.
When the dust finally settled, CresGarurumon was still standing in the exact same spot, his armor completely spotless.
He slowly lowered his blade as a flicker of warrior's approval flashing in his eyes.
"Good coordination. But not enough."
Before the words faded, CresGarurumon took the offensive.
He stepped forward, ice erupting from the ground beneath his feet, and swung his blade upward in a vicious arc.
A freezing wave of light surged forward like a reverse waterfall.
Mystogan's five clones simultaneously tried to retreat, but the strike was too fast.
The slowest clone—the one holding the blue sonic staff—was grazed by the icy light.
The staff shattered instantly!
Mystogan's true body staggered, spitting up blood as the illusion faded.
Another staff was destroyed.
But he didn't stop.
The moment the sonic staff broke, he formed another hand seal.
The remaining four staves spun wildly in the air, fusing together to form a massive, four-colored spear of pure energy!
The spear tore through the air, carrying an aura of absolute destruction as it thrust straight toward CresGarurumon's chest.
The sheer power of this strike rivaled that of the Wizard Saints.
For the first time, a trace of true seriousness flashed in CresGarurumon's eyes.
He gripped his weapon with both hands, holding it vertically with the tip pointing at the ground.
Pale blue frost surged from the metal, weaving complex ice crystals in the air.
He slowly brought the blade down.
The movement looked incredibly slow—you could trace every inch of its path.
But wherever the blade passed, the space froze into black cracks, and time itself seemed to turn thick and heavy.
The edge of the blade met the tip of the energy spear in midair.
There was no explosion, no deafening roar.
Only a crisp crack, like a window shattering.
Starting from the very tip, the massive energy spear rapidly froze over, crystallized, and turned into a solid block of ice.
It hovered in the air for a fraction of a second before exploding violently, scattering harmlessly into a sky full of snow.
The four remaining staves fell from the air, completely covered in deep cracks.
Mystogan dropped to his knees, coughing up blood.
His magic power was completely exhausted.
With four staves destroyed and the last one badly damaged, he had no strength left to fight.
Yet, he still forced himself to his feet.
Gripping the cracked "Nothingness" staff, he held it defensively in front of him.
"Will you continue?" CresGarurumon asked.
"I am a mage of Fairy Tail," Mystogan's voice was hoarse but firm. "I will not retreat when my comrades are in danger."
CresGarurumon fell silent for a moment before slowly sheathing his blade.
"I respect your resolve. But this battle must end."
He vanished in a blur, appearing directly behind Mystogan, and lightly struck the back of his neck with the flat of his hand.
Mystogan's body went limp.
As he collapsed to the ground, the dark green mask covering his face finally tore apart, revealing his true appearance.
In the distance, Erza, who had just arrived at the battlefield, abruptly halted.
She stared fixedly at the unconscious man's face, her eyes going wide as her longsword clattered to the cobblestones.
That face... she knew it all too well.
Though he looked slightly older and his aura was entirely different, the sharp outline and the distinctive tattoo around his eye were unmistakable.
"Jellal... no, that's impossible..." Erza murmured, her voice trembling with confusion and shock.
"Why does he look just like him..."
"He's not Jellal," Ace's calm voice cut through the silence.
He walked over to Erza, gazing down at Mystogan with a complex look in his eyes.
Ace knew the truth.
Mystogan was Jellal's interdimensional counterpart from the world of Edolas.
That was why Mystogan always hid his face, why he took years-long missions, and why he never formed deep connections with the guild.
His very existence was a secret tied to the balance of two worlds.
Ace looked at the unconscious mage, then at the horrified Erza, and let out a soft sigh.
"This is his secret to tell, not mine," Ace said quietly. "Let's take him back to the guild for treatment. Freed's runes only paralyze people; they aren't life-threatening. Once this is all over, you can ask him yourself."
Erza took a deep shuddering breath, forcing herself to calm down.
She nodded, instructing Gray—who had just run up behind her—to carry Mystogan on his back.
"Ace, where are you going?" she asked, noticing his gaze fixed toward the center of the city.
"Kardia Cathedral," Ace said calmly. "Laxus and the Thunder God Tribe are probably waiting for me there."
"I'll go with you—"
"No." Ace interrupted her, his eyes sweeping over the unconscious guild members scattered across the streets.
"You need to escort the wounded back to the hall and set up a defensive line with whoever can still move. Besides..."
He paused, the dark gold light swirling slowly in his eyes.
"Laxus set up this entire civil war specifically to draw me out. If we all go to the cathedral, we'll be playing right into his hands. Splitting up to protect the hostages is the smartest move right now."
Erza bit her lip but ultimately nodded. "I understand. Be careful."
Ace turned and walked toward the city center.
His pace was steady, and with every step he took, faint digital data rings pulsed against the cobblestones beneath his boots.
In the distance, the towering Kardia Cathedral radiated a deadly magical presence.
...
"So Mystogan has fallen... Just as well. It saves me the trouble of dealing with him myself."
Outside Kardia Cathedral, thick chains of golden lightning coiled around the spires and stone archways like living vines, illuminating the church as bright as day.
The violent crackling of electricity echoed through the night sky, sounding like a twisted, distorted hymn.
Inside, the sacred hall had been completely transformed.
The wooden pews had been cleared away.
A massive, complex magic circle was burned into the floor with dark purple energy.
At the very center of the runes, Laxus Dreyar sat upon a throne made entirely of lightning.
His arms were crossed, and his eyes were closed, as if in deep meditation.
His magical aura was suffocating—several times more powerful than it had been back in the plaza.
Time ticked by.
Beyond the stained-glass windows, the moon slowly shifted across the sky.
When the clock hands struck eleven, Laxus opened his eyes.
In that instant, every candle flame in the massive hall flickered out! Golden lightning exploded in his eyes like twin suns.
He slowly stood up from his throne, his heavy purple coat billowing without any wind.
The electricity surrounding him was so dense it looked like a liquid, carving deep burn marks into the stone floor.
"He's here." Laxus's voice was quiet, yet it echoed through the hall like thunder.
Right on cue, the cathedral's heavy oak doors slowly pushed open.
Creak—
The harsh scraping sound echoed clearly in the silent church.
Pale moonlight poured through the doorway, casting a long, dark shadow across the floor.
Ace stepped into the cathedral alone.
He took in the scene before him: the glowing magic circle, the Thunder God Tribe standing ready, and Laxus looking down at him from the altar.
The oppressive magical pressure in the room surged forward like a physical wave.
"Welcome to my sanctuary, Ace."
Laxus spread his arms wide, the lightning behind him stretching out to form a massive pair of electrical wings.
He floated into the air, looking down at Ace with the absolute arrogance of a king greeting a peasant.
"I prepared all of this especially for you," Laxus sneered.
He pointed to Bickslow. "Loyal guards."
He pointed to Freed. "A clever strategist."
He pointed to Evergreen. "A beautiful executioner. And..."
His gaze swept toward the edges of the room.
"These hostages. Oh, and this lovely cathedral that has soaked up three centuries of faith. Everything has been perfectly arranged to welcome you."
Laxus slowly drifted back down, settling into his lightning throne.
He crossed his legs and rested his chin on his fist, staring at Ace like a predator examining its next meal.
"So? Is this stage worthy of you? Fairy Tail's... Strongest?" He practically spat the last word, his voice dripping with venom.
Ace didn't answer right away.
He walked calmly into the hall, his eyes sweeping over the room.
His steps were completely steady, and he didn't even spare a glance for the petrified girls, the carefully laid traps, or the Thunder Legion.
It was as if none of them even mattered.
Finally, he stopped ten meters away from the edge of the magic circle.
He tilted his head up and looked Laxus right in the eye.
"The stage is nice," Ace said lightly. "But the actors aren't quite up to par."
Laxus's smirk froze. "What did you say?"
"I said, it's a pity the cast for this little play is so weak," Ace replied, his voice calm but echoing clearly through the silent hall.
"The Thunder God tribe? Just three pitiful puppets you've brainwashed. The holy energy of this church? Just scraps of faith you've forcibly stolen. As for you..."
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