Chapter 15: The Test
A river of people flowed from the heart of Magnolia to its outskirts. It wasn't every day you got to see one of Fairy Tail's heavy hitters challenge their living legend, especially when the challenger was known more for property damage than tactical brilliance. The mood was a carnival of morbid curiosity and frantic gambling.
Lucy pushed her way through the crowd until she found Natsu, walking just ahead of Erza with a determined, almost serene look on his face.
"Natsu," she hissed, grabbing his arm. He stopped. The crowd flowed around them like water around a stone. "Does this… does any of this have to do with us? With… this morning?" The memory of his seriousness, his whispered truths, felt like a fragile secret in the face of this public spectacle.
He turned and looked at her. The usual fire was there in his eyes, but banked, controlled. He gave her a small, knowing smile that was for her alone. "This is about something else, Luce."
"Something else? Like getting yourself turned into a paste sculpture by Erza?" she whispered, her worry cutting through.
"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice low. "I just have to see how far I've come." He gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before pulling away to follow Erza's red banner of hair through the throng.
Lucy fell back, finding Happy fluttering anxiously. "Aye… I put all my fish savings on Erza. I'm sorry, Lucy!"
"Happy!" Lucy scolded. "Have a little faith in your partner!"
"But it's Erza!" Happy wailed, as if that explained everything. For most people, it did.
They reached a wide clearing at the forest's edge, a natural amphitheater already buzzing with hundreds of spectators. The Fairy Tail members formed a loose, noisy ring at the front, their shouts and bets creating a wall of sound.
Natsu walked to the center of the clearing and turned. He felt the eyes of the crowd, the weight of expectation. But his mind was quiet. Since waking up in this body, he'd done little but survive, survive the transition, survive the instinct, survive Lucy. He'd accessed Natsu's memories like a clunky instruction manual, brute-forcing his way through fights with sheer power and stubbornness. Against Aragon, against Lyon… it was a miracle the original owner hadn't gotten himself killed years ago. The magic was there, a roaring furnace in his gut, but the way Natsu used it was… inefficient. Reckless. Like using a dragon to light a campfire.
Erza was the perfect test. Unforgiving, precise, and powerful enough to force him to be better.
A final round of warnings came from the guild.
"Kid, last chance to back out with your dignity!" Macao shouted.
"TAKE THE PUNCH LIKE A MAN, NATSU!" Elfman bellowed, already emotional.
Erza stood across from him, calm as a mountain. "Prepare yourself, Natsu."
He just nodded. 'Phase one,' he thought. 'Test the chassis. Agility. Strength. The baseline.'
As expected, the air around Erza shimmered with a kaleidoscope of light. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd as her regular clothes vanished, replaced in an instant by magnificent, intricate plate armor the color of molten gold and crimson. A towering helm with flared wings, a blazing red cape, and a massive, ornate broadsword appeared in her hands.
"THE FLAME EMPRESS ARMOR!" Macao's drinking buddy, Wakaba, yelled, slapping his knee. "She's not messing around! It's designed to withstand and even negate fire-based attacks! She's shutting down his main weapon from the start!"
A murmur of "oohs" and "he's done for" rippled through the crowd.
In the center, Natsu smiled. A genuine, relieved smile. He'd predicted this. His first real test, and she'd chosen the logical counter. Good. It meant he didn't have to think about magic. Not yet.
He lowered into a fighting stance, not Natsu's usual wide-legged, brawler's crouch, but something more balanced, more centered. He willed the furnace in his gut to sleep, leaving only the raw, enhanced physicality of the Dragon Slayer body.
Erza moved. One moment she was twenty feet away, the next she was a crimson-gold blur, her broadsword cutting a horizontal arc through the space where his neck had been. Natsu ducked, the memory of a thousand brawls guiding him. He felt the wind of the blade against his scalp.
He didn't retreat. He pushed forward, inside the arc of her swing, aiming a hard jab at the seam of her armored abdomen. It was a clean, economical strike, driven by the terrifying strength in Natsu's shoulders.
CLANG.
His fist connected with the ornate metal. Pain lanced up his arm. Erza didn't even grunt. Her armored elbow came up in a piston-like blow toward his jaw.
He jerked his head back, the metal grazing his chin. He tried to sweep her legs, a move he'd seen in a memory of Natsu fighting some bandit. Erza simply planted her feet, the attack bouncing off her greaves as if he'd kicked a tree trunk.
"What's he doing?" someone from the guild yelled. "Why isn't he using his fire?"
"He's trying to fight her hand-to-hand? Is he stupid?!" Gray yelled, though a frown was creasing his forehead. This wasn't Natsu's style. Natsu led with a roar and a fireball.
Natsu tuned them out. He pressed, a flurry of blows born of instinct and borrowed memory. A hook, an uppercut, a low kick. Each one was faster and harder than any human could throw. Each one was met with immovable armor, a parrying sword-pommel, or a block from Erza's vambrace.
CLANG. THUD. SMACK.
He was fast. But she was Erza. She read his simplistic, brawl-born patterns like a children's book. She wasn't even using her sword to cut, just to bludgeon and parry.
He tried to grapple, to use his strength. He got an arm around her waist. For a split second, he had leverage. Then the world spun. She used his own momentum, flipping him effortlessly over her hip. He hit the ground hard, the air blasting from his lungs.
Before he could roll, her boot, not a brutal stomp, but a firm, inescapable press, came down on his chest, pinning him. The tip of her broadsword hovered an inch from his nose.
The crowd roared.
"That's it! One minute flat!" Macao shouted.
"SO MANLY IN DEFEAT!" Elfman sobbed.
Natsu lay there, gasping, staring up at the impassive face of the Flame Empress helm. His ribs screamed. His knuckles were split and bloody from punching her armor. Every muscle ached.
Phase one was over. He had been pummeled. Beaten with humiliating, effortless efficiency using nothing but the body's raw tools and the original Natsu's brawling instincts.
He'd learned exactly what he needed to know: on a purely physical level, against an opponent of Erza's caliber, he was still just a reckless kid with a strong punch.
Beneath Erza's boot, a new, sharper grin spread across his bloody lips. Good.
Now, for phase two.