Chapter 37: Broken Iron
Meanwhile, in the Phantom Lord pit, Gajeel stood hunched over. His posture was the brutal product of pure pain and creeping exhaustion. His small body was sore all over; even the simple, ragged act of breathing sent a dull, throbbing ache radiating through his ribs.
Dried trails of dark crimson blood along his left arm, and his nose was bruised a deep, swollen purple—undeniably broken. The dark patches coloring his skin were absolute proof that his opponent was not a man to be underestimated.
He forced himself to take slow, deliberate breaths, desperately trying to claw back whatever stamina he could manage.
'Even though I ate that iron railing… I only got back a fraction of my overall magic,' Gajeel gritted his teeth, his eyes locked on the figure across from him. 'And this bastard definitely won't sit around and let me completely recover.'
'What are my options?'
His mind raced, discarding ideas as fast as they came. He couldn't use his Iron Dragon's Roar; he simply lacked the magical reserves to use that spell. He could still manifest his Iron Dragon's Club, but his left arm was completely numb from his previous battle, hanging like a dead weight at his side. That left him with only one good arm to swing with.
He could rely on Ethernal Infusion, but he'd have to use it sparingly. Using it too many times would drain the pathetic scrap of magic he had left.
Then there was the man standing across from him—Damian. An S-class wizard of Phantom Lord. Not only did the man completely outclass him in sheer physical power, but he also possessed years of hardened combat experience that a kid like Gajeel couldn't match.
Backed into a literal corner, his stamina burning out, and his magical energy bleeding away with every spell, Gajeel was staring directly into a dead end.
'What do I do…? What the hell can I do? How do I win this?' Desperation clawed at his throat, threatening to choke his focus. 'What would dad do?'
The sudden, vivid thought of Metalicana—the towering iron dragon who had raised him—caused Gajeel to draw a deep, stabilizing breath. He clamped down in panic. Bending his knees to lower his center of gravity, he focused the dregs of his magic into his right side. With a harsh metallic shriek, his right arm transformed, flesh hardening into a heavy, high-density iron club.
The crowd of wizards packed tightly around the rim of the pit sat in a tense, heavy silence. For a brief moment, it felt like respect—a collective awe for the sheer violence these two monsters were putting on display. Though, beneath the quiet, every single bet in the room was firmly riding on Damian's victory.
Noticing the renewed fire burning in the young Dragon Slayer's eyes, Damian adjusted his grip on his hilt, tightening his fingers. He didn't bother taking a defensive stance of his own; his posture remained completely relaxed, almost casual.
"So," Damian said, his voice level and entirely composed. "Did you finally come up with a plan?"
Gajeel glared up through his messy black hair, his answer coming out steady and entirely unshaken.
"Oh, I got a plan," Gajeel spat, a rough edge cutting through his voice. "Attack. I'll just keep on attacking until I'm dead. At the end of the day, I'm a wizard, ain't I?"
A wide, genuine grin spread across Damian's face.
"I like your style, Gajeel," Damian murmured, his eyes lighting up with sudden excitement. "Show me what you have!"
In the next moment, Damian moved. Rocketing forward at a downright inhuman speed, he completely vanished from the sight of the low-tier wizards watching from above. To them, it was as if he had simply ceased to exist.
A concussive shockwave echoed through the pit as Damian's sword struck Gajeel's iron club head-on.
Even though Gajeel had managed to bring his arm up in time to block—somehow bracing his weight well enough to avoid being thrown across the arena—the sheer, concentrated force of the slash was immense. The heavy wooden floor beneath their feet shattered instantly, splintering into countless flying shards as the ground caved into a jagged crater.
Damian let out a loud, manic laugh, the calm demeanor fracturing to reveal the battle-hungry warrior beneath. He unleashed a blinding flurry, repeatedly slashing down on Gajeel with ferocious precision.
Gajeel threw everything he had into survival, his enhanced Dragon Slayer senses working at their absolute limit. His heightened vision and sharp instincts allowed him to barely perceive the trajectory of the steel, tracking the subtle shifts in the air to predict Damian's strikes.
He focused entirely on defending, parrying what he could and letting his iron club take the brunt of the rest. The two fought at such a blistering, lethal tempo that the spectators couldn't even blink, staring in absolute terror of missing a single exchange.
After several seconds of the relentless onslaught, Damian shouted over the ringing clash of metal—a piece of advice that Gajeel heard, but was too busy staying alive to fully process.
"When fighting a swordsman, do not just focus on the weapon!"
Before the words fully registered, Damian's heavy boot slammed directly into Gajeel's exposed gut. The kick delivered a brutal burst of leverage, launching the boy backward. Gajeel skimmed across the splintered floor, his boots digging into the wood as he skidded a few meters before coming to a hard stop.
Wiping a fresh smear of blood from his mouth, Gajeel snapped his head up, only to see Damian already descending from above, his blade raised high for a splitting downward cleave.
In that fraction of a second, Gajeel made a split-second gamble. He snapped his right arm back to normal, the iron club dissolving into flesh.
Timing the exact trajectory of the descending steel, Gajeel didn't try to dodge. Instead, he snapped his bare right hand outward, using the flat of his palm to sharply strike the side of the blade just as it fell. The deflecting blow forced the sword off its mark, causing it to bite violently into the ground right next to his flank.
The floor split apart with a horrific groan, a deep, smoking trench carving into the masonry from the sheer force of the miss.
"I'm gonna knock that grin right off your damn face!" Gajeel roared.
Coiling every scrap of physical strength left in his legs, Gajeel drove his right fist straight up into Damian's jaw. He put his entire body weight behind the punch, channeling all his agony and frustration into the knuckles of his bare hand.
The contact was solid, a brutal strike meant to shatter bone. Gajeel's teeth bared in a fierce, desperate grin. "If I got a pulse, I got a chance!"
Damian's head barely snapped back from the impact. His feet didn't even budge from the spot.
Before Gajeel could pull his fist back, Damian's free hand shot forward like a striking viper, his fingers wrapping completely around the boy's face with an iron grip.
"You have nothing," Damian said softly, his voice returning to that terrifying, absolute calm.
Holding Gajeel by his face, Damian lifted the boy off the ground with a single, effortless motion. The dark wooden floor beneath them scraped against Gajeel's dragging boots. Reaching down, Damian stabbed his sword directly into the wooden floor of the pit, leaving it upright as he spoke, his voice carrying the chilling weight of an absolute truth.
"You are unskilled," Damian said, his amber eyes boring into the kid's frantic gaze.
"Unworthy. Underdeveloped. Overconfident. You speak of chances and pulses, yet you fail to grasp the fundamental nature of where you stand. I do not concern myself with notions of good and evil. Those are merely luxuries afforded to people with the freedom to choose."
He paused, letting the silence of the arena emphasize his words.
"I fight because that is my purpose. My sword belongs to Master José. My loyalty belongs to Phantom Lord."
Gajeel thrashed, trying to break the hold, but Damian's grip on his face tightened instantly, locking his jaw and refusing to allow the boy to interrupt him in the slightest.
"I am the protector of this guild," Damian continued, his tone methodical and precise. "Its shield. Its blade. So I suggest you remember this well. It does not matter who you are, where you come from, or what power you possess. If you threaten Phantom Lord... if you dare disrupt its peace..."
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"...then you answer to me."
With his right hand now free from his sword, Damian gripped Gajeel's right arm. He didn't hesitate. He simply squeezed with an inhuman, crushing force.
A sharp, sickening crack echoed through the quiet pit. Gajeel's eyes dilated as a raw, agonized scream tore from his throat, his posture instantly collapsing as his right arm was broken.
Release came violently. Letting go of Gajeel's face, Damian threw out a brutal, short-range elbow strike in the exact same motion, driving the blunt force directly into the boy's chest.
Damian spoke at the exact second of impact, his voice cool and unhurried.
"I am Damian Ashenfell. And as long as I draw breath, this guild will never fall."
The concussive blow sent Gajeel flying backward across the pit. His chest seized up, desperately tightening as he gasped for air that wouldn't come. He crashed heavily into another section of the pit's perimeter, his small body slamming against the iron railing.
Earlier, he had only consumed a single iron railing to replenish his reserves. Several more still lined the edge of the pit, completely untouched.
Gajeel groaned painfully, a hot rush of tears blurring his vision. Trying to force his broken body to cooperate, he scrambled to stand, but his balance failed. He stumbled, landing directly on his fractured right arm. A fresh wave of agonizing white heat shot through his nervous system, forcing him back into the ground.
"N-No...!" Gajeel choked out, pushing himself away from the center of the arena with his legs. "Stay away from me! I-I won't die here!"
Pulling his sword cleanly from the floor, Damian began to walk in his direction, his footsteps slow and rhythmic.
Gajeel staggered backward against the wall, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks as his entire frame trembled violently. The rough, confident front he had put up since joining the guild was thoroughly shattered.
"You can't kill me! Do you hear me?! You CAN'T!" His voice cracked into a desperate, high-pitched scream, raw and uneven. "I-I'll never lose! I won't! I WON'T!"
He forced his shaking legs to stand, his survival instincts screaming at him to move.
"I have to fight... I have to win..."
Damian stopped his advance a few paces away, a heavy, unreadable expression settling onto his features as he looked down at the weeping child.
"How truly pitiful," Damian murmured, taking a slow, deliberate pause. "I forgot you are a mere child. But this is what you chose. The decision you made. The choice you made. This is your punishment, Gajeel."
Gajeel's breathing grew incredibly ragged, his chest heaving as he began to hyperventilate. The physical pain was entirely pushed aside by a sudden, suffocating panic.
"If I don't... if I don't..." His red eyes widened in absolute terror.
"F-Father will..." The words caught hard in his throat, a sob threatening to break through. "Father will..."
His voice broke completely, screaming the words at the top of his lungs toward the high ceiling of the guildhall, more terrified of the thought than the steel in Damian's hand.
"HE'LL BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME!"
Tears spilled over his bruised skin.
"I CAN'T DIE! I CAN'T! PLEASE—I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
With his right arm completely broken and useless, that left only his badly damaged, bleeding left arm. Gritting his teeth through the agony, Gajeel threw his left arm forward. The flesh warped, expanding and hardening into a massive, jagged iron club.
But he didn't stop there. Drawing upon the absolute dregs of his remaining life force, he flooded the weapon with his aura, coating the heavy metal in a shimmering, silver-gray light.
Ethernal Infusion.
The sheer mass of the iron club exponentially increased his striking power, designed for devastating, bone-shattering blunt force. By layering the infusion on top of it, Gajeel was forcing his magic to perform far beyond its limits. Even without magic, his base physical strength was monstrous—capable of beating multiple grown men unconscious with his bare fists. Combined with his current state of sheer panic and desperation, this was the absolute strongest technique he could muster, second only to his roar.
Damian observed the blinding silver-gray aura, his expression shifting from pity back to the cold resolve of a swordsman.
"I said it once, and I shall say it again," Damian said, shifting his sword to his left hand and curling his right hand into a tight, solid fist.
He didn't take a stance. He simply met the kid's desperate eyes.
"I will accompany you into hell."
This time, Gajeel said nothing. He didn't have the breath for a reply. A second later, he lunged forward, charging at Damian with every single ounce of speed his broken body could produce.
Damian met him head-on.
Instead of drawing his blade, Damian countered with a bare fist. A catastrophic blast of compressed force erupted from the point of impact. The shockwave tore through the pit, ripping the remaining iron railings clean out of the stone floor and launching them like missiles into the far walls of the hall.
The surrounding wood disintegrated. The wind roared violently, forming a localized gale that pushed outward from the center of the arena.
Several Phantom Lord members standing too close to the edge of the pit were violently blown off their feet, sent sailing backward into the crowd until their fellow mages caught them.
Back in the pit, the dust settled. Gajeel stood entirely frozen, his eyes wide with unadulterated shock. His mouth parted, hanging open in a silent exhale of disbelief.
"I don't… understand."
Directly in front of him, a brilliant, dark-red aura was concentrated entirely around Damian's right fist. It was dense, refined, and suffocatingly powerful.
"You can use… Ethernal Infusion, too?" Gajeel choked out.
A slow, spiderwebbing crack groaned from the length of Gajeel's iron club. A moment later, the weapon completely shattered, breaking apart into harmless metallic fragments that clattered against the ruined floor.
"You really thought you were special, did you not?" Damian asked, his voice cutting through the ringing silence. "Anyone who is a hand-to-hand combatant should be capable of utilizing Ethernal Infusion."
The realization hit Gajeel harder than any physical blow. If Damian could use Ethernal Infusion this entire time, it meant he had simply chosen not to. He hadn't used his magic. He had been holding back from the very beginning, barely even fighting aggressively.
This was never a fight. It was a public execution. A mere punishment.
"Who are you," Damian said, his right fist relaxing into an open hand that instantly latched onto Gajeel's remaining wrist, squeezing until another sharp, sickening snap echoed through the pit. "To challenge me? To challenge the rules of Phantom Lord?"
With Gajeel's wrist broken, Damian began to strike him again and again. The heavy, rhythmic sound of flesh slamming into flesh echoed off the high walls of the guildhall.
"When you cannot even protect your own limbs!"
Another punch landed, fracturing Gajeel's guard.
"You think you are special because you claim to have been raised by a dragon?"
A heavy kick drove deep into Gajeel's ribs.
"We all know dragons do not exist. They are a mere bedtime story."
An elbow strike cracked against his jaw, rattling his skull.
"You simply happened to be a fraction stronger than your average mage."
Gajeel couldn't even scream anymore. The only sound tearing from his throat was the wet, desperate sound of vomiting blood.
"Do not make me laugh."
With his right arm completely broken, his magical reserves running entirely dry, his remaining wrist fractured, and his pride thoroughly crushed into the dirt, Gajeel had nothing left.
His body completely gave out, throwing up blood one final time before his eyes rolled back, his consciousness slipping into absolute darkness.