Fairy Tail - Twilight Empire

Chapter 0.5 - Tears Pt. 1

X788

It did not take long for the Magic Council to decide that war was inevitable, their only option, but they could not face Zeref in open war in Fiore. His hold was tightening in the country, Crocus specifically, which meant it'd loosened elsewhere:

Vistarion.

Thus, the Magic Council lurked, but did not wait to move. Slowly, following Zeref's ascent to ruler of Fiore, they sent spies into Vistarion. One at a time for weeks, then one at a time for days, until their network was established, and the guards at Emperor Spriggan's palace were lax around the spies. Loose. More willing to trust.

A port opened for travel. A single fracture in the armor of the unbeatable emperor. It would be open for a single night, supposedly transporting a large shipment of rare Fiore herbs and spices at a near-unbeatable price.

But the cargo was no mere bit of food—it was the elite of Fiore: The Wizard Saints.

Given guidance to gather once more by the Magic Council, Draculos Hyberion led them by secret ship into the now-open port. Ten, they were not, since Siegrain's reveal, Makarov's demise, and Serena's betrayal. But they were complete in their own way.

Draculos, Wolfheim, Warrod Sequen, Jura Neekis, Kevyn the Golden Gladiator from Sin, Olari the Aquatic Queen of Minstrel, and Borg the Calculator all strode, essentially unseen, through Vistarion's streets.

If their intelligence was correct, there were no remaining Spriggan Twelve in Alikitasia. They'd all been mobilized across Fiore, moving even into Bosco and Stella, to begin operations for annihilating the alliance that'd formed between the three countries. Jura hated to see the continent abandoned, but this was a perfect way to begin defending their home.

Not far from the shore, the Christina, Blue Pegasus's airship, was safely tucked away. Their mission was to overthrow those who guarded Zeref's throne and make a hasty retreat. They'd scramble the Spriggan Twelve, and it'd give them an opportunity to pick them off one by one.

Their spies led them into the palace, getting them by the guards with no issues. They weren't necessarily in disguise, but their research had proven that the people of Alikitasia paid so little attention to those on Ishgar that they'd never be recognized.

To the eyes of the trustworthy palace guard, these were eccentric people who were very stoic, very calm, and very much looking forward to meeting with the top Guild Masters left behind in the Empire to take care of the throne.

The guards dropped away as they arrived in the throne room, a massive expanse far too large even for the likes of the Spriggan Twelve and gathered Guild Masters to fill properly. Such masters waited, lingering by the throne in idle conversation.

"Alright," one of them said. He was gruff, musky. "Where are the goods?"

The Wizard Saints had arrived under many guises: To the people of the city, they were nobodies; to the guards, they were passerby wizards, and to the Guild Masters, they were expert magicians with promising magical herbs.

Borg the Calculator stepped forward, hoisting a crate he'd held under his arms. Jura summoned a bit of magic into his hands. Draculos followed in step behind Borg.

"Right here," Borg said, and opened the crate, revealing...

A single wand.

The gruff Guild Master grunted. "That's it?"

"Warrod, care to explain?" Wolfheim asked.

Warrod grinned. "Yes. Snapping Root."

The wood of the wand cracked before it exploded out of the crate, crashing against the Guild Master while growing at an unstoppable pace.