Fairy Tail: Kyoka Suigetsu

**A Silent War**

[The Devotion of An Atheist]

Beneath the haunting embrace of the cold, velvet sky, where stars glittered like scattered diamonds upon the obsidian canvas of night, the wind, sharp and uncaring, swept through the air—an invisible force, relentless in its touch. A solitary figure stood at the precipice of a towering building, his silhouette defined against the infinite dark, his hair tossed and tangled by the gusts that seemed to whisper forgotten secrets. His eyes, hollow and faraway, were fixed on the vast, sprawling sea of stars, each one a pinprick of light, distant and unmoving, as if they too were watching the world below with apathetic curiosity. The wind did not carry the promise of change, nor did it offer solace. It simply *was*, as it had always been, as it always would be.

"This town will become the battlefield for the coming war," I muttered, my voice a mere whisper, swallowed by the wind. I glanced at the rows of houses below, their windows flickering with the dull glow of forgotten lives. "If it happens, every person here will be caught in the crossfire. It's unavoidable. In the worst case, this whole town could be wiped off the map." The bomb they carry within them isn't just a bomb—it's something far worse. More akin to a nuke. I've witnessed its power, felt the tremor of its potential devastation. A twenty-mile radius, wiped clean. I fell silent, letting the weight of it settle. It's just an explosion. No radiation, no lingering poison—just the kind of death that doesn't need an audience. Just the kind of death that comes and goes, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

"There truly is no way to escape this nightmare unless we isolate and destroy them. But we lack the means to do so... for now." I sighed, a long, weary exhale that carried with it the full weight of hopelessness.

"Just as the old man said... killing them is an easy task, but the aftermath is a far more harrowing beast."

Sacrifice.

A word so easily spoken, yet so painfully difficult in its true form. It is a game, a grim dance of necessity and loss, but it must be calculated. In this place, even the smallest sacrifice is too costly, a price too high to pay. The idea of losing a battle to win the war is an illusion—an empty promise whispered to the desperate. No matter what we do, the scales tip in their favor. If we kill them, they will explode—taking this entire town with them, a final, deadly act. If we don't, people will still die. The difference is nothing more than a matter of time, of how many souls will be lost before the *war* begins. In two weeks, the old man claimed, their research would be complete, and with it, the beginning of a new wave of destruction. Immortality may still elude their grasp, but for them, what they have is more than enough.

"The most effective way would be to abduct them, to isolate them in a place where no one can see. A quiet place, far from the crowds." If we succeed, killing them will be easier, for there will be no collateral damage. No innocent lives caught in the crossfire. "However, assuming we manage to kill them before they can react, we cannot underestimate their magical prowess. This battle, if it happens, will cost us dearly."

"The true danger, however, lies in the number of enemies," I continued, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Excluding their leader, there are two among them far more powerful than we expected." This is the part that stirs the disquiet in me, the part I cannot escape, no matter how I try. But then again, what is it but another obstacle in the game? One more complication in the long, inevitable march towards what will be. I shook my head—not in frustration, but in the quiet resignation that accompanies the inevitability of it all. Victory... victory will come only if we wage this war in silence. That is the only hope we have. If we can simply endure, if we can hold on long enough until everything is set into motion.

"Casualties are inevitable," I muttered, not as a solemn promise, but as a statement of fact, a reality that could not be denied. "Let's keep them to a minimum." I said those words as though they held meaning, but even as I spoke, I knew they were empty. Just another small concession in this larger game of life and death. Without another word, I turned and left the rooftop. My footsteps were muffled by the wind, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily upon me, each step carrying me further into the quiet, hollow night.

The old man's plan is simple, almost painfully so in its clarity—destroy their facilities before the Wail arrives. According to his divination, the reason for the Wail's impending arrival lies in the twisted fruits of their research. It's not just about creating a better version of the human bomb—they're seeking something more, something far more dangerous: hidden talents. Those whom they can mold, shape, and use to further their twisted designs. He believes that by neutralizing their research before it culminates, we can avoid the impending disaster. But there's no time to waste.

Before the Wail comes, the old man will attract the attention of two church agents, buying me precious time to destroy their hideout. As a wanted man, the church will surely be gunning for him. His role is not to kill, but to be a decoy, a distraction, allowing me the opportunity to strike. It's a complicated task, filled with peril, and yet my task is no easier. I must dismantle their facilities, wipe out their operations, and at the same time unite the people for what's to come. But how can I lead them when their survival depends on evacuation—and for that, I need the cooperation of the Bureau? Convincing them is no small feat. A valid reason is required, but his pride... his arrogance will likely get in the way. He's the type who believes that non-wizards should be left to handle their own issues, that the Bureau's concern should remain with magical affairs. If he refuses to cooperate, then the chances of saving anyone are slim. If he doesn't agree, there will be nothing more to be done, and too many will die when the battle finally erupts.

But despite all the complications, I'm not worried about the old man. His power is terrifying. I've seen it, felt it, and even survived a glimpse of its true horror. It's an ancient, forgotten magic—a force so powerful it alters fate itself.

Qimen Dunjia: Yáng Dùn Qímén (Yang's Hidden Gate of Escape).

It's a magic of divination, the art of reading and manipulating the future. The old man draws from the Mìnglún Qízhèn (Fate's Wheel Mystic Array), an array that unveils the threads of fate, laying them bare before him. With it, he can control the course of events, alter the outcomes, bend fate to his will. To put it simply—imagine a baseball game. You divine that the batter expects a low, fast pitch, and you throw him a curveball or knuckleball instead. The result? The batter misses the pitch, preventing him from hitting a home run that would've spelled disaster for you. You've avoided bad luck, outsmarted the game. But such manipulation of fate comes at a heavy cost. The backlash, the takeback, is proportional to the weight of the fate you've altered.

The old man has glimpsed the future. He has foreseen what will happen in the next two weeks. He's visualized his encounter with the Wail, the catalyst of the chaos. The price for this knowledge was heavy—internal damage, blood spewing from his mouth—but it was worth it. The power we witnessed was undeniable, an interlinking force that could transfer damage, much like the cursed Hidan Jutsu from that old tale, *Naruto*. He can transfer pain, suffering, and even death between himself and those he's linked to. Even though we didn't see his face, even though we didn't witness the full extent of his abilities, we know this: it's more than enough to make even the most dangerous foe reconsider their path.

With all of this swirling in my mind, I muttered to myself, "Now, I need to focus on finding and destroying their facilities." My footsteps were purposeful as I moved toward a predetermined location. "It's certainly a bit early, but the divination said the Wail is coming. It didn't say it would arrive in two weeks—it said 'within two weeks.' It could come today, tomorrow, or the day after." The pressure is mounting. If we wait any longer, the situation will slip out of our control, and there will be nothing left to salvage. We must act now, or face the consequences of inaction. Time is a luxury we can no longer afford. "We must make a move, or this town will burn."