When the vestige of Gajeel collapsed back into the ocean, his dark form disintegrating into fluid streams, Albion knew it wasn't real. It was nothing more than Black Water given shape by his own thoughts. It was a phantom born of his imagination.
Yet knowing the truth did not dull the sharp, hollow ache in his chest.
Gajeel had not been a friend. But he had viewed Gajeel as something genuine, a presence built on an unspoken, mutual understanding that felt real. Seeing that form shattered felt like a small, silent hole tearing open inside his heart.
Beyond the mist, Amon moved without hesitation. He raised one of his purple energy cleavers, stepping directly toward Juvia.
Juvia's vestige raised her hands, manipulating the surrounding liquid to draw a protective dome of water over her head. But the structure was too slow, its density too weak. With his rapidly evolving physical force, Amon's downward strike sheared straight through the defensive barrier, scattering the fluid into mist and leaving her exposed.
"No!" Albion screamed.
He thrust his hand out toward her, his fingers straining against the empty air as if he could somehow reach her across the vast distance. The agony in his broken chest flared, but he ignored it.
In that desperate instant, a memory surfaced from the corridors of the Phantom Lord. He remembered her calm, soft voice explaining the nature of her magic:
«I also possess a defensive technique that allows my physical body to assume a fluid state.»
«A technique? Does that work like a spell?»
«In my case, yes. It renders conventional physical strikes and standard weaponry largely ineffective against me.»
A sharp flare of light glowed from Albion's eyes.
Amon brought the purple cleaver down in a brutal, sweeping cross-section, aiming to slash Juvia just as he had done to Albion earlier. The energy blade passed completely through her torso.
There was no sound of tearing fabric. No spray of blood or dark ash.
Instead, Juvia's upper torso and lower waist seamlessly separated into fluid streams, allowing the purple blade to pass harmlessly through empty water before her body effortlessly coalesced back together.
Amon's three eyes widened in shock. He stumbled back a half-step, staring at his blade in disbelief.
Farther across the plane, a desperate, breathless smile broke across Albion's face.
"Yes..."
He slammed his other palm directly onto the surface of the Black Water, channeling every remaining drop of his intent into the floor.
Across the dark sea, Amon swung again in a chaotic flurry of vertical and horizontal slashes. Every strike connected, but Juvia's body merely parted, her liquid form reforming instantly after every blow. His breath grew ragged with frustration. He possessed Albion's memories, but he had never lived them, he had never stood in that corridor, he had never stood in that corridor, and his unanalytical mind struggled to comprehend the logic of a body made of water.
'I need to create something else,' Albion thought frantically, the glow in his eyes pulsing with desperation. 'Quickly. I'm at my physical limit. My magical energy is almost completely drained. I can forge one more construct... just one. After this, I won't have anything left.'
His mind raced through options, searching for someone—anyone—whose strength could turn the tide.
'Sheila?'he thought. She was an S-Class wizard, respected and feared within the guild, but he had never seen her fight. He had never observed her physical strength, her speed, or her magic beyond her Mahō perception. A construct of Sheila built on pure speculation would be useless; it would fall as easily as Gajeel
'Damien?' He had never even seen the man's face.
'Master Jose?' He had only witnessed a single binding spell when his mother first brought him to the guild hall. He had no baseline for Jose's true power, no magic to replicate.
Frustration flared into a cold panic.
"Can't I do anything?" Albion whispered aloud, his fingers digging into the hard liquid floor. "My friend is about to die... and I can't do a single thing."
Desperate, his mind reached farther back, digging through the dark memories of his childhood. Who had he seen fighting? Who possessed a strength so strong that it had left an indelible mark upon his consciousness?
The answer was immediate: Amon. But Amon was already his opponent, adapting and growing stronger by the second.
Then, a single face emerged from the dark depths of his memory.
«Just this once… alright? For the survival of the both of us.»
His mother.
Questions flooded his mind—questions about who she truly was, why she had abandoned him, and what her existence meant. But he forced them down. He had watched her fight wild, monstrous beasts in the deep forests. He had watched her get overwhelmed, battered, and struck by lightning, only to stand back up moments later.
Her strength was the only form of combat he truly understood.
'I don't have a choice,' Albion told himself, his jaw clenching. 'I'm at my limit. This is the only option left. Even though I hate her... even though I despise everything she did to me... logically speaking, she's the only one.'
It made sense. Her physical resilience and combat instincts were etched into his mind with clarity. He focused his remaining magical force, commanding the Black Water beneath his palms to rise.
Nothing happened.
The liquid floor remained motionless, smooth as glass.
Albion's eyes widened in horror. He pushed harder, sending his intent surging through his magical origin, but the Black Water refused to shape.
'I can't...' he realized, a cold dread washing over his entire body. 'I can't do it. I know I have to... so why is my mind rejecting her? Why is every part of my being refusing to bring her back?'
It was his final, crucial mistake.
Amon halted his wild, reckless swings. Observing the fluid nature of Juvia's body, he dropped his stance, his three red eyes sharpening with ruthlessness.
He didn't swing once. He raised both purple energy cleavers, unleashing a massive, simultaneous cross-slash—one vertical, one horizontal—with enough strength to shake the air itself.
The dual strike flared across Juvia's entire form, completely engulfing her upper and lower body in a wide, sweeping shockwave of purple energy.
Far away, Albion stared into empty air as the distant memory of her voice echoed through his mind, chilling him to the bone.
Far away, Albion stared at the empty air, the distant memory of her voice echoing through his mind with chillingness:
«My physical state requires a central point of cohesion. Even when dispersed, a core must remain intact to allow my body to reform. If an attack were sufficiently forced and powerful enough to destroy that core entirely... if every dispersed part of me were destroyed simultaneously...»
A suffocating silence filled Albion's ears.
The sound of the realm faded, leaving only the rapid, heavy thumping of his own heartbeat. The glow in his eyes flared intensely, and tears welled in his eyelids, spilling over and running down his bruised cheeks.
For the first time since the battle began, his resolve wavered.
The question that had driven him—How can I save Amon?—shattered, replaced by a dark, agonizing doubt:
'Do I even want to save him?'
Amon lowered his hands, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He spat a dark glob of blood onto the floor before dispersing the twin purple cleavers into floating butterflies.
"This is how it had to be," Amon rasped, turning his narrow gaze toward Albion. "How do you feel now? Someone else you cared about died because of you. You must feel pretty pathetic, don't you, Albion?"
He stepped forward, but stopped abruptly.
He looked down at his small, pale hands. Without weapons in them, his fingers were trembling violently. Uncontrollable tremors shook his forearms.
"What...?" Amon muttered, staring at his hands in confusion. "What is this?"
A thick vein bulged against his temple. A sudden, high-pitched buzzing sensation echoed inside his skull, an unsettling feeling, like dull claws scraping against the inside of his brain.
Vivid, overwhelming images flooded his mind, the stone corridor and Juvia's gentle, warm smile.
A sharp, blinding spike of pain drove through Amon's head. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his skull as a guttural cry escaped his throat. The movement jarred his ribs and torn arm, sending fresh waves of agony through his body, but he could barely process the physical damage over the noise inside his mind.
He panted heavily, his three eyes wide with shock and confusion as he coughed, blood spilling onto the floor. "What is going on with me...? What is this...?"
Across the plain, Albion remained on his knees, his hands resting limply in the dark water. His eyes burned with an uncontrollable, radiant light. When he experienced a sudden, extreme surge of raw emotion, whether cold rage or the shattering realization of his own existence, his magical signature spiked alongside it.
Albion could not trigger it at will, nor could he suppress it when the feeling consumed him. It was a pure, instinctual response.
He looked up, his voice quiet, direct, and trembling with a grief he could no longer hide.
"Are you determined to prove that you're a monster, Amon?" Albion whispered, the tears streaming freely down his face. "What kind of sick person... would kill their own friend?"