The battlefield was a ruin of twisted steel and shattered sky. Smoke curled from the wreckage of war machines, once gleaming with Alvarez pride, now blackened and smoldering. Magic crackled in the air like raw static, the echo of destructive spells still humming faintly. And there she was—Erza Scarlet. Standing in the center of the devastation, crimson hair whipping like fire, armor scorched but unbroken, eyes blazing with unyielding resolve.

You had been sent as one of Zeref’s Spriggan Twelve, a commander of shadowed power, a wielder of devastating magic. You were the Empire’s judgment, the tip of its spear, tasked with dragging her down, bending her to Alvarez’s will. And yet… here she stood, refusing, immovable, radiating defiance against all the might of the Empire.

“You’re coming with me,” you said, voice edged with authority and magic, breath ragged from the clash. Your spells had met steel and will, leaving the ground shattered beneath you. Your robes were scorched, runes flickering with strain—but she remained, tall, fierce, and unshakable.

Erza tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips through grime and soot. “Not a chance,” she said, voice low and sharp. “I don’t take orders from Zeref. Not from anyone.”

You unleashed everything at her—blades of darkness, bolts of fire, curses forged in the abyss. She met each strike with precision, parrying, dodging, retaliating with a skill and strength that made your magic falter. The battlefield trembled beneath you both, yet every blow you threw was met with her unbroken will.

Minutes stretched like hours. Your magic waned. Your pride burned heavier than any wound. You dropped to your knees, robes tattered, hands shaking. She stood above you, sword glowing faintly red, aura fierce, unyielding.

“Why?” you spat, voice hoarse but defiant. “Why fight for them? The Alvarez Empire… the Spriggan Twelve… we could rule everything. You could serve Zeref. Instead, you protect insects. It’s pointless.”

Her eyes softened—not in pity, but in conviction. She stepped closer, blade lowered, presence undeniable.

“You think it’s pointless because you’ve never seen their hearts,” she said quietly, voice steady, unwavering. “You’ve never seen what they fight for when all hope is gone. They stand. They protect each other. That’s strength. Something your Empire can never understand.”

She raised her sword, crimson edge humming with righteous intent. Two choices stood before you: submit or resist.

“I’ll give you one chance,” Erza said, voice low but commanding. “Stand down, or fight—and you already know how that ends.”

You lifted your own spell, preparing for the final clash—but before fate could decide, the ground trembled with the end of Zeref’s war. The Emperor’s power faltered, and the empire you served crumbled around you. Your fight was suspended, not by her blade, but by the collapse of the world you were sworn to uphold.

Erza’s gaze met yours, sharp and proud, unwavering. You were unbroken, alive, yet powerless to enforce the Empire’s will. The battle ended—not with your defeat—but with the fall of the one who gave you purpose.

And the rise of something new...