Hello, everyone!

Here I come with a new idea, inspired by NatsuHaremFan! His idea is on his profile under the name of "Seven Warlocks of Ishgar", which was inspired by the Shichibukai from One Piece. I grew immensely interested when I saw that and here you go! A brand new Dark Natsu story.

Right off the bat, the pairing for this story will be a Natsu x Collective (Harem) starring Ur Milkovich and Ikaruga Shingetsu (yes, I gave her a last name, as well as Cobra, who will be named Erik Venerus). I already know who the other lucky ladies are, but I will not reveal them until later. This Natsu is older, at 28 (or 428, whatever floats your boat). Any other info will be revealed as the story progresses.

Shoutout to NatsuHaremFan!

Anyways, onto the story!

Please read and review! (Flames will be fed to Natsu, who I FINALLY wrote as a Fire Dragon Slayer)


Disclaimer: I do not own Fairy Tail, its rights or any of its characters, spells, locations, etc. These belong to the one and only Hiro Mashima. I only own my OCs, my spells, etc. Any resemblance to anything or anyone, either living or dead, is purely coincidental. Also, this work is purely meant for non-profit entertainment.

Hello " "= Dialogue

Requip " "= Spells, Magical Item Names and Non-Human Speech

What? ' ' = Thoughts

Oh dear... ' '= Non-human Thoughts

The Ruthless Seven

Chapter 1: Prologue: The Black Salamander

He stood upon a cliff, overlooking the plain horizon in which his newest assignment lay (in other words, his pure whim). His sharp, slit onyx eyes were contemplative, yet focused. His right hand was pocketed in his black pants, a color matched by his tight black shirt and his boots. His long, red overcoat with golden flame designs at its extremities fluttered with the wind, something that his rather spiky pink hair emulated. Yet, the hair had more freedom, for the coat was hindered by an immense, pitch-black sword.

It was a single-edged sword with a slight curve at the end, at least a full head taller than him (he stood at six feet and two inches). The abnormally large hilt was shaped like a cross-guard, bearing an eye-popping collection of precious gems that symmetrically ornamented it.

Overall, it looked like he had an oversized black cross strapped to his back, prompting some to wonder whether he was religious or not. Others would wonder how he could carry a seemingly very heavy blade without an ounce of effort, and those who saw him fight (and lived to tell the tale) wondered how he could swing it so quickly that it just resembled a black blur.

Many compared him to an angel of death, delivering his judgment with his mighty black blade. Others called him a demon of destruction, for everywhere he went, destruction would ensue. Ironically, both of these were the product of dark guilds and their members, whom he took a subtle pleasure in hunting.

He was feared by all who knew him, whether they were dark mages or light mages (those that were affiliated with the Magic Council).

His name was Natsu Dragneel, better known throughout the land as the "Black Salamander". No one knew where he came from. All they knew was that he was there to stay.

The pink-haired swordsman opened his mouth and released a soft sigh. He could smell the fire, the smoke, the ash… the blood.

There was an attack nearby, and the obvious perpetrators were dark mages. He could smell them, feel their magic tremble with maliciousness. If he were someone else, he would be disgusted, but he wasn't fazed at all.

After all, his magic felt so much worse

He smirked slightly, a rarity for Natsu. He preferred stoicism, for he liked to keep his emotions hidden. He only showed semblances of emotion to his closest companions (not that he had many).

He crouched slightly, tensing his muscles in preparation for his jump down towards the direction of the attack. Even in the darkness of night, his vision was nigh perfect, so he knew exactly where the attack was, even without the assistance of the raging flames.

Without so much as a warning, he disappeared in a flash of red-orange.

Chaos ruled Hakumai Village.

Villagers ran amok, screaming bloody murder. Raging fires consumed every single combustible material that was available to them. Blood puddled in many sections of the small village, both of local and outsider origin.

Men dressed in black rushed through, aimlessly raining fire on the villagers' homes, not caring if they hit woman, man, or child. Collateral damage was at the very back of their minds, accompanied by possible loss of life.

All they cared about was the loot.

Rumors circulated that Hakumai Village produced a special kind of elixir that would treat all physical wounds, and refill magical containers back to full capacity in less than an hour. It was called the Spiritual Mastermind Potion, a concoction so rare and powerful it fetched incredible prices in the market.

The villagers called it a miracle that they were not attacked before for their treasure, but now it was moot. They were being attacked, and by a very organized group of dark wizards.

The first thing they did was cut off all of their escape routes. Then, Hell descended upon them, in the form of multiple fireballs that razed houses, gardens… people. Men, women, and children, they burned them all down. They were unscrupulous.

They were Black Plague, a guild full of powerful dark wizards that would raid villages in the outskirts of civilization, where the Magic Council had little influence in the state of affairs. Attacks by this guild were random, sudden, and lethal.

Martos, mayor of Hakumai Village, could only look around in horror as he watched his precious citizens die in a blazing inferno. Any defenses he could come up with were mercilessly beaten down. The men that fought were instantly burned down, and the women could only hold onto their children, praying to whatever deities, begging to be spared. For some, it was granted temporarily.

Others weren't so lucky…

"So, Mayor, are you going to tell me where you have your little treasure hidden? At least the recipe?" asked a mocking, derisive voice in front of him.

Martos was a middle-aged man of average height and build, with short graying hair and a small beard. He wore a white button-up shirt with black pants and black shoes.

The man opposite him, though, was almost the complete opposite. He was tall, standing at least a head over him, and very well-built, much like a bodybuilder. He was young, with jet-black hair and a small goatee. He was draped in all black, much like his subordinates.

He was the master of Black Plague, Markus Masseltoth, the "Shadow of Hades".

"Never! I will never tell you worthless scum where our treasure is, or the recipe!" shouted Martos, glaring heatedly at the younger man. Oh, the fear was present within him, but he pushed it down. If it was their destiny to die to these monsters, then they would take the secret of their potion with them.

Markus bristled, his annoyance clearly manifesting in his expression. Oh, how he hated defiant ones, especially when they were weaklings like the old man in front of him. He wished to purge the world of them, to show them that in this world, only the strong survived. But alas, he could not do that alone.

"Wrong answer," he growled, forgetting about the formula in his blind anger. He quickly summoned a fireball and launched it at the old man.

His eyes wide at his incoming doom, Martos opened his mouth, and spoke, "Forgive me, everyone…"

His eyes shut slowly, his acceptance clear. He was going to die, along with the rest of his village, but Black Plague would not have the formula. For that, he could die in peace.

His death never came, though…

Martos opened his eyes, expecting to see either heaven or hell, but he found himself a rather odd sight. The fireball that was supposed to kill him was right in front of him, less than two meters away, but it was frozen in midair. Hell, all of the fires that were eating up his village were frozen as well, almost as if time itself had stopped.

But, that could not be, for everyone and everything in the village could move.

Only the flames were still, and in the darkness of the night, shone blindingly like a beacon. The overwhelming heat was still there, making everyone sweat buckets.

The screaming of the women stopped, the crying of the children ceased, and the roars of the men tapered off. Everyone was staring at the frozen inferno, wondering just what happened for it to be that way.

The only one who wasn't still in wonder was Markus. He was still, yes, but for a totally different reason. His eyes were wide in shock, his hands were clammy with sweat not caused by the fires, and his legs were shaking slightly. For a man priding himself on his magical prowess and incredible physical strength, it was a pathetic sight to behold.

Markus Masseltoth was frozen in fear, for he knew who had stopped the flames like that. He knew of only one person capable of such a thing.

The Black Salamander was in Hakumai Village…

Suddenly, the fires regained their infernal livelihood, crackling and sizzling away, but they were being bent towards one direction, almost as if the wind was fanning them. But, there was no wind. The air was as still as death, for it had stopped moving a couple of minutes ago.

In fact, the still air seemed to be getting heavier, and hotter, causing shortness of breath to everyone. It would only be a matter of time before they suffered a heatstroke.

The flames shrunk exponentially, disappearing in mere seconds. All the effort put into the spells by Markus' subordinates was gone, as if it were nothing but a campfire.

'Damn it, why is he here? WHY?! I thought he was in Fiore!' thought Markus, his legs shaking even more. It felt as if his strength was about to up and leave him to his sad, infernal fate.

An eerie silence reigned over the darkened village. There was no movement whatsoever, for everyone was just too afraid to do so.

Then, footsteps came. Slow and deliberate, they echoed out into the night, piercing the silence rhythmically. The closer they came, the hotter it got. Some of the villagers and members of Black Plague descended into unconsciousness, foam coming out of their mouths.

"Far from the best, but I've had worse," spoke a smooth, tenor voice. Martos and Markus turned in the direction of the voice, their eyes falling on a tall, human silhouette with a fiery red aura surrounding it. Fear gripped them even further, feeling unconsciousness overtake them ever so slightly.

They fell on their knees, unable to take the pressure.

The silhouette stopped a few meters away from them, the aura growing ever brighter. They could finally make out a face, and the expression it held sealed a single thought into their brains.

'We're fucked…'

The Black Salamander's face was as stoic as one could be, his sharp, slit onyx eyes locked onto his latest prey at the center of the unconscious bodies. His orbs seemed to gleam slightly, sending shivers down their spines.

He spoke no more, apparently relishing in the fear his silence caused. His magical aura was massive, oppressive, and malicious, though at the same time it felt… restrained.

He gave no warning, no sign, no semblance of movement dictating his next course of action.

He lifted his fingers and snapped them, prompting the temperature in the village to spike drastically. The inferno was back, worse than before, without any flames to accompany it.

It was quick, invisible, and deadly.

Horrid screams of pain rung out in the village, though they all sounded male. Both conscious men turned around, their eyes widening in horror when they saw all the members of Black Plague spontaneously combust. Slowly, but surely, they began to melt into puddles of liquefied flesh, blood, and bone.

Martos could hear their pain, their horror, and their pleads for mercy. He shut his eyes, unable to stomach the nauseating scene before him.

The screaming ceased after what he felt like an eternity, and his fingers snapped once again. The temperature plunged into the depths of normalcy, and the oppressive magical pressure lifted. They took a long, painfully needed breath of air, relishing in the fresh bursts of oxygen that traversed their lungs and body.

Without giving the Black Salamander a second glance, Martos rushed over his fellow citizens, almost crying in relief when he found them alive and unmolten, only in varying states of unconsciousness.

He turned to give their savior his heartfelt gratitude, but he was shocked to see he was no longer in the place he was before. Now, he was standing before Markus, the terrifyingly stoic look still plastered on his face.

Markus cowered before the man, unable to utter even one coherent word. He was shaking and sweating more than before, and it was visible in his face.

It seemed like the oddly pink-haired man was going to stare Markus to death, when suddenly his right hand snapped up, pointing his open palm at the Black Plague's master.

"You're not worth soiling my blade," he spoke softly, before unleashing a fireball easily thrice as large as the one Markus threw at him.

Barely a scream of shock he released when Markus exploded in a shower of blood. Somehow, none of it landed on the pink-haired man.

Martos was beyond horrified at the incredible ease this man had in killing human beings. True, they may be of the undesirable sort, but killing was killing. There was no way to justify such an atrocity.

He almost jumped when the man suddenly whirled towards him and began taking purposeful steps. The fear within magnified tenfold when the man stopped less than a meter away from him, feeling the smoldering heat his body seemed to naturally produce. He looked down on him.

Only one thought raced through Martos' head, further empowered by the sheer helplessness he felt before the taller man. He closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

'Forgive me everyone, I have failed in protecting you…'

A light shone, and he scrunched his face, expecting searing pain. But, nothing happened.

He opened his eyes just enough to see the man holding a bag of what seemed to be money. His eyes shot open, confused by the man's actions.

Was he not going to kill him? Why would he summon money?

"Here," the Black Salamander spoke, releasing the bag. Martos instinctively reached out and caught it. "I want all of the Spiritual Mastermind Potions you have. Considering the price it has in the market, this amount of money should be more than enough to buy an entire barrel's worth.

"I do not want your formula; I just want the product. Bring me this in 10 minutes, and continue brewing this exclusively for me. Am I clear?"

Martos did not speak. How could he? He just experienced this man singlehandedly destroying all of Black Plague for trying to steal something he wanted to buy.

He only nodded, and quickly rushed back into his home. Less than five minutes afterwards, he came out, dragging a large chest full of vials of Spiritual Mastermind Potion. He had difficulty in completing his task, for the chest was about half as big as him, and a lot heavier.

The Black Salamander appeared right behind him in a burst of flames, beckoning him to move away. He then placed his hand on the chest, causing it to disappear in a flash of golden light.

"I appreciate your business, Martos," spoke the pink-haired man. How he knew his name, Martos did not know, and he would not dare ask.

He barely had any opportunity to speak, for the Black Salamander had turned around and began walking away, disappearing into the night just as abruptly as he came in.

After some time, he looked around his nigh destroyed village, silently thanking Lady Fate for intervening in such an unorthodox way.

'Never thought I would thank a dark wizard for saving me… but I do thank you… Black Salamander…'

That does it!

Yes, it is a little short, but it's a prologue. They are meant to be short and enticing.

This story will be worked on simultaneously with Natsu Draggio: Dragon of Lightning, which is my upcoming update. After that... Yeah, I dunno.

Anyways, thank you for reading!

Please! Review, review, review!

Until next time! Ciao!