Hey, peoples, this is a snippet from a story on Colin. The story doesn't have any Fairy Tail references aside from the fact that they're in Earthland. It's a mostly OC story revolving round Colin's life after the Lancet Grand Magic Games.

I just wanted to post it on here in case enough people were interested in reading it. Also, I'm working on Felix's story. Rewrites for Modeling under Snow should be coming soonish.

One

Amyna, Kingdom of Lancet

Ten Years Ago

"That boy is a monster! An abomination!" A woman's finger pointed to a child cowering in the room.

"He's your son, your problem! Were your dowry not worth the arrangement, I would've married a common whore! Likely would have been more loyal than a loose bitch!"

"Loose bitch! I've never cheated! That abomination came from your loins—not mine! My family hails from pure, blue blood!"

"Ha! Pure blood! I see. That must be the reason that our only living child is a fucking demon!"

More pointing fingers. More screaming.

A door slammed, and a boy flinched in the corner of the castle library. Just the sound of his chains moving across the wood floor got a head whipping in his direction. William never knew the color blue could look more like fire than ice as his father glared at him.

A heavy boot pressed forward, and William looked for an escape. The window? The door? No, his chains wouldn't reach—chains his father had put on him before the argument.

With no way out, William did the only thing he could do. He clenched his eyes tight and awaited the hand poised for attack. Seconds later, his father's knuckles slammed into the side of his face. William's body went limp from the impact. He hit his eye on the corner of a desk. Blood streamed.

Oh, well. His parents hated his eyes, his hair, his existence. Before today, they had thought their son's features were a strange genetic quirk. Today, they had realized William's odd coloring for what it was.

Yes, he was a demon, an abomination.

And it was after all these years, that his true colors had finally shown. He was a demon of the myst, the boy who could be washed away by the morning fog. He was nothing but a dark haze across the misty west coast of Lancet.

Why? His mind pleaded to itself. Why had he been born this way? Why had his body betrayed him, revealing a secret he'd uncovered when he'd been ten years old.

He wanted to bury his face in his hands and cry, but he couldn't—not without risking a worse beating.

Already, his body was littered in bruises. His arm had been broken. Blood ran down his face from where he'd hit his eye on the desk. Silver eyes that every thought were blind had been coated in red. It made him look more like the beast he really was, more like the abomination his mother had accused him of being.

He was a freak now. He was about to suffer a freak's existence.

All those years of being the Carlisle's loving heir? Gone. Burned up thanks to a maid sneaking a peek at him in the bath.

"Demon!" she cried, thinking that William's body was being devoured by a demon of mist.

Oh, how wrong she'd been, and when William's father had hauled him from the bath with sword in hand, William had barely been able to miss the hissing blade. His father had immediately known. There was no demon of mist devouring William because William was the demon of mist.

I don't want to be this way, William thought when his father stalked close to him one more time. He knew that look in his father's eyes. The look was of shame, regret, and anguish. Hyde was regretful that he'd ever created a child like William. He was ashamed at the possibility of being the one to bring William into the world. He was anguished to know that his son was no longer his son.

The summer hunting trips to the capital. They were over. Fishing in the river and learning the sword. His lessons would never be finished. Being held in hands now clenched with rage. The only embrace William would receive would be a strangling.

He held the tears tight inside of him. His body turned to mist with strong emotion. It was why he hid them all with snark and sarcasm. His father had found it endearing, thinking that his son would be a proud noble like himself.

"How dare you hide in the form of my heir," Hyde snarled as he grabbed William around the collar.

Masking his tears with a face of boredom, William replied, "How dare you hide in the form of my father." His voice was casual, his phrasing unconcerned. When his father's fist crashed into his abdomen, he closed his eyes tight to keep the salty water from flowing free.

"We'll see just how long that demonic tongue of yours moves once I finish with what I have planned for you." Hyde drew William up by the collar once more. He moved with jerky motions in order to unlatch his son's chains from the desk.

As he hauled his son down the hallway, William's ears caught the sound of hooves. There was to be a party tonight, William's birthday party. Would his father kill him before the guests arrived? Most of nobility had been invited.

If they found out about William's abilities…

His father's wrath would be the last thing for him to worry with. He would have the Duke of Westeria ready to collect his head. That man hated magical anything. He was the one who'd started Cleansings that had rid most mages, "demons", from the kingdom.

Heading towards the slave quarters to keep from being seen, Hyde walked his chained heir passed gasping servants. Most were surprised. Many were entertained. They were like William, demons. The only difference was that they'd been born into hatred. William had been raised as an upperclassmen. He'd been loved.

With his eyes glowering, William snarled at those that hid their snickers. They took one look at his bloodied face and averted their gazes. He might be one of them, but they were still servants. William was different. He was… He was…

He was a dead man.

Once outside, William felt the misty air caress his skin. It called to him, telling him to become one with it and flow into the wilderness. He couldn't. These damned chains kept him from being anything other than a prisoner.

In a matter of seconds, his cell was found. Pulling a wooden beam out of the door handles of the barn, William watched his father toss the beam to the ground. A rough shove threw him into piles of horse shit. He spat the feces out. The muck shielded his eyes from seeing his father, but even behind closed eyes, he saw the light get cut off from the building.

"I'll deal with you later, demon."

Spitting grime out of his mouth, William bared his teeth at the closed door. Later. What would happen later? Death? Enslavement.

When hours passed by, William got his answer. The door opened up, and moonlight flowed within. All that William's filth covered eyes could see was a malicious smile. "Hello, William. My name is Carlin. From now on, you work for me."

Capital Lance, Kingdom Lancet

Current Day

Smoke flowed out from Colin's lips, and he ran his free hand through his hair. All around him were bits of metal. Welding scraps littered the floor, and a soldering gun laid on a desk coated in eraser shavings. Though his desk looked ready to be worked at, the only metal piece Colin was interested in was the bronze roach clip he'd made himself.

He pulled his joint from his mouth, and after a brief analyzation, settled it within the clip. Strangely, Colin had been like this the past few days. His stash of sativa cannabis had laid dormant while the indica had called to him.

Renowned for its calming effects, the indica helped with inward exploration and bodily relaxation. It was the worst choice for someone with a deadline. Interestingly enough, Colin hadn't been much inclined to do work. His head had been dragging through the past instead of floating through the clouds.

Leaning back in his drafting chair, Colin placed one foot on his desk and moved himself from side to side. Ever since the Winter Grand Magic Games in Lancet, Colin's head hadn't been right.

As a member of the Royal Guard, Colin was one of the rejects formerly purchased and trained by Duke Gatlin Hawthorne. Thanks to an epic civil uprising, mages had taken over the kingdom and kicked Hawthorne off his supposed throne. Hawthorne's mages had rebelled against him, and in thanks the new king had put them in titles of nobility.

Those titles had placed him as a guardian during the Grand Magic Games. He was to keep mages safe since the capital of the kingdom had been strife with Norman on mage murders, but the murders and kidnappings going on were more than just murders and kidnappings. They were warnings.

Normans wanted the Royal Guard dead. Many had found out who they really were, former mages of Exile, and they'd planned to infiltrate the games in order to get their revenge.

One of the Guard had even gotten kidnapped. She was the kingdom's assassin, Katja Saab.

While she'd been returned safe and sound to the kingdom, a tension lingered. The games were over. The mages from Fiore had gone to their homeland, but the mages from Lancet were still in Lancet—with all the normal humans that wanted them dead.

Releasing another puff of smoke, Colin put the barely there joint into a round, metal tray. Various others welcomed it. It was the exact opposite of how Normans were with mages.

Normans believed mages were taking over the kingdom. There were currently eight mages in positions of power. That was a whole eight more than had previously ruled the country. Yes, a real overthrow of Norman authority. Eight verses hundreds of Norman dukes, senators, and soldiers. They were such a force to be reckoned with.

Rolling his eyes, Colin sunk deeper into his chair. Two years had passed since the kingdom had been on its turn to equality, and things didn't look like they were any closer to being fixed than they had been two years ago. Politics could rule what they wanted, but it would never change human morality.

If a human was raised to hate something, they tended to hate it.

Kind of like how Colin hated Normans. It really sucked that he ruled over them, conducted trade with them. His position as kingdom gatekeeper should have had a little more dignity than having Norman dickwads spitting at his boots and calling him slurs all day.

The things he did for his king.

He even had one thing that he needed to finish for his king, but given Colin's amount of Give-A-Damn, he was pretty sure he wouldn't have the machine developed past a small model and conceptual diagram.

It was a complex machine created to replicate the Wall that had formerly divided Western and Eastern Lancet. The only difference was that it was for kingdom defense instead of to separate races of people.

The basis was rather simple. A large cannon would be placed in the middle of the kingdom, likely Capital Lance since placement was ideal. A well of energy, defensive magic, would be connected at the base. When shot, a massive veil of magical energy would surround the entire kingdom. Major cities would be equipped with power cells that would maintain the veil and create its borders around the kingdom.

It was an impressive project, the first of its kind that Colin knew of. The only issue? Colin's nightmares.

Katja's kidnapping had reawoken suppressed fears from Colin's teenage years. It had brought him back to when he had been a nobleman's son, a boy named William. Years ago, Colin had buried the name beloved by his sperm and egg donors. Now, the name had pulled a hand up from the grave. It was threatening to drag him into the hole he'd dug for it.

Thus, the various joints littered on his desk and the lack of design Give-A-Damn.

He was reaching to roll another joint when his shop door opened up. The thick haze that had come from his smoking rolled from the dimly lit shop and into the sunlight now stabbing his irises. With his upper lip curled Colin wanted to make a snarky remark to the silhouette wafting smoke away.

Given the nearly seven foot tall frame of the figure, he decided against the snark. Another Royal Guard reject was entering. With his thick accent, Felix Eisenberg commented, "My brother, I always wonder if your magic stems from all the weed you smoke."

"Coming from a guy whose culture chokes down shrooms to prep for battle, I might think you a hypocrite." Though Felix knew about Colin's inventing, the mage couldn't help but tuck his plans into a nude magazine put out by the more risque section of Sorcerer Weekly. It was called Play Spell, and he hid all his plans inside their magazines.

Long ago, Colin had kept his mathematical and scientific interests hidden. Since not many people read nude magazines in public, Colin tucked his notes inside of them. The naked women tended to get people to avert their eyes from it and scowl up at him. His technique worked, so he kept using it.

"Mayhap, but my people only reserve the Amanita Rage for certain occasions. As for you…" Felix let his words drift off. His big hands gestured to the thinning smoke and roach pile in his ashtray.

Quirking a grin, Colin put his marijuana aside and spun his chair to face Felix. "I know you better than to assume you're here to complain about my smoking habits. So, what's the deal and why isn't your attachment with you?"

Colin couldn't help but notice the flush inching up Felix's neck. His attachment was a woman, a foreign woman. Before the Winter Grand Magic Games, Felix had been rescued by a curvy number going by the name of Lisanna Strauss. The two of them had gotten into a little doozy of a situation involving Lisanna's brother, some chick named Evergreen, and Norman slavers. When push came to shove, Felix had given his first kiss to the Strauss. Now, he was either on the phone or overseas with her at an embassy.

It was good to know that the twenty-six year old viking wasn't going to die a virgin. His people's regard for celibacy was something a former prostitute awed at.

Checking his blush, Felix explained, "She is asleep, and I have been ordered to take you out drinking with Hollis and Sven. According to Katja, you could use a Guy's Night. She says your nightmares have started back up again?"

Curse having assassins and spies as friends. Katja was the first woman Colin had ever allowed to get close to him. Now, that she'd learned of his past, she made sure he spent time working on his People Skills. The reclusive assassin wanted to make sure the reclusive prostitute got taken out for weekly walks among the living and lively. Irrational female.

Ever since her father had resurfaced and given her a rune to suppress her poisonous skin magic called Poison Body, she'd turned into a girly girl. She partied with other girls, went sunbathing in bikinis that revealed more than they hid, and had a gig working with Sabertooth. She'd become the most talkative assassin that Colin had ever seen, and she was determined to get Colin over his hatred of all things human.

Mentally giving her a one finger salute, Colin looked at his giant of a companion. In the past men like Felix would have frightened him. The viking was six and a half feet of pure muscle. The sword he bore was nearly as tall as he was.

Felix was a warrior, but unlike all the warriors who had used and abused Colin, Felix was nothing but an overgrown teddy bear. He spent his free time lifting weights with one hand and baking cupcakes with the other.

Felix was also the closest thing Colin felt he had to a friend.

Even Felix wanted Colin to get over his hatred of people. They treated him like a dog that needed to be socialized in order to keep from biting people.

With a sigh Colin turned back to his joint. He quickly packed it and rolled it before opening a small tin case. After securing it with a few other rolled joints, he stated, "If it's going to be a night with all of you freaks, I'll need to be stoned out of my mind."

In a little less than seven hours, Colin was stoned out of his mind. His silver eyes were reddened as drunken Hollis stumbled against his shoulder. "See, man. Humans er s'not so bad."

"You're only saying that shit 'cause of the liquor," Colin commented. His red eyes narrowed on the mighty Felix. Bastard had downed at least a gallon of beer and was walking with both feet still on the ground. He had the totally tanked Sven tossed over one of his brawny shoulders.

Catching Colin's red gaze, the warrior mentioned, "You lightweights need true High Lancet liquor. I feel like the Designated Dummy tonight."

"Sorry, Lix, but I want to at least make out of the bar and to my bed. I got a lady friend over tonight," Hollis slurred. There was a certain glimmer in his golden eyes, and Colin knew why. The Grand Magic Games had set up the perfect scenario for Hollis to meet a crazy cat lady, Millianna from Mermaid Heel to be exact. Hollis never missed a beat when it came to proclaiming his ownership over the scantily clad cat lady. His motto was, "If you've got it, flaunt it."

Thankfully, showing ball cleavage wasn't a fashion trend at the moment. The ever fashion conscious Hollis would be the first to try to style out.

"With the whiskey dick you're sporting, I doubt there's much you can do," Colin snickered as he helped Hollis totter through the streets. It was dark out, so thankfully, there weren't many bystanders to gossip about the esteemed Royal Guard parading drunk through the capital. Like Isaac would give a damn about what they did anyway.

A hand slapped his chest, and Hollis opened his mouth to say something before eyeing a tree. Without any thought in his head, the formerly infamous Crimson Phoenix promptly took a piss on the side of the street. Elegant.

It was likely a good thing that Colin's building was the first one they reached. "Worry not, my brother," Felix stated as he hefted Hollis over his other shoulder. "I will see to it that our brother is returned to his lass." Under his breath, Colin was sure Felix mumbled, "Hope that feline doesn't open the door in her underwear again."

Shaking his head, Colin took his key to his door and moved to put it inside the lock. From the corner of his eye, he could see Felix wrestling with the drunken rocking of Hollis.

Crazy bastards, but they were Colin's crazy bastards.

Thanks to them his high had been steadily waning since the walk from the bar. When he realized his lock had been broken, it completely disappeared.

One hand immediately went to the short sword sheathed on his hip. His swirling grey eyes narrowed on a sliver of light coming in through his kitchen. Intruder. But how? His entire house was riddled with mechanized traps and runes he'd set up.

Drawing his sword, Colin carefully pushed open his door. When one of his net traps sprung, he easily turned to mist to avoid it. The net settled under his feet when he embodied. Whoever it was had been able to move without setting off the traps. Crafty sonofabitch.

But that didn't mean the threat wasn't Norman.

Nightmares steadily crept up his mind. A million scenarios had played in his mind ever since Duke Hawthorne had purchased him from the brothel. His former owner finding him had been the most prominent one.

It wasn't like Colin had been exactly hiding these past few years. Thanks to swearing himself under King Isaac's allegiance, Colin had been to more formal balls and cocktail events with noblemen than he wanted to admit to. His owner had been at plenty of them, but as soon as Colin got a glimpse of the man, he'd misted out of the room. There was no way his master had seen him. Not until he'd been publicized at the Grand Magic Games.

With his heart ready to jump in his throat, Colin entered his kitchen. A cold shiver ran down his spine when a voice stated, "I always get back what's stolen from me, boy."

Five Months Later

When the bartender turned his back and tended to another customer, she reached her hand out. Two slim fingers wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle before she placed the rim to her lips. Pure, liquid gold ran across the rough surface of her tongue before sliding down her parched throat. It even topped her off with that burned she liked so well.

Hissing her delight through even teeth, Cyrus made eye contact with the bartender. He'd returned to pour a glass for another man at the bar. She flashed the patron an easy wink then stated, "Lil' slow on the dismount, big boy. Give your frown to someone who gives a damn."

"And I hope you're paying for that bottle?" The bartender cocked a brow at her.

She tossed him a shrug. With the bottle tipped up, Cyrus sloshed the liquor around in her mouth. She relished the sting before swallowing. "Dunno. What would you do in a shit place like this?" A slender hand gestured to the state of the bar around them.

Broken in windows, a door hanging up by hope alone, and a couple holes in the walls from nightly fights said much about this place. It was lower class with a capital L. Cheap liquor, cheap staff, and even cheaper food. It was just the kind of place for a gal low on cash.

When the bartender dropped the towel and leaned over the counter at her, Cyrus was tempted to blow her whiskey breath on him. She resisted. Somehow.

His big body cast a deep shadow over her, and he snarled, "I'd shut my pretty mouth before someone shut it for me."

Giving him a look of mock surprise, Cyrus gasped, "You just called me pretty! If you're looking to crawl up these jeans, you'll have to do a lot better than that, cupcake." Her resistance faltered, and she let a playful breath of whiskey laced air slip across the bartender's face.

He scowled. She grinned.

The slender column of her throat was revealed as she dipped her head back to chug the contents of the whiskey bottle. Crummy luck for her that it was already half topped off. Even so, she ended her chug with a masculine burp of satisfaction.

The bartender's scowl deepened when she slapped some gem down on the table. The Zabatten Isles form of currency glittered against the stained bartop. Silver on scratched redwood. Likely, the bar had once been beautiful and clean, but rough days and nights had rendered it decrepit. Kinda like her.

She gave the bar one last affectionate pat before snagging another whiskey bottle when the bartender was turned around. She barely heard him leaping over the bartop and after her as she swigged, but as soon as she felt a hand spinning her around, she pressed something metallic against the man's groin.

"Listen, cupcake, if you want your family jewels intact and not blown to smithereens, I'd suggest that you take the paw off my shoulder." She gave him a cheeky smile. "Okay?" Her voice was sickly sweet.

"Fucking bitch," he snarled out, removing his hand then freezing in place. She'd cocked the hammer on her pistol.

Leaning in just an inch from his lips, she purred, "I'm sorry, honey, but I could have sworn that you called me a fucking bitch. Now, my hearing's a little out of whack thanks to that shitstorm you call music playing, so could you repeat yourself?" Her trigger finger twitched.

A bead of sweat ran from the man's brow. Cyrus watched it slither all the way down to the tip of his nose before he mumbled, "Have a nice day." When she pulled her gun off him, she just barely missed his nervous sweat dripping towards the beat up floor.

Disgusting pig sweat, she hissed. Not even bothering to cast another glance into the bar, she kicked the door out of its misery and strolled on out. Poor bastard didn't even have a clue that inside her pockets was enough cash to buy this run down excuse for a bar.

Sucked to be him.

Now on the front porch of his fine establishment, Cyrus felt the summer air run through her red locks. Her straight hair gave the wind its salute as she swigged from the bottle.

The Zabatten Isles weren't exactly the warmest place to be, but in the summer temperatures got just high enough for a few months spent on its shell littered beaches and sparkling green waters.

Right now, a few people were prancing about in bikinis and mid-drift tops. Cyrus wasn't much different from them. A cerulean blue bikini top covered her breasts from prying eyes, but crisscrossing straps across the front made an intricate design meant to draw the eye.

Unlike many of the women who wore bikini bottoms, hers were covered up with a pair of beaten up jeans. Her gun belt held two hand crafted pistols that looked more like museum pieces than workable weaponry. She topped the rest of the look off with the only bag she ever carried. It was a beat up satchel that held the few things she needed: clothes, cash, and her handmade bullets.

Swaggering her way down the beach, Cyrus kept on this little vacation she'd made for herself. Being a bounty hunter meant open hours and that she could work when she pleased. Since her workload had been stagnant for a while, she'd decided to spend some hard earned coin and vacation in her favorite ice cube in the ocean, the Zabatten Isles.

Thus, she was here with stolen whiskey and a hangover hopefully on the way. It wasn't like she was drowning her sorrows in liquor, but it also wasn't like she wasn't drowning her sorrows in liquor. She was a wanderer, alone, and either killed or kidnapped for a living. Life wasn't great, but it wasn't anything for her to turn her nose up at.

Besides, booze was cheaper when you had a gun on your hip. She could have been doing worse for a job.

Raising her fifth of whiskey to her lips, Cyrus topped it off before tossed it in the general direction of a trashcan. When she didn't hear glass shatter against the concrete walkway, she paid it no mind. It must have rolled off into—

"The fine is one thousand gem for littering a public beach," a masculine voice commented.

She was prepping her hand to shoot him a bird until she turned around. Glazey eyes strolled up from long, muscular legs then up to a pair of swim shorts. She kept up an easy going perusal as she checked out a bulging abdomen and finally arms coated over in a myriad of various tattoos. Nemean lion on his chest. Phoenix tail curling on his side. Greek siren on his arm.

Ah, shit.

She knew who that was, Hollis Flight from the Lancet Royal Guard, and she had a bounty on her head. She'd also stolen an assassination from him. His words rang vaguely in her head the night she'd snatched his kill. "The Phoenix always catches its prey."

With her body swaying Cyrus moved both hands to her pistol. She'd just gotten her hands on them when a pair of bonds locked onto her wrists. How'd he move so fast?

In her ear, Hollis whispered, "You owe me a favor. Time to pay up."

Y'all can tell me if you want the story or not in a PM or review. I won't post the story unless I hear from you all.

Thank you so much for reading my works. I hope to be writing more soon. December has been quite the hectic month.