Battle of Fairy Tail: 1

A week had passed. The days slipped by in a steady, almost meditative rhythm, one unlike anything Aelius was accustomed to. The house, once little more than an old frame on the edge of the woods, had taken shape under his relentless, quiet effort. Walls patched and reinforced, a new roof laid by hand and magic alike, and the cellar sealed with enough wards and containment arrays to stop a minor calamity from seeping out should his work ever turn volatile.

It was a strange kind of labor. Not the savage violence he'd long known, nor the cold, precise work of runes and poisons, but something simpler. Measured. Tangible. Something of his own, born not from war or orders, but from a choice.

In that week, Levy, Natsu, Gray, and Erza had returned twice more. Each time they'd brought food, tools, even a few replacement boards from the guild's storage. Natsu had grumbled about "manual labor being boring," only to end up racing Gray over who could carry more beams at once. 

But it was Levy's third visit—alone—that lingered most. She hadn't said much when she came. No lectures, no accusations, just a soft greeting as she'd set down a stack of books she thought he might want. Schematics on older Lacrima configurations, a rare tome on sealing arrays from Fiore's early magic guilds, and—almost comically—a book on local flora, something about edible roots and which berries are poisonous enough he might like.

He hadn't asked her why she came. She hadn't offered a reason. But she stayed for an hour, helping him sand down a crooked window frame. The silence between them wasn't strained. It wasn't comfortable, either—it was something else. The kind of silence shared by people who knew they owed each other nothing and yet, against reason, still showed up.

Aelius didn't know what to make of that.

By the time she left, evening was settling over the lake like a cooling shroud. The golden light painted her hair like something out of an old tale, and for a single, treacherous second, he wanted to call her back—but didn't.

Instead, he watched her figure shrink down the dirt path and vanish into the tree line.

Now, sitting on the unfinished deck, legs stretched out in front of him, Aelius took in the dusk. The last of the lake's daylight shimmered like molten coin, and the world was hushed, broken only by the occasional distant birdcall. His mask rested beside him, a familiar weight he hadn't discarded in public yet, but here, at least, he allowed his face to feel the cool air.

A house. A place. It still felt alien on his tongue, but it was his. And that word—his—held power.

The cellar below him hummed quietly, wards etched into stone and wood alike, runes old as sin and newer ones of his own invention working in tandem. It wasn't just a place to work—it was safety. Not for himself, but for everyone else. Containment. Precaution. The sort of thing old versions of himself would have laughed at. He'd been a hazard made flesh once, a walking weapon the world pointed at things it wanted dead.

Now he was… whatever this was.

Aelius sighed, leaning back on his elbows as the last sunlight caught the treetops.

Another day. Another heartbeat. And maybe, just maybe, a little less decay on the air.

Of course, the next morning, before the sun had properly crested the trees and while the lake still lay swaddled in a gauze of mist, Aelius was roused by the sharp, relentless thud thud thud of knuckles against his front door. The sound drilled into his half-conscious thoughts like the tapping of old war drums, insistent and unyielding. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face as the makeshift bed creaked beneath him—little more than a half-repaired couch frame and a blanket someone, probably Levy, had dropped off during one of their visits.

The knocking came again.

"Alright, alright," Aelius muttered, voice rough and sanded down by sleep. He swung open the door, half-expecting trouble, maybe a monster or some poor fool seeking the wrong kind of favor.

Instead, it was Levy.

She stood there, hands on her hips, blue hair spilling around her shoulders in a way that spoke of being too stubborn to dress up and too awake for this hour. There was a flicker of a grin playing around the corners of her mouth, though she was clearly trying for stern.

"You've been cooped up in here too long, good reason or not," Levy declared, no room for argument in her tone. "And you, mister brooding-in-the-woods, are coming with me."

Aelius blinked, the fog of sleep clinging stubbornly to his mind. "I—I-no?"

"Nope," she cut him off, jabbing a finger at his chest. "I don't want to hear it. You've officially run out of excuses. You decided to stay, remember? That means bonding with your guildmates. And today's the Harvest Festival. The whole town's out, stalls are up, drinks are flowing, music's playing. You think you're too grim for this? Tough."

Aelius stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "I've got work to—"

"Work can wait," Levy shot back, grabbing his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and tugging him out onto the porch. "Consider it penance for worrying half the guild and last week's incident."

He planted his feet stubbornly, as a last-ditch effort to escape the wrath of the small blue blue-haired woman in front of him. "I don't do… festivals."

Levy smirked at that. "You do now."

The lake glimmered beside them, morning mist curling like ghostly fingers around the trunks of ancient trees, their leaves barely stirring in the hushed dawn. Aelius let his gaze linger on the water's surface—flat, mirror-like, still untouched by the riot of sound and color the day would surely bring. In that quiet, suspended moment, he genuinely considered throwing himself into its cold embrace, imagining the shock of it swallowing him whole would be preferable to whatever saccharine torment Levy was planning.

But then his gaze shifted, and there was that look again. That damnable, stubborn spark in Levy's eyes, a defiance not aimed at him, but at whatever shadow clung to him, whatever weight she believed he didn't deserve to carry alone. She tried to wear humor like a shield, grinning and quipping, but Aelius had seen better masks in darker places. It wasn't the humor that made him sigh—it was the concern.

"I think you've passed the master in stubbornness," Aelius muttered, his voice carrying the wry note of a man who knew he was beaten before the battle began. A brief, flickering pulse of magic shimmered around him like an afterimage, and in a blink, his cloak settled over his shoulders once more, fabric catching what morning light there was. A glint traced the edge of his mask as it reappeared, hiding his face once again. Old habits, after all.

Levy arched a brow but said nothing about it—she'd learned that some things weren't worth fighting him on yet. Instead, she gave a smug little huff, crossing her arms. "Yeah? Well, someone's gotta be stubborn enough to drag your crypt-keeper ass back to the land of the living."

Aelius shook his head, the ghost of something resembling amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You realize you're making yourself responsible for me now."

"I've carried heavier burdens," Levy shot back with a grin. "Besides, you're Fairy Tail now, whether you like it or not. And in this guild, we don't let our own waste away in the woods with only poisonous cellars and half-finished death shacks for company."

"It would be a finished death shack if you would leave me be."

Levy barked a laugh at that, shaking her head as she tugged him down the worn dirt path toward town. "Yeah, yeah—and I'm sure it'll be the coziest lethal containment facility on this side of Fiore. But today? You're trading toxin wards and killer basements for sweets, noise, and your guildmates embarrassing themselves in public. Deal with it."

Aelius sighed, the kind of long-suffering sound a man made when he knew resistance was pointless but felt obligated to try anyway. "You're very smug for someone whose plan involves dragging a socially bankrupt war relic into a crowd."

"Hey, you chose to stay," she shot back, giving him a sideways glance, her grin softened just a fraction by something warmer beneath it. "You don't get to hide in the woods forever."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, the leaves whispering overhead and the morning breeze carrying the faintest scent of woodsmoke and roasting pastries from the festival grounds ahead. The guild. The damned inescapable tangle of them, each one more irritatingly persistent than the last. And somehow… it didn't feel quite as suffocating as it should have.

"You seem to have recovered quite quickly from the other day," Aelius said, his voice quieter now, not cold but edged with something else—something weary, uncertain. His gaze lingered on the shifting path ahead, his words more to the wind than to her. "Most I've met would despise me after that."

Levy arched a brow, slowing her pace just enough to glance up at him. "That?" she snorted, waving a hand as if brushing away a bit of dust. "Please. It's water under the bridge. Plus, like I said, you can consider this punishment for that."

Aelius's eyes narrowed slightly. "You cried."

"Yep," she countered, a wry smile playing at the corners of her lips. "But, the way I see it, I won."

He gave her a sidelong look, brow furrowing. "You… won?"

"Damn right I did," Levy smirked, planting her hands on her hips as they reached the edge of town where the cobblestones began. Distant laughter and music drifted toward them like a tide. "I got an S-Class mage—who's a candidate for a Wizard Saint seat, mind you—to cave. You think I'm gonna hold a grudge when I've got that kind of victory under my belt? Not a chance."

For a moment, Aelius just stared at her, the mask concealing his expression but doing nothing to dull the strange, unsteady warmth that cracked through the barricades he kept around himself like iron walls. Of all the things he'd expected—spite, bitterness, wary distance—it wasn't this.

"You are… dangerously stubborn," he muttered, though the words lacked bite.

Levy grinned, victorious and unrepentant. "Damn right. Now c'mon, 'friend'," she teased, bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm. "Let's get you to that festival before

Aelius was pretty sure Levy didn't need to breathe, the way she kept talking. The tone of her voice rose and fell in that animated, bright cadence she slipped into when she was rattling off something she found amusing. Something about a Miss Fairy Tail contest, if he caught the name right. Her hands gestured as she walked, painting images in the air of what sounded like an utterly absurd spectacle involving glitter, overly dramatic stage effects, and a string of contestants shamelessly vying for the title.

He didn't respond. Not because he was annoyed, though he might've proved otherwise if she called him out, but because his mind had snagged on something else entirely. A single phrase buried in their earlier exchange left to settle like grit in his chest.

Wizard Saint candidate.

So far, he hadn't sought it out. Rumors were a constant in life, like oxygen, like blood. But that particular one… it carried weight. Real weight. He knew what a title like that meant, what doors it opened—and what chains came with them.

Makarov had stopped by three days ago. Not for long, just a quiet conversation on the barely finished front steps of his house. He'd kept it light, as Makarov did when he didn't want you to notice the hook buried in the bait.

"The Council wants a word," Makarov had said, stroking his beard like it was a living thing that might mutiny if left alone too long. "Soon. Sooner than I expected, honestly. Sorcerer Weekly's little stunt seems to have lit a fire under a few seats."

Aelius hadn't even cracked the issue open when it landed at his door—Levy had seen to that, sweeping it up before he could and conveniently "forgetting" to mention it until hours later. Not that it mattered. He could imagine what it said. The same way he'd imagined the storm brewing behind the Council's long-ignored overtures.

Now it was here. Or nearly.

He barely noticed the colorfully strung festival lanterns overhead as they entered the festival square proper. The chatter of townsfolk and guild members alike, the clatter of game booths and scent of spice-dusted pastries, it all became little more than a backdrop to the steady drumbeat of thought hammering at the inside of his skull.

Aelius knew what the Council wanted. Knew what it meant if he said yes. Knew what it meant if he didn't.

"…so then Cana said she's definitely going to enter this year, even though she claims she hates it, which we all know's a lie because last time she made it to the final round while half-drunk and still almost won!" Levy's voice finally cut through the haze, and Aelius blinked.

He looked down at her. She was grinning, cheeks a little flushed from the excitement in the air, from the warm bite of festival wine no doubt. It struck him then how easy it was for her to be like this. To laugh. To live.

He wasn't sure if he envied it or resented it.

"You're not listening," she accused, poking his arm. "C'mon, you look like you're about to brood yourself into a corner. Whatever's in that head of yours can wait. You're supposed to be… what was it you said the other night? 'Trying not to be a cancer on the living?'" She smirked, clearly proud of herself for remembering his own words.

Aelius gave a soft, humorless huff, the closest thing he could manage to a laugh. "You have a troublesome memory."

"Damn right I do," she shot back, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the crowded square without an ounce of hesitation. "Now move, Saint Aelius, or whatever you'll be soon enough. You owe me festival games, and if you don't try at least one, I'm telling Erza you think her cooking's mediocre."

Aelius arched a brow, the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across his otherwise impassive features. He let her tug him forward a few more steps before speaking, his voice carrying that same cool, slightly mocking tone he reserved for moments like this.

"That threat won't work, Levy," he said mildly. "On no less than three separate levels."

Levy shot him a sidelong look, lips quirking in challenge. "Yeah? Enlighten me, oh brooding one."

"One," he counted off, holding up a single long-fingered hand, "I've never actually had Erza's cooking. She's never offered, and I've never asked—not that I want to mind you. Which, if you're as observant as you claim to be, you'd know."

Levy blinked at that, her stride faltering a half-step. "…Huh. Really?"

"Really," Aelius confirmed, a glint of amusement in his eyes now.

He raised a second finger. "Two, even if she did decide to get creative with one of her… punishments, I am not one of the guild's hot-headed brats she can swing around like a sack of cabbages. I outrank her in strength. She knows it too, even if she'll never say it out loud."

Levy let out a sharp snort at that, trying to disguise her grin behind a mock-scandalized gasp. "Cocky much."

"Accurate," Aelius corrected, and then, raising a third finger, he added, "And three—though this is perhaps the most amusing—despite her reputation, Erza hesitates to so much as lay a hand on me. Always has. There's a wariness there. A line she won't cross. She might glare, she might scold, but she rarely tries to touch me."

He gave Levy a pointed look, then, his expression unreadable but his meaning clear.

"And—once again," he murmured, voice dipping just a little, "you don't seem to have that particular instinct for self-preservation."

For a moment Levy stared up at him, blue eyes bright and unflinching, and then her grin widened into something genuine, almost teasing.

"And—once again," she repeated, mimicking Aelius's words. "I guess that makes me braver than erza," she shot back, her grip tightening on his gloved wrist as she tugged him toward the festival square again. "But either way, I'm not letting you mope around in that half-built crypt of yours while the rest of us are out living."

Aelius shook his head, something almost like a laugh slipping through his nose.

"Fairy Tail," he muttered to himself, not for the first time, not for the last. "A guild of lunatics."

"Your lunatics now," Levy shot back with a smug little grin, not even looking at him as she tugged him along by the wrist toward the square, the sounds and smells of the Harvest Festival swelling around them like a living thing.

Aelius snorted, glancing sidelong at her. "I could still go."

Levy didn't even break stride. "Oh sure. And leave that house you've spent how much on, again?"

He exhaled through his nose, deadpan. "Thirty-seven million jewels."

Levy skidded to a stop so abruptly a passing cart had to swerve around her, her eyes going wide as saucers. "Thirty-seven—?! Are you out of your mind?! Who even has that kind of money just lying around?"

"I do," Aelius replied without hesitation, entirely unfazed, as though she'd asked him if he preferred tea or coffee. "Century Quests pay well."

"Apparently!" Levy sputtered, throwing her arms up. "Holy crap, you drop thirty-seven million on a creepy murder shack in the woods and were seriously considering bailing on it?! How much more do you have stashed away if you're willing to walk away from that?"

Aelius considered it for a beat. "Enough."

Levy made a strangled noise of sheer exasperation, then pointed at him with a scowl. "You're a menace. A stubborn, impossible, antisocial menace. And you're coming to this festival whether you like it or not because you officially owe me, and I don't care how many zeroes you've got hidden somewhere."

Aelius let out a long-suffering sigh, though there was the faintest curve of amusement at the corner of his mouth. "You seem unusually comfortable bossing around a wizard saint candidate."

"Damn right I do," Levy grinned, resuming her tugging on his wrist. "Now move, Saint Aelius, or whatever you're about to be.

The morning unfolded in a relentless blur of stalls, crowds, and Levy's unwavering grip on his wrist. Aelius endured it in much the same way one endures a natural disaster—with grim acceptance and the faint suspicion that resistance would only make it worse.

Levy dragged him from game to game, cheerfully forcing him to cough up jewels for her attempts at ring toss, some rigged strength game she declared war on, and a frankly ludicrous shooting gallery involving moving wooden lacrima ducks. Each time he pulled out another handful of jewels, Aelius swore he could feel his dignity dying by inches. Not that anyone else seemed to notice—the entire festival was a cacophony of music, laughter, clattering stalls, and vendors hawking everything from skewered meats to deep-fried sweets to charms allegedly blessed by ancient forest spirits.

Levy had no mercy.

At one point, she actually challenged him to a test-of-strength hammer game. He tapped the mechanism lightly and sent the bell clean off the top of the machine, which earned him a chorus of cheers and a free bag of festival trinkets from the stall owner. Levy just grinned and kept dragging him along.

"Alright, this one!" Levy grinned, pointing at a ring toss stall, stacked with cheap plush prizes and faded bottles. "You're paying."

"I have been paying," Aelius deadpanned, dropping a few jewels into the vendor's hand with the air of a man accepting his fate before the noose. "I was under the impression the one issuing conscription usually foots the bill."

Levy just grinned wider, already scooping up the rings. "Consider it a guild tax."

It was somewhere between a particularly lopsided darts match and a goldfish scooping game. Levy was clearly cheating at that. Aelius finally gave a dry, offhand remark, his voice low as if making a passing observation.

"Why don't you get your two little knight lackeys to drag you around to these instead? The way this looks, people are either going to think I've kidnapped you—" he made a faint gesture toward her height, adding with deliberate emphasis, "—kid being the operative word—or they're going to assume we're on a date."

Levy choked on her own breath mid-scoop, nearly plunging a hand into the tiny tank of startled goldfish. A bright flush rushed to her face as she whipped around to glare at him, though it came out more flustered than furious.

"You—! I didn't—I mean—ugh, you jerk!" she sputtered, cheeks still red, jabbing a finger at him. "It's not like that! I just didn't want you sitting out here brooding in your half-built death shack all day! And maybe—maybe bully you a little for being a grumpy hermit, okay?!"

Aelius allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile, though it never quite reached his eyes. "Mm. So you say. I'll await the witness testimony when someone inevitably accuses me of abducting a minor."

Levy's glare deepened, but there was no real fire in it now, mostly mortified exasperation. "I swear to Mavis… you're insufferable."

"Among other things."

They made their way through a few more stalls—another hammer strength test, which Aelius won so thoroughly the bell split; a balloon shooting range where Levy lost badly, and he suspected on purpose—and by noon, Levy was pulling him toward the guild hall with determined tugs.

"C'mon, contest's starting soon! Everyone's gonna be there!"

Aelius gave a long-suffering sigh. "And this would be where you hand me off to someone else and vanish, correct?"

"Maybe," Levy grinned, unrepentant. "Or maybe I just wanna see if you'll actually cheer for anyone."

He quirked a brow. "Unlikely."

"Still making you watch!" she called over her shoulder as they reached the guild doors, disappearing inside before he could reply.

A few minutes slipped by.

Aelius found himself exactly where he'd known he would end up the moment Levy had dragged him through the guild doors: leaning against the bar, seated on a battered stool to the left of the stage where someone had strung up fairy lights and a gaudy pink banner reading Miss Fairy Tail Contest! in bold, looping letters. The letters shimmered faintly with some low-tier enchantment, a minor bit of illusion magic likely courtesy of Max Alors, who, as ever, was in the middle of making an overenthusiastic spectacle of himself on the stage.

The guild hall was packed, every table crowded, people standing shoulder-to-shoulder, some even leaning against the second-floor railing to get a better view. The press of magic was thick in the air, buzzing with excitement, ale, and the occasional sharp glint of someone trying to show off. And as always, the stares came.

He felt them. The nameless members, the lower-ranked kids, the hangers-on, and the old dogs with no business still lifting swords, all of them trying to look like they weren't watching him while very much watching him. Aelius ignored it with the same weary indifference he always did. It wasn't fear, not exactly, nor reverence—but something in between. A constant thread of caution when a man like him sat at the edge of a room meant for the reckless and the foolish.

Someone set a fresh drink near him, a stout that smelled of smoke and spiced citrus. He neither acknowledged it nor drank.

Max's voice boomed across the guild a moment later. "Aaaaaand welcome to this year's Miss Fairy Tail contest!"

A cheer went up, wild and raucous, punctuated by the clatter of mugs on wood and a few wolf whistles. Aelius sighed, resting his cheek against one gloved fist.

"First up—Cana Alberona!"

Predictably, the brunette swaggered onstage, grinning like a devil and raising a hand heavy with cards. She spun one between her fingers and, with a flash of light, shifted into a crimson two-piece swimsuit that earned a roar of approval from the peanut gallery. Cana posed with no shame whatsoever, snatching someone's mug mid-display and downing it in one go.

Aelius huffed a soundless breath through his nose. He wasn't interested in her show; he's seen better, but he was interested in proving Max's words—that Cana could drink anyone under the table—wrong.

Next came Juvia, a lovesick grin plastered across her face as she declared, with all the overly dramatic flair of a soap opera heroine, that her performance was dedicated to her beloved Gray-sama. There was a groan from Gray somewhere off to his right. Aelius didn't bother turning to see it.

Then came Mirajane Strauss—the poster girl, the guild's sweetheart, and beneath all that, one of its most quietly lethal mages. The room perked up the instant Max called her name, a palpable wave of anticipation washing through the crowd. Cheers rang out, wolf whistles here and there, a few murmurs of admiration as she stepped lightly onto the stage with that serene, knowing smile.

Aelius, however, didn't bother to watch.

The moment Max announced her, his head had already turned, gaze drifting toward the far end of the room where the bar met the wall, his attention snagging instead on one of the lesser-noticed exits and the nameless faces lingering near it. The ripple of excitement that passed through the room at Mirajane's appearance barely registered.

He didn't need to look to know what would happen. He could practically hear it.

Sure enough, the crowd's collective breath hitched in eager expectation… and then deflated as one when Mirajane grinned mischievously, raised a hand, and transformed her head into Happy's.

"Aye, sir!" the actual Happy cried out gleefully from somewhere nearby.

Then she went further, shifting into a perfect copy of Gajeel's scowling, iron-studded mug, fangs gleaming under the lamplight. The room groaned—some disappointed, some laughing despite themselves at the anticlimax.

Erza took the stage next. Predictably, the room tensed, waiting for whatever absurdly intense performance their most terrifying guildmate had planned. And Requip she did—into a Gothic Lolita ensemble of black lace ribbons that probably should've been ridiculous on a warrior of her stature but wasn't. The cheers spiked again.

Then, inevitably, the little demon herself—Levy McGarden. She practically skipped onto the stage with that infuriating mix of nerves and stubborn confidence, shoulders squared like she was daring anyone to laugh, cheeks already tinted pink. The moment Max called her name, a fresh round of cheers burst out, none louder than the shameless, lovesick hollering of Jet and Droy.

"Leeeeevy!" Jet's voice cracked embarrassingly, hands cupped around his mouth.

"You're the best, Levy!" Droy bellowed right after, so overeager he nearly fell off his stool.

The rest of the guild chuckled, a few scattered whistles and polite applause joining in as Levy raised one hand with a flick of her wrist. Glowing script unraveled into the air behind her in graceful, golden strokes, spelling out Fairy Tail Forever! in shimmering letters that hovered just above the stage.

And then, as if by some stubborn instinct, her gaze flicked to the crowd—not to Jet or Droy, who were practically hanging over the railing for her, but straight to him.

Aelius met her eyes from his spot at the bar, one brow arching in mild amusement at the sheer determination she projected with that tiny glare. He let the beat linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary before humoring her, raising his gloved hand in a simple thumbs-up.

The effect was immediate.

Levy beamed, her whole face lighting up in a grin so smug and victorious you'd think she'd just been handed a ten-year S-Class commission on the spot. The little menace.

Aelius huffed a silent breath through his nose, shaking his head as if to say idiot, but he didn't drop his hand until she turned away.

Bisca Mulan came next, showing off with a flashy sharpshooter display, splitting four coins midair with one perfect sniper shot. There was scattered applause for the clean show of skill.

And finally Lucy, who marched up, a mixture of nerves and confidence, announcing a cheer routine with her Celestial Spirits. She'd barely gotten done with her sentence when the interruption came.

A feminine voice, saccharine and smug. "That's enough, I've won already."

Aelius' gaze sharpened, turning toward the source as Evergreen of the Thunder God Tribe strode forward, hands on hips, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. Her eyes gleamed with magic already pooling in them.

Lucy rounded on her, snapping, "Who says you've won?! The contest isn't even over yet!"

Gray called out—too late. "Lucy, don't look at—"

The moment their gazes locked, it was over. Lucy froze, eyes wide in shock, before stone washed up over her skin like an unstoppable tide, until she stood as a perfect statue mid-retort.

Evergreen's voice, slick with smugness and smug satisfaction, cut through the rising din like a blade.

"And now," she purred, eyes gleaming, "I declare this little contest officially over. Looks like I win by default."

For a heartbeat, confusion rippled through the hall—an uncertain, collective intake of breath. Then the heavy curtain behind the stage rose with a sharp snap of ropes, revealing a scene that brought the entire guild to a stunned halt.

There they were.

Every last one of them.

The contestants stood frozen mid-motion like a grotesque, beautiful tableau—Juvia, her expression locked into one of confusion, Cana caught mid-swig with her mug tilted and liquid frozen in place, Mirajane's shocked face, Bisca, one hand on her hip, Erza, her gothic lolita outfit still in place, her face unsuspecting. and Levy, hands raised like she was trying to pacify a rabid beast.

Stone. Every single one of them.