A Fairy Tail reincarnation fanfic: Krampus in Earthland

Laxus POV

Two years had passed since that unforgettable Christmas night. The calendar now read X774, and in that time, the world—his world—had changed.

Fairy Tail had flourished. New bonds were forged, old wounds slowly stitched shut. The guild buzzed with daily life, its halls echoing with laughter, sparring grunts, and the occasional crash of a spell gone awry. It felt alive, grounded. Stable. And Laxus? He had changed too.

At thirteen, Laxus Dreyar stood tall—ridiculously tall, in fact. Six-foot-five and still growing like a weed cursed by a height-obsessed botanist. His body had matured ahead of schedule, packed thick with sinewy, brutal strength. Biceps that could split sleeves, shoulders broad enough to carry logs or guildmates alike, and an iron-carved torso hardened by countless hours of intense training. He was built like a storm given form—raw power refined through purpose.

He still looked up—literally—to Krampus, who towered over him at a full seven feet. But at least now, when they stood side-by-side, he didn't look like a puny brat tagging along. Krampus once estimated that Laxus might hit six-foot-eight by adulthood.

Laxus hoped—no, he willed—himself to surpass that. Seven feet, he silently vowed. Just like him.

And he'd overheard something—a muttering from Krampus when the man thought no one was listening: "You've already grown beyond the you I remember from the original timeline." Laxus didn't fully understand what that meant, but he tucked it away. Whatever it implied, it made his chest warm. Krampus saw him as grown, mature—even more than he'd expected. That was enough.

Krampus. His mentor, his anchor, his North Star. But more than that, his brother in arms, his best friend. The one person who saw him not as a child of legacy or burdened prodigy, but simply as Laxus. They had fought together, bled together, trained until their muscles screamed and their lungs burned. Through those trials, Krampus had become more than just a guide—he was Laxus's equal, his rival, his confidant. The steady presence that kept him grounded when the thunder in his blood grew too wild. There was no one Laxus trusted more. In Krampus, he found not just direction, but belonging.

The beard had come in last spring. A neat chinstrap, carefully cultivated and guarded like a dragon's hoard. A small thing, perhaps, but meaningful. Laxus remembered how Krampus once muttered something about "real men having facial hair," and the words had stuck like a prophecy. When Krampus offhandedly complimented the new fuzz—said he was getting "too manly for his own good"—Laxus had nearly lit up like a thunderclap. He pretended to scoff, of course, brushing it off with a smirk. But deep down? It meant the world.

Especially coming from Krampus, who had that magnificent mane—that snow-white, regal thing framing his leonine face like a winter storm wrapped in crimson velvet. Majestic. Powerful. Untouchable. Laxus had always admired that. A mane that didn't just command attention, but respect. Laxus wanted that too—his own mark of maturity, of becoming a man worth standing beside Krampus not just as a student or tagalong, but as an equal.

It helped that Krampus had taken to staring sometimes. His golden eyes would linger, a little too long, before he blinked and muttered something like, "Getting way too handsome for your own good, kid." The words were flippant, but the warmth behind them? Undeniable. And when Krampus ruffled his hair—or adjusted his collar with that awkward gentleness of someone who didn't quite know how to be soft—Laxus felt that rare kind of pride that came from earning someone's regard. Not just approval. But affection.

Even Makarov had noticed. The old man, with his own bushy white beard that gave him an air of timeless wisdom and stubborn resilience, had once clapped Laxus on the shoulder and said, "Lookin' more like a man of Fairy Tail each day." Coming from Grandpa, whose beard practically radiated elder authority, it was no small thing.

Laxus didn't just want to be strong. He wanted to look it. To feel it. To have others see the growth etched into his frame, his stance, his face.

And with Krampus beside him—equal parts teacher, big brother, and best friend—he was becoming the man he was meant to be.

Yet something had been… off lately.

It was subtle. Krampus, once stiff and awkward in early training—especially when it came to sparring, wrestling, or even something as casual as a playful nudge—had slowly grown used to Laxus's rough camaraderie. In time, he'd relaxed, letting himself get pulled into their physical rhythm. They brawled, collapsed side by side, shared bruises and sweat and laughter. Somewhere in those tangled limbs and clashing wills, a bond had forged itself stronger than any spell. And for a while, things felt natural, even easy. Krampus no longer hesitated to sling an arm around Laxus's shoulder or lean in after a good bout.

But now?

Now, Krampus flinched slightly at touch. He seemed startled by moments that used to be second nature—shoulders bumping, arms tangled in a grapple, even Laxus's hand brushing his back during cooldown. He zoned out sometimes, lost in his own thoughts, and leaned away without meaning to. At first, Laxus worried he'd done something wrong. That he'd overstepped, grown too casual, too close.

But then he remembered—Krampus wasn't used to close bonds. Not in his past life. Intimacy, even the friendly kind, had always been foreign to him. Maybe what they had before had felt new and safe, and now that the stakes were different—now that Laxus had grown older, stronger, more aware—it made Krampus uncertain again.

Still, Laxus missed how easy it used to feel. He missed collapsing against Krampus's warm chest after a hard training day, breathing in that earthy, clean scent tangled in the black fur. He remembered lying against him in the grass, pretending to nap while secretly enjoying the feel of thick muscle beneath the soft, smooth coat. That fur had always been a comfort—warm, protective, something sacred. As a kid, it made him feel safe. As a young man, it stirred something deeper, more complicated.

Krampus didn't seem to notice how often Laxus still brushed against him, always casually, always just enough to feel that familiar presence. But Laxus noticed when Krampus tensed now. When he blinked and forced himself to remain still.

It hurt a little. Not a wound, but a hollow ache.

Krampus had gone from awkward to comfortable… and now, awkward again. Like his heart couldn't decide how close was too close. Maybe he was scared of breaking something precious.

But Laxus remembered those early days. Remembered curling up against Krampus's side, sweaty and exhausted, and how Krampus had never pushed him away. Not once.

He just had to believe it would come back.

Because deep down, Krampus still trusted him—with everything. And that meant the world.

Speaking of trust…

Laxus grinned to himself as he cracked his knuckles. His magic had exploded in depth over these two years. With Krampus guiding him like a mad scientist who also happened to be your big brother and your sensei, Laxus had refined his Lightning Dragon Slayer Magic to a whole new level. He wasn't just a battering ram anymore—he was an arsenal.

Heart Net, a spell Krampus named with poetic flourish, allowed him to feel everything in a 20-kilometer radius—every twitch of movement, every magical current. He was the storm's eye.

Bioelectric Boost strengthened his allies by reinforcing their biofield—granting resilience, stamina, even accelerated healing. It made him invaluable in group missions.

Railgun—a slow but devastating projectile attack using magnetism and tiny metal rounds—was powerful enough to pulverize solid stone and tear through demon hide.

Godspeed was exactly what it sounded like. He and anyone he cast it on could move at near-lightning speeds—perfect for precision strikes, dodges, or saving someone mid-fall.

Magnetism let him manipulate surrounding metals, even the iron-rich earth beneath his boots. It gave him environmental control—an edge in almost any terrain.

Thundergod Armory allowed him to manifest lightning into armor and weapons—crackling spears, curved sabers, shields that repelled attacks and scorched the air with each impact.

And those were just the new toys. His original lightning spells—brutish, chaotic—still formed the core of his combat style. But now he had balance, range, finesse.

He was more than just Laxus Dreyar.

He was a storm honed to a razor's edge.

Krampus had said it plainly last week: "You're already S-Class in every way that matters. Makarov's just stalling to set a new benchmark."

Laxus had practically floated for hours.

Still, he understood the logic. Raising the bar ensured that the title of S-Class remained elite, not a stepping stone but a declaration.

And he was ready to declare.

Other things had changed, too.

Little Cana, now eight, had grown into a capable mage—small in size but fierce in magic. Crash and Card spells had come naturally to her, and she was taking on minor quests under supervision. Her first real mission had been with Gildarts himself.

Laxus had objected at first.

"You're putting a kid with that guy? The man breaks sidewalks just by yawning!"

But Krampus had given him a firm look. "Gildarts isn't the same. He's settled. He's a father. He's trying."

And it was true. The reckless hurricane of a man had been mellowed by parenthood. He built a home, attended planning meetings, even asked Krampus to teach him parenting strategies. They had bonding nights and mutual training routines now. It was weird, but oddly wholesome.

Laxus had reluctantly approved.

He'd thought back to his own childhood—how his father Ivan had crumbled into darkness, how he'd chased phantoms of power until he abandoned everything real. That ache still lingered, that bitter taste.

But then Krampus had arrived.

He wasn't Laxus's father. But he'd stepped into the void, silent and strong, with quiet patience and unwavering guidance. Laxus didn't say it out loud, but he owed the man more than he could put into words.

Cornelia, too, had blossomed.

She now led morning sessions of women's bodybuilding magic—a practice Krampus had introduced to help her recover from years of magical instability. The men had their own version, training under Krampus directly.

"Building the body builds the core foundation," Krampus had said. "Not just muscle. Immunity, life force, and magical resilience will see an increase."

And it really worked.

Porlyusica—grumpy old bat that she was—had confirmed the results. "They're so healthy now, they're practically resistant to anything short of curse plagues," she'd muttered while pretending not to care. But Laxus saw through her scowl. She did care. Deeply. Even if she denied it to her grave.

Krampus was the only one she tolerated. Probably because, as she reminded them all, "He's not human, and humans are the worst."

Still, she'd been helping him lately. Krampus sometimes dragged Laxus into wild discussions about chi flows, internal breath rhythms, and something about "full concentration breathing techniques" that could passively strengthen the body at all hours.

Laxus didn't fully get it. But he trusted him.

In any case, Laxus could feel it—he was ready. Ready for his first real S-Class mission. Not alone, of course, but with Krampus at his side. And to his surprise, Krampus agreed.

Their target: the demon Deliora.

Apparently, Krampus had been keeping an eye on that thing. A week ago, Deliora had torn through a string of towns in the land of Ishvan, reducing them to ash and bones, and now it was heading toward the country of Brago, in the northern continent. The moment Krampus caught wind of that, something in him shifted.

Laxus remembered the look on his face—intense, calculating, and then, oddly… mournful. Krampus had started muttering to himself, pacing in low circles.

"Is it already that time?"

"Shit… his family's gone, but maybe we can still save the teacher…"

"He should still be in Brago by now…"

Laxus didn't get it. Who was Krampus talking about? What timeline? What teacher? It was like listening to fragments of a dream. But whatever it meant, it clearly mattered. And if Krampus wanted to go, Laxus wasn't about to sit out.

What surprised Laxus even more was how easily Grandpa agreed to the mission. No grumbling, no "You're too young" lecture. Just a nod, a long look, and a quiet, "Be careful."

It felt like approval.

Maybe Makarov had finally seen it too—how much Laxus had grown. How tall and solid and capable he'd become. Not just physically, but as someone who could protect himself… and others. Or maybe it was because he knew Krampus would be there. After all, the target of this mission wasn't just some rogue beast—it was Deliora, an evil demon with a record of destruction and countless sins etched into its monstrous being. But to someone like Krampus, that kind of target was laughably mismatched. As the bane of evil itself thanks to his Rule of Punishment, Krampus didn't need a strategy—just proximity. A casual swing of his cursed blades could reduce a demon like Deliora into sashimi. There was practically no danger at all. And Makarov, knowing this, must've felt confident enough to let them go. Confident in Krampus's overwhelming power—and in Laxus's readiness to face the world beside him.

Still, the mission wasn't without risk.

But to Laxus?

It was everything he'd hoped for.

His first S-Class quest.

His first time stepping out as Krampus's equal.

And his first chance to show the world what they could really do—together.

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Krampus POV

The moon hung low over Magnolia as Krampus trudged home, chains softly clinking with each step, cloak dragging just above the cobblestones. Laxus had already gone ahead, probably back to his house, packing his gear and practicing lines to tease Krampus with tomorrow. The boy was always like that—sharp-tongued, brash, but utterly honest underneath it all.

Krampus wasn't sure why he hesitated before turning the knob to his door. The night was cool, the stars distant and indifferent. Yet something clung to his chest, heavier than usual. It wasn't dread. It was... shame?

He sat down on his too-large sofa, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. The low hum of magical ambient light filled the silence.

Why did he flinch earlier today? Why did Laxus's casual hand on his shoulder feel like lightning had hit him? Not the magical kind—the emotional kind.

It used to be fine. When Laxus was a child, their relationship had no ambiguity. The boy could curl up in his lap, muddy and sweaty after training, and Krampus wouldn't bat an eye. A hug after a win, a nap against his chest, even snuggling into his fur to calm down from a thunderstorm—he welcomed those moments.

But now... Laxus was huge. Built like a warrior god in the body of a teenager. Muscles carved from steel, eyes full of unspoken fire, a voice deep enough to surprise even Krampus sometimes. And those moments of touch—those casual, friendly brushes—started feeling like something else.

And Krampus? He hated how he reacted.

He didn't want Laxus to worry, but the boy noticed everything. Of course he did. Krampus cursed inwardly.

He reached up and grasped the big golden bell hanging from his chain—the first gift Laxus ever gave him, way back during that chaotic first Christmas in this world. It jingled softly as his fingers closed around it.

That kid—that man—was the most important thing to him in this second life. Not power, not revenge, not even justice. Just Laxus. His best friend. His anchor.

And now he was pulling away. Like an idiot.

Krampus chuckled bitterly. "I'm a divine executioner of sin," he muttered. "But apparently I still can't handle physical affection without short-circuiting like an anxious teenager."

He sighed, then slapped his face with both hands. "Get a grip."

What did it matter what others thought? If their friendship involved sitting in laps, hugging tight after fights, leaning against each other for warmth—so be it.

He wouldn't push Laxus away anymore. Not unless Laxus wanted space.

Whatever this relationship turned into—whether it stayed as best bros, or someday evolved into something deeper—it would come in time. When Laxus was truly grown. For now? This was enough.

The next morning, Laxus showed up at Krampus's house, looking freshly showered and ready for war.

Krampus didn't say a word. He just stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug. Laxus blinked, stiffened briefly, then melted into it like he'd been waiting all night for the moment.

"Sorry," Krampus murmured into his shoulder. "For being an idiot. You know me—look confident, act cool, but underneath? I'm usually a nervous wreck with social anxiety."

Laxus scoffed, then smacked him in the back. "It's about damn time you said it. I was two seconds away from pulling your head out of your ass."

The words were gruff, but Krampus could feel the warmth in them. The loyalty. The affection. A kind of love that didn't need romance to be real.

He smiled, pulling back just enough to meet Laxus's eyes. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Yeah, well, let's get this over with. Demon hunting. We've got a monster to slay."

Krampus laughed. "Agreed. And maybe while we're up here, I'll find someone interesting with ice magic. Could be useful to recruit."

"Sweet."

Krampus offered his hand. Laxus took it.

The golden chains around Krampus's arms uncoiled and wrapped around them both, glowing with radiant runes.

"Rule of Binding: Space Connection."

The world shimmered—and then they were gone.

They reappeared in Snowfield City, one of the largest settlements in Brago. Krampus had chosen this location first to gather information—rumors, sightings, patterns. Deliora was no ordinary beast, and even if his own nose could track the demon across continents, a lead would shorten the chase.

Once they arrived, Krampus took a deep breath, hoping to catch a hint of the demon's scent. What he didn't expect was to be hit with it immediately.

The sky was gray. The ground was white. Snowflakes drifted gently from above. And all around them, screaming.

Citizens fled in a panic, running from a street to the north. The air reeked of sulfur and blood. In the distance, a demonic roar echoed like a war cry from the abyss.

Krampus sniffed once. His golden eyes narrowed.

"Yup. That's the scent of a Grade-A sin demon, alright. Smells like shit."

Laxus cracked his knuckles, lightning sparking from his arms. "Fuck! We hit jackpot already?"

Krampus grinned.

"Looks like it. Let's go fuck it up."