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kristenskTitle: Nameless
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: July 25, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Violence, blood, named character death - everything you expect from Scar and Kimblee sharing the same scene.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mintysage, who got this thing in little pieces and endured countless re-writes and dithering. Also, thanks to Kayca, who read this twice to be sure she didn't miss any details. And, as always, thanks to everyone who has been following this story.
Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 17: You Better Watch Out
July, 1884
Following Rose and her baby through the streets of Liore at midday with only a hastily transmuted cloak to hide his identity was nerve-wracking. Rose was eerily silent, responding only in small head gestures. Her child was the opposite, determined to voice his displeasure at the world. Despite the danger, it brought a half-smile to Ed’s lips. Lyra… Dante was wrong. There was at least one Lioran with real spirit left.
And, Rose as well. Despite the horror behind her eyes, she was here, taking the lead since she knew the city best.
He just hoped that she understood that they had to get out of Liore. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a plan beyond that point. He couldn't leave; he had to destroy Dante’s array. It wasn't safe for Rose to stay. But, someone in her state crossing the desert alone with a baby was tantamount to suicide. And, the nearest settlement – Ishval – was crawling with Amestrian soldiers.
Ed debated the merits of alchemically bleaching Rose and the baby’s hair. The soldiers would then only see two more white-haired, dark-skinned Ishvalans. They probably wouldn’t look close enough to see dark eyes in place of Ishvalan red. It might work.
Ed was so lost in thought he nearly walked into Rose when she stopped. Stumbling, he looked up at her silent back and then peered past her, around the corner to the street they were about to enter. The road was blocked by two burly men with rifles. More of the rebels.
The alchemist swore under his breath. This was the third street they had found blocked. It would be easy enough to slip out a side street. But, with nothing but empty sands beyond and men scanning the horizon for soldiers at every major thoroughfare, they would be easy targets. He couldn’t trust that Liore’s desperate rebels wouldn’t shoot Rose. Especially if they thought she had turned traitor.
Ed looked down. Maybe he could create a tunnel. Harden the sand to stone. Just to the nearest dune.
Rose suddenly turned.
Ed looked at her in surprise. “Rose?”
There was a tightness around her mouth, a sudden brightness in her eyes.
Wordlessly, she reached out to press her now hiccupping child against his chest. Startled, Ed reflexively stuck his arms out.
“What’re you—?”
The baby’s warm weight settled against him, an awkward, squirming bundle he struggled to balance. One hand behind the head, right? There had been a baby in Rush Valley once. Miss Satera had said something about minding his head.
Finally getting the baby stabilized, Ed looked to Rose.
“Rose, why—?”
Rose was gone, running down the street toward the two men. What was she doing?
The men looked up as Rose approached.
“Rose?” said one. “What’re you doing out here?”
Rose only grabbed the front of his shirt and pointed frantically up the street, past Ed’s hiding place. Her mouth moved soundlessly.
“Whoa! Calm down!” said the man. “You’re staying with Miss Lyra, right?”
“Is she okay?” asked the second man.
Rose shook her head and pointed again. Then, she stepped back and opened her mouth. A thin, shrill sound escaped her. It was the first thin crack in a crumbling dam. A true scream followed it, high and desperate with the weight of fear and frustration.
The men became frantic.
“Something must have happened!”
“The military?”
“Hey!” Another pair of armed men spilled into the street from a side road. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rose,” answered the first man. “There must be something wrong with Miss Lyra!”
“What?”
Rose tugged on the man’s shirt again before running a few feet back toward Ed. They needed no further encouragement.
“Come on!”
Ed ducked his head and stepped back into the alley as they hurried past. When he dared risk a glance, they were already far up the street, Rose in the lead. Ed swore before clutching the baby closer and running out and down the empty street into the desert.
----------------------------------------------------------
Present
Edward stared at Mustang, trying to process the absurdity of the man’s words. How did Psiren kiss? Apparently, by ambush. With a growl, he jerked his hand away from his cheek and struggled up into a proper sitting position.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I didn’t receive any orders about this.”
“No,” said Mustang, stopping beside the car, “I’m sure you didn’t. This is something of a side project.” He studied Edward carefully. “Besides, it seems you don’t always follow orders anyway.”
Edward watched him warily. “What do you mean? It’s not like I kidnapped myself.”
“I was there when Brigadier General Grand ordered you to stay inside the barracks,” Mustang continued. “But, you left the barracks to check on Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”
Edward started. “I just called for—” he began quickly.
“You went out the window according to your guards,” said Mustang. “And, the barracks seem to have grown a new set of stairs just below your window.” He shook his head. “You really need to learn to put things back the way you found them.”
“That was an emergency!” Edward flailed for an explanation. “He could have been dying!” Was dying. “I have a duty to… to protect fellow soldiers! It’s—”
“Thank you.”
Edward’s stammered words halted. “What?”
“You went against your orders to save Maes Hughes,” said Mustang. His face softened. “For that, you have my thanks.”
Edward was quiet a minute. “He’s a good man,” he said at last. “With a family. I didn’t want to think about Miss Gracia crying.”
Mustang smiled slightly. “Me either.”
Edward studied the man then. Mustang was an enigma. Grand had ordered and demanded. Archer had used subtle intimidation and lies wrapped in thin truths. Mustang seemed to be going for another angle. And, yet…
“Why did you bring me out here?” the gray-haired alchemist asked.
“I’ve been doing some research of my own ever since General Grand assigned us to that project of his,” said Mustang. “You remember the one?” At Edward’s nod, he continued. “Research on Ulrich Parker, the Philosopher’s Stone and you. Parker’s a dead end, but you…” He waved a hand. “The general made it hard for me, and the records of anything beyond your first years of service have been ‘edited’ until they’re nearly useless… But, there are dates that match nicely here and there.” Mustang’s dark eyes pinned Edward with a sudden, searching gaze. “I know the notes we’ve been decoding are yours.”
Edward kept his face neutral.
Unconcerned, Mustang kept going. “I also know you were searching for the Philosopher’s Stone. Then, there’s this.” A hand dipped into his pocket, and he tossed something toward Edward. It caught the moonlight as it arced through the air.
Holding out his hands to catch the object, Edward stared down at the face of a battered silver watch. “A State Alchemist’s watch?”
“Open it,” said Mustang.
Suddenly realizing, Edward stiffened. It couldn’t be. He had left it in the desert. But, his flesh fingers could feel the familiar deformations along the clasp. Slowly, he opened the watch and turned it into the light. “Don’t forget 3 Oct. 79,” stared back at him, carved deep into the metal.
“Psiren claims to have found that in the remains of Liore,” said Mustang. “The date is six months before you became a State Alchemist, correct?”
Keeping his head down, Edward hoped the other man hadn’t seen his expression. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“So, that was in Liore,” said Mustang. “And, just a few weeks later, reports at Fort Briggs indicate a ‘rogue alchemist’ was captured trying to escape across the Drachman border. Around the same time, you were reportedly taken prisoner by the Drachmans.”
Edward felt a cold that he couldn’t attribute to the midwinter air. Mustang knew.
“Do you know anything about Ishval?” Mustang suddenly asked. “Your file doesn’t indicate that you were involved in the war effort.”
“I—Ishval?”
Ishval… No, he had never served in Ishval. They had tried to send him. There had been orders for him to serve behind the lines in a support capacity. He only vaguely remembered reading the orders before his head had exploded with the second worst attack he had ever experienced.
Silently, he thanked the voices. The agony they had caused, the weeks-long hospital stay, the morphine-induced nausea – those were nothing compared to what could have happened on the battlefield.
Edward looked up from the memories to find that the dark-haired man had moved closer.
“I served in Ishval when I was just a few years out of the academy,” said Mustang. With a sigh, he turned and slumped back against the car, looking up at the sky. “It was a terrible war. The State Alchemists were called in during the last days to end it. Our orders were to eradicate every last Ishvalan, man or woman, adult or child.” Mustang’s voice dropped. “And, any collaborators.”
Edward stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“There were two Amestrian doctors,” said Mustang. “A husband and wife. They weren’t collaborators.” His eyes were distant. “They were just doctors who treated everyone who came to their clinic, Amestrian or Ishvalan. Many soldiers owed them their lives.” One hand tightened into a fist. “Because they treated Ishvalans as well, the military ordered that they be executed. There was no trial. Just two bullets from my service revolver. Because it was orders.”
The words were flat, devoid of emotion. There were no excuses, just a statement of fact.
“They had a photograph in their clinic,” Mustang said after a moment. “It showed them with their daughter. She had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
For a minute, neither man said anything. Then, Mustang turned slightly to look at Edward.
“I don’t want to see another Ishval,” he said. “Anymore, I think, than you want to see another Liore.”
Edward looked up, studying the other man’s face. It had been so long. So very long.
“Edward,” the voice of his father whispered.
Distantly, he remembered the dark-haired man bending over him as he writhed in agony on a cold, stone floor. The same sincerity had been in those eyes then.
“The Philosopher’s Stone,” said Edward quietly, “isn’t something anyone should ever create or use again. I want to erase all records of it.”
“Fair enough,” said Mustang. “Did Psiren retrieve that notebook of yours from Major Archer?”
“Yeah. I destroyed it.” Edward thumbed over his shoulder into the car. “It’s dirtying the floorboards. Now,” he rubbed at his arms, “I’m freezing out here.” He looked to Mustang expectantly.
The colonel smiled faintly. “My car’s this way.”
Edward slid out of the stolen car and followed the taller man around the front of the warehouse. As they stepped out of the building’s shadow, his eyes fell on the blonde lieutenant he remembered from the night at the Hughes’ home. She had a gun at the ready in one hand, and her eyes never stopped searching the shadows as she addressed Mustang.
“All clear, Sir,” she said.
Mustang nodded as she fell into step with them. “Archer will be suspecting me, so it would be best if we put Elric up with someone else,” he said. “Havoc has an apartment in the north district, I believe.” He turned to Edward as they reached a nondescript vehicle hidden in an alleyway. “Is that acceptable?”
It was nice to be asked. He just hoped it wasn’t another ruse.
“Fine, I guess.”
Mustang nodded and opened the car’s nearest door.
Edward stepped up beside him and, rather than getting into the car, peered into its small side mirror on a sudden whim. There hadn't been a mirror in his cell, and Psiren had acted like he was nearly unrecognizable until he started speaking. Just what did he look like these days? Nothing like his father, he hoped. He ignored Hohenheim's wry chuckle at the back of his mind.
Unfortunately, the mirror wasn't any help as Edward found himself squinting hopelessly in the poor light. There was a snap to his right, and orange light washed over him.
Edward jerked and found Mustang extending a gloved hand that cupped a small ball of flame. Fed by transmuted oxygen from the look of it.
“Need a light?” Mustang asked.
Edward huffed at him before turning again to look at himself in the round mirror. He immediately jumped back a step.
“Crap, I’m old!”
“It does tend to happen after a few decades,” said Mustang. He arched a brow. “You hadn’t noticed?”
“Not exactly, no,” said Ed, moving back to the mirror again.
He didn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the “sudden” age; his features were warped beyond recognition. Sagging skin, twisted nose, jaw line sharp and jagged. This wasn’t him. Well... At least it wasn't his father either.
Mustang cleared his throat as the light slowly died away. “As entertaining as it is watching you paw at your face like that, we really should get moving.”
Realizing that his hands were, in fact, clasped against his cheeks, Edward dropped them to his sides with a scowl. He turned to snap a retort and found a soft bundle thrust into his arms.
“Here,” said Mustang, “We’ll find you something more appropriate later, but this should keep you from freezing.”
Surprised, Edward looked down at the bundle. It consisted of a sturdy coat and a pair of worn but serviceable boots. Quickly, he unfolded the coat to slip it over his thin sleep things. But, something stopped him. Even in the darkness, the coat caught the weak light and glowed back a brilliant red.
“This—” He held it out in surprise.
“You left it nearly a month ago when you had your seizure,” said Mustang. “I’d been meaning to return it for a while.”
For a minute, Edward stared at the coat. He barely remembered transmuting it from a pair of far more mundane jackets. Then, it had been only a wisp of memory in Fullmetal’s fogged mind. Now, it was like an old friend. Smiling faintly, Edward drew the coat around himself and moved to tug on the boots. He knew he looked foolish dressed in boots and pajamas with a garishly crimson coat, but he didn’t care. Finally, he felt just a little like himself again.
Covering his growing grin, Edward moved to slide into the back of the car. He was surprised when Mustang followed him.
“Both of us may need to lay low,” the man explained as his lieutenant started the car and began to maneuver them out onto the street. “Although, at your height, it may not be a concern.”
Edward rounded on him with blazing eyes. “Who are you calling so small he needs a stack of books to see out of the car?” he roared.
Mustang drew back in surprise. Then, shock transformed to mirth.
“So, that’s the Fullmetal Alchemist I’ve been reading about,” he said, smirking. He held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you… Mr. Elric?”
“Ed,” the older man corrected, taking the hand with his automail right and making sure to squeeze more than was strictly necessary. “Pleased to meet you… Colonel Mustard?”
Mustang’s smirk never faded. “Mustang.”
Releasing his hand, Edward sat back and considered the task before them. For the first time in decades, however tentatively, he had an ally. At least, an ally with a physical presence.
“I want to find the copies of the notes,” he said, coming to a decision. “Archer said his ‘sources’ thought they were at the library. I think I know where.”
Mustang looked at him sharply.
“If Grand kept them there, I’m betting they’re hidden in plain sight,” said Edward. “With the other travelogues. They’re printed; they wouldn’t stand out. And, he was always prowling around the place. If he got there first every morning to collect them…”
Mustang only considered it for a moment. “Lieutenant, take us to the National Library.”
“Yes, Sir.”
----------------------------------------------------------
“Cursed.”
In that endless instant, he had been back in Ishval as his people died around him, screaming for mercy.
He was cursed. He had known it since he chose this path. Since he rejected his morality, his name and his God. There could be no redemption. He accepted that. So long as he could drag Ishval’s murderers to Hell with him, it was enough.
And, his elder brother had left him the means to achieve that goal. This right arm, his brother’s arm, with the marks of forbidden alchemy etched across its skin, had served him well.
And, yet…
Why, in that instant, had it felt like all Ishval was inside him, screaming for release?
It was a question that gray-haired alchemist, the one they called Fullmetal, would answer. He only needed to wait.
The alchemist might be hidden away at any of the military’s many facilities, but there was no need to search him out. Eventually, Fullmetal would return, as they all did, here to the library. He only needed to be patient.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang’s lieutenant – Hawkeye, Edward learned – was several leagues above Psiren. Her driving was unhurried, obeyed traffic laws and brought them to a block away from the library in just twenty minutes. As a bonus, no one was in danger of heart failure.
“We’ll have to go in the front,” said Mustang as they exited the car. “Unless one of your talents is transmuting un-transmutable buildings,” he added with a glance at Edward.
It was a rhetorical question, but Edward shook his head anyway. It wasn’t even a lie. Yes, with the power he possessed, he should be able to transmute even the library’s unique composition, a hodgepodge of rare elements that made that most crucial step of the alchemical process – analysis – all but impossible. But, after his earlier transmutation, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to try again. Even deconstructing the notebook had required fine control not to pull from the souls inside him.
Fortunately, Mustang accepted the answer. He paused to collect a lantern from the back of the car and led them around toward the front of the building.
“I should be able to convince the night watch to let us in,” he said. “Lieutenant, keep an eye o—”
“I have a spare watch,” Edward offered suddenly.
Mustang paused.
Several minutes later, Mustang’s rank and the combined presence of three supposed State Alchemists had awed the guards sufficiently to admit the three of them into the library. Mustang paused in the atrium to get his bearings. A snap of his gloved fingers brought the lantern to life, and he raised it to survey the darkened library.
“Travel would be…”
“Second floor, third stack to the right of the stairs,” said Edward. “Runs halfway through the sixth stack, but most of them are junk. Though some jerk fought me for Livingstone’s “Wild Western Amestris” until I kicked him in the—”
“Let’s just head up to the second floor,” Mustang cut in.
Edward blinked. “Oh. Right.”
They made their way through the open lobby’s orderly rows of reference tables and up the wide stairway to the second floor. True to Edward’s memory, books on travel were filed just where he had said they would be. Edward snatched the lantern from Mustang and took the lead as they moved into the stacks. He swung it toward the shelves, eyes skipping over the books’ spines as he hurried along. When he suddenly stopped, Mustang nearly fell over him.
“It’s not here.” Edward stared in confusion at the place where his name should have been.
“Wait.” Mustang stepped back the way they had come. “It wouldn’t be under your name. It would be under Parker.”
“Parker?” Edward frowned as Mustang moved away from him and ran a finger along the P’s.
“Ulrich Parker,” said Mustang. He waved a hand. “Turn the light this way. Grand gave us your research under his name, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Edward smacked his forehead lightly with his free hand. “That Reaction Alchemist guy.”
“Here,” said Mustang, pulling two slim binders off a lower shelf.
Edward accepted them and, passing the lantern to Mustang, quickly flipped through the pages of first one and then the other. East City, Youswell, Liore. So many years of searching. So many failures. And, a success that was the substance of nightmares.
The alchemist shook off the dark musings. It would be over soon.
“These are the right notes,” he said.
“Good.” Mustang turned to make his way back to the end of the aisle where Hawkeye was waiting. “Now, let’s get you out of sight.”
Edward stared at the notes in his hands for a minute. Then, he laid both copies on the edge of the shelf and took a deep breath.
“Elric?” asked Mustang, turning.
“This ends here.” Edward focused his thoughts and reached for the wild energy inside. Reining it in, he raised his hands.
A sharp clap echoed through the empty library.
Edward had an instant to stare blankly at his palms, still a foot apart, before all havoc broke loose. The floor under his feet heaved and shattered, throwing him back into the opposite bookcase. The force of it knocked the air from his lungs and set the world spinning with a roar.
Endless minutes later, the sound finally died away. In the silence that followed, Edward fought to understand what had happened. His back was throbbing, and moving caused a curious shifting beneath him. His eyes opened, and he wondered when he had closed them. A great, flat expanse swam into view, faintly gray in the darkness. The ceiling? A darker shape abruptly filled his vision.
“Looking for these?” a voice purred.
He became aware of something pale swinging before his eyes. Pale and square.
The notes!
Edward grabbed for them reflexively, but they moved away.
“Ah-ah. I think not. Now,” something slammed him down onto the uneven floor, “what shall I do with you?” A face entered his vision, featureless in the darkness. “Maybe I should start by—”
“Don’t move!”
A woman’s voice. Ed dared a glance to the right to see toppled shelves, a busted lantern and two dark figures faintly illuminated by a distant window. Colonel Smug and his lieutenant.
Edward felt the man above him stiffen.
“Kimblee, is it?” said Mustang. “Here for some research? Or acting on Major Archer’s orders?”
“Just finishing what I started,” said the man, Kimblee.
Edward became aware of pressure on his left arm. Kimblee was gripping his wrist. That was bad. Why it was bad was lost in the clouds of fogged memory. But, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Kimblee had the notes.
Thinking no further, Edward jerked his automail knee up squarely between Kimblee’s legs. The resulting expletive might have been threatening if it wasn’t three octaves too high. Edward didn’t waste time smirking. He lunged up, twisting out of Kimblee’s grip and grabbing for the notebook.
Stumbling over a mountain of books and the overturned shelf, the pair went down in a tangle of limbs. But, even as he tumbled onto Kimblee, Edward’s hands were locked on the notes.
“You little—!” Kimblee’s voice was strangled.
Edward relentlessly drove his steel kneecap into the man’s stomach.
“Who’s a teeny-tiny little man who can’t defend himself? Huh?”
Kimblee’s fingers loosened, and Edward tore the binder away. Then, he clambered up and over the fallen man, scrambling over the scattered books and broken tile. He broke free of the stacks and hurried to join the colonel and lieutenant in the open landing area at the top of the stairs.
“My, you fight dirty, Elric,” said Mustang as Edward came to a stop beside him.
“Yeah, well,” Edward floundered, panting, “anything’s fair in a fight.” He straightened, brandishing the binders. “Besides, I got the notes.”
The shelf just behind him abruptly exploded in a spray of fiery confetti. Edward flinched back as burning debris spattered his right cheek.
“What—?” He took another step away, staring at the damage. The shelf was mostly intact, but the books were so much ash.
A wheeze echoed through the library, and Hawkeye released a hiss of disgust. Kimblee was gone. In the instants she had turned toward the explosion, he had taken cover. Slowly, the hoarse wheeze rose into uncontrollable laughter.
Mustang’s mouth thinned into a harsh line. “What did you do, Kimblee?” he shouted.
“You took too long, Mustang,” Kimblee’s voice rang from the stacks. “So, I kept busy while I waited.” Several sharp pops sounded from below. “You recognize it, don’t you, Flame Alchemist? Trace amounts of hydrogen and oxygen deconstructed from the glue of one book are nothing.” A dull boom shook the floor. “But, you know, there are so many books here! And, with a little help from the janitor’s supplies…” Kimblee cackled. “Well, my options become nearly limitless.”
Another explosion roared through the darkened library from somewhere below.
“And, it’s all a chemical reaction,” said Kimblee. “No need for sparks.” A sneer filled his voice. “But, feel free to use your alchemy anyway. You might trigger some of my little surprises early.”
Mustang grit his teeth. “We need to get out of here.” He turned to the stairs and jerked to a halt midstep.
A hulking figure stood at the top of the stairs, backlit by the orange glow of fire below. The flickering light turned pale hair yellow, glinted off dark glasses.
“Him,” Edward breathed.
“Scar,” said Mustang.
Scar’s hidden gaze swept over them all. “I followed Flame and Fullmetal… To find the Crimson Alchemist here as well… What a fortuitous gathering.” His right hand clenched at his side.
“The infamous Scar.” Kimblee appeared behind them, hands raised. “And, aren’t you three in a bad spot?” Tattooed hands moved together.
Hawkeye was faster. Somehow, a second gun had appeared in her left hand. She snapped both arms out, targeting Scar and Kimblee, and fired.
Edward yelped as a bullet streaked over his head. Kimblee froze as the same bullet clipped his right ear and embedded itself in the bookshelf just behind him. Scar dodged away into the stacks on the far side of the landing
“Sir, the stairs!” said Hawkeye.
“Understood, Lieutenant!” Mustang grabbed the back of the still staggering Edward’s coat and propelled him toward the staircase. “Move, Elric!”
The three raced for the stairway as the floor shuddered with a fresh blast from one of Kimblee’s chemical time bombs. With another series of shots from Hawkeye, they hit the steps and started down.
“Not so fast!”
Scar had come out of hiding behind them, an angry red light wrapped around his right arm. He slammed his open palm down to the floor at the top of the stairs. There was a pulse, and the stairs began to crumble under their feet.
Edward spun around. “He’s deconstructing—!” Without finishing the sentence, he dropped the binders and brought his hands together. “Colonel, Lieutenant! Don’t move!” Edward slapped his own hands down against the crumbling stone, willing the energy arcing around him to gather the fragmenting base elements, meld them back into solidity and reach down, down.
The crumbling stairs were consumed by his transmutation, becoming a sloppy pillar under their feet. A falling pillar that slammed into the floor instants later with a teeth-rattling thud.
Mustang and Hawkeye barely maintained their footing. Edward pitched forward against the rough stone, just catching himself on his hands. His breath was coming in gasps. His ears were ringing. And, he felt like the power inside him was going to explode.
“You won’t get away that easily.”
The deep voice sent a shiver through Edward.
No, no. The man couldn’t be here. He was on the second floor.
But, as Hawkeye hopped down from the pillar in front of him, gun at the ready, Ed could make out Scar’s dark form advancing. Had the man jumped? There were shelves. Maybe he had jumped to the top of one and…
Edward shook his head. It wasn’t important. He reached to grab the notes, and his hand swept over bare stone. Edward looked down. The notes were gone.
“No!”
Forcing his eyes to focus, Edward searched the marble tiled floor of the main lobby. The once orderly rows of reference tables were strewn with debris and lit only by the fluttering light of small fires. Dimly, he was aware of the Lieutenant firing again, of Scar retreating. But, it wasn’t important because… There! Something square and regular near a set of shelves to his left.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
“Come on, Elric.” The colonel. “We need to get out of here.”
“I’ve got to get the notes!” Edward lunged toward the shelves.
“Elric!”
Before Mustang could follow Edward, there was a dull boom overhead. He jumped back reflexively as, in a shower of fiery debris, a chandelier crashed to the floor. Brass bent, and glass sprayed against his legs.
“Colonel!” Hawkeye half-turned, checking to see that her commanding officer was okay.
Mustang started to reassure her and caught a flash of movement over her shoulder. Scar.
“Lieutenant!” Without thinking, he flung out a hand and snapped.
Hawkeye was already spinning back toward Scar. She was just in time to see the Ishvalan bring his right hand down on the floor before Mustang’s fireball caught him in the chest. Seconds too late.
In a burst of crimson light, the tiles beneath Mustang and Hawkeye’s feet began to break apart. Then, with a roar, the floor gave way. Tile, shattered concrete, desks and the remains of the chandelier all began to collapse into the basement.
Scrambling for solid ground, Mustang watched in horror as the floor disintegrated under him.
“Lieutenant!”
But, a glance confirmed that Hawkeye was already well on her way to safety, throwing herself toward the edge of the growing hole. He needed to do the same.
Slipping and stumbling, Mustang fought desperately against gravity itself as the floor fell away beneath him. A step, a jump. He could see solid ground just feet away. Too many feet.
There was no time to think. No time for anything beyond a single instantaneous decision. The transmutation circle on his right glove already glowing, Mustang flung his hand out to the side and snapped. A small explosion rent the air feet from his right side. Heat washed over him even as the blast propelled him toward the jagged lip of the hole.
Eyes watering, Mustang reached out. His hands closed around something solid, and his falling body jerked to a halt. Good. Now to pull up.
Somewhere, someone was screaming at him.
“Colonel!”
Hawkeye. Forcing his eyes open, Mustang found the lieutenant gripping his arm, trying to pull him over the lip of the hole. Scrabbling with his feet for a purchase below, he tried to help her.
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Continue to Part 2
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
Author: Kristen Sharpe
Final Checking: July 25, 2011
Rating: K+
Warnings: Violence, blood, named character death - everything you expect from Scar and Kimblee sharing the same scene.
Genre/Continuity: AU (alternate/divergent universe) set in the first animeverse.
Disclaimer: “Fullmetal Alchemist” belongs to Hiromu Arakawa, Square ENIX, Studio BONES and various other parties.
Author’s Note: Many thanks to
mintysage, who got this thing in little pieces and endured countless re-writes and dithering. Also, thanks to Kayca, who read this twice to be sure she didn't miss any details. And, as always, thanks to everyone who has been following this story.Book 2: The Deconstruction of the Fullmetal Alchemist
Chapter 17: You Better Watch Out
July, 1884
Following Rose and her baby through the streets of Liore at midday with only a hastily transmuted cloak to hide his identity was nerve-wracking. Rose was eerily silent, responding only in small head gestures. Her child was the opposite, determined to voice his displeasure at the world. Despite the danger, it brought a half-smile to Ed’s lips. Lyra… Dante was wrong. There was at least one Lioran with real spirit left.
And, Rose as well. Despite the horror behind her eyes, she was here, taking the lead since she knew the city best.
He just hoped that she understood that they had to get out of Liore. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a plan beyond that point. He couldn't leave; he had to destroy Dante’s array. It wasn't safe for Rose to stay. But, someone in her state crossing the desert alone with a baby was tantamount to suicide. And, the nearest settlement – Ishval – was crawling with Amestrian soldiers.
Ed debated the merits of alchemically bleaching Rose and the baby’s hair. The soldiers would then only see two more white-haired, dark-skinned Ishvalans. They probably wouldn’t look close enough to see dark eyes in place of Ishvalan red. It might work.
Ed was so lost in thought he nearly walked into Rose when she stopped. Stumbling, he looked up at her silent back and then peered past her, around the corner to the street they were about to enter. The road was blocked by two burly men with rifles. More of the rebels.
The alchemist swore under his breath. This was the third street they had found blocked. It would be easy enough to slip out a side street. But, with nothing but empty sands beyond and men scanning the horizon for soldiers at every major thoroughfare, they would be easy targets. He couldn’t trust that Liore’s desperate rebels wouldn’t shoot Rose. Especially if they thought she had turned traitor.
Ed looked down. Maybe he could create a tunnel. Harden the sand to stone. Just to the nearest dune.
Rose suddenly turned.
Ed looked at her in surprise. “Rose?”
There was a tightness around her mouth, a sudden brightness in her eyes.
Wordlessly, she reached out to press her now hiccupping child against his chest. Startled, Ed reflexively stuck his arms out.
“What’re you—?”
The baby’s warm weight settled against him, an awkward, squirming bundle he struggled to balance. One hand behind the head, right? There had been a baby in Rush Valley once. Miss Satera had said something about minding his head.
Finally getting the baby stabilized, Ed looked to Rose.
“Rose, why—?”
Rose was gone, running down the street toward the two men. What was she doing?
The men looked up as Rose approached.
“Rose?” said one. “What’re you doing out here?”
Rose only grabbed the front of his shirt and pointed frantically up the street, past Ed’s hiding place. Her mouth moved soundlessly.
“Whoa! Calm down!” said the man. “You’re staying with Miss Lyra, right?”
“Is she okay?” asked the second man.
Rose shook her head and pointed again. Then, she stepped back and opened her mouth. A thin, shrill sound escaped her. It was the first thin crack in a crumbling dam. A true scream followed it, high and desperate with the weight of fear and frustration.
The men became frantic.
“Something must have happened!”
“The military?”
“Hey!” Another pair of armed men spilled into the street from a side road. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rose,” answered the first man. “There must be something wrong with Miss Lyra!”
“What?”
Rose tugged on the man’s shirt again before running a few feet back toward Ed. They needed no further encouragement.
“Come on!”
Ed ducked his head and stepped back into the alley as they hurried past. When he dared risk a glance, they were already far up the street, Rose in the lead. Ed swore before clutching the baby closer and running out and down the empty street into the desert.
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Present
Edward stared at Mustang, trying to process the absurdity of the man’s words. How did Psiren kiss? Apparently, by ambush. With a growl, he jerked his hand away from his cheek and struggled up into a proper sitting position.
“What do you want?” he asked. “I didn’t receive any orders about this.”
“No,” said Mustang, stopping beside the car, “I’m sure you didn’t. This is something of a side project.” He studied Edward carefully. “Besides, it seems you don’t always follow orders anyway.”
Edward watched him warily. “What do you mean? It’s not like I kidnapped myself.”
“I was there when Brigadier General Grand ordered you to stay inside the barracks,” Mustang continued. “But, you left the barracks to check on Lieutenant Colonel Hughes.”
Edward started. “I just called for—” he began quickly.
“You went out the window according to your guards,” said Mustang. “And, the barracks seem to have grown a new set of stairs just below your window.” He shook his head. “You really need to learn to put things back the way you found them.”
“That was an emergency!” Edward flailed for an explanation. “He could have been dying!” Was dying. “I have a duty to… to protect fellow soldiers! It’s—”
“Thank you.”
Edward’s stammered words halted. “What?”
“You went against your orders to save Maes Hughes,” said Mustang. His face softened. “For that, you have my thanks.”
Edward was quiet a minute. “He’s a good man,” he said at last. “With a family. I didn’t want to think about Miss Gracia crying.”
Mustang smiled slightly. “Me either.”
Edward studied the man then. Mustang was an enigma. Grand had ordered and demanded. Archer had used subtle intimidation and lies wrapped in thin truths. Mustang seemed to be going for another angle. And, yet…
“Why did you bring me out here?” the gray-haired alchemist asked.
“I’ve been doing some research of my own ever since General Grand assigned us to that project of his,” said Mustang. “You remember the one?” At Edward’s nod, he continued. “Research on Ulrich Parker, the Philosopher’s Stone and you. Parker’s a dead end, but you…” He waved a hand. “The general made it hard for me, and the records of anything beyond your first years of service have been ‘edited’ until they’re nearly useless… But, there are dates that match nicely here and there.” Mustang’s dark eyes pinned Edward with a sudden, searching gaze. “I know the notes we’ve been decoding are yours.”
Edward kept his face neutral.
Unconcerned, Mustang kept going. “I also know you were searching for the Philosopher’s Stone. Then, there’s this.” A hand dipped into his pocket, and he tossed something toward Edward. It caught the moonlight as it arced through the air.
Holding out his hands to catch the object, Edward stared down at the face of a battered silver watch. “A State Alchemist’s watch?”
“Open it,” said Mustang.
Suddenly realizing, Edward stiffened. It couldn’t be. He had left it in the desert. But, his flesh fingers could feel the familiar deformations along the clasp. Slowly, he opened the watch and turned it into the light. “Don’t forget 3 Oct. 79,” stared back at him, carved deep into the metal.
“Psiren claims to have found that in the remains of Liore,” said Mustang. “The date is six months before you became a State Alchemist, correct?”
Keeping his head down, Edward hoped the other man hadn’t seen his expression. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“So, that was in Liore,” said Mustang. “And, just a few weeks later, reports at Fort Briggs indicate a ‘rogue alchemist’ was captured trying to escape across the Drachman border. Around the same time, you were reportedly taken prisoner by the Drachmans.”
Edward felt a cold that he couldn’t attribute to the midwinter air. Mustang knew.
“Do you know anything about Ishval?” Mustang suddenly asked. “Your file doesn’t indicate that you were involved in the war effort.”
“I—Ishval?”
Ishval… No, he had never served in Ishval. They had tried to send him. There had been orders for him to serve behind the lines in a support capacity. He only vaguely remembered reading the orders before his head had exploded with the second worst attack he had ever experienced.
Silently, he thanked the voices. The agony they had caused, the weeks-long hospital stay, the morphine-induced nausea – those were nothing compared to what could have happened on the battlefield.
Edward looked up from the memories to find that the dark-haired man had moved closer.
“I served in Ishval when I was just a few years out of the academy,” said Mustang. With a sigh, he turned and slumped back against the car, looking up at the sky. “It was a terrible war. The State Alchemists were called in during the last days to end it. Our orders were to eradicate every last Ishvalan, man or woman, adult or child.” Mustang’s voice dropped. “And, any collaborators.”
Edward stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“There were two Amestrian doctors,” said Mustang. “A husband and wife. They weren’t collaborators.” His eyes were distant. “They were just doctors who treated everyone who came to their clinic, Amestrian or Ishvalan. Many soldiers owed them their lives.” One hand tightened into a fist. “Because they treated Ishvalans as well, the military ordered that they be executed. There was no trial. Just two bullets from my service revolver. Because it was orders.”
The words were flat, devoid of emotion. There were no excuses, just a statement of fact.
“They had a photograph in their clinic,” Mustang said after a moment. “It showed them with their daughter. She had the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”
For a minute, neither man said anything. Then, Mustang turned slightly to look at Edward.
“I don’t want to see another Ishval,” he said. “Anymore, I think, than you want to see another Liore.”
Edward looked up, studying the other man’s face. It had been so long. So very long.
“Edward,” the voice of his father whispered.
Distantly, he remembered the dark-haired man bending over him as he writhed in agony on a cold, stone floor. The same sincerity had been in those eyes then.
“The Philosopher’s Stone,” said Edward quietly, “isn’t something anyone should ever create or use again. I want to erase all records of it.”
“Fair enough,” said Mustang. “Did Psiren retrieve that notebook of yours from Major Archer?”
“Yeah. I destroyed it.” Edward thumbed over his shoulder into the car. “It’s dirtying the floorboards. Now,” he rubbed at his arms, “I’m freezing out here.” He looked to Mustang expectantly.
The colonel smiled faintly. “My car’s this way.”
Edward slid out of the stolen car and followed the taller man around the front of the warehouse. As they stepped out of the building’s shadow, his eyes fell on the blonde lieutenant he remembered from the night at the Hughes’ home. She had a gun at the ready in one hand, and her eyes never stopped searching the shadows as she addressed Mustang.
“All clear, Sir,” she said.
Mustang nodded as she fell into step with them. “Archer will be suspecting me, so it would be best if we put Elric up with someone else,” he said. “Havoc has an apartment in the north district, I believe.” He turned to Edward as they reached a nondescript vehicle hidden in an alleyway. “Is that acceptable?”
It was nice to be asked. He just hoped it wasn’t another ruse.
“Fine, I guess.”
Mustang nodded and opened the car’s nearest door.
Edward stepped up beside him and, rather than getting into the car, peered into its small side mirror on a sudden whim. There hadn't been a mirror in his cell, and Psiren had acted like he was nearly unrecognizable until he started speaking. Just what did he look like these days? Nothing like his father, he hoped. He ignored Hohenheim's wry chuckle at the back of his mind.
Unfortunately, the mirror wasn't any help as Edward found himself squinting hopelessly in the poor light. There was a snap to his right, and orange light washed over him.
Edward jerked and found Mustang extending a gloved hand that cupped a small ball of flame. Fed by transmuted oxygen from the look of it.
“Need a light?” Mustang asked.
Edward huffed at him before turning again to look at himself in the round mirror. He immediately jumped back a step.
“Crap, I’m old!”
“It does tend to happen after a few decades,” said Mustang. He arched a brow. “You hadn’t noticed?”
“Not exactly, no,” said Ed, moving back to the mirror again.
He didn't recognize himself. It wasn't just the “sudden” age; his features were warped beyond recognition. Sagging skin, twisted nose, jaw line sharp and jagged. This wasn’t him. Well... At least it wasn't his father either.
Mustang cleared his throat as the light slowly died away. “As entertaining as it is watching you paw at your face like that, we really should get moving.”
Realizing that his hands were, in fact, clasped against his cheeks, Edward dropped them to his sides with a scowl. He turned to snap a retort and found a soft bundle thrust into his arms.
“Here,” said Mustang, “We’ll find you something more appropriate later, but this should keep you from freezing.”
Surprised, Edward looked down at the bundle. It consisted of a sturdy coat and a pair of worn but serviceable boots. Quickly, he unfolded the coat to slip it over his thin sleep things. But, something stopped him. Even in the darkness, the coat caught the weak light and glowed back a brilliant red.
“This—” He held it out in surprise.
“You left it nearly a month ago when you had your seizure,” said Mustang. “I’d been meaning to return it for a while.”
For a minute, Edward stared at the coat. He barely remembered transmuting it from a pair of far more mundane jackets. Then, it had been only a wisp of memory in Fullmetal’s fogged mind. Now, it was like an old friend. Smiling faintly, Edward drew the coat around himself and moved to tug on the boots. He knew he looked foolish dressed in boots and pajamas with a garishly crimson coat, but he didn’t care. Finally, he felt just a little like himself again.
Covering his growing grin, Edward moved to slide into the back of the car. He was surprised when Mustang followed him.
“Both of us may need to lay low,” the man explained as his lieutenant started the car and began to maneuver them out onto the street. “Although, at your height, it may not be a concern.”
Edward rounded on him with blazing eyes. “Who are you calling so small he needs a stack of books to see out of the car?” he roared.
Mustang drew back in surprise. Then, shock transformed to mirth.
“So, that’s the Fullmetal Alchemist I’ve been reading about,” he said, smirking. He held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you… Mr. Elric?”
“Ed,” the older man corrected, taking the hand with his automail right and making sure to squeeze more than was strictly necessary. “Pleased to meet you… Colonel Mustard?”
Mustang’s smirk never faded. “Mustang.”
Releasing his hand, Edward sat back and considered the task before them. For the first time in decades, however tentatively, he had an ally. At least, an ally with a physical presence.
“I want to find the copies of the notes,” he said, coming to a decision. “Archer said his ‘sources’ thought they were at the library. I think I know where.”
Mustang looked at him sharply.
“If Grand kept them there, I’m betting they’re hidden in plain sight,” said Edward. “With the other travelogues. They’re printed; they wouldn’t stand out. And, he was always prowling around the place. If he got there first every morning to collect them…”
Mustang only considered it for a moment. “Lieutenant, take us to the National Library.”
“Yes, Sir.”
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“Cursed.”
In that endless instant, he had been back in Ishval as his people died around him, screaming for mercy.
He was cursed. He had known it since he chose this path. Since he rejected his morality, his name and his God. There could be no redemption. He accepted that. So long as he could drag Ishval’s murderers to Hell with him, it was enough.
And, his elder brother had left him the means to achieve that goal. This right arm, his brother’s arm, with the marks of forbidden alchemy etched across its skin, had served him well.
And, yet…
Why, in that instant, had it felt like all Ishval was inside him, screaming for release?
It was a question that gray-haired alchemist, the one they called Fullmetal, would answer. He only needed to wait.
The alchemist might be hidden away at any of the military’s many facilities, but there was no need to search him out. Eventually, Fullmetal would return, as they all did, here to the library. He only needed to be patient.
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Mustang’s lieutenant – Hawkeye, Edward learned – was several leagues above Psiren. Her driving was unhurried, obeyed traffic laws and brought them to a block away from the library in just twenty minutes. As a bonus, no one was in danger of heart failure.
“We’ll have to go in the front,” said Mustang as they exited the car. “Unless one of your talents is transmuting un-transmutable buildings,” he added with a glance at Edward.
It was a rhetorical question, but Edward shook his head anyway. It wasn’t even a lie. Yes, with the power he possessed, he should be able to transmute even the library’s unique composition, a hodgepodge of rare elements that made that most crucial step of the alchemical process – analysis – all but impossible. But, after his earlier transmutation, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to try again. Even deconstructing the notebook had required fine control not to pull from the souls inside him.
Fortunately, Mustang accepted the answer. He paused to collect a lantern from the back of the car and led them around toward the front of the building.
“I should be able to convince the night watch to let us in,” he said. “Lieutenant, keep an eye o—”
“I have a spare watch,” Edward offered suddenly.
Mustang paused.
Several minutes later, Mustang’s rank and the combined presence of three supposed State Alchemists had awed the guards sufficiently to admit the three of them into the library. Mustang paused in the atrium to get his bearings. A snap of his gloved fingers brought the lantern to life, and he raised it to survey the darkened library.
“Travel would be…”
“Second floor, third stack to the right of the stairs,” said Edward. “Runs halfway through the sixth stack, but most of them are junk. Though some jerk fought me for Livingstone’s “Wild Western Amestris” until I kicked him in the—”
“Let’s just head up to the second floor,” Mustang cut in.
Edward blinked. “Oh. Right.”
They made their way through the open lobby’s orderly rows of reference tables and up the wide stairway to the second floor. True to Edward’s memory, books on travel were filed just where he had said they would be. Edward snatched the lantern from Mustang and took the lead as they moved into the stacks. He swung it toward the shelves, eyes skipping over the books’ spines as he hurried along. When he suddenly stopped, Mustang nearly fell over him.
“It’s not here.” Edward stared in confusion at the place where his name should have been.
“Wait.” Mustang stepped back the way they had come. “It wouldn’t be under your name. It would be under Parker.”
“Parker?” Edward frowned as Mustang moved away from him and ran a finger along the P’s.
“Ulrich Parker,” said Mustang. He waved a hand. “Turn the light this way. Grand gave us your research under his name, remember?”
“Oh, right.” Edward smacked his forehead lightly with his free hand. “That Reaction Alchemist guy.”
“Here,” said Mustang, pulling two slim binders off a lower shelf.
Edward accepted them and, passing the lantern to Mustang, quickly flipped through the pages of first one and then the other. East City, Youswell, Liore. So many years of searching. So many failures. And, a success that was the substance of nightmares.
The alchemist shook off the dark musings. It would be over soon.
“These are the right notes,” he said.
“Good.” Mustang turned to make his way back to the end of the aisle where Hawkeye was waiting. “Now, let’s get you out of sight.”
Edward stared at the notes in his hands for a minute. Then, he laid both copies on the edge of the shelf and took a deep breath.
“Elric?” asked Mustang, turning.
“This ends here.” Edward focused his thoughts and reached for the wild energy inside. Reining it in, he raised his hands.
A sharp clap echoed through the empty library.
Edward had an instant to stare blankly at his palms, still a foot apart, before all havoc broke loose. The floor under his feet heaved and shattered, throwing him back into the opposite bookcase. The force of it knocked the air from his lungs and set the world spinning with a roar.
Endless minutes later, the sound finally died away. In the silence that followed, Edward fought to understand what had happened. His back was throbbing, and moving caused a curious shifting beneath him. His eyes opened, and he wondered when he had closed them. A great, flat expanse swam into view, faintly gray in the darkness. The ceiling? A darker shape abruptly filled his vision.
“Looking for these?” a voice purred.
He became aware of something pale swinging before his eyes. Pale and square.
The notes!
Edward grabbed for them reflexively, but they moved away.
“Ah-ah. I think not. Now,” something slammed him down onto the uneven floor, “what shall I do with you?” A face entered his vision, featureless in the darkness. “Maybe I should start by—”
“Don’t move!”
A woman’s voice. Ed dared a glance to the right to see toppled shelves, a busted lantern and two dark figures faintly illuminated by a distant window. Colonel Smug and his lieutenant.
Edward felt the man above him stiffen.
“Kimblee, is it?” said Mustang. “Here for some research? Or acting on Major Archer’s orders?”
“Just finishing what I started,” said the man, Kimblee.
Edward became aware of pressure on his left arm. Kimblee was gripping his wrist. That was bad. Why it was bad was lost in the clouds of fogged memory. But, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Kimblee had the notes.
Thinking no further, Edward jerked his automail knee up squarely between Kimblee’s legs. The resulting expletive might have been threatening if it wasn’t three octaves too high. Edward didn’t waste time smirking. He lunged up, twisting out of Kimblee’s grip and grabbing for the notebook.
Stumbling over a mountain of books and the overturned shelf, the pair went down in a tangle of limbs. But, even as he tumbled onto Kimblee, Edward’s hands were locked on the notes.
“You little—!” Kimblee’s voice was strangled.
Edward relentlessly drove his steel kneecap into the man’s stomach.
“Who’s a teeny-tiny little man who can’t defend himself? Huh?”
Kimblee’s fingers loosened, and Edward tore the binder away. Then, he clambered up and over the fallen man, scrambling over the scattered books and broken tile. He broke free of the stacks and hurried to join the colonel and lieutenant in the open landing area at the top of the stairs.
“My, you fight dirty, Elric,” said Mustang as Edward came to a stop beside him.
“Yeah, well,” Edward floundered, panting, “anything’s fair in a fight.” He straightened, brandishing the binders. “Besides, I got the notes.”
The shelf just behind him abruptly exploded in a spray of fiery confetti. Edward flinched back as burning debris spattered his right cheek.
“What—?” He took another step away, staring at the damage. The shelf was mostly intact, but the books were so much ash.
A wheeze echoed through the library, and Hawkeye released a hiss of disgust. Kimblee was gone. In the instants she had turned toward the explosion, he had taken cover. Slowly, the hoarse wheeze rose into uncontrollable laughter.
Mustang’s mouth thinned into a harsh line. “What did you do, Kimblee?” he shouted.
“You took too long, Mustang,” Kimblee’s voice rang from the stacks. “So, I kept busy while I waited.” Several sharp pops sounded from below. “You recognize it, don’t you, Flame Alchemist? Trace amounts of hydrogen and oxygen deconstructed from the glue of one book are nothing.” A dull boom shook the floor. “But, you know, there are so many books here! And, with a little help from the janitor’s supplies…” Kimblee cackled. “Well, my options become nearly limitless.”
Another explosion roared through the darkened library from somewhere below.
“And, it’s all a chemical reaction,” said Kimblee. “No need for sparks.” A sneer filled his voice. “But, feel free to use your alchemy anyway. You might trigger some of my little surprises early.”
Mustang grit his teeth. “We need to get out of here.” He turned to the stairs and jerked to a halt midstep.
A hulking figure stood at the top of the stairs, backlit by the orange glow of fire below. The flickering light turned pale hair yellow, glinted off dark glasses.
“Him,” Edward breathed.
“Scar,” said Mustang.
Scar’s hidden gaze swept over them all. “I followed Flame and Fullmetal… To find the Crimson Alchemist here as well… What a fortuitous gathering.” His right hand clenched at his side.
“The infamous Scar.” Kimblee appeared behind them, hands raised. “And, aren’t you three in a bad spot?” Tattooed hands moved together.
Hawkeye was faster. Somehow, a second gun had appeared in her left hand. She snapped both arms out, targeting Scar and Kimblee, and fired.
Edward yelped as a bullet streaked over his head. Kimblee froze as the same bullet clipped his right ear and embedded itself in the bookshelf just behind him. Scar dodged away into the stacks on the far side of the landing
“Sir, the stairs!” said Hawkeye.
“Understood, Lieutenant!” Mustang grabbed the back of the still staggering Edward’s coat and propelled him toward the staircase. “Move, Elric!”
The three raced for the stairway as the floor shuddered with a fresh blast from one of Kimblee’s chemical time bombs. With another series of shots from Hawkeye, they hit the steps and started down.
“Not so fast!”
Scar had come out of hiding behind them, an angry red light wrapped around his right arm. He slammed his open palm down to the floor at the top of the stairs. There was a pulse, and the stairs began to crumble under their feet.
Edward spun around. “He’s deconstructing—!” Without finishing the sentence, he dropped the binders and brought his hands together. “Colonel, Lieutenant! Don’t move!” Edward slapped his own hands down against the crumbling stone, willing the energy arcing around him to gather the fragmenting base elements, meld them back into solidity and reach down, down.
The crumbling stairs were consumed by his transmutation, becoming a sloppy pillar under their feet. A falling pillar that slammed into the floor instants later with a teeth-rattling thud.
Mustang and Hawkeye barely maintained their footing. Edward pitched forward against the rough stone, just catching himself on his hands. His breath was coming in gasps. His ears were ringing. And, he felt like the power inside him was going to explode.
“You won’t get away that easily.”
The deep voice sent a shiver through Edward.
No, no. The man couldn’t be here. He was on the second floor.
But, as Hawkeye hopped down from the pillar in front of him, gun at the ready, Ed could make out Scar’s dark form advancing. Had the man jumped? There were shelves. Maybe he had jumped to the top of one and…
Edward shook his head. It wasn’t important. He reached to grab the notes, and his hand swept over bare stone. Edward looked down. The notes were gone.
“No!”
Forcing his eyes to focus, Edward searched the marble tiled floor of the main lobby. The once orderly rows of reference tables were strewn with debris and lit only by the fluttering light of small fires. Dimly, he was aware of the Lieutenant firing again, of Scar retreating. But, it wasn’t important because… There! Something square and regular near a set of shelves to his left.
A hand fell on his shoulder.
“Come on, Elric.” The colonel. “We need to get out of here.”
“I’ve got to get the notes!” Edward lunged toward the shelves.
“Elric!”
Before Mustang could follow Edward, there was a dull boom overhead. He jumped back reflexively as, in a shower of fiery debris, a chandelier crashed to the floor. Brass bent, and glass sprayed against his legs.
“Colonel!” Hawkeye half-turned, checking to see that her commanding officer was okay.
Mustang started to reassure her and caught a flash of movement over her shoulder. Scar.
“Lieutenant!” Without thinking, he flung out a hand and snapped.
Hawkeye was already spinning back toward Scar. She was just in time to see the Ishvalan bring his right hand down on the floor before Mustang’s fireball caught him in the chest. Seconds too late.
In a burst of crimson light, the tiles beneath Mustang and Hawkeye’s feet began to break apart. Then, with a roar, the floor gave way. Tile, shattered concrete, desks and the remains of the chandelier all began to collapse into the basement.
Scrambling for solid ground, Mustang watched in horror as the floor disintegrated under him.
“Lieutenant!”
But, a glance confirmed that Hawkeye was already well on her way to safety, throwing herself toward the edge of the growing hole. He needed to do the same.
Slipping and stumbling, Mustang fought desperately against gravity itself as the floor fell away beneath him. A step, a jump. He could see solid ground just feet away. Too many feet.
There was no time to think. No time for anything beyond a single instantaneous decision. The transmutation circle on his right glove already glowing, Mustang flung his hand out to the side and snapped. A small explosion rent the air feet from his right side. Heat washed over him even as the blast propelled him toward the jagged lip of the hole.
Eyes watering, Mustang reached out. His hands closed around something solid, and his falling body jerked to a halt. Good. Now to pull up.
Somewhere, someone was screaming at him.
“Colonel!”
Hawkeye. Forcing his eyes open, Mustang found the lieutenant gripping his arm, trying to pull him over the lip of the hole. Scrabbling with his feet for a purchase below, he tried to help her.
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Continue to Part 2
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
