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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, Part 2
Against the flickering light of small fires, Edward had collected one binder and was pawing through a mountain of books dislodged by Kimblee’s blasts to find the other. The search had led him deep into the stacks. Kimblee seemed to have planted only one bomb at this end of the library, but, while the lack of fire made it safer, it was also darker. And, his glasses had been another casualty of the stairway disaster. So, he went by touch. Hardcover books and anything overly thick were tossed aside without inspection.
Frustrated, Edward growled to himself. “Come on, where is it?”
His eyes were watering from the lingering smoke, the lobby behind him was echoing with shouts and gunfire and the building shuddered again and again as Kimblee’s alchemic bombs detonated. There wasn’t much time.
Searching fingers played over a slim volume with a paper cover. Edward quickly turned it to the weak, distant light.
“Yes!” he crowed, recognizing the familiar cover. Quickly, he tucked it with its twin in the waistband of his pants and turned to hurry back toward the lobby.
And, ran straight into a now-familiar, grinning figure waiting in the narrow intersection of two aisles.
“I think I owe you some pain, Fullmetal!” Kimblee snarled. He lunged forward.
Edward swung away and around to throw a punch at Kimblee’s head. His automail fist sailed harmlessly past Kimblee’s long ponytail.
“What—?”
Nearly over-balancing, the gray-haired alchemist staggered. Turn, turn. He had to find Kimblee. Feet tripped over one another as he stumbled upright and collided with a shelf. Finally turned. Barely in time to duck under a hand grabbing for his face. Not in time to miss the second hand that buried itself in his abdomen.
Edward doubled over with a choked gasp.
A hand closed around the back of his neck, digging into his short hair and pulling him up.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” Kimblee hissed in his ear.
“Your mistake.” Edward rammed his steel elbow back, aiming for Kimblee’s stomach. Kimblee was prepared for that, of course. Hopefully, he wasn’t as prepared for a roundhouse kick to the—
Edward’s thoughts ground to a halt as his kick clumsily brushed Kimblee’s chest and left him hopping to regain his balance. A sudden incredible boom shook windows in their frames and sent him reeling into one of the library’s support columns.
Kimblee, who had taken a step back, laughed.
“Can’t see well? Or just out of shape, old man?”
Edward seethed. “I’ll show you old!”
His hands came together with a clap before he grabbed the column again. Gritting his teeth at the surge of energy, he directed a third of the stone mass under his hands into a fist that shot out to punch Kimblee. Hit, the other alchemist flew back into the far wall.
For a minute, Kimblee hung there, head down, trapped by alchemized stone. Then, a snort escaped him. A snort that grew into a full-throated laugh. Kimblee looked up, and his hazel eyes locked on Edward.
“I’m going to have so much fun with you, Fullmetal!” he cackled. He grabbed the stone fist planted in his stomach with both tattooed hands. Crackling energy played over the rough surface. “I’ll blow you up piece by piece!” The fist exploded, and Kimblee dropped to the floor. “There was an Ishvalan I started on once.” A hand wreathed in the blue glow of a fresh transmutation grabbed the nearest book and hurled it toward Edward.
The smaller alchemist ducked behind the column as the book hit a shelf to his left and exploded. A shower of fiery cinders fell around him like a stinging cloud.
Kimblee stepped toward Edward. “I started with the Ishvalan’s face,” he said. “Just a few layers of skin off the top. Excruciating, but not fatal.” Kimblee slapped a hand against the shelves to his right, sending a pulse of energy down their length and past Edward.
Edward gritted his teeth, risking a glance at the advancing madman.
“Your face isn’t much to look at. Maybe I’ll start with your eyes,” said Kimblee, reaching for another book. “You’re already half-blind. And, worthless.” Blue light deepened his sneer. “I heard about you, you know. Really, a nice explosion is all you’re good for!” He flung the book into the shelves behind Edward.
As the book took flight, Edward abandoned his hiding place and lunged at Kimblee with a growl. Behind him, gases escaping the transmuted books ignited, consuming aged leather and dry paper in an instant. Hungry flames shot for the ceiling, and the gray-haired alchemist felt heat wash over him. But, he ignored it, focused only on Kimblee.
His charge caught the taller man at waist height and sent him to the floor. As they fell, Edward drew back his automail arm.
“I can see you fine at this range!” he roared.
His steel fist met Kimblee’s nose with a satisfying crunch. The mad alchemist stared at him blankly for a moment before slumping bonelessly to the floor.
Edward disentangled himself and stood, looking down at Kimblee.
“And, get off my lawn,” he said.
Checking the binders in his waistband, Edward hurried back to the main lobby. And, stopped short at the sight awaiting him. Half of the floor was gone, vanished into a gaping hole. Overhead, fire was consuming the second floor and licking at the ceiling. Across the lobby, Mustang was dangling half in the pit, one foot precariously balanced on a crumbling wall below. Lieutenant Hawkeye was just releasing one of his hands to grab for her sidearm as Scar advanced on them.
Edward’s eyes widened. “Hey!” The word had left his mouth before he thought it through. Well, no taking it back now. He stepped forward as the Ishvalan looked up. “You! Scar or whatever your name is, we need to talk.”
He had planned to meet the red-eyed man again, but this wasn’t the time for that encounter. The power inside him was already roiling, straining at the confines of its feeble, flesh container. But, there was no help for it.
Scar froze in place. After a long minute, his deep voice rumbled out over the low roar of the flames.
“Fullmetal Alchemist. You are correct.” He began to move toward Edward, stalking along the edge of the pit. “We do need to talk.”
“Elric, what are you doing?” shouted Mustang as he fought to pull himself up and onto solid ground.
An identical, unvoiced question echoed from Hawkeye’s taut face as she kept her weapon trained on Scar.
“I can handle it,” Edward called back, slipping among the remaining reference tables. His eyes never left the approaching Scar. “You and the lieutenant get out of here.”
“Elric!”
Edward tuned the colonel out. He had to do this. He was better equipped to deal with Scar’s destructive alchemy than anyone alive. And, this was one more step in his plan. One step closer to his goal.
“Explain it to me,” Scar demanded as he drew nearer. “What did you mean ‘cursed’?” He held up his right arm. “Why, when I touched you, did I hear my people crying out?”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never heard them before?”
“Never!” Scar’s fist clenched. “What trick of your accursed alchemy is this?”
“It’s that arm that’s the curse,” said Edward.
Scar’s entire body jerked. “This was my brother’s arm!” he snarled.
Edward felt something inside him twist. “Your brother’s—?”
“Yes, he—”
The sudden widening of Scar’s eyes was Edward’s only warning.
With a sound between a roar and a mad laugh, Kimblee launched himself from the top of the nearest table, hands crackling with energy. Edward only had time to twist and reflexively throw up his right arm.
Kimblee caught it in one glowing hand, and Edward realized his mistake too late.
“I told you, Fullmetal!” Kimblee cackled as a surge of energy ripped through the automail’s steel frame. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece!”
With a shriek, the automail tore itself apart. Metal shrapnel flew free.
Laughing, Kimblee caught the largest piece, the central support column, and spun. For once, Scar was too slow as Kimblee hurled the jagged metal into his abdomen.
Behind him, Edward slipped to his knees, biting down a scream. The force of the explosion had clawed its way up into his shoulder port and the nerves hidden there.
“That’s one annoying arm out of the way,” Kimblee cackled as Scar stumbled backward. “Shall I make it two?” Blood trailed from his crumpled nose, and he idly licked away a trickle of crimson at the corner of his mouth. “I never did finish with you after all.”
Clutching his side, Scar looked up. “You,” he hissed in a voice filled with all the ominous promise of distant thunder. “Crimson Alchemist.”
Kimblee smiled. “I wondered where your brother’s arm went,” he said. “All that blood on the sand. I let him bleed for a while, you know. And, he still held out longer than I thought he would.”
Scar’s answer was an inhuman scream of rage as he threw himself at Kimblee.
Gripping his throbbing shoulder so tightly his knuckles shown white, Edward scooted himself back under the nearest table as the two combatants swept past. A curse hissed out through his teeth.
Flickering with destructive energy, Scar’s right arm just missed Kimblee’s face as the grinning alchemist dodged back.
“Temper, temper,” Kimblee taunted. “Besides…” There was the whump of a small explosion, and blood spattered over the tables. “You have more important problems, don’t you?”
Scar staggered and looked down at his stomach in shock. His heavy jacket was stained a thick crimson. The metal that had stabbed deep into his abdomen was gone. Instead, there was only a dark, gaping hole.
“Now, about that arm…” Kimblee moved toward him.
Scar lurched away. His left hand clutched futilely at the wound.
Kimblee followed him, face stretched in a horrible grin.
As they stepped back into the maze of tables, a foot shot out to tangle with Kimblee’s and send him to the floor. The mad alchemist snarled in fury, tattooed hands flailing for a hold. He looked to his right and could just make out a pale face in the darkness under the table.
“Fullmetal!”
Edward pushed himself back with his feet as Kimblee made to lunge after him.
“That’s enough!”
The crack of a gun split the air, and Kimblee froze half under the table.
“Elric, get out of there!”
The colonel. Finally.
Edward huffed out a sigh of relief and clambered out the other side of the table. Once free, he looked up to see Mustang and his lieutenant with their guns trained on Scar and Kimblee.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, struggling to push himself up with his one remaining arm.
“Sorry, Elric, I was trying not to fall to my death.” Mustang’s eyes never left Kimblee.
“You’re such a spoilsport, Mustang,” said Kimblee. His eyes were focused on the floor in front of him. “You were like that in Ishval too.”
“Normal people don’t revel in death.” Mustang’s eyes were hard.
“Death is just the inevitable. What I enjoy is the thrill,” said Kimblee. “The excitement.” His hands splayed across the floor as the library shuddered with a blast that rained plaster around them. “It’s no fun in prison. So, maybe it’s time for a gamble.” He smiled.
Edward was the first to realize it.
Scrambling back, he shouted, “Mustang, the floor!”
The floor under Kimblee was dark, discolored.
Mustang swore at the sight. “Lieutenant, get away!” He started to move himself.
“Colonel!” Hawkeye’s aim swung away from Scar.
Mustang half-turned and saw reaching hands and maddened eyes. Bringing up a hand, he snapped.
The small, contained fireball caught Kimblee in the face. With a screech of pain, he grabbed for his eyes. Howling, he stumbled backward and crashed into the tangle of tables. Just above the transmuted floor. A floor that was starting to glow.
A flash, and white fire consumed Kimblee.
There were still spots in Edward’s eyes long after the ringing in his ears stopped. Coughing, he struggled to sit up. It had been so much easier with two arms. As his vision cleared, he found himself precariously close to the gaping hole at the center of the lobby. In front of him there was a new hole clogged with a jumble of broken tables. The edges of the hole still burned a hot white. Magnesium? The floor must be dolomite marble or something similar.
But, even an alchemist’s scholarly detachment couldn’t stop his eyes from finding the twisted, smoking form of Kimblee sprawled over the wreckage at an impossible angle.
Edward gritted his teeth and looked away. He could see the blue clad shapes of the colonel and his lieutenant lying in the floor to his right. Levering himself up, he started to move toward them.
A wet cough from the fresh crater stopped him. Impossible. There was no way Kimblee could be alive.
Edward turned.
No, not Kimblee. A pile of wood heaved up, and Scar pulled himself from the wreckage. He took a step. And, immediately crumpled, left arm cradling his ruined stomach.
Edward only thought about it a moment before he moved toward the Ishvalan. He picked his way around the debris until he was staring down at Scar.
The larger man looked up and raised his right hand. Knuckles cracked ominously.
“Don’t think you’ve won, Alchemist,” he said. His breath was coming in short pants. “I can still take one more of you with me.”
“Won what?” said Edward, watching him intently.
“Would you help me?” he asked the audience in his mind.
A whisper of faintly bemused, disgruntled, surprised agreement answered him.
“Edward…” his father murmured.
Why was the old man feeling proud?
He wasn’t doing anything noble. He just didn’t want them to win. Kimblee. Grand. Dante.
People weren’t raw materials. They were more than the sum of their parts. Immeasurably more. Not realizing that had been his first mistake.
“Stay still,” he told Scar, reaching out with his left hand.
Scar did. Neither attacking nor lowering his hand. “What do you mean to do?”
“Keep you alive,” said Edward.
He was so tired. But, he just had to knit the flesh together a little. Just enough to seal ruptured organs and prevent the man from bleeding to death. He could control the energy that long.
His fingers grazed the edges of the terrible wound, and a warm red light spread over it.
Scar sucked in a sudden breath and his entire body stiffened. But, he didn’t move.
Good. This was hard enough. The incredible, impossible power that was forming tissue where there had been none was threatening to break free of his tenuous control. Edward set his jaw and focused on the equation in his mind. Just a little more.
New flesh sealed over the worst of the damage.
His hand was shaking, Edward realized. His entire body might have been shaking. He wasn’t sure. It was time to stop. Exhausted, he fought to rein in the power, to pull away.
Scar moved. “How is this possible?” He reached and caught the alchemist’s wrist in his right hand.
The world went red.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang woke to screams and fire. For an instant, he expected to feel hot sand under his hands. But, there was only cool stone.
Stone? The library.
He looked up and around.
Hawkeye was beside him – safe, thank goodness – and already taking stock of their situation. The library was starting to burn in earnest now. But, the fire’s orange glow was nothing compared to the coruscating light just feet in front of them.
The Fullmetal Alchemist was glowing like a star. A star that shone a bloody crimson.
His coat flapped around him in the backlash of released energy. His only remaining hand was locked with Scar’s right.
Scar sat frozen, somehow not bleeding half as much as he should be. His right arm, locked against Elric’s left, was wreathed in swirling designs that burned red.
Both men were loosing throat-tearing screams.
Mustang stumbled to his feet. He had to stop this.
It was almost as though they had been waiting for him to move.
The glow around Scar’s arm abruptly flickered and died. A last tendril of red light swept across it and vanished. The big man immediately slumped back, his scream trailing off into silence.
Edward staggered away. The glow around him was brighter than ever. As he turned, Mustang realized that it was centered in his chest. Right where his heart should be there was a brilliant, pulsing light.
“What on—?”
There was a muffled shout behind him. Mustang looked back quickly.
Hawkeye was pinned against a tall figure in blue. Even in the shuddering red light, Mustang quickly recognized the sharp, pale face. Major Archer.
Hawkeye’s brown eyes burned with silent fury as Archer pressed the barrel of his sidearm under her chin. His other hand slithered around her waist to pull her own sidearm free of its holster and level it at Mustang’s chest.
“Well, Mustang, it seems it was worth the effort of coming out here after all,” said Archer. He inclined his head toward Edward, who had collapsed to his knees, still screaming. “I knew you would move to claim everything as soon as you could. But, I’m amazed you were so foolish as to bring Fullmetal along.” He pressed the gun deeper into Hawkeye’s soft tissue. “However, it seems to have all worked out.”
“Worked out?” Mustang ground through his teeth.
Archer smiled thinly. “I rather think this is what Brigadier General Grand was searching for.” Red light reflected in his pale eyes. “I did some research of my own. The Philosopher’s Stone, also known as the Crimson Elixir or sometimes the Red Tincture. A source of near limitless power.”
“It’s a legend,” said Mustang flatly. “What you’re looking at is a very ugly rebound and, if you ever want to ask Elric anything again, you should let me stop it.”
“Now, Mustang,” said Archer, “surely you can think of something better than that? It’s obvious even to a non-alchemist like myself.” His smile deepened as he tracked the regular throbbing of the red light in Edward’s chest. “Who would have imagined it could exist within a heart? I suppose that’s one way to hide it for decades.”
Mustang glowered at him, subtly shifting his gaze toward Hawkeye’s taunt face. She flicked her eyes toward her left hand.
Ah. He had wondered about that.
“Major Archer—” he began. Distantly, he finally heard sirens.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any more time for pleasantries, Colonel,” Archer interrupted. “I will be taking the Fullmetal Alchemist back to Fuhrer Lockheed. Congratulations. Your precious State Alchemist program may yet have its uses.” He smiled thinly. “Too late for you, I’m afraid. You will need to have a tragic accident here with Scar and the rogue Crimson Alchemist. I’m sure it can be painted suitably heroic.”
“No one will believe Scar shot me,” said Mustang acidly.
“No. But, perhaps it was your lieutenant here in the crossfire.” Archer twitched Hawkeye’s sidearm. “Her aim is quite famous, but… well, everyone makes—”
A shot cracked across his words, and Archer screamed in pain as hot fire shot through his left foot. At least for the second he had air to scream. Before Hawkeye’s elbow rammed into his throat as she twisted away from his sidearm. Her own, small backup pistol was still smoking in her left hand. A pistol that came up and around to target the staggering major’s chest.
Archer took a step back, another. And, he was suddenly on the lip of the pit Scar had created earlier. His arms swung out, pinwheeling uselessly in the air. For an instant, it seemed to work before gravity claimed its due, and he toppled backward into the waiting void.
The sound that escaped Hawkeye as Archer disappeared was less of a sigh and more of a huff.
“I suppose everyone does make mistakes,” she said. She looked back to meet the twist of lips that was Mustang’s smile. A similar expression tugged at her own lips before she sobered. “Sir.”
“I know, Lieutenant.” Mustang turned toward Edward.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how to calm an out of control reaction fueled by the Philosopher’s Stone itself.
----------------------------------------------------------
It hurt. Like Liore all over again. As the souls from Scar’s arm poured into him, Edward felt their confusion, their fury, their terror. He had planned for it. But, you can’t plan for the weight of souls. Not really. And, his plans had never included the power he already hid trying desperately to break free.
Seconds felt like eternity. He was full, overflowing. Exploding in slow motion. There was nothing left inside him but a torrent of unimaginable energy. Of raging emotion and foreign memory.
The lines of self and other, past and present blurred, and he wasn’t quite sure who he was.
“Amestrian!”
Yes, the Amestrians had come with bright promises and magic they called alchemy. But, the elders said their alchemy was wrong, a sin.
Except alchemy was not magic, merely science. Until you crossed the threshold into the unforgivable. Then, there was sin.
“You won’t take us!”
The Amestrians in blue who came to take the territory they had coveted from afar. But, there would be no surrender. Ever.
The men in blue who came to take the power they had coveted for generations. But, he would never surrender. Ever.
“Release us!”
Release. They needed to... He needed to… There was a plan.
“Edward…”
A faint, singular voice. No. The voice. The familiar voice. Hohenheim. Old man. Barely audible in the maelstrom.
“You planned for this. We planned for this. We are ready. Let us help you.”
Help?
“Ed,” a softer voice. “It’s time.”
“Hold on.”
An unimaginable roar swept through him. A rush of souls as the ten thousand lives stolen in Liore moved as one to wrap around the lost souls of Ishval. Shielding him. So he could remember. So he could think. So he could finish this.
Slowly, he returned to himself. To one soul, one life. He was Edward Elric. And, he had made a promise.
Edward opened his eyes to glowing, burning red. He was burning red.
Just feet in front of him the colonel was staring at him in something like horror. And, over the tumult within and the roar without, he could just make out words.
“Elric, can you hear me? Edward! Ed!”
Edward smiled.
Mustang’s eyes widened at the sight and more words tumbled from his moving lips, but Edward was deaf to them now. He had heard what he needed to hear. And, there was no more time. This was not the place he would have chosen, but it would do. He was ready.
He stood and raised his hand. With a thought, a current of wild, crimson energy whipped across the floor, re-shaping stone to his will. An elaborate transmutation circle grew under his feet. The circle that was etched indelibly into his memory.
It was his worst nightmare. His mistake. His sin.
Now, it could be his only redemption.
“Al…”
Edward pulled the notes from his waistband.
“This ends here.”
Paper disintegrated in his hand.
The gray-haired alchemist then looked to find Mustang’s wide-eyed stare.
“If you really never want to see another Ishval,” he said, voice a croak, “please forget what you’ve seen here. And, if I’ve earned any favors for saving Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, please… take care of my brother.”
Mustang’s mouth moved.
“Brother?”
Edward only looked away, down at the dark outline of the human transmutation circle beneath his feet. He checked his adjustments quickly. Here the equation that would smooth altered stone. There the runes to force the reaction down in the event of a rebound.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the souls of Liore and Ishval as the lines on the floor glowed blue. “This is the only thing I can do for you.”
“Edward.”
“Ed.”
“Thank you.”
Blue turned to angry purple shot through with threads of black. And, in the space of a heartbeat, the world fell away around him and he was once again a little boy standing before a power he did not understand.
The Gate of Truth rose from a plain of endless white. Darker than black. A single absolute in the realm of the ephemeral.
A sound escaped it. Not quite a rumble, never a voice. It spoke to his soul, and Edward understood.
“I want Al,” he said. “All of him this time. All of him for all of me.”
A query.
“No!” Edward’s hand slashed through the nothing. “I’m the toll. They’re… I just want you to take them wherever they need to go now. To whatever is beyond, wherever they can be at peace.”
Agreement.
And, the great doors began to creak open.
“Edward…”
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Edward was suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. A tall man stood beside him, broad-shouldered and golden-haired.
Edward looked up in shock and then around, realizing he was surrounded by hundreds, thousands of people.
“Ed.”
Rose caught his left hand between her two, warm hands and looked at him with eyes that were bright with more than tears.
And, there were so many more behind him. Some smiling, some crying, some hopeful, some frightened. Some in uniform, some not. Blond and brunette and snow white. Amestrian and Lioran and Ishvalan.
“Edward, you cannot do this,” said the man he knew must be his father.
“It’s done,” Edward snapped. “There’s no other way.”
“Yes,” Hohenheim answered, “There is.”
“Ed,” Rose’s hands squeezed his warmly, “thank you.”
Edward felt hot tears prick his eyes. “Don’t thank me. I couldn’t save you.”
“But, you did!” Rose leaned in, fierce now. “You saved my son. You gave me hope.” She looked down. “And, I want to thank you.”
She released his hand and stepped forward.
Several men moved with her. Edward was surprised to recognize the faces of the Lioran rebels.
The surprise kept him from realizing what they were doing until Rose was before the Gate. She looked back once.
“Tell Al ‘hi’ for me, okay?”
Too late, the truth hit Edward.
“Rose!”
But, tiny, night dark hands were already winding around Rose and the men with her, drawing them into the unfathomable darkness.
“Rose, what are you doing?” Edward screamed.
But, now everyone was moving forward. Soldiers clapped him on the back, smiled at him. A woman patted his hand. A grinning old man thumped his shoulder and told him to, “Find that gal in the black outfit; she was a looker.” Even a stern Ishvalan priest gave him a solemn nod before stepping into the Gate.
“What are you doing?” Edward tried to run after them, to stop them, but a firm grip on his shoulder held him.
“Edward,” said Hohenheim, “this is their choice.”
“But—!” Edward turned wild eyes on his father. “I didn’t ask them to— It’s my fault most of them are here. I couldn’t—”
“Edward,” Hohenheim bent and drew him into a sudden hug, “you did everything you could.”
“I didn’t. I—” Hot tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he somehow couldn’t find the will to push away the man who had never been a father to him.
He could almost feel Hohenheim’s smile as the man’s rough beard brushed his neck. “Be safe, Edward. You and Alphonse.”
Then, the larger man released him and moved away.
“I wish the both of you every happiness,” he said as the Gate’s reaching hands caressed his shoulders.
“Old man,” Edward choked. “Dad.”
“This time, just live.”
Hohenheim’s smile was the last thing he saw.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang could only stare in open-mouthed shock. At his side, Hawkeye was in a similar state. Edward Elric and his transmutation circle had disappeared in a burst of blinding light. In their place, lying atop a blackened patch of marble, were two young boys.
One was stark naked, short blond hair framing a rounded face.
The other was wrapped in a tattered red coat, long blond hair tangling around his head. And, his right arm was gone. But, in the flickering light of the fire, there was a gleam of metal just visible through the ruins of his right sleeve.
----------------------------------------------------------
End Book 2
Was it worth the wait?
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, Part 2
Against the flickering light of small fires, Edward had collected one binder and was pawing through a mountain of books dislodged by Kimblee’s blasts to find the other. The search had led him deep into the stacks. Kimblee seemed to have planted only one bomb at this end of the library, but, while the lack of fire made it safer, it was also darker. And, his glasses had been another casualty of the stairway disaster. So, he went by touch. Hardcover books and anything overly thick were tossed aside without inspection.
Frustrated, Edward growled to himself. “Come on, where is it?”
His eyes were watering from the lingering smoke, the lobby behind him was echoing with shouts and gunfire and the building shuddered again and again as Kimblee’s alchemic bombs detonated. There wasn’t much time.
Searching fingers played over a slim volume with a paper cover. Edward quickly turned it to the weak, distant light.
“Yes!” he crowed, recognizing the familiar cover. Quickly, he tucked it with its twin in the waistband of his pants and turned to hurry back toward the lobby.
And, ran straight into a now-familiar, grinning figure waiting in the narrow intersection of two aisles.
“I think I owe you some pain, Fullmetal!” Kimblee snarled. He lunged forward.
Edward swung away and around to throw a punch at Kimblee’s head. His automail fist sailed harmlessly past Kimblee’s long ponytail.
“What—?”
Nearly over-balancing, the gray-haired alchemist staggered. Turn, turn. He had to find Kimblee. Feet tripped over one another as he stumbled upright and collided with a shelf. Finally turned. Barely in time to duck under a hand grabbing for his face. Not in time to miss the second hand that buried itself in his abdomen.
Edward doubled over with a choked gasp.
A hand closed around the back of his neck, digging into his short hair and pulling him up.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” Kimblee hissed in his ear.
“Your mistake.” Edward rammed his steel elbow back, aiming for Kimblee’s stomach. Kimblee was prepared for that, of course. Hopefully, he wasn’t as prepared for a roundhouse kick to the—
Edward’s thoughts ground to a halt as his kick clumsily brushed Kimblee’s chest and left him hopping to regain his balance. A sudden incredible boom shook windows in their frames and sent him reeling into one of the library’s support columns.
Kimblee, who had taken a step back, laughed.
“Can’t see well? Or just out of shape, old man?”
Edward seethed. “I’ll show you old!”
His hands came together with a clap before he grabbed the column again. Gritting his teeth at the surge of energy, he directed a third of the stone mass under his hands into a fist that shot out to punch Kimblee. Hit, the other alchemist flew back into the far wall.
For a minute, Kimblee hung there, head down, trapped by alchemized stone. Then, a snort escaped him. A snort that grew into a full-throated laugh. Kimblee looked up, and his hazel eyes locked on Edward.
“I’m going to have so much fun with you, Fullmetal!” he cackled. He grabbed the stone fist planted in his stomach with both tattooed hands. Crackling energy played over the rough surface. “I’ll blow you up piece by piece!” The fist exploded, and Kimblee dropped to the floor. “There was an Ishvalan I started on once.” A hand wreathed in the blue glow of a fresh transmutation grabbed the nearest book and hurled it toward Edward.
The smaller alchemist ducked behind the column as the book hit a shelf to his left and exploded. A shower of fiery cinders fell around him like a stinging cloud.
Kimblee stepped toward Edward. “I started with the Ishvalan’s face,” he said. “Just a few layers of skin off the top. Excruciating, but not fatal.” Kimblee slapped a hand against the shelves to his right, sending a pulse of energy down their length and past Edward.
Edward gritted his teeth, risking a glance at the advancing madman.
“Your face isn’t much to look at. Maybe I’ll start with your eyes,” said Kimblee, reaching for another book. “You’re already half-blind. And, worthless.” Blue light deepened his sneer. “I heard about you, you know. Really, a nice explosion is all you’re good for!” He flung the book into the shelves behind Edward.
As the book took flight, Edward abandoned his hiding place and lunged at Kimblee with a growl. Behind him, gases escaping the transmuted books ignited, consuming aged leather and dry paper in an instant. Hungry flames shot for the ceiling, and the gray-haired alchemist felt heat wash over him. But, he ignored it, focused only on Kimblee.
His charge caught the taller man at waist height and sent him to the floor. As they fell, Edward drew back his automail arm.
“I can see you fine at this range!” he roared.
His steel fist met Kimblee’s nose with a satisfying crunch. The mad alchemist stared at him blankly for a moment before slumping bonelessly to the floor.
Edward disentangled himself and stood, looking down at Kimblee.
“And, get off my lawn,” he said.
Checking the binders in his waistband, Edward hurried back to the main lobby. And, stopped short at the sight awaiting him. Half of the floor was gone, vanished into a gaping hole. Overhead, fire was consuming the second floor and licking at the ceiling. Across the lobby, Mustang was dangling half in the pit, one foot precariously balanced on a crumbling wall below. Lieutenant Hawkeye was just releasing one of his hands to grab for her sidearm as Scar advanced on them.
Edward’s eyes widened. “Hey!” The word had left his mouth before he thought it through. Well, no taking it back now. He stepped forward as the Ishvalan looked up. “You! Scar or whatever your name is, we need to talk.”
He had planned to meet the red-eyed man again, but this wasn’t the time for that encounter. The power inside him was already roiling, straining at the confines of its feeble, flesh container. But, there was no help for it.
Scar froze in place. After a long minute, his deep voice rumbled out over the low roar of the flames.
“Fullmetal Alchemist. You are correct.” He began to move toward Edward, stalking along the edge of the pit. “We do need to talk.”
“Elric, what are you doing?” shouted Mustang as he fought to pull himself up and onto solid ground.
An identical, unvoiced question echoed from Hawkeye’s taut face as she kept her weapon trained on Scar.
“I can handle it,” Edward called back, slipping among the remaining reference tables. His eyes never left the approaching Scar. “You and the lieutenant get out of here.”
“Elric!”
Edward tuned the colonel out. He had to do this. He was better equipped to deal with Scar’s destructive alchemy than anyone alive. And, this was one more step in his plan. One step closer to his goal.
“Explain it to me,” Scar demanded as he drew nearer. “What did you mean ‘cursed’?” He held up his right arm. “Why, when I touched you, did I hear my people crying out?”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve never heard them before?”
“Never!” Scar’s fist clenched. “What trick of your accursed alchemy is this?”
“It’s that arm that’s the curse,” said Edward.
Scar’s entire body jerked. “This was my brother’s arm!” he snarled.
Edward felt something inside him twist. “Your brother’s—?”
“Yes, he—”
The sudden widening of Scar’s eyes was Edward’s only warning.
With a sound between a roar and a mad laugh, Kimblee launched himself from the top of the nearest table, hands crackling with energy. Edward only had time to twist and reflexively throw up his right arm.
Kimblee caught it in one glowing hand, and Edward realized his mistake too late.
“I told you, Fullmetal!” Kimblee cackled as a surge of energy ripped through the automail’s steel frame. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece!”
With a shriek, the automail tore itself apart. Metal shrapnel flew free.
Laughing, Kimblee caught the largest piece, the central support column, and spun. For once, Scar was too slow as Kimblee hurled the jagged metal into his abdomen.
Behind him, Edward slipped to his knees, biting down a scream. The force of the explosion had clawed its way up into his shoulder port and the nerves hidden there.
“That’s one annoying arm out of the way,” Kimblee cackled as Scar stumbled backward. “Shall I make it two?” Blood trailed from his crumpled nose, and he idly licked away a trickle of crimson at the corner of his mouth. “I never did finish with you after all.”
Clutching his side, Scar looked up. “You,” he hissed in a voice filled with all the ominous promise of distant thunder. “Crimson Alchemist.”
Kimblee smiled. “I wondered where your brother’s arm went,” he said. “All that blood on the sand. I let him bleed for a while, you know. And, he still held out longer than I thought he would.”
Scar’s answer was an inhuman scream of rage as he threw himself at Kimblee.
Gripping his throbbing shoulder so tightly his knuckles shown white, Edward scooted himself back under the nearest table as the two combatants swept past. A curse hissed out through his teeth.
Flickering with destructive energy, Scar’s right arm just missed Kimblee’s face as the grinning alchemist dodged back.
“Temper, temper,” Kimblee taunted. “Besides…” There was the whump of a small explosion, and blood spattered over the tables. “You have more important problems, don’t you?”
Scar staggered and looked down at his stomach in shock. His heavy jacket was stained a thick crimson. The metal that had stabbed deep into his abdomen was gone. Instead, there was only a dark, gaping hole.
“Now, about that arm…” Kimblee moved toward him.
Scar lurched away. His left hand clutched futilely at the wound.
Kimblee followed him, face stretched in a horrible grin.
As they stepped back into the maze of tables, a foot shot out to tangle with Kimblee’s and send him to the floor. The mad alchemist snarled in fury, tattooed hands flailing for a hold. He looked to his right and could just make out a pale face in the darkness under the table.
“Fullmetal!”
Edward pushed himself back with his feet as Kimblee made to lunge after him.
“That’s enough!”
The crack of a gun split the air, and Kimblee froze half under the table.
“Elric, get out of there!”
The colonel. Finally.
Edward huffed out a sigh of relief and clambered out the other side of the table. Once free, he looked up to see Mustang and his lieutenant with their guns trained on Scar and Kimblee.
“Took you long enough,” he muttered, struggling to push himself up with his one remaining arm.
“Sorry, Elric, I was trying not to fall to my death.” Mustang’s eyes never left Kimblee.
“You’re such a spoilsport, Mustang,” said Kimblee. His eyes were focused on the floor in front of him. “You were like that in Ishval too.”
“Normal people don’t revel in death.” Mustang’s eyes were hard.
“Death is just the inevitable. What I enjoy is the thrill,” said Kimblee. “The excitement.” His hands splayed across the floor as the library shuddered with a blast that rained plaster around them. “It’s no fun in prison. So, maybe it’s time for a gamble.” He smiled.
Edward was the first to realize it.
Scrambling back, he shouted, “Mustang, the floor!”
The floor under Kimblee was dark, discolored.
Mustang swore at the sight. “Lieutenant, get away!” He started to move himself.
“Colonel!” Hawkeye’s aim swung away from Scar.
Mustang half-turned and saw reaching hands and maddened eyes. Bringing up a hand, he snapped.
The small, contained fireball caught Kimblee in the face. With a screech of pain, he grabbed for his eyes. Howling, he stumbled backward and crashed into the tangle of tables. Just above the transmuted floor. A floor that was starting to glow.
A flash, and white fire consumed Kimblee.
There were still spots in Edward’s eyes long after the ringing in his ears stopped. Coughing, he struggled to sit up. It had been so much easier with two arms. As his vision cleared, he found himself precariously close to the gaping hole at the center of the lobby. In front of him there was a new hole clogged with a jumble of broken tables. The edges of the hole still burned a hot white. Magnesium? The floor must be dolomite marble or something similar.
But, even an alchemist’s scholarly detachment couldn’t stop his eyes from finding the twisted, smoking form of Kimblee sprawled over the wreckage at an impossible angle.
Edward gritted his teeth and looked away. He could see the blue clad shapes of the colonel and his lieutenant lying in the floor to his right. Levering himself up, he started to move toward them.
A wet cough from the fresh crater stopped him. Impossible. There was no way Kimblee could be alive.
Edward turned.
No, not Kimblee. A pile of wood heaved up, and Scar pulled himself from the wreckage. He took a step. And, immediately crumpled, left arm cradling his ruined stomach.
Edward only thought about it a moment before he moved toward the Ishvalan. He picked his way around the debris until he was staring down at Scar.
The larger man looked up and raised his right hand. Knuckles cracked ominously.
“Don’t think you’ve won, Alchemist,” he said. His breath was coming in short pants. “I can still take one more of you with me.”
“Won what?” said Edward, watching him intently.
“Would you help me?” he asked the audience in his mind.
A whisper of faintly bemused, disgruntled, surprised agreement answered him.
“Edward…” his father murmured.
Why was the old man feeling proud?
He wasn’t doing anything noble. He just didn’t want them to win. Kimblee. Grand. Dante.
People weren’t raw materials. They were more than the sum of their parts. Immeasurably more. Not realizing that had been his first mistake.
“Stay still,” he told Scar, reaching out with his left hand.
Scar did. Neither attacking nor lowering his hand. “What do you mean to do?”
“Keep you alive,” said Edward.
He was so tired. But, he just had to knit the flesh together a little. Just enough to seal ruptured organs and prevent the man from bleeding to death. He could control the energy that long.
His fingers grazed the edges of the terrible wound, and a warm red light spread over it.
Scar sucked in a sudden breath and his entire body stiffened. But, he didn’t move.
Good. This was hard enough. The incredible, impossible power that was forming tissue where there had been none was threatening to break free of his tenuous control. Edward set his jaw and focused on the equation in his mind. Just a little more.
New flesh sealed over the worst of the damage.
His hand was shaking, Edward realized. His entire body might have been shaking. He wasn’t sure. It was time to stop. Exhausted, he fought to rein in the power, to pull away.
Scar moved. “How is this possible?” He reached and caught the alchemist’s wrist in his right hand.
The world went red.
----------------------------------------------------------
Mustang woke to screams and fire. For an instant, he expected to feel hot sand under his hands. But, there was only cool stone.
Stone? The library.
He looked up and around.
Hawkeye was beside him – safe, thank goodness – and already taking stock of their situation. The library was starting to burn in earnest now. But, the fire’s orange glow was nothing compared to the coruscating light just feet in front of them.
The Fullmetal Alchemist was glowing like a star. A star that shone a bloody crimson.
His coat flapped around him in the backlash of released energy. His only remaining hand was locked with Scar’s right.
Scar sat frozen, somehow not bleeding half as much as he should be. His right arm, locked against Elric’s left, was wreathed in swirling designs that burned red.
Both men were loosing throat-tearing screams.
Mustang stumbled to his feet. He had to stop this.
It was almost as though they had been waiting for him to move.
The glow around Scar’s arm abruptly flickered and died. A last tendril of red light swept across it and vanished. The big man immediately slumped back, his scream trailing off into silence.
Edward staggered away. The glow around him was brighter than ever. As he turned, Mustang realized that it was centered in his chest. Right where his heart should be there was a brilliant, pulsing light.
“What on—?”
There was a muffled shout behind him. Mustang looked back quickly.
Hawkeye was pinned against a tall figure in blue. Even in the shuddering red light, Mustang quickly recognized the sharp, pale face. Major Archer.
Hawkeye’s brown eyes burned with silent fury as Archer pressed the barrel of his sidearm under her chin. His other hand slithered around her waist to pull her own sidearm free of its holster and level it at Mustang’s chest.
“Well, Mustang, it seems it was worth the effort of coming out here after all,” said Archer. He inclined his head toward Edward, who had collapsed to his knees, still screaming. “I knew you would move to claim everything as soon as you could. But, I’m amazed you were so foolish as to bring Fullmetal along.” He pressed the gun deeper into Hawkeye’s soft tissue. “However, it seems to have all worked out.”
“Worked out?” Mustang ground through his teeth.
Archer smiled thinly. “I rather think this is what Brigadier General Grand was searching for.” Red light reflected in his pale eyes. “I did some research of my own. The Philosopher’s Stone, also known as the Crimson Elixir or sometimes the Red Tincture. A source of near limitless power.”
“It’s a legend,” said Mustang flatly. “What you’re looking at is a very ugly rebound and, if you ever want to ask Elric anything again, you should let me stop it.”
“Now, Mustang,” said Archer, “surely you can think of something better than that? It’s obvious even to a non-alchemist like myself.” His smile deepened as he tracked the regular throbbing of the red light in Edward’s chest. “Who would have imagined it could exist within a heart? I suppose that’s one way to hide it for decades.”
Mustang glowered at him, subtly shifting his gaze toward Hawkeye’s taunt face. She flicked her eyes toward her left hand.
Ah. He had wondered about that.
“Major Archer—” he began. Distantly, he finally heard sirens.
“I’m afraid I don’t have any more time for pleasantries, Colonel,” Archer interrupted. “I will be taking the Fullmetal Alchemist back to Fuhrer Lockheed. Congratulations. Your precious State Alchemist program may yet have its uses.” He smiled thinly. “Too late for you, I’m afraid. You will need to have a tragic accident here with Scar and the rogue Crimson Alchemist. I’m sure it can be painted suitably heroic.”
“No one will believe Scar shot me,” said Mustang acidly.
“No. But, perhaps it was your lieutenant here in the crossfire.” Archer twitched Hawkeye’s sidearm. “Her aim is quite famous, but… well, everyone makes—”
A shot cracked across his words, and Archer screamed in pain as hot fire shot through his left foot. At least for the second he had air to scream. Before Hawkeye’s elbow rammed into his throat as she twisted away from his sidearm. Her own, small backup pistol was still smoking in her left hand. A pistol that came up and around to target the staggering major’s chest.
Archer took a step back, another. And, he was suddenly on the lip of the pit Scar had created earlier. His arms swung out, pinwheeling uselessly in the air. For an instant, it seemed to work before gravity claimed its due, and he toppled backward into the waiting void.
The sound that escaped Hawkeye as Archer disappeared was less of a sigh and more of a huff.
“I suppose everyone does make mistakes,” she said. She looked back to meet the twist of lips that was Mustang’s smile. A similar expression tugged at her own lips before she sobered. “Sir.”
“I know, Lieutenant.” Mustang turned toward Edward.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how to calm an out of control reaction fueled by the Philosopher’s Stone itself.
----------------------------------------------------------
It hurt. Like Liore all over again. As the souls from Scar’s arm poured into him, Edward felt their confusion, their fury, their terror. He had planned for it. But, you can’t plan for the weight of souls. Not really. And, his plans had never included the power he already hid trying desperately to break free.
Seconds felt like eternity. He was full, overflowing. Exploding in slow motion. There was nothing left inside him but a torrent of unimaginable energy. Of raging emotion and foreign memory.
The lines of self and other, past and present blurred, and he wasn’t quite sure who he was.
“Amestrian!”
Yes, the Amestrians had come with bright promises and magic they called alchemy. But, the elders said their alchemy was wrong, a sin.
Except alchemy was not magic, merely science. Until you crossed the threshold into the unforgivable. Then, there was sin.
“You won’t take us!”
The Amestrians in blue who came to take the territory they had coveted from afar. But, there would be no surrender. Ever.
The men in blue who came to take the power they had coveted for generations. But, he would never surrender. Ever.
“Release us!”
Release. They needed to... He needed to… There was a plan.
“Edward…”
A faint, singular voice. No. The voice. The familiar voice. Hohenheim. Old man. Barely audible in the maelstrom.
“You planned for this. We planned for this. We are ready. Let us help you.”
Help?
“Ed,” a softer voice. “It’s time.”
“Hold on.”
An unimaginable roar swept through him. A rush of souls as the ten thousand lives stolen in Liore moved as one to wrap around the lost souls of Ishval. Shielding him. So he could remember. So he could think. So he could finish this.
Slowly, he returned to himself. To one soul, one life. He was Edward Elric. And, he had made a promise.
Edward opened his eyes to glowing, burning red. He was burning red.
Just feet in front of him the colonel was staring at him in something like horror. And, over the tumult within and the roar without, he could just make out words.
“Elric, can you hear me? Edward! Ed!”
Edward smiled.
Mustang’s eyes widened at the sight and more words tumbled from his moving lips, but Edward was deaf to them now. He had heard what he needed to hear. And, there was no more time. This was not the place he would have chosen, but it would do. He was ready.
He stood and raised his hand. With a thought, a current of wild, crimson energy whipped across the floor, re-shaping stone to his will. An elaborate transmutation circle grew under his feet. The circle that was etched indelibly into his memory.
It was his worst nightmare. His mistake. His sin.
Now, it could be his only redemption.
“Al…”
Edward pulled the notes from his waistband.
“This ends here.”
Paper disintegrated in his hand.
The gray-haired alchemist then looked to find Mustang’s wide-eyed stare.
“If you really never want to see another Ishval,” he said, voice a croak, “please forget what you’ve seen here. And, if I’ve earned any favors for saving Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, please… take care of my brother.”
Mustang’s mouth moved.
“Brother?”
Edward only looked away, down at the dark outline of the human transmutation circle beneath his feet. He checked his adjustments quickly. Here the equation that would smooth altered stone. There the runes to force the reaction down in the event of a rebound.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the souls of Liore and Ishval as the lines on the floor glowed blue. “This is the only thing I can do for you.”
“Edward.”
“Ed.”
“Thank you.”
Blue turned to angry purple shot through with threads of black. And, in the space of a heartbeat, the world fell away around him and he was once again a little boy standing before a power he did not understand.
The Gate of Truth rose from a plain of endless white. Darker than black. A single absolute in the realm of the ephemeral.
A sound escaped it. Not quite a rumble, never a voice. It spoke to his soul, and Edward understood.
“I want Al,” he said. “All of him this time. All of him for all of me.”
A query.
“No!” Edward’s hand slashed through the nothing. “I’m the toll. They’re… I just want you to take them wherever they need to go now. To whatever is beyond, wherever they can be at peace.”
Agreement.
And, the great doors began to creak open.
“Edward…”
A hand fell on his shoulder, and Edward was suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. A tall man stood beside him, broad-shouldered and golden-haired.
Edward looked up in shock and then around, realizing he was surrounded by hundreds, thousands of people.
“Ed.”
Rose caught his left hand between her two, warm hands and looked at him with eyes that were bright with more than tears.
And, there were so many more behind him. Some smiling, some crying, some hopeful, some frightened. Some in uniform, some not. Blond and brunette and snow white. Amestrian and Lioran and Ishvalan.
“Edward, you cannot do this,” said the man he knew must be his father.
“It’s done,” Edward snapped. “There’s no other way.”
“Yes,” Hohenheim answered, “There is.”
“Ed,” Rose’s hands squeezed his warmly, “thank you.”
Edward felt hot tears prick his eyes. “Don’t thank me. I couldn’t save you.”
“But, you did!” Rose leaned in, fierce now. “You saved my son. You gave me hope.” She looked down. “And, I want to thank you.”
She released his hand and stepped forward.
Several men moved with her. Edward was surprised to recognize the faces of the Lioran rebels.
The surprise kept him from realizing what they were doing until Rose was before the Gate. She looked back once.
“Tell Al ‘hi’ for me, okay?”
Too late, the truth hit Edward.
“Rose!”
But, tiny, night dark hands were already winding around Rose and the men with her, drawing them into the unfathomable darkness.
“Rose, what are you doing?” Edward screamed.
But, now everyone was moving forward. Soldiers clapped him on the back, smiled at him. A woman patted his hand. A grinning old man thumped his shoulder and told him to, “Find that gal in the black outfit; she was a looker.” Even a stern Ishvalan priest gave him a solemn nod before stepping into the Gate.
“What are you doing?” Edward tried to run after them, to stop them, but a firm grip on his shoulder held him.
“Edward,” said Hohenheim, “this is their choice.”
“But—!” Edward turned wild eyes on his father. “I didn’t ask them to— It’s my fault most of them are here. I couldn’t—”
“Edward,” Hohenheim bent and drew him into a sudden hug, “you did everything you could.”
“I didn’t. I—” Hot tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he somehow couldn’t find the will to push away the man who had never been a father to him.
He could almost feel Hohenheim’s smile as the man’s rough beard brushed his neck. “Be safe, Edward. You and Alphonse.”
Then, the larger man released him and moved away.
“I wish the both of you every happiness,” he said as the Gate’s reaching hands caressed his shoulders.
“Old man,” Edward choked. “Dad.”
“This time, just live.”
Hohenheim’s smile was the last thing he saw.
----------------------------------------------------------
Roy Mustang could only stare in open-mouthed shock. At his side, Hawkeye was in a similar state. Edward Elric and his transmutation circle had disappeared in a burst of blinding light. In their place, lying atop a blackened patch of marble, were two young boys.
One was stark naked, short blond hair framing a rounded face.
The other was wrapped in a tattered red coat, long blond hair tangling around his head. And, his right arm was gone. But, in the flickering light of the fire, there was a gleam of metal just visible through the ruins of his right sleeve.
----------------------------------------------------------
End Book 2
Was it worth the wait?
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12-A 12-B 13 14 15 16 17-A 17-B
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-07-25 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-29 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-26 01:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-29 12:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-30 03:57 pm (UTC)Kimblee pawnage, Riza gets the drop on Archer (3 cheers), loads of cool forbidden alchemy...Hoho & Rose (what did happen to her baby?) and the old man joking at such a moment (great timing) and then finally Ed (as he should be) and Al and all the mess that is bound to follow, and you ask us whether it was worth the wait? Damn, it's better than the first anime. ^____^
no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 05:14 am (UTC)I'm getting to that. Ed really didn't just leave him a carriage by the road somewhere!
--...and then finally Ed (as he should be) and Al...--
Yes! I'd been wanting to get to that forever. And, I think Ed's proper return works much better here than where I tested it in my earlier draft.
--Damn, it's better than the first anime.--
*blushsqueedance* Thank you so much!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-17 12:25 am (UTC)I was curious--do you have plans to continue this story? I really hope so!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-11 04:36 am (UTC)--I just discovered FMA recently and have been glutting myself on fanfiction ever since, and I have to say this is one of the best stories I've encountered!--
Thank you so much for all the kind words! I feel like I say that to everybody sometimes, but, really, reading that people enjoy my work always makes me do my mental happy dance.
--I was a little wary at first because you made Ed so old! Very unexpected and I wasn't sure if he could still be "Ed" in the way I'm used to reading about. But as I got deeper into the story, I realized just how much thought you had put into it.--
I'm so glad that plot point worked out for you. I tried to keep up steady hints of the real Ed peeking out here and there. Otherwise, I'd have missed him too much myself!
--I was curious--do you have plans to continue this story?--
I do! I've been really slow with it, but I'm working on a long flashback to finally explain what happened to Al and fill in the remainder of the events in Liore leading up to creation of the Philosopher's Stone. And, once that's done, I think it's time Mustang and Co. met the Elrics as the rest of us know them ;)