A Long Post and Story Excerpts
Hiya! My first truly serious post after a long while away. This is going to be a very long post so bear with me. There are three new stories I've been working on, and this post is to show off a few excerpts. As always the link to said stories will be scattered liberally throughout the post and if you're not in a searching mood, at the end of this entry.
Now, the below is an excerpt from the sixth chapter of my newest BLEACH story. Well, it's not exactly new anymore, but you people get the idea. I's what I've got so far so no whining about the chapter cutting off unexpectedly or your not knowing what's going on. If you enjoy this excerpt, feel free to enjoy the full story on fanfiction.net. The link will be at the end of the entry if you're interested.
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Scatter the Illusions of Life
Disclaimer: BLEACH and belongs to Tite Kubo and related distributers.
Summary: Dreamseers know intimately that sleep is merely a facsimile of death, and that illusions are shadows of dreams, making it ridiculously easy for them to alter the tapestry of existence in the realms of the dead. For this reason, it is forbidden for a Dreamseer to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Until a retired shinigami captain’s son began to dream true dreams….
A/N: I think I should make this clear. There will be references to works by Clamp, but this is not a crossover. This is more of a mixing of concepts.
Judgment 6: The Beast
“How are you feeling Yuzu?”
“Tired. I’m sorry you had to come to get me, nii-san. I know you have important things to take care of.”
“And my sister being safe and healthy is not important?”
“Not when the world is at stake.”
“Yuzu.”
“Please, nii-san, the fact that you were always watching me made it a lot more bearable, because I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, but you also have to guide the Final Judgment…”
“Where did you get this fatalistic attitude, kitten?”
“You’re a bad influence, nii-san.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
All dreamseers know that it is forbidden for us to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Since sleep is a facsimile of death, and we manipulate the state of sleep, it would be far too easy for us to drastically change the state of death if we were to gain some foothold in the afterlife, and thus, the Creator forbade us from crossing the boundary of life and death without due cause, the ending of our lives being one of them. I, however, through no choice of my own, crossed that boundary when my mother passed on to me her latent Dreamseeing abilities, making me not only the child of a human shinigami union, but a Dreamseer with the power to break the great taboo and come to no harm. Even now, I do not fully comprehend the reason behind this, and nor do I want to know, for the price of knowledge can be a heavy one, yet I fear that I will eventually find myself with the need for this knowledge…
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Tokyo, being a location of high spiritual activity was rarely quiet. Spiritualists from all classes and lifestyles and countries made journeys to Tokyo in some way at some point in their lives. For some spiritualists, the numerous few who were born and raised in the vicinity of the magical hub that was considered the most spiritually active location in this bitter, dying metaphysical existence, Tokyo was home, and the chaos and wards and the glinting of spells and wards and the constant swelling of power in all directions and the waxing and waning of life and the flashes of spirits and demons as they flitted here and there and were exorcised or left their physical vessel was only a mass of white noise, easily ignored and always there. Everyone knew that Karakura, in the northern district of the Tokyo urban sprawl, was the most spiritually active, just as the ground that had been the original city of Edo before it was renamed Tokyo was the sacred ground on which was built the ward stones that represented the powers of the Seven Dragons of Heaven that sealed away the seven Dragons of Earth. And so it was only fitting that it would be in Karakura that the most powerful of Dreamseers since the Princess Hinoto, only average in terms of Dreamseer magic, strong because of his studies under the Princess before her death, powerful because of his capacity to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Fitting that he was born and raised in Karakura, and was destined to, though it was known to very few, die in the defense of the very magical center upon which he was born and raised.
This Dreamseer was called Kurosaki Ichigo, and he was the son of a former shinigami captain, and he was the only Dreamseer to have ever divined his fate, for his life was entwined with the war that was the Final Judgment, a final battle to be fought by the dead, a judgment that would dwarf even the sacrifices of the Dragons of Heaven to determine the new world order that was to come. If the young Dreamseer who also served as a Representative Shinigami had any opinions of his fate to come, or the tragedies he had foreseen, he never spoke of it except in the vaguest of warnings. He was, after all, a Dreamseer and a guide for the shinigami in the conflict to come, and Kami only knew that a Dreamseer always followed the pattern set before them in obedient silence regardless of their feelings on the matter, and Kurosaki Ichigo was born and would die, first and foremost, a Dreamseer.
And that was why he did not warn Urahara or Yoruichi of the two Arrancar that would be arriving in the Material World from Hueco Mundo, and neither did he show his face anywhere near the park where the two Arrancar landed. He was sorry for Sado Yasutora’s injuries and Arisawa Tatsuki’s near death and Inoue Orihime’s brush with forces that only crushed her because she could not bring herself to concentrate on her near godlike abilities, but he never spoke of what he had seen in his Dream, never mentioned that his vision spell had shown him everything that had occurred, and left Urahara and Yoruichi to drive away the Arrancar without his interference.
Yamamoto-Genryuusei Shigekuni only made passing mention of the teen’s absence during the incursion when he sent Hitsugaya Toushiro to lead an advance squad into Karakura, because as Ichigo had once told Abarai Renji, he was only one person, and his duties required his attention and he could not possibly be expected to be everywhere at once, and that meant that sometimes, he could not simply drop everything just because a Hollow, granted that an Arrancar is vastly different from the average Hollow but a Hollow nonetheless, decided that it wanted a human soul for a mid-afternoon snack. Soi-Fong and Kurotsuchi Mayuri were both of the opinion that the aged Captain Commander was playing favorites while everyone else was confused, except for Komamura Sajin, in whose mind a theory concerning the liberty given to the Representative Shinigami by the Sotaicho was beginning to form.
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The ginger haired figure who moved through the streets of Tokyo dressed in a black yukata, dark green haori, and straw zori sandals attracted no more attention than other men and women who wore traditional garb while going about their business. ....
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If anyone wants to read the story from begining to end, it is here: Scatter the Illusions of Life
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In the meantime, I've started writing of all things, FMA fanfics. They are called Song of the Forge and the Forge.
Here is an excerpt from The Song of the Forge:
Title: The Heart of Everything: The Song of the Forge Volume 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Summary: When whispers of a Rebellion sweeps across Amestris and a failed assassination reveals a terrifying plot against the State, Brigadier-General Edward Elric and Colonel Alphonse Elric are dispatched with orders to stop the rebels at all costs. The only problem is that the rebels have traveled twelve years into the past.
Prologue
A young man clad in the blue military uniform leaned against the railing of the roof, staring out pensively over the city, a lit cigarette held lazily in his hand as a gentle wind blew past, sending golden bangs fluttering around his face. At the age of twenty-six, Edward Elric was the youngest of the Generals that served in the military, just as ten years ago, he had been the youngest State Alchemist certified by the state of Amestris. Actually, he still held the record for youngest state alchemist in Amestris. He sighed as he took another drag from his cigarette.
Had it really been fourteen years? It felt like only yesterday that he had been a child arrogant in his surety that he could perform a forbidden art without repercussions, only to lose a leg and an arm for his stupidity, condemning his brother to an existence as a soul bound to a suit of armor, forever in fear of his existence being snuffed out due to damage to the blood seal.
It was different now, their quest to find the Philosopher’s Stone had been a success after five long years of searching, and Alphonse had been restored to his body. Of course, due to sheer dumb luck, Edward had renewed his contract for another three years less than a month before he and Alphonse had reached their goals, and as a result, he couldn’t leave the military right away. But then a year later, war had broken out, and Edward had sent Alphonse home to recover, because even after a year, Alphonse still wasn’t used to having his body back, and as for Edward, he was sent to Drachma with the other Alchemists. Two years later, he’d returned to Central as a Lieutenant Colonel, and Mustang had been promoted to Brigadier General. That was the same year that Alphonse had applied to take the State Alchemy Exams and passed, and after two months, both been sent on a yearlong tour of Amestris with orders to stop the people from rebelling.
Now, three years later, the war was over, the incompetent Hakuro was still Fuhrer, Edward was a Brigadier General, Alphonse was a Colonel while Mustang was now a General, and while the military was busy keeping Central stable, the rest of the country was falling into pieces. Edward dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. The blonde smiled sadly as he shook away the thoughts as he turned away from the railing, his now waist length braid swinging out behind him and froze as he heard the sound of footsteps in the stairway.
Instincts still active from the warzone drove him to press himself against the wall, slipping silently into the shadows, golden eyes narrowing as the door to the rooftop swung open, oft unused hinges squealing in protest. The first flicker of Amestrian colors leeched the tension from Edward’s shoulders, but then inconsistencies brought the tensions flooding back.
Everything about the supposed soldier was meant to satisfy a cursory look in the corridors, but under the light of the midmorning sun? Eyes used to picking out Alchemists hidden in the enemy ranks immediately picked out the languid grace with which the presumed soldier walked. Every single member of the military that Edward had ever met never walked; they marched. Always, as if there was a silent drumbeat constantly sounding in their heads and ever since the Drachman War, even Edward found that he had to concentrate to walk normally instead of marching like the seasoned war veteran he was. Then there was the way the man carried himself, nothing like the straight backed posture of soldiers confident in their places and duties, he swayed and slouched like a cat on the prowl. The rank denoted on the shoulder boards was that of a Lieutenant, but not only were they on the wrong shoulders, but one was upside down, and the firearm in the holster was not a military issue sidearm. While it was not unusual for military personnel to carry nonstandard issue weapons, it was an unspoken rule that if it wasn’t standard issue, it should not be carried openly.
Edward regulated his breathing, keeping each breath slow, deep, and even as he watched the soldier lean against the railing, eyes fixed on the parade ground below. Whatever he was watching for, Edward had a bad feeling that things were going to change, and rapidly.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when he saw the soldier straighten and reach for his gun. Edward placed his hand on his own sidearm, drawing it as he slipped out of the shadows, coming up behind and slightly to the left of the soldier. The gravel underfoot did not give so much as a crunch as he moved. Drachma had taught him more than he ever needed to know about moving silently through loose debris. Sharp golden eyes were peripherally aware of the soldier hefting his gun and taking aim, shifting as if he were tracking a moving target even as Edward scanned the parade ground, his eyes catching on a figure dressed in Amestris blue striding toward the Fire Compound where the Mess Hall was located. They were too far away for him to recognize the rank, but the Amestrian colors were all the confirmation Edward needed. He closed the distance between the assassin and himself in three swift steps, automail hand shoving at the hand holding the gun.
The firearm discharged, and the shot went wide, and even as the gunman’s head turned toward Edward in surprise, Edward was bringing up his own firearm, clicking off the safety as he hefted it. He didn’t even think about the target of the gunman’s bullet, knowing that the target would have likely already taken cover. And despite being a military base, gunfire was not a common sound, therefore someone was bound to have raised the alarm, and someone else would be on their way to investigate. All Edward needed to worry about was to subdue the soldier and determine the target.
The soldier’s free hand moved, and instinctively, Edward pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet pushed the man back against the railing, and Edward moved with the momentum, slamming the hand still holding the gun against the metal, forcing the soldier to release the weapon, and Edward jerked the soldier up, spinning him around and pinning his free arm between the railing and his body while twisting the captive arm up against his back. Edward pressed the muzzle of his firearm against the soldier’s back between the shoulder blades, and he felt the man tense.
“Who was your target?” Edward hissed.
He felt more than saw the soldier’s pinned arm shift, and without thinking, Edward shifted the gun down and to the right and pulled the trigger, heedless of the blood that splattered onto his previously immaculate uniform. The man jerked and a rough yell of pain cut through the air.
“Answer me,” Edward barked, “Who was the target!”
“What do you care?” the man snarled, “All of Amestris knows you hate your commander.”
“Mustang?” the name fell from Edward’s lips in surprise.
Edward’s grip must have slackened with his surprise, because suddenly, the soldier surged back against him, and as he stumbled back, the gun was kicked out of his hand. The blonde Brigadier-General didn’t bother going after the gun, rather, as the soldier pulled a second handgun from under his coat, he darted toward the stairwell. He heard the sound of the gun being fired, and he clapped as he dived for cover. Red hot pain blossomed in his side and seared through him as he lost his grip on the alchemical energy. He writhed on the ground in pain, his gloves ripping as his hands scrabbled in the gravel that covered the roof and was only faintly aware that he was screaming, and then the door to the roof was flung open, and someone was calling his name. Edward was distantly aware of the roar of gunfire and a figure in Amestrian blue dropping to their knees beside him, his name on their lips. And all he could think of was that he needed to tell them who the gunman had been targeting…
“Target…” he rasped painfully, “Mustang…”
And then there was only darkness.
~*~
Maes Hughes hurried down the halls of the hospital, green eyes dark. The moment word had gotten to him that Edward had stopped an assassination against Roy but had been nearly killed for it; he’d sent out feelers and started digging. What he’d found was not much of a surprise.
It seemed that Hakuro had stepped on a lot of toes, and the people were uneasy. Edward had barely been able to stop a civil war by going town to town and assuring the people that he had allies in the military who felt the way he did and they were working on the problem. The word of the Fullmetal Alchemist, the People’s Alchemist had soothed ruffled feathers, but people were still not pleased, but it had done the job of ensuring that Amestris would not have to fight themselves and Drachma at the same time.
At the moment, however, it had somehow gotten out that Edward was hurt, and it was because he had been trying to stop the assassination of someone high up in the military, and popular opinion was that it was because of some corrupt military official who wanted power.
True, mostly, Maes admitted to himself as he navigated the hospital toward Edward’s room, but this time, even Edward’s assurances probably wouldn’t stop a civil war from breaking out. The common populous was furious that their champion among the State Alchemists had been injured in the name of the State, and Maes made a mental note to kill whomever had let that little tidbit slip out once he found them.
“Maes!”
Maes nodded at Roy and drew him aside, speaking rapidly as quietly as he could. He wasn’t there simply because the people were restless, but because a part of the city had gone up in flames and the military police had discovered scattered notes and formulas. The theory behind an array of some sort, and in the two weeks since the failed assassination, different Alchemists had begun analyzing the notes and theories behind the scattered parts of the array were no closer to a breakthrough though there was a lot of speculation about it being a transportation array of some sort. With speculation running rampant, the higher-ups wanted to foist the entire thing onto Edward, who had a reputation for taking apart and breaking down unknown arrays and deciphering what they were for in anywhere from a few hours to a few days when it would have taken other Alchemists months or years.
The only problem was that it had been almost three weeks, and Edward still had not woken yet. It was troubling. Not even he had been unconscious for that long after the bullet Envy had nearly killed him with.
~*~
TBC…
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And an excerpt from The Forge:
title: The Forge
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Summary: The Homunculus have left Amestris in shambles, and the new Fuhrer is an incompetent who is leading the country to downfall. When all hope is lost, Edward puts to the test a theoretical array, and enter Edwin Auric, the son of Hohenheim of Light, and elder half brother to Edward and Alphonse Elric.
Prologue
“Over the top!”
In the heavy downpour, they surged forward, scrambling over the top of the muddy ditch and running, back bent, teeth gritted, squinting through the rain. Behind him, a shell tore apart the ground, and the momentum from the explosion sent him and a dozen others flying in a massive spray of shrapnel and mud. No matter – it happened all the time. Once he landed, awkwardly on his left foot and right hand, he clapped his hands together and slammed them to the earth.
He heard it, but didn’t see it. Bloodcurdling screams, then nothing, as the ground rose in solid stone spikes and tore the enemy apart. His command continued on its charge across the no man’s land, feet kicking up mud, some with guns, some only using alchemy, and some with a mixture of both. He was towards the back where the survivors always were, and it did occur to him that the men in front were being gunned down at a steady rate.
This was reality. Not every one of them could be expected to survive such a desperate charge, but the numbers involved ensured that enough made it. They literally poured into the enemy trenches, bayonets out and weapons unfurled, and the Drachmans – unsuspecting, and yet surged on by the adrenaline similar to that of cornered, wild animals – fought viciously, taking down an entire line of Amestrian soldiers before they were overwhelmed. He clapped his hands and surged in with the rest, transmuting his automail right arm into a wicked blade, and ripping his sidearm from its holster as he all but fell into the enemy trench, only vaguely aware of the soldiers falling all around him.
Before this war, he’d never wiped human blood off his automail, never actually used his sidearm, despite the military needing all its soldiers, Alchemists or no, to have some proficiency with a gun (It had nothing to do with the fact that Mustang never let him even hold a gun without supervision until he had turned sixteen.). Now he understood that killing Greed, and even being responsible for the deaths of others, was different than actually taking the life of another human. A homunculus was something born to die, an anomaly never intended for the world. Knowing others had died because of his actions was chilling, but nowhere near as chilling as actually thrusting his blade through the chest of a living, breathing human being, then turning and firing a gun into the face of the person trying to sneak up behind him.
The worst part was that it was easy. Frighteningly, mind numbingly easy. He ducked a bayonet and drew his blade diagonally across a man’s torso. He fell and was trampled by the advancing soldiers. His booted foot swung upwards, catching a man in Drachman browns and grays in the chin, before the automail slid cleanly and evenly through his chest. Ed practically tossed him off the end of the blade, and even before then, he was dead. His other hand was pulling the trigger on his gun, firing, firing, and then it was empty, and he stuffed it back in its holster before clapping and slapping his hands to the muddy, bloody ground, liquefying the dirt and mud, and sucking the enemy down in a bloody parody of quicksand. The screaming came to an abrupt halt as Edward touched his hands together and pressed them to the ground again, and the ground solidified. The battlefield took on an eerie calm as the blonde alchemist suddenly realized that the battle was over. Had been from the moment he’d liquefied the ground under the Drachmans.
Edward Elric, stood up slowly, his insides numb as he surveyed the battlefield of weary Amestrian soldiers and the few prisoners of war being led away by the victors. Once, in the beginning, when all this had started, he had been glad that Mustang and his staff had helped in convincing the teen, newly restored to a body of flesh and blood, to return to Risembool instead of following his brother to the conflict every time he saw the aftermath of heated battle. Now, he could hardly care less. The atrocities of war was whittling away at his heart little by little, and he was too tired to care.
Ever since the homunculus had been dealt with, ever since Hakuro took over as Fuhrer, Amestris had been slipping into decline. Even as his successes in the battlefield led to his being promoted, and his own commanding officers rose up in the ranks as a result, they all knew the truth. Amestris was on the verge of downfall because of the actions of the homunculus, and the Fuhrer Hakuro’s incompetence had not helped matters. Mustang and his staff and affiliated allies had raced against the clock to fix things, and little more than a month ago, Hakuro had been ousted and Olivia Armstrong had been inaugurated as Madame Fuhrer. But they knew, the ones involved in ousting Hakuro, they all knew that it was too little, too late. It would take nothing short of a miracle to get Amestris out of the trouble it was in now.
Because no matter how many battles Amestris won, Drachma had allies, and Amestris was alone. No matter how many battles Amestris won, even if they defeated Drachma, they would still have to face the other countries, and they wouldn’t stop until Amestris was only so much dust.
Not for the first time in his life, as he turned away from the Drachman field and followed the Amestrian soldiers back to their own field, Edward Elric tasted in his mouth the bitterness of despair.
~*~
“With all due respect, Madame Fuhrer, Fullmetal will go insane if we leave him on the field!”
“I dislike leaving the Lieutenant-Colonel out there in his condition as much as you do, Brigadier-General Mustang,” the woman snapped, “however we have no choice! You know full well that we need to break down his reckless streak before we can go through with our plans. However young he may be, Lieutenant-Colonel Elric is important to our plans, and until he is sufficiently tempered, he stays in the field!”
“This will break him.”
“We all thought the same about you in Ishbal, but you survived,” Olivia Armstrong’s voice was firm. “And Lieutenant-Colonel Elric knows what is at stake here. He will not crumble when we need him most. Dismissed.”
Brigadier-General Roy Mustang straightened his back and saluted and left. His face showed nothing of the doubts roiling in his mind. It had been almost two years since Amestris had entered a war with Drachma, and it had been a year since the Fuhrer had sent his staff into the battlefields, each one of them moving up in the ranks as their word of their successes went to the top. Especially the baby of their staff, the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, now eighteen, and no longer simply a Major, but a Lieutenant-Colonel, on whose shoulders the fate of Amestris would rest if the Fuhrer had her way.
~*~
“Welcome back, boss,” Jean Havoc’s smile was forced as the blonde alchemist climbed into the backseat of the military car. “We’ve missed you.”
Cool golden eyes surveyed the older blonde and nodded slowly, “I would say the same, Havoc,” Edward said carefully, “If I could bring myself to say it.”
“No problem, boss,” Havoc’s voice was shaky, “We all know you missed us as much as we missed you. We’re all in this together right?”
“To an extent, yes.”
“Think you’re ready for what comes next, kid?”
“I would not be here if I was not,” his voice was as bland as his face.
“Got enough cash in your pockets to start over, kid?”
“More than enough.”
“How about ammo?”
“If I lack ammunition, I can transmute them. If worse comes to worse, I am a capable Combat Alchemist.”
“No watch?”
“Not allowed, and you know it,” Edward’s voice was a mixture of annoyed and curious, “What is wrong with you Havoc?”
“Hey,” Havoc glanced at the alchemist’s reflection in the rearview mirror, “None of us wanted this to happen. We’d all switch places with you in an instant.”
Golden eyes softened. “I know.”
“It’s been what? Six years?” Havoc asked, “Time sure flies doesn’t it? Feels like only yesterday that you were flying off the handle at Chief for teasing you and he was busy trying to protect you and Al from the military.”
“That was four years ago,” Edward’s voice was tinged with amusement, “Yesterday, I was on a train on my way back from Drachma.”
Havoc snorted as he chewed restlessly on the end of his unlit cigarette. “Doesn’t seem right anymore,” he mused, “I missed when you were a kid, boss. Least then, you didn’t always have the eyes of a soldier. Damn Drachma, and damn that Hakuro…”
“We all do our part.” Edward lied through his teeth, and Havoc’s eyes looking at him in the mirror told him that the older blonde knew it. “For my family, in the military and out of it,” he added, deciding to be at least a little truthful, “That’s what kept me going in Drachma. It’ll be what keeps me going later.”
“Won’t be enough kid,” Havoc’s voice was sad, “We won’t know you. We won’t know to support you. We’ll all meet Edward Elric and know to support him, but we won’t know you. Not unless….” Not unless you screw up somewhere and we find ourselves at war with the rest of the world as our opponents again…
Edward’s eyes hardened and Havoc knew that the young Lieutenant-Colonel had picked up on the unspoken words. “Alchemist, be thou for the people,” Edward said quietly, “If Amestris has that much faith in me, I will not let it be in vain.”
Havoc fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, resolutely concentrating on his driving. It was chilling to see those cool, shuttered eyes on the face of a boy he’d watched grow up. The Fullmetal Alchemist’s control was proof that the Fuhrer’s plans had gone through though. It meant that the once reckless teen’s passions had been cooled and his spirit had been tempered by the battlefield in Drachma. He was no longer a child, not even the Champion of the People that the common Amestrian people believed him to be, but a tool of the military, controlled, precise, and aware of his duty. Everything that Olivia Armstrong had hoped for in the weapon that was to be sent back into the past to prevent the fall of Amestris.
As they pulled up in front of Central Headquarters, and as Edward left the car, Havoc stopped him.
“Hey, we know you have to go immediately, so there’s no time for proper goodbyes, but here,” Havoc held out a small book, the size of a pocket dictionary. “Al had the idea for it, and Chief helped us put it together for you. It contains some letters from all of us, for different times if you need us.” His lips quirked wryly, “We even got some letters and pictures from Gracia for you, and I think Armstrong put some “family stories” in there for you. Just so you know, even if we don’t know you, we’re still with you.”
Edward smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and took the book and tucked it into a pocket. “Thanks, Havoc. Tell the others that I appreciate it.”
Havoc nodded, and as he escorted Edward to the massive tent set up on the parade grounds, he tried not to think about the fact that this young man (young man because after the fiasco in the Underground City and after what he’d seen and done in Drachma, he could no longer be considered a child), who from the very start had outranked him even at the age of twelve, was about to be dropped into the nightmare of his past with only a few small trinkets and a few slips of paper as his only support. Hell, Edward couldn’t even wear his uniform for some security because of what they were trying to pull.
“Don’t think so much on it, Jean,” Edward said suddenly, his voice shaking, “Or you’ll wear down my resolve.”
Havoc stiffened at the sound of the young man’s voice, remembering times in the past when he’d sounded exactly like he was now, sounding so much younger than he actually was, and instantly spun around and threw his arms around Edward. “Dammit Boss,” he muttered, “Why’d it have to be you? You’re just a kid!”
“Because Edward Elric should never have been anything more than that child prodigy that Roy Mustang and his staff always tried to protect,” Edward said quietly. “Thanks for everything, Havoc.”
“That and you were always in the middle of everything,” Havoc straightened, and gave the Edward a shaky smile. “We’re rooting for you, boss, so don’t screw this up.”
Edward snorted, “Gee, no pressure,” he muttered, and slapped aside the tent flap and stepped inside and saluted. “Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric, reporting for duty, Madam.”
The Fuhrer, surrounded by officers and State Alchemists turned and acknowledged the blonde calmly. “At ease, Lieutenant-Colonel. And welcome back. I trust you have a restful journey?”
“Yes, Madame Fuhrer,” Edward said, “The trip was fine thank you.”
“You are ready then.”
“Yes, Madam.”
She took a small, leather bound book from one of her aides and handed it to the blonde, who took the book and tucked it into a pocket inside his jacket.
“This is a record of events that you can be expected to see or be a part of and contains records of personnel who may be open minded enough to help you. It will provide you with proof if proof you need to convince them. We cannot give you anything more than what you already have, unfortunately. The array will not carry anything more than what is on your person at the moment. Good luck, Lieutenant-Colonel.”
He nodded and made his way toward the massive array that multiple State Alchemists had been pulled away from Drachma to create. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head slightly to meet a concerned dark eye.
“Brigadier-General Mustang.”
“Fullmetal,” Mustang surveyed his subordinate carefully. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I know we can talk the Fuhrer into giving you a few hours…”
“This has to be done sir,” Edward replied, “and if I wait, I’ll probably somehow talk myself out of this.”
Mustang sighed. “Stubborn brat,” he said affectionately. “Here,” he pulled a small package wrapped in white fabric.
Edward blinked and took the package, sharp golden eyes noting wryly that the wrapping of the package was a pair of the older alchemist’s ignition gloves and unwrapped it to reveal a gleaming silver pocket watch with the flamel engraved on it.
“So you don’t lose track of time since you can’t take your watch with you,” Mustang said lightly.
Edward smirked as he rewrapped the watch in the ignition gloves and slipped it into a pocket. “My pockets are becoming fuller by the minute,” he said. “I’ll run out of space to put all of this pretty soon.”
Mustang snorted. “As if brat. I know you. You have at least a dozen pockets on that coat of yours, and at least two of them are empty.” His eyes softened. “Good luck Edward. We’re counting on you.”
Edward nodded. “I won’t fail.”
With a lot more confidence then he felt, Edward walked into the center of the massive array. He stood there, taking slow, deep breaths as dozens of State Alchemists took up their positions around the array, and clapped his hands. Immediately, the other Alchemists slammed their hands onto the outer perimeter, pouring their energy into the array. Edward swiftly slapped his hands onto the inner circle of the array as each alchemist broke off the connection, leaving him to control the flow of energy. The array flared, and Edward, only faintly aware of the eyes of the officers and alchemists on him, lifted his automail hand off the array, grabbed a knife from his belt, and slit his wrist, stuck the blade between his teeth, clapped again, and slapped his hands back onto the array.
The array flared once more, this time a blinding white, and the assembled officers and alchemists threw their hands over their eyes to keep from being blinded. The light from the array faded, and when they looked at the center of the array that had been burned into the parade ground, Edward Elric was gone.
“Did it work?” one of the generals asked.
“Yes,” the Fuhrer answered, “The rest is up to Lieutenant-Colonel Elric now.”
~*~
Chapter 1
Hohenheim was returning from the fields when an array suddenly appeared before him. He recognized the array, he’d seen it before in bits and pieces, especially on the other side of the Gate, and watched as the array sparked and flared to life and then it died out, leaving a young man, practically a child, swaying from the effort of the Alchemy. Hohenheim recognized the child instantly; his wife had given birth to him only a few weeks ago.
“So this is what my progeny becomes?” Hohenheim asked as he fixed a stern glare on the blonde boy, “What drove you to such foolishness, child? Surely I would have taught my son better?”
“You never taught me anything!” The boy growled as he pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped up his, Hohenheim realized belatedly, bleeding wrist. “Any alchemy I know, I learned from books! My rank I earned from my superiors through hard work! The only thing you gave me was your name! If you’d never left, mother wouldn’t have wasted away from grief and neither Al nor I would be in our current positions!” He visibly pulled his temper under control and drew himself to his full height, “And the only reason why I’m here in front of you is because we have blood ties, you and I, and I needed that in order to ensure that I would arrive in Amestris at the right time and place.”
Cool golden eyes stared into surprised hazel, “I am Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric. You may call me the Fullmetal Alchemist or simply Lieutenant-Colonel. By order of the Madame Fuhrer Olivia Armstrong, I am to enter the past and ensure that the events that lead to the fall of the State does not occur, and I thank you, Hohenheim of Light, for making it possible for me to get this far.”
Hohenheim felt dread curl in his belly as his son from the future gave him a bland smile as he snapped off the crisp salute of a well trained military dog and said in a cool, crisp voice of an officer speaking to a particularly thick subordinate, “Greetings, Hohenheim. I am Edwin Auric. Elder half brother to your sons with Trisha Elric.”
Hohenheim couldn’t help but wonder what his wife’s reaction would be when she met this elder version of their son, because no way in hell is he allowing this reckless boy to go out into the world on his own, never mind that said reckless boy is a military dog. Or at least will grow up to be one.
~*~
The last thing Trisha Elric expected to see at the end of the day was her husband bringing home a young man with cool golden eyes and golden hair pulled into a braid. The simple sight of the man shocked her, if only because of the similarities to Hohenheim. She knew immediately that even if right now, Hohenheim claimed that she was the only woman that he’d ever loved, that he had once cared enough for another woman to father a child on her, this child; the young man that her husband had brought home. The youth smiled weakly, that small movement softened the shadows on his face, making him seem much younger than he actually was.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said sheepishly, “But I wanted to find my father. If I’d known he had a family…”
Trisha’s felt her heart melt at the boy’s discomfort, “It’s alright,” she smiled, “its only right that you should know your father. Do you have a place to stay? You can stay here while you get to know your father.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”
“Nonsense,” Trisha smiled gently, “It’s no trouble, right, Hohenheim?”
She was concerned by how slow Hohenheim’s nod is, his eyes fixed on the golden youth beside him. There was caution in his movements, which meant he didn’t entirely trust this child. But if Hohenheim didn’t trust him, why did he bring him here?
~*~
That night, in the guestroom of the Elric House in Risembool, Edwin pulled out the files given to him by the Fuhrer and flipped through it quickly. The light from the moon was dim, but enough for him to read by as he studied the orders and the cover story he was to give. The story wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with; it had been among the first things he had memorized on the train back to Central from Drachma. He had papers in his coat to back up the cover story, and he had papers to back up the truth. He as glad to see his mother again, but time travel was a fairly esoteric art, and few if any people had ever done it. Even the massive array that had been used had been mostly experimental, recorded in the National Library, but never activated. Edward Elric was less than a year old now, and he no longer had a claim to that name. Edwin Auric did exist, but in his time, the boy’s father was unknown, and his mother never spoke of the man, and Edwin had been orphaned at six, and vanished from his orphanage at the age of eight and had never been seen or heard of since. It had been simple enough for the military to take the boy’s identity and combine it with Ed’s own records to make a cohesive record for Ed to use. No one would question his similarities to Edward Elric after he turned up in a decade or so since he’d revealed himself to Hohenheim and Hohenheim had told Trisha that he was his son. Maybe if he reappeared often enough under the impression of being undecided about whether or not he wanted to really get to know Hohenheim and at the same time be uncomfortable about intruding into an already established family routine…
It was a good plan. All he needed now, was to make the smooth transition into the ranks of the military, where he would begin smoothing over the cracks, planting the evidence, and turning the Homunculus against each other, and if he was lucky, he could get Envy and Dante to concentrate on him instead of Edward and Alphonse. That meant getting close to Mustang, and that also meant getting close to the Rockbells. That could be done easily enough. His automail would need maintenance, and Pinako Rockbell would be easy enough to convince if given the right proof. It would be nice to have a safe haven in the storm that was to come, especially since Edwin was going to be reluctant about being too much of a fixture in the Elric Household.
He pulled a pencil from one of his pockets and scribbled quickly in the margins. Yes, it was a good plan. Morning would be a good time to start setting things into motions.
~*~
“Thank you for letting me stay,” Edwin smiled sadly, “I will be on my way now.”
Trisha frowned. “But you’ve only just arrived!”
“That’s irrelevant,” he said quietly, “Hohenheim has a family. Whether or not I am his son doesn’t matter. I cannot impose on your hospitality, not even to learn more about my father.”
“Where will you go?” Trisha asked.
“The military, I suppose,” he smiled, “It’s not like I have anyone to disappoint by enlisting anyway. Hohenheim might have sired me, but as far as he is concerned, young Edward is his only son. There’s no room in his heart for me.” Edwin bowed over Trisha’s hand. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”
“Please feel free to come back if you need anything,” Hohenheim said suddenly from behind Trisha. “You are my son, and I will support you as father.”
“Thank you.”
Trisha was confused by the sudden tensing of the teen’s shoulders and the shuttering of his eyes as he spoke his thanks to Hohenheim.
“Have a safe journey then,” Trisha said.
Edwin nodded again. “Thank you and good bye.”
“I wonder if our Edward will grow up to be like him,” Trisha said quietly as they watched the teen’s retreating back, “Strong and independent and determined to meet his goals, whatever they may be.”
“I’m sure he will,” Hohenheim said quietly. Because Edwin and Edward are one and the same went unsaid. Trisha did not need to know that Edwin Auric was what their son, what their little Edward born only a few weeks ago could and would become. Hohenheim pursed his lips and silently swore that Edward would never have to go through what Edwin did, because whatever Hohenheim might have meant for his son, he never meant for that precious, fragile, golden haired infant sleeping soundly in the cradle in the living room to become a soldier who used his alchemy to kill in the name of the State.
~*~
TBC…
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Okay. Linking Time~! XD
BLEACH Fics:
Scatter the Illusions of Life
The Howling
Limitations
Breaking Points
BLEACHed Blitzkreig
(Sequel) BLEACHed Elements
FMA Fics:
The Forge
Song of the Forge
exhaustedNow, the below is an excerpt from the sixth chapter of my newest BLEACH story. Well, it's not exactly new anymore, but you people get the idea. I's what I've got so far so no whining about the chapter cutting off unexpectedly or your not knowing what's going on. If you enjoy this excerpt, feel free to enjoy the full story on fanfiction.net. The link will be at the end of the entry if you're interested.
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Disclaimer: BLEACH and belongs to Tite Kubo and related distributers.
Summary: Dreamseers know intimately that sleep is merely a facsimile of death, and that illusions are shadows of dreams, making it ridiculously easy for them to alter the tapestry of existence in the realms of the dead. For this reason, it is forbidden for a Dreamseer to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Until a retired shinigami captain’s son began to dream true dreams….
A/N: I think I should make this clear. There will be references to works by Clamp, but this is not a crossover. This is more of a mixing of concepts.
“How are you feeling Yuzu?”
“Tired. I’m sorry you had to come to get me, nii-san. I know you have important things to take care of.”
“And my sister being safe and healthy is not important?”
“Not when the world is at stake.”
“Yuzu.”
“Please, nii-san, the fact that you were always watching me made it a lot more bearable, because I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, but you also have to guide the Final Judgment…”
“Where did you get this fatalistic attitude, kitten?”
“You’re a bad influence, nii-san.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
All dreamseers know that it is forbidden for us to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Since sleep is a facsimile of death, and we manipulate the state of sleep, it would be far too easy for us to drastically change the state of death if we were to gain some foothold in the afterlife, and thus, the Creator forbade us from crossing the boundary of life and death without due cause, the ending of our lives being one of them. I, however, through no choice of my own, crossed that boundary when my mother passed on to me her latent Dreamseeing abilities, making me not only the child of a human shinigami union, but a Dreamseer with the power to break the great taboo and come to no harm. Even now, I do not fully comprehend the reason behind this, and nor do I want to know, for the price of knowledge can be a heavy one, yet I fear that I will eventually find myself with the need for this knowledge…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tokyo, being a location of high spiritual activity was rarely quiet. Spiritualists from all classes and lifestyles and countries made journeys to Tokyo in some way at some point in their lives. For some spiritualists, the numerous few who were born and raised in the vicinity of the magical hub that was considered the most spiritually active location in this bitter, dying metaphysical existence, Tokyo was home, and the chaos and wards and the glinting of spells and wards and the constant swelling of power in all directions and the waxing and waning of life and the flashes of spirits and demons as they flitted here and there and were exorcised or left their physical vessel was only a mass of white noise, easily ignored and always there. Everyone knew that Karakura, in the northern district of the Tokyo urban sprawl, was the most spiritually active, just as the ground that had been the original city of Edo before it was renamed Tokyo was the sacred ground on which was built the ward stones that represented the powers of the Seven Dragons of Heaven that sealed away the seven Dragons of Earth. And so it was only fitting that it would be in Karakura that the most powerful of Dreamseers since the Princess Hinoto, only average in terms of Dreamseer magic, strong because of his studies under the Princess before her death, powerful because of his capacity to interfere in the affairs of the dead. Fitting that he was born and raised in Karakura, and was destined to, though it was known to very few, die in the defense of the very magical center upon which he was born and raised.
This Dreamseer was called Kurosaki Ichigo, and he was the son of a former shinigami captain, and he was the only Dreamseer to have ever divined his fate, for his life was entwined with the war that was the Final Judgment, a final battle to be fought by the dead, a judgment that would dwarf even the sacrifices of the Dragons of Heaven to determine the new world order that was to come. If the young Dreamseer who also served as a Representative Shinigami had any opinions of his fate to come, or the tragedies he had foreseen, he never spoke of it except in the vaguest of warnings. He was, after all, a Dreamseer and a guide for the shinigami in the conflict to come, and Kami only knew that a Dreamseer always followed the pattern set before them in obedient silence regardless of their feelings on the matter, and Kurosaki Ichigo was born and would die, first and foremost, a Dreamseer.
And that was why he did not warn Urahara or Yoruichi of the two Arrancar that would be arriving in the Material World from Hueco Mundo, and neither did he show his face anywhere near the park where the two Arrancar landed. He was sorry for Sado Yasutora’s injuries and Arisawa Tatsuki’s near death and Inoue Orihime’s brush with forces that only crushed her because she could not bring herself to concentrate on her near godlike abilities, but he never spoke of what he had seen in his Dream, never mentioned that his vision spell had shown him everything that had occurred, and left Urahara and Yoruichi to drive away the Arrancar without his interference.
Yamamoto-Genryuusei Shigekuni only made passing mention of the teen’s absence during the incursion when he sent Hitsugaya Toushiro to lead an advance squad into Karakura, because as Ichigo had once told Abarai Renji, he was only one person, and his duties required his attention and he could not possibly be expected to be everywhere at once, and that meant that sometimes, he could not simply drop everything just because a Hollow, granted that an Arrancar is vastly different from the average Hollow but a Hollow nonetheless, decided that it wanted a human soul for a mid-afternoon snack. Soi-Fong and Kurotsuchi Mayuri were both of the opinion that the aged Captain Commander was playing favorites while everyone else was confused, except for Komamura Sajin, in whose mind a theory concerning the liberty given to the Representative Shinigami by the Sotaicho was beginning to form.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The ginger haired figure who moved through the streets of Tokyo dressed in a black yukata, dark green haori, and straw zori sandals attracted no more attention than other men and women who wore traditional garb while going about their business. ....
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If anyone wants to read the story from begining to end, it is here: Scatter the Illusions of Life
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In the meantime, I've started writing of all things, FMA fanfics. They are called Song of the Forge and the Forge.
Here is an excerpt from The Song of the Forge:
Title: The Heart of Everything: The Song of the Forge Volume 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Summary: When whispers of a Rebellion sweeps across Amestris and a failed assassination reveals a terrifying plot against the State, Brigadier-General Edward Elric and Colonel Alphonse Elric are dispatched with orders to stop the rebels at all costs. The only problem is that the rebels have traveled twelve years into the past.
Prologue
A young man clad in the blue military uniform leaned against the railing of the roof, staring out pensively over the city, a lit cigarette held lazily in his hand as a gentle wind blew past, sending golden bangs fluttering around his face. At the age of twenty-six, Edward Elric was the youngest of the Generals that served in the military, just as ten years ago, he had been the youngest State Alchemist certified by the state of Amestris. Actually, he still held the record for youngest state alchemist in Amestris. He sighed as he took another drag from his cigarette.
Had it really been fourteen years? It felt like only yesterday that he had been a child arrogant in his surety that he could perform a forbidden art without repercussions, only to lose a leg and an arm for his stupidity, condemning his brother to an existence as a soul bound to a suit of armor, forever in fear of his existence being snuffed out due to damage to the blood seal.
It was different now, their quest to find the Philosopher’s Stone had been a success after five long years of searching, and Alphonse had been restored to his body. Of course, due to sheer dumb luck, Edward had renewed his contract for another three years less than a month before he and Alphonse had reached their goals, and as a result, he couldn’t leave the military right away. But then a year later, war had broken out, and Edward had sent Alphonse home to recover, because even after a year, Alphonse still wasn’t used to having his body back, and as for Edward, he was sent to Drachma with the other Alchemists. Two years later, he’d returned to Central as a Lieutenant Colonel, and Mustang had been promoted to Brigadier General. That was the same year that Alphonse had applied to take the State Alchemy Exams and passed, and after two months, both been sent on a yearlong tour of Amestris with orders to stop the people from rebelling.
Now, three years later, the war was over, the incompetent Hakuro was still Fuhrer, Edward was a Brigadier General, Alphonse was a Colonel while Mustang was now a General, and while the military was busy keeping Central stable, the rest of the country was falling into pieces. Edward dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. The blonde smiled sadly as he shook away the thoughts as he turned away from the railing, his now waist length braid swinging out behind him and froze as he heard the sound of footsteps in the stairway.
Instincts still active from the warzone drove him to press himself against the wall, slipping silently into the shadows, golden eyes narrowing as the door to the rooftop swung open, oft unused hinges squealing in protest. The first flicker of Amestrian colors leeched the tension from Edward’s shoulders, but then inconsistencies brought the tensions flooding back.
Everything about the supposed soldier was meant to satisfy a cursory look in the corridors, but under the light of the midmorning sun? Eyes used to picking out Alchemists hidden in the enemy ranks immediately picked out the languid grace with which the presumed soldier walked. Every single member of the military that Edward had ever met never walked; they marched. Always, as if there was a silent drumbeat constantly sounding in their heads and ever since the Drachman War, even Edward found that he had to concentrate to walk normally instead of marching like the seasoned war veteran he was. Then there was the way the man carried himself, nothing like the straight backed posture of soldiers confident in their places and duties, he swayed and slouched like a cat on the prowl. The rank denoted on the shoulder boards was that of a Lieutenant, but not only were they on the wrong shoulders, but one was upside down, and the firearm in the holster was not a military issue sidearm. While it was not unusual for military personnel to carry nonstandard issue weapons, it was an unspoken rule that if it wasn’t standard issue, it should not be carried openly.
Edward regulated his breathing, keeping each breath slow, deep, and even as he watched the soldier lean against the railing, eyes fixed on the parade ground below. Whatever he was watching for, Edward had a bad feeling that things were going to change, and rapidly.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when he saw the soldier straighten and reach for his gun. Edward placed his hand on his own sidearm, drawing it as he slipped out of the shadows, coming up behind and slightly to the left of the soldier. The gravel underfoot did not give so much as a crunch as he moved. Drachma had taught him more than he ever needed to know about moving silently through loose debris. Sharp golden eyes were peripherally aware of the soldier hefting his gun and taking aim, shifting as if he were tracking a moving target even as Edward scanned the parade ground, his eyes catching on a figure dressed in Amestris blue striding toward the Fire Compound where the Mess Hall was located. They were too far away for him to recognize the rank, but the Amestrian colors were all the confirmation Edward needed. He closed the distance between the assassin and himself in three swift steps, automail hand shoving at the hand holding the gun.
The firearm discharged, and the shot went wide, and even as the gunman’s head turned toward Edward in surprise, Edward was bringing up his own firearm, clicking off the safety as he hefted it. He didn’t even think about the target of the gunman’s bullet, knowing that the target would have likely already taken cover. And despite being a military base, gunfire was not a common sound, therefore someone was bound to have raised the alarm, and someone else would be on their way to investigate. All Edward needed to worry about was to subdue the soldier and determine the target.
The soldier’s free hand moved, and instinctively, Edward pulled the trigger. The force of the bullet pushed the man back against the railing, and Edward moved with the momentum, slamming the hand still holding the gun against the metal, forcing the soldier to release the weapon, and Edward jerked the soldier up, spinning him around and pinning his free arm between the railing and his body while twisting the captive arm up against his back. Edward pressed the muzzle of his firearm against the soldier’s back between the shoulder blades, and he felt the man tense.
“Who was your target?” Edward hissed.
He felt more than saw the soldier’s pinned arm shift, and without thinking, Edward shifted the gun down and to the right and pulled the trigger, heedless of the blood that splattered onto his previously immaculate uniform. The man jerked and a rough yell of pain cut through the air.
“Answer me,” Edward barked, “Who was the target!”
“What do you care?” the man snarled, “All of Amestris knows you hate your commander.”
“Mustang?” the name fell from Edward’s lips in surprise.
Edward’s grip must have slackened with his surprise, because suddenly, the soldier surged back against him, and as he stumbled back, the gun was kicked out of his hand. The blonde Brigadier-General didn’t bother going after the gun, rather, as the soldier pulled a second handgun from under his coat, he darted toward the stairwell. He heard the sound of the gun being fired, and he clapped as he dived for cover. Red hot pain blossomed in his side and seared through him as he lost his grip on the alchemical energy. He writhed on the ground in pain, his gloves ripping as his hands scrabbled in the gravel that covered the roof and was only faintly aware that he was screaming, and then the door to the roof was flung open, and someone was calling his name. Edward was distantly aware of the roar of gunfire and a figure in Amestrian blue dropping to their knees beside him, his name on their lips. And all he could think of was that he needed to tell them who the gunman had been targeting…
“Target…” he rasped painfully, “Mustang…”
And then there was only darkness.
~*~
Maes Hughes hurried down the halls of the hospital, green eyes dark. The moment word had gotten to him that Edward had stopped an assassination against Roy but had been nearly killed for it; he’d sent out feelers and started digging. What he’d found was not much of a surprise.
It seemed that Hakuro had stepped on a lot of toes, and the people were uneasy. Edward had barely been able to stop a civil war by going town to town and assuring the people that he had allies in the military who felt the way he did and they were working on the problem. The word of the Fullmetal Alchemist, the People’s Alchemist had soothed ruffled feathers, but people were still not pleased, but it had done the job of ensuring that Amestris would not have to fight themselves and Drachma at the same time.
At the moment, however, it had somehow gotten out that Edward was hurt, and it was because he had been trying to stop the assassination of someone high up in the military, and popular opinion was that it was because of some corrupt military official who wanted power.
True, mostly, Maes admitted to himself as he navigated the hospital toward Edward’s room, but this time, even Edward’s assurances probably wouldn’t stop a civil war from breaking out. The common populous was furious that their champion among the State Alchemists had been injured in the name of the State, and Maes made a mental note to kill whomever had let that little tidbit slip out once he found them.
“Maes!”
Maes nodded at Roy and drew him aside, speaking rapidly as quietly as he could. He wasn’t there simply because the people were restless, but because a part of the city had gone up in flames and the military police had discovered scattered notes and formulas. The theory behind an array of some sort, and in the two weeks since the failed assassination, different Alchemists had begun analyzing the notes and theories behind the scattered parts of the array were no closer to a breakthrough though there was a lot of speculation about it being a transportation array of some sort. With speculation running rampant, the higher-ups wanted to foist the entire thing onto Edward, who had a reputation for taking apart and breaking down unknown arrays and deciphering what they were for in anywhere from a few hours to a few days when it would have taken other Alchemists months or years.
The only problem was that it had been almost three weeks, and Edward still had not woken yet. It was troubling. Not even he had been unconscious for that long after the bullet Envy had nearly killed him with.
~*~
TBC…
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And an excerpt from The Forge:
title: The Forge
Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Summary: The Homunculus have left Amestris in shambles, and the new Fuhrer is an incompetent who is leading the country to downfall. When all hope is lost, Edward puts to the test a theoretical array, and enter Edwin Auric, the son of Hohenheim of Light, and elder half brother to Edward and Alphonse Elric.
Prologue
“Over the top!”
In the heavy downpour, they surged forward, scrambling over the top of the muddy ditch and running, back bent, teeth gritted, squinting through the rain. Behind him, a shell tore apart the ground, and the momentum from the explosion sent him and a dozen others flying in a massive spray of shrapnel and mud. No matter – it happened all the time. Once he landed, awkwardly on his left foot and right hand, he clapped his hands together and slammed them to the earth.
He heard it, but didn’t see it. Bloodcurdling screams, then nothing, as the ground rose in solid stone spikes and tore the enemy apart. His command continued on its charge across the no man’s land, feet kicking up mud, some with guns, some only using alchemy, and some with a mixture of both. He was towards the back where the survivors always were, and it did occur to him that the men in front were being gunned down at a steady rate.
This was reality. Not every one of them could be expected to survive such a desperate charge, but the numbers involved ensured that enough made it. They literally poured into the enemy trenches, bayonets out and weapons unfurled, and the Drachmans – unsuspecting, and yet surged on by the adrenaline similar to that of cornered, wild animals – fought viciously, taking down an entire line of Amestrian soldiers before they were overwhelmed. He clapped his hands and surged in with the rest, transmuting his automail right arm into a wicked blade, and ripping his sidearm from its holster as he all but fell into the enemy trench, only vaguely aware of the soldiers falling all around him.
Before this war, he’d never wiped human blood off his automail, never actually used his sidearm, despite the military needing all its soldiers, Alchemists or no, to have some proficiency with a gun (It had nothing to do with the fact that Mustang never let him even hold a gun without supervision until he had turned sixteen.). Now he understood that killing Greed, and even being responsible for the deaths of others, was different than actually taking the life of another human. A homunculus was something born to die, an anomaly never intended for the world. Knowing others had died because of his actions was chilling, but nowhere near as chilling as actually thrusting his blade through the chest of a living, breathing human being, then turning and firing a gun into the face of the person trying to sneak up behind him.
The worst part was that it was easy. Frighteningly, mind numbingly easy. He ducked a bayonet and drew his blade diagonally across a man’s torso. He fell and was trampled by the advancing soldiers. His booted foot swung upwards, catching a man in Drachman browns and grays in the chin, before the automail slid cleanly and evenly through his chest. Ed practically tossed him off the end of the blade, and even before then, he was dead. His other hand was pulling the trigger on his gun, firing, firing, and then it was empty, and he stuffed it back in its holster before clapping and slapping his hands to the muddy, bloody ground, liquefying the dirt and mud, and sucking the enemy down in a bloody parody of quicksand. The screaming came to an abrupt halt as Edward touched his hands together and pressed them to the ground again, and the ground solidified. The battlefield took on an eerie calm as the blonde alchemist suddenly realized that the battle was over. Had been from the moment he’d liquefied the ground under the Drachmans.
Edward Elric, stood up slowly, his insides numb as he surveyed the battlefield of weary Amestrian soldiers and the few prisoners of war being led away by the victors. Once, in the beginning, when all this had started, he had been glad that Mustang and his staff had helped in convincing the teen, newly restored to a body of flesh and blood, to return to Risembool instead of following his brother to the conflict every time he saw the aftermath of heated battle. Now, he could hardly care less. The atrocities of war was whittling away at his heart little by little, and he was too tired to care.
Ever since the homunculus had been dealt with, ever since Hakuro took over as Fuhrer, Amestris had been slipping into decline. Even as his successes in the battlefield led to his being promoted, and his own commanding officers rose up in the ranks as a result, they all knew the truth. Amestris was on the verge of downfall because of the actions of the homunculus, and the Fuhrer Hakuro’s incompetence had not helped matters. Mustang and his staff and affiliated allies had raced against the clock to fix things, and little more than a month ago, Hakuro had been ousted and Olivia Armstrong had been inaugurated as Madame Fuhrer. But they knew, the ones involved in ousting Hakuro, they all knew that it was too little, too late. It would take nothing short of a miracle to get Amestris out of the trouble it was in now.
Because no matter how many battles Amestris won, Drachma had allies, and Amestris was alone. No matter how many battles Amestris won, even if they defeated Drachma, they would still have to face the other countries, and they wouldn’t stop until Amestris was only so much dust.
Not for the first time in his life, as he turned away from the Drachman field and followed the Amestrian soldiers back to their own field, Edward Elric tasted in his mouth the bitterness of despair.
~*~
“With all due respect, Madame Fuhrer, Fullmetal will go insane if we leave him on the field!”
“I dislike leaving the Lieutenant-Colonel out there in his condition as much as you do, Brigadier-General Mustang,” the woman snapped, “however we have no choice! You know full well that we need to break down his reckless streak before we can go through with our plans. However young he may be, Lieutenant-Colonel Elric is important to our plans, and until he is sufficiently tempered, he stays in the field!”
“This will break him.”
“We all thought the same about you in Ishbal, but you survived,” Olivia Armstrong’s voice was firm. “And Lieutenant-Colonel Elric knows what is at stake here. He will not crumble when we need him most. Dismissed.”
Brigadier-General Roy Mustang straightened his back and saluted and left. His face showed nothing of the doubts roiling in his mind. It had been almost two years since Amestris had entered a war with Drachma, and it had been a year since the Fuhrer had sent his staff into the battlefields, each one of them moving up in the ranks as their word of their successes went to the top. Especially the baby of their staff, the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, now eighteen, and no longer simply a Major, but a Lieutenant-Colonel, on whose shoulders the fate of Amestris would rest if the Fuhrer had her way.
~*~
“Welcome back, boss,” Jean Havoc’s smile was forced as the blonde alchemist climbed into the backseat of the military car. “We’ve missed you.”
Cool golden eyes surveyed the older blonde and nodded slowly, “I would say the same, Havoc,” Edward said carefully, “If I could bring myself to say it.”
“No problem, boss,” Havoc’s voice was shaky, “We all know you missed us as much as we missed you. We’re all in this together right?”
“To an extent, yes.”
“Think you’re ready for what comes next, kid?”
“I would not be here if I was not,” his voice was as bland as his face.
“Got enough cash in your pockets to start over, kid?”
“More than enough.”
“How about ammo?”
“If I lack ammunition, I can transmute them. If worse comes to worse, I am a capable Combat Alchemist.”
“No watch?”
“Not allowed, and you know it,” Edward’s voice was a mixture of annoyed and curious, “What is wrong with you Havoc?”
“Hey,” Havoc glanced at the alchemist’s reflection in the rearview mirror, “None of us wanted this to happen. We’d all switch places with you in an instant.”
Golden eyes softened. “I know.”
“It’s been what? Six years?” Havoc asked, “Time sure flies doesn’t it? Feels like only yesterday that you were flying off the handle at Chief for teasing you and he was busy trying to protect you and Al from the military.”
“That was four years ago,” Edward’s voice was tinged with amusement, “Yesterday, I was on a train on my way back from Drachma.”
Havoc snorted as he chewed restlessly on the end of his unlit cigarette. “Doesn’t seem right anymore,” he mused, “I missed when you were a kid, boss. Least then, you didn’t always have the eyes of a soldier. Damn Drachma, and damn that Hakuro…”
“We all do our part.” Edward lied through his teeth, and Havoc’s eyes looking at him in the mirror told him that the older blonde knew it. “For my family, in the military and out of it,” he added, deciding to be at least a little truthful, “That’s what kept me going in Drachma. It’ll be what keeps me going later.”
“Won’t be enough kid,” Havoc’s voice was sad, “We won’t know you. We won’t know to support you. We’ll all meet Edward Elric and know to support him, but we won’t know you. Not unless….” Not unless you screw up somewhere and we find ourselves at war with the rest of the world as our opponents again…
Edward’s eyes hardened and Havoc knew that the young Lieutenant-Colonel had picked up on the unspoken words. “Alchemist, be thou for the people,” Edward said quietly, “If Amestris has that much faith in me, I will not let it be in vain.”
Havoc fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, resolutely concentrating on his driving. It was chilling to see those cool, shuttered eyes on the face of a boy he’d watched grow up. The Fullmetal Alchemist’s control was proof that the Fuhrer’s plans had gone through though. It meant that the once reckless teen’s passions had been cooled and his spirit had been tempered by the battlefield in Drachma. He was no longer a child, not even the Champion of the People that the common Amestrian people believed him to be, but a tool of the military, controlled, precise, and aware of his duty. Everything that Olivia Armstrong had hoped for in the weapon that was to be sent back into the past to prevent the fall of Amestris.
As they pulled up in front of Central Headquarters, and as Edward left the car, Havoc stopped him.
“Hey, we know you have to go immediately, so there’s no time for proper goodbyes, but here,” Havoc held out a small book, the size of a pocket dictionary. “Al had the idea for it, and Chief helped us put it together for you. It contains some letters from all of us, for different times if you need us.” His lips quirked wryly, “We even got some letters and pictures from Gracia for you, and I think Armstrong put some “family stories” in there for you. Just so you know, even if we don’t know you, we’re still with you.”
Edward smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and took the book and tucked it into a pocket. “Thanks, Havoc. Tell the others that I appreciate it.”
Havoc nodded, and as he escorted Edward to the massive tent set up on the parade grounds, he tried not to think about the fact that this young man (young man because after the fiasco in the Underground City and after what he’d seen and done in Drachma, he could no longer be considered a child), who from the very start had outranked him even at the age of twelve, was about to be dropped into the nightmare of his past with only a few small trinkets and a few slips of paper as his only support. Hell, Edward couldn’t even wear his uniform for some security because of what they were trying to pull.
“Don’t think so much on it, Jean,” Edward said suddenly, his voice shaking, “Or you’ll wear down my resolve.”
Havoc stiffened at the sound of the young man’s voice, remembering times in the past when he’d sounded exactly like he was now, sounding so much younger than he actually was, and instantly spun around and threw his arms around Edward. “Dammit Boss,” he muttered, “Why’d it have to be you? You’re just a kid!”
“Because Edward Elric should never have been anything more than that child prodigy that Roy Mustang and his staff always tried to protect,” Edward said quietly. “Thanks for everything, Havoc.”
“That and you were always in the middle of everything,” Havoc straightened, and gave the Edward a shaky smile. “We’re rooting for you, boss, so don’t screw this up.”
Edward snorted, “Gee, no pressure,” he muttered, and slapped aside the tent flap and stepped inside and saluted. “Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric, reporting for duty, Madam.”
The Fuhrer, surrounded by officers and State Alchemists turned and acknowledged the blonde calmly. “At ease, Lieutenant-Colonel. And welcome back. I trust you have a restful journey?”
“Yes, Madame Fuhrer,” Edward said, “The trip was fine thank you.”
“You are ready then.”
“Yes, Madam.”
She took a small, leather bound book from one of her aides and handed it to the blonde, who took the book and tucked it into a pocket inside his jacket.
“This is a record of events that you can be expected to see or be a part of and contains records of personnel who may be open minded enough to help you. It will provide you with proof if proof you need to convince them. We cannot give you anything more than what you already have, unfortunately. The array will not carry anything more than what is on your person at the moment. Good luck, Lieutenant-Colonel.”
He nodded and made his way toward the massive array that multiple State Alchemists had been pulled away from Drachma to create. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head slightly to meet a concerned dark eye.
“Brigadier-General Mustang.”
“Fullmetal,” Mustang surveyed his subordinate carefully. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? I know we can talk the Fuhrer into giving you a few hours…”
“This has to be done sir,” Edward replied, “and if I wait, I’ll probably somehow talk myself out of this.”
Mustang sighed. “Stubborn brat,” he said affectionately. “Here,” he pulled a small package wrapped in white fabric.
Edward blinked and took the package, sharp golden eyes noting wryly that the wrapping of the package was a pair of the older alchemist’s ignition gloves and unwrapped it to reveal a gleaming silver pocket watch with the flamel engraved on it.
“So you don’t lose track of time since you can’t take your watch with you,” Mustang said lightly.
Edward smirked as he rewrapped the watch in the ignition gloves and slipped it into a pocket. “My pockets are becoming fuller by the minute,” he said. “I’ll run out of space to put all of this pretty soon.”
Mustang snorted. “As if brat. I know you. You have at least a dozen pockets on that coat of yours, and at least two of them are empty.” His eyes softened. “Good luck Edward. We’re counting on you.”
Edward nodded. “I won’t fail.”
With a lot more confidence then he felt, Edward walked into the center of the massive array. He stood there, taking slow, deep breaths as dozens of State Alchemists took up their positions around the array, and clapped his hands. Immediately, the other Alchemists slammed their hands onto the outer perimeter, pouring their energy into the array. Edward swiftly slapped his hands onto the inner circle of the array as each alchemist broke off the connection, leaving him to control the flow of energy. The array flared, and Edward, only faintly aware of the eyes of the officers and alchemists on him, lifted his automail hand off the array, grabbed a knife from his belt, and slit his wrist, stuck the blade between his teeth, clapped again, and slapped his hands back onto the array.
The array flared once more, this time a blinding white, and the assembled officers and alchemists threw their hands over their eyes to keep from being blinded. The light from the array faded, and when they looked at the center of the array that had been burned into the parade ground, Edward Elric was gone.
“Did it work?” one of the generals asked.
“Yes,” the Fuhrer answered, “The rest is up to Lieutenant-Colonel Elric now.”
~*~
Chapter 1
Hohenheim was returning from the fields when an array suddenly appeared before him. He recognized the array, he’d seen it before in bits and pieces, especially on the other side of the Gate, and watched as the array sparked and flared to life and then it died out, leaving a young man, practically a child, swaying from the effort of the Alchemy. Hohenheim recognized the child instantly; his wife had given birth to him only a few weeks ago.
“So this is what my progeny becomes?” Hohenheim asked as he fixed a stern glare on the blonde boy, “What drove you to such foolishness, child? Surely I would have taught my son better?”
“You never taught me anything!” The boy growled as he pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped up his, Hohenheim realized belatedly, bleeding wrist. “Any alchemy I know, I learned from books! My rank I earned from my superiors through hard work! The only thing you gave me was your name! If you’d never left, mother wouldn’t have wasted away from grief and neither Al nor I would be in our current positions!” He visibly pulled his temper under control and drew himself to his full height, “And the only reason why I’m here in front of you is because we have blood ties, you and I, and I needed that in order to ensure that I would arrive in Amestris at the right time and place.”
Cool golden eyes stared into surprised hazel, “I am Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric. You may call me the Fullmetal Alchemist or simply Lieutenant-Colonel. By order of the Madame Fuhrer Olivia Armstrong, I am to enter the past and ensure that the events that lead to the fall of the State does not occur, and I thank you, Hohenheim of Light, for making it possible for me to get this far.”
Hohenheim felt dread curl in his belly as his son from the future gave him a bland smile as he snapped off the crisp salute of a well trained military dog and said in a cool, crisp voice of an officer speaking to a particularly thick subordinate, “Greetings, Hohenheim. I am Edwin Auric. Elder half brother to your sons with Trisha Elric.”
Hohenheim couldn’t help but wonder what his wife’s reaction would be when she met this elder version of their son, because no way in hell is he allowing this reckless boy to go out into the world on his own, never mind that said reckless boy is a military dog. Or at least will grow up to be one.
~*~
The last thing Trisha Elric expected to see at the end of the day was her husband bringing home a young man with cool golden eyes and golden hair pulled into a braid. The simple sight of the man shocked her, if only because of the similarities to Hohenheim. She knew immediately that even if right now, Hohenheim claimed that she was the only woman that he’d ever loved, that he had once cared enough for another woman to father a child on her, this child; the young man that her husband had brought home. The youth smiled weakly, that small movement softened the shadows on his face, making him seem much younger than he actually was.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said sheepishly, “But I wanted to find my father. If I’d known he had a family…”
Trisha’s felt her heart melt at the boy’s discomfort, “It’s alright,” she smiled, “its only right that you should know your father. Do you have a place to stay? You can stay here while you get to know your father.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”
“Nonsense,” Trisha smiled gently, “It’s no trouble, right, Hohenheim?”
She was concerned by how slow Hohenheim’s nod is, his eyes fixed on the golden youth beside him. There was caution in his movements, which meant he didn’t entirely trust this child. But if Hohenheim didn’t trust him, why did he bring him here?
~*~
That night, in the guestroom of the Elric House in Risembool, Edwin pulled out the files given to him by the Fuhrer and flipped through it quickly. The light from the moon was dim, but enough for him to read by as he studied the orders and the cover story he was to give. The story wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with; it had been among the first things he had memorized on the train back to Central from Drachma. He had papers in his coat to back up the cover story, and he had papers to back up the truth. He as glad to see his mother again, but time travel was a fairly esoteric art, and few if any people had ever done it. Even the massive array that had been used had been mostly experimental, recorded in the National Library, but never activated. Edward Elric was less than a year old now, and he no longer had a claim to that name. Edwin Auric did exist, but in his time, the boy’s father was unknown, and his mother never spoke of the man, and Edwin had been orphaned at six, and vanished from his orphanage at the age of eight and had never been seen or heard of since. It had been simple enough for the military to take the boy’s identity and combine it with Ed’s own records to make a cohesive record for Ed to use. No one would question his similarities to Edward Elric after he turned up in a decade or so since he’d revealed himself to Hohenheim and Hohenheim had told Trisha that he was his son. Maybe if he reappeared often enough under the impression of being undecided about whether or not he wanted to really get to know Hohenheim and at the same time be uncomfortable about intruding into an already established family routine…
It was a good plan. All he needed now, was to make the smooth transition into the ranks of the military, where he would begin smoothing over the cracks, planting the evidence, and turning the Homunculus against each other, and if he was lucky, he could get Envy and Dante to concentrate on him instead of Edward and Alphonse. That meant getting close to Mustang, and that also meant getting close to the Rockbells. That could be done easily enough. His automail would need maintenance, and Pinako Rockbell would be easy enough to convince if given the right proof. It would be nice to have a safe haven in the storm that was to come, especially since Edwin was going to be reluctant about being too much of a fixture in the Elric Household.
He pulled a pencil from one of his pockets and scribbled quickly in the margins. Yes, it was a good plan. Morning would be a good time to start setting things into motions.
~*~
“Thank you for letting me stay,” Edwin smiled sadly, “I will be on my way now.”
Trisha frowned. “But you’ve only just arrived!”
“That’s irrelevant,” he said quietly, “Hohenheim has a family. Whether or not I am his son doesn’t matter. I cannot impose on your hospitality, not even to learn more about my father.”
“Where will you go?” Trisha asked.
“The military, I suppose,” he smiled, “It’s not like I have anyone to disappoint by enlisting anyway. Hohenheim might have sired me, but as far as he is concerned, young Edward is his only son. There’s no room in his heart for me.” Edwin bowed over Trisha’s hand. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”
“Please feel free to come back if you need anything,” Hohenheim said suddenly from behind Trisha. “You are my son, and I will support you as father.”
“Thank you.”
Trisha was confused by the sudden tensing of the teen’s shoulders and the shuttering of his eyes as he spoke his thanks to Hohenheim.
“Have a safe journey then,” Trisha said.
Edwin nodded again. “Thank you and good bye.”
“I wonder if our Edward will grow up to be like him,” Trisha said quietly as they watched the teen’s retreating back, “Strong and independent and determined to meet his goals, whatever they may be.”
“I’m sure he will,” Hohenheim said quietly. Because Edwin and Edward are one and the same went unsaid. Trisha did not need to know that Edwin Auric was what their son, what their little Edward born only a few weeks ago could and would become. Hohenheim pursed his lips and silently swore that Edward would never have to go through what Edwin did, because whatever Hohenheim might have meant for his son, he never meant for that precious, fragile, golden haired infant sleeping soundly in the cradle in the living room to become a soldier who used his alchemy to kill in the name of the State.
~*~
TBC…
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