CENTRAL
He’s charging again! Mustang was already in motion as he threw himself to the side, and brought a gloved hand around to trace out a superheated blast of fire.
The fat little man charged straight through the blast as his eyes bubbled in their sockets, grabbing blindly for Roy’s arm. He almost touched his sleeve, and Roy staggered back, barely hanging on to his balance.
And then Armstrong punched the ground across the courtyard, and a rippling wave of stone spikes punched through the attacker’s belly… To no avail. With a crackle of energy, the target’s eyes regrew in their sockets as he pulled himself off the spikes with fat arms. A fusillade of bullets slowed him, holing him in the head, joints, and side, but with dogged determination the little freak was pulling himself loose… Hawkeye cursed, and her hands flashed to her side as she broke the gun, sending the bullets flying free. With steady, unshaking fingers she reloaded, spinning the cylinder before taking aim once again.
We’re barely slowing him down. Mustang realized.
Roy called up another wave of flame, crisping the flesh on the little man’s arms, as he fell back on the spikes and squirmed. Roy panted, face beading with sweat… The flames around the fat little form faltered, as he lost focus.
How the hell is he even still alive?
Every time they wounded him, there was a flash of energy across his skin, and he healed… It was nearly instantaneous, for most nonlethal injuries. And the lethal ones took only seconds... Armstrong had tried to trap him in a cage of stone, but he’d chewed his way out.
He didn’t even look like he was getting tired. Was he? Maybe not… Thought Roy.
Roy WAS getting tired. And so were Hawkeye and Armstrong, he could tell. It wouldn’t be long until one of them made a mistake, and that obscenely strong mouth killed or maimed someone.
He’s not human. Roy finally admitted the truth. I don’t know what he is, but we aren’t prepared for this fight. If we don’t finish it, or drive him off, we’re dead.
Then, for a second, his eyes caught a flash of light. He fanned the flames as he jogged backwards, melting the stone in front of the beast, slowing it down. Finally, he felt safe enough to spare a glance upward.
The Fuhrer was standing on the battlements, sword in hand. He waved at Roy, and made beckoning motions with the tip of his saber.
He wants me to bring the fight over there! Roy realized. But what can he do? Does he have some backup hidden on that wall?
The last backup had fallen swiftly to the pudgy man’s strength and insatiable teeth. Hawkeye had warned the rest of the soldiers off, and they were at the far edges of the courtyard, staying out of the way and fighting fires.
Then the beast was up again, and charging Hawkeye. No! She leveled her gun, took a firm stance… And the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
With speed he hadn’t known he possessed, Roy charged across to her, and knocked her out of the way! As he did so, he felt a meaty hand grab his leg, and grimaced.
The Pudgy creature laughed. And Roy grabbed ahold of the wall, and glanced up, trying to pull himself away, even as the Fuhrer studied the scene below…
His was the most visible of marks.
It was right on his face. He hid it behind a mere scrap of cloth.
A stray edge, a branch, or even a thief’s quick fingers… All of those could rip it away, baring it for the world to see.
But no one ever had. And no one ever would.
He was Pride, after all.
The bearer of the All-Seeing Eye.
A mere scrap of cloth was little barrier enough. His inhuman sight easily penetrated the eyepatch, and measured everything it saw. The information fed into his flawless brain, as possibilities were weighed, balanced, calculated, and planned. In the space of a quarter-second, he could see the implications of every course of action taken by his target, and the ramifications of every development.
He was pretty sure that this made him the closest thing to God on the planet. Of course, he often wondered what this made Dante, in the grand scheme of things.
But Dante was gone now, leaving the predictable chaos of conflict among the sins behind.
Pride hated chaos. It was messy, needlessly messy. No, he figured it was his job to restore things to order.
And so, he watched Gluttony with his eye, and SAW him.
And in one possibility, he saw Mustang, Armstrong, and Hawkeye fail to deliver a killing blow on Gluttony, and Gluttony escaping into the sewers…
In another, Gluttony devoured Mustang and Hawkeye before a grieved Armstrong mashed him flat between two massive pillars of stone, sacrificing himself for bait to lure Gluttony into his trap…
In still another, the surrounding soldiers decided to disobey orders and open fire, killing Mustang and 17 other soldiers as they shredded Gluttony with thousands of bullets, finally reducing him to pulped scraps of flesh, then burning those while their regenerative potential was finally weakened…
There were more, but their likelihood faded or the paths changed with every step, every burst of flame, every shot in the courtyard below.
Pride saw Mustang look up to him, and waved him closer. I need a better look…
Then Gluttony got his hands around Mustang’s leg, and time slowed to a crawl…
Almost all the possibilities snapped away, leaving one behind. One that Pride didn’t like at all.
He looked down into Mustang’s eyes, and smiled. No. No, You’re far too useful, and too good a soldier for me to sacrifice you like this. He chose his moment…
And Pride jumped.
Gluttony, his mouth wide, pulled Mustang toward him by his leg as bones creaked and started to give in his captive’s legs…
Then the shadow fell across him, and he looked up, up to see a grinning face coming toward him in the flickering light of the fire.
But by then, it was too late.
The Fuhrer’s feet landed solidly on Gluttony’s shoulders.
And the Fuhrer’s saber, gripped in both hands, drove straight through the top of his head, spearing him cleanly.
Gluttony let go of Mustang’s leg, and started to bring his hands up slowly, slowly as he fell backwards…
And with unbelievable speed, Fuhrer Bradley flipped off of Gluttony’s shoulders, pulled out two more sabers in midair, and jammed them into either side of his head, the blades protruding at crazy angles from their exit wounds.
Gluttony gasped, as Fuhrer Bradley landed, kneeling, with one hand holding the remaining saber out and pointing at him. Then his massive body hit the ground behind the Fuhrer, the saber hilts rattling by his skull as he shook from the impact.
“Colonel Mustang, are you all right?” Pride’s eye told him he was, but he kept up the act.
“I’m… Fine. That was… A hell of a save…” Mustang was gasping for breath, pulling himself up and rubbing his leg.
Around them, the courtyard exploded into applause, the surrounding soldiers cheering their lungs out as Fuhrer Bradley slipped his last saber back into its sheath.
“Sir, look out! It heals itself…” Armstrong rumbled, as he stepped forward, fists ready. Beside him Hawkeye ran to Mustang’s side, covering the fallen homunculi with a steady hand. She’d found a spare clip and reloaded, and Pride smiled inwardly at her efficiency. It did him good to see his soldiers acting professionally.
“Look again, Major. I think he’s having some problems with that right now.”
All eyes turned to Gluttony, as his head crackled with energy, and his body convulsed… Then lay back, as it spurted more blood.
As fast as he regenerated, the brain could not heal itself while the swords were in his head. The new tissue formed and tore, unable to do anything about the metal blocking its path. Gluttony was effectively paralyzed.
The Fuhrer strolled over and kicked one of Gluttony’s questing, spasming hands away from the sword-hilts. “Colonel Mustang, kindly get some chains together. I think we’ll have an easier time of taking him captive while he’s in this state.”
And with the crowd still cheering, a Squad was enlisted to take charge of the thrashing homunculus. Pride smiled to himself as he allowed them to escort him back into the palace.
It was over the second I had you in my sight. No one can escape my eye, Gluttony.
Heels clicked on stone, as Lust ran up the staircase. Not for the first time, the short homunculus wished that Dante had been a little less-impressed with high heels. Dante had made the homunculus their clothes, shaping them to be symbiotic, almost living organisms. If damaged, they healed as the homunculi healed. They expanded and contracted to keep up with their changing forms, and they preserved modesty in trying circumstances. This effect was what let her pierce her gloves with her claws, without ripping them to shreds each time… The claws were thin, and the gloves healed instantly.
In any case, if Lust stopped to discard the heels, her stockings would soon grow her a new pair.
Such a pain…
“I think there’s a back door, up this way.” The little green man chirped, as they ran.
“What are you supposed to be anyway?” She muttered, giving it a suspicious, sidelong look.
“I’m an elf!”
“Right…” She stopped at the sound of boots coming down the hall, and hugged herself into a nearby alcove. Next to her, the swordsman squeezed in, nearly hidden under his cloak. How can someone that big move that quietly? But then the boots came closer, and she stifled the comment.
The elf flew out in the open, up the stairs as Lust cursed under her breath. “You little-“
She felt a hand grab her shoulder. “They can’t see or hear him.” The swordsman’s breath was hot on her neck, and she shuddered.
“Don’t touch me.” She whispered. For some reason, this made him chuckle as he took his hand back.
She was seriously tempted to slide her claws through his heart, but by then the soldiers were moving past.
“…amned if I know. They’re probably slacking off on duty again.”
“Man, what a pain. That big fight going on out front, and we have to miss it…”
“Eh, we’re better off out of it. Those two, the alchemy’s flying pretty thick and heavy. That guy is probably toast even as we’re speaking...”
The two passed by, and after a minute, Puck zoomed over to wave them out. “Coast’s clear!” He yelled, cheerfully.
Lust winced, and resumed her climb. Behind her, she could hear the faint sounds of the swordsman following.
What were those two talking about? Alchemists? Well, that IS interesting. Might have to get a look on the way out…
A couple of more dodged guards, and two twisty corridors later, windows started to appear in the walls. They were almost out…
And the last doorway opened into a large, dark room. As soon as they’d crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them. Guts whirled with a silent curse…
As Lust felt a familiar stir of echoes rise up in her mind. She winced, and staggered.
The lights came on, illuminating the pink-dressed form of Sloth, standing in front of the doorway out.
The brown-haired woman smiled, faintly.
“How did you know?” Lust grated, ignoring the pounding in her head.
“I just went to the easiest way out from the dungeon. And here you are. I didn’t expect to see the stranger with you, though. He’ll take your place in your old cell, once I finish you-“
A knife sprouted from her eye socket, and she dropped the bag. As Sloth reeled backward, Guts dropped his hand, yanked his crossbow out of its holster, and put a spray of bolts into her twitching form. Just as quickly, he slammed it back and moved forward, drawing the sword as he went…
“Hey, what’s wrong?” The elf floated next to Lust’s blurry eyes, and she pointed a hand in the direction of Sloth’s body.
“The… bag… Get rid of it, quickly… It weakens me…”
Puck nodded. “On it!”
And as the sprite zoomed over to the door, Guts reached it as “Juliet Davis” started to rise to her feet, still shot full of bolts, and pulled the knife out of her eye.
“You’ve just signed your death warrant-“
Guts chopped her in half.
The two halves landed, and he watched carefully. They were still for a second, and then the lower half melted as the upper one hummed and jerked, energy flashing and recreating bone, then muscle, then-
Guts chopped her in half, lengthwise.
About this point, Puck lifted up the bag and looked inside. “Yech!” With a squeal of distaste, he hauled it over to the unlit fireplace, and threw a tiny spark into the wood. The fire blazed, the bag burned, and Lust sighed as she felt the memories lift from her mind.
She walked over to where Guts was continuing to chop up Sloth’s regenerating body, his eye focused on the grisly task in front of him, and her dissolving parts from previous iterations melting into red sludge all around his feet.
“It won’t work. We don’t have the means to finish her off now.” She explained. Puck zoomed back, dusting his hands off. “I can hear more soldiers coming!”
Guts nodded. “All right. Let’s go.”
And in a heartbeat, they were out into the night. Guts started toward a sewer grate, and Lust grabbed his arm.
“Don’t touch me!“
Lust chuckled, as he threw her hand off. Ah, now I understand.
For a second, the big man shook his head, almost ruefully. “Alright, we’re even.”
“This way. I know a passage.” Lust moved to the wall, and pulled on a mossy brick. A door appeared, as sections slid aside, and she led the way down the secret tunnel.
Guts followed. “Hey, Puck. What was in the bag?”
“An old chunk of bone. Rib, I think. Hey, you know I didn’t know what human insides looked like until I ran into you?”
Lust smiled. “Why am I not surprised? And your name’s Puck? Interesting.”
“Why did it hurt you?” The swordsman asked.
She weighed her options. From his tone of voice, silence didn’t seem to be one of them. “It’s… Special. It’s one of the few things that hurts us. We don’t heal, when we’re near… Certain bones.”
There was silence for a minute, as they ran. “Then why didn’t it hurt that woman? Didn’t stop her healing that I could see.”
She cursed to herself. Smarter then he looks.
“All right. It was one of my bones, from when I was human. Are you happy now?”
“Huh. So you died?”
“Precisely. Look, I’m not interested in that right now. What I am interested in…”
She stopped, and turned around. The Swordsman looked evenly back at her, and Puck hovered to his side, watching her with open curiosity.
Her violet eyes studied them for a long moment. “Why didn’t you keep the bag? You could tell it weakened me. You could have used it to control me, I would have done anything to keep it away.”
The big man shrugged. “We could’ve. Sure. But what’s the point? As long as you’re taking me to Caska, I don’t need to hurt you. I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."
Lust blinked. She reviewed the last few minutes, seen through her blurry eyes. The swordsman had laid into Sloth, keeping her off balance with ranged attacks until he got close enough to chop her into bits. He hadn’t hesitated when Sloth started to regenerate, when most humans would have been staring in horror.
And there had been no more emotion in his face than a butcher faced with a slab of meat. He was just doing a job, no more and no less.
She blinked.
“You ARE human, aren’t you?” She’d never seen anyone react the way that he did…
He glared back at her. “Yeah. And don’t forget it.”
“My my… What’s your name?”
“Guts.”
“I’m Puck! Who are you?”
“Call me Lust.”
Puck giggled. “Wow, appropriate…”
“Great. Let’s go.”
Lust nodded, and turned around to lead the way.
Time for questions later…
She found the switch at the end of the tunnel, and threw it. The three of them emerged on the outside of the Palace walls…
…Looking straight into the surprised eyes of Edward and Alphonse Elric.
“What the heck?” Ed stepped back, as people came out of the wall.
“Guts! Puck! And… Who are you?” Al waved, as they looked around. The street was bare, except for the Elric brothers.
Lust stepped back, slightly. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. You’re Fullmetal, right?”
Ed blinked. For once, someone hadn’t confused Al with him. “Yeah. Hey, what’s going on in there?”
“Big fight out in the courtyard. Some guards said something about two alchemists against some guy. Probably over now.” Guts rumbled.
“Crap! With all that fire, that irritating Colonel’s gotta be involved in it. I’ll catch holy hell if I don’t check in with him…”
“You just want to see him get chewed out for burning things up, brother…”
“Yeah, well, I can dream, can’t I? C’mon, Al.”
Puck waved, and Guts nodded as the Elric brothers headed toward the main gate.
Lust watched them go, a speculative look in her violet eyes. “You know. They would make effective allies. They seemed pretty friendly to you, I’m sure they wouldn’t have a problem rescuing P- Caska.”
“No.” Said Guts, as he motioned her down the street. The three of them resumed a quick walk, heading for sanctuary.
“Why not?” Asked Puck. “Might be fun to travel with them.”
Guts shook his head. “They’re better off out of this.”
Lust looked back over her shoulder for a second.
“The opposition IS pretty fierce. You don’t know who you’re up against. Additional help might be sensible.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Guts said, stalking down the abandoned streets of Central.
“You could easily die… I’m telling no lies, when I tell you that they could kill an army without a second thought.”
And Guts grinned, a clenched-tooth grin that shone in the moonlight. For a second, Lust felt a flicker of memory, of emotion. Fear.
“I’m used to those odds…”
For the rest of the trip, Lust kept silent, and kept her eyes forward.
It was safer that way.
In a squalid camp at the edge of town, the scarred man watched the fires burn. He smiled at the distant flames, as they reflected from his red eyes.
He had only one arm, bound up in bandages.
They were looking for him in Eastern, so he knew he had to move on. By the time he staggered into the outskirts Central he was half-delirious from fever and pain. Running through a sewer with a major open wound had given him a hellacious infection. If he hadn’t been lucky and found the refugee camp, he’d be dead.
As it was, it was two days before he felt good enough to move around.
The headman joined him on the bench, as they sat on the discarded piece of furniture, and watched the fires burn. “It is good.” Said the headman. “But we might be blamed.”
“I doubt it.” Said Scar. “This has the marks of alchemy.”
The headman hissed between his teeth, and made the sign against evil with his fingers. Contemplating the fires with a glare, he shook his head. “We would be blamed anyway. When we were at Liore, a demon came out from the desert, a demon bearing a great sword of iron on his back. Though he had only one leg and a false arm, he started to tear us apart… Many of us died to alchemy. And you know what? We were blamed! We were told we had provoked this demon in a man’s shell, and had to go! The injusti- Ah!”
Scar had grabbed his shoulder with his good hand, and was squeezing. His eyes burned, as he looked into the headman’s face, and the headman saw death there. Not his, perhaps. Not mine, he prayed.
“Tell me about this demon.” Scar growled, and the headman nodded up and down, nodded until his head felt like falling off. “Yes! Yes, of course! I will tell you all I know…”
Scar released his shoulder, and listened, feeling the fire of vengeance grow in his heart again.
And as he listened, his fingers fell to the stone around his neck, and he stroked it with an idle motion.
Under his fingers, the Behelit stirred…
And a world away, five monsters tilted their heads, and listened to a distant call…