Lapis philosophorum lapis ruber lapis quantus
sacrificum vis caputo felicitas
Debes sapio debes ibi multa miseria tua retro
calamitatis habes saputo felicitas
Ubi es inpedis terra e tem pus anteactus
sapies eoquam erant cadeveris infinitatis.
PROLOGUE: Hope
The silence was almost deafening. Every now and then there was a small dripdripdrip as beads of condensation fell from the ceiling and hit the floor, echoing eerily throughout the tunnel with no pattern.
He looked up at the grating in the roof, seeing no more movement. He was alone now.
Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he moved on. Despite the solemn surroundings, he oddly felt no hint of fear whatsoever. Perhaps it was the fact that he could not put this off for any longer, and perhaps he could finally be at peace.
At least, that's what he hoped. Many, many years ago, he had learned that hope can often end in folly and sadness. He was not being pessimistic, just realistic. Living in a fantasy world can only get a person so far, before reality strikes back with a vengence.
He had no plan, no expectations. Maybe a tiny plan, but that was supposed to be for "just in case." Fate always looked with sympathy upon those who were prepared.
Yet that was the thing, he honestly had no idea what would happen once he managed to see it face to face again. He preferred to think of his opposing force as "it"--the task ahead appeared much less daunting with minimalistic pronouns.
He became distracted from his internal thoughts as his surroundings began to change as he moved on. Odd pipes of various sizes were converging on the one point, narrowing the walking space within the underground tunnel. There was a low, constant whirring that emitted from the pipes, becoming louder as the tunnel narrowed. The noise slowly crescendoed into harsh clanging with intermittent hisses.
The sounds were not the thing he sensed that disturbed him. The other thing he sensed was more subtle, and sinister.
Alchemists [and Alkahetrists, respectively] were able to "feel"alchemy being performed, or where it was once applied. Alkahetrists were extremely connected in this way, as was a majority of the country of Xing, where they titled the sensation chi.
Somehow, these pipes were transporting chi to and from a central location; in very large amounts. The weight from the sensory overload of all this energy was muffling, and it was only getting heavier and more concentrated as he traveled onward.
This oppressive energy was a burden that was signature to the one he so affectionately liked to call, the Little Man in the Flask.
He was almost there.
As if rewarding him for stumbling through the dark, a small, yellow light pierced the darkness that stretched ahead. It was a single, solitary light bulb that dangled from the ceiling. Illuminated behind it was a pair of heavy iron doors. The pipes thickened, spiraling through holes in the wall just wide enough to go through. The doors were ever so slightly cracked open, dim light spilling from within and casting shadows on the ground. Tiny pipes barely wider than an inch coiled through this opening, as if they were snakes that had been frozen in place as they tried to enter the room beyond.
The soft light streaming from the crack was inviting, patronizing. Even though he noticed the end of the tunnel, he was in no hurry to get to the end. He did not quicken his pace, he just purposely strode onward, one foot in front of the other.
Upon reaching the doors he stopped, his golden eyes locked onto the bit of room he could see through the crack in the open doors. Slowly, he reached for the spiral handle on one of the doors. The metal beneath his fingers was cool and smooth, as was the air he could now feel blowing softly on his face. The stale air.
He pulled open the door. As expected, a horrendous, constant creak screamed from the rusted hinges as the door opened. He stepped inside what he now realized was a giant room.
The cavern was expansive, the ceiling indistinguishable in the dark. The floor changed from the rough concrete in the tunnel to smooth white tile; the color alone was enough to provide some reflected illumination from the far-off solitary light source. Just like the corridor from before, pipes were strewn all about the room. They covered the floor, tens of hundreds of various sizes. The clanking and whirring was at its peak, constant and thrumming like a heartbeat. It was oddly soothing in its constant, andante four-four tempo, contrasting the situation.
He turned to his right, observing the stairs. They too were laden with tubes, all filing to a large chair that sat atop the stairs. It was a pinnacle, mimicking a throne. A throne where its king currently sat, facing the opposite direction.
He moved forward. As one foot struck the stairs, he was certain the king on the throne knew he was here. He continued up the stairs, navigating through the mess of tubing that consolidated into the chair. He stopped right behind the throne, staring down the blond head before him.
"You're alone, Number Twenty-three." Father's deep voice echoed in the sanctuary-like hall, mingling with the pipe clanking. "I expected the brothers to be with you."
Hohenheim stepped to his right, moving around the throne to face Father. "There's no need to bring a big group to punish one misbehaving child."
His counterpart was silent in response. Hohenheim yearned for a reply from the soul that had unwittingly antagonized him these hundreds of years, had been a hovering threat to him personally for so long, and plagued his guilt-filled immortal existence. He felt the numerous people that crowded his thoughts with theirs empathize and propel his newfound anger. Although he felt as if he could burst with hatred and rage backed by hundreds of thousands in the same position as he, he was felt calm and collected. His next statement was softs-poken and contained, peppered with light mockery.
"Eh?" he prodded, looking for any reaction, "My little friend from the flask?"
Eyes identical to his own in appearance, but not depth, locked on his gaze. The two embodiments of the Philosopher's Stone regarded each other. One's stare was full of confidence and severity.
The other's was filled with a glimmer of--shall he even think it--hope.
I am a blissful fool...
A/N: Once again I've taken on the rather daunting task of trying to do a full story, hopefully to completion, unlike some of my er...previous endeavors' endings. One thing this story has going for it is the fact that I have a basic outline for how I want the thing to turn out, and it just needs embellishment. My goal is to get to the end of the manga or Hohenheim's end, whichever comes first [hopefully it's the former...]. Either way, the manga's completion date is supposedly in June, with Chapter 108's release. I don't know how that will work out, we'll just wait and see.
I'll update this story quite frequently, for it is the only thing I'm working on at the moment writing-wise. My own fiction is at a sort of standstill right now, so hopefully this fan fiction will give my muse a boost.
Interesting factoid: The lyrics at the beginning are from the Full Metal Alchemist OST 1, from the song Lapis Philosophorum, and naturally the title is too. It is Latin for 'philosopher's stone,' thus an appropriate this story's depiction of Hohenheim's life.
The song is not mine, nor is the novel or are the characters from Full Metal Alchemist. They belong to their respected owners. I'm just borrowing some for a bit of fun and writing exercise ^_^