. HEAVEN IS LOST .
emptimidation
-
&& — oneshot
&& — edward elric
&& — general; tragedy
&& — Emptimidation does not own Fullmetal Alchemist.
Edward • A what-if oneshot. // When he needs redemption the most, his prayers are never answered.
-
His eyes are wide as he climbs to his feet with apparent difficulty, gaping openly at his surroundings. His ripped coat lies discarded several feet to his right, forgotten and unneeded. His enemies are watching closely in thinly veiled curiosity as he sways on his feet—
—Only to fall as he sees the sight he never wanted to see.
Empty armor. Desolate, lonely, fallen. To the ground. In a heap of metal. Familiar orbs that once glowed brightly from within the recesses of the helm are now closed; the childlike voice that once chirped happily to him is now silenced.
For eternity.
Even as he struggles to his feet again, his uncooperative knees buckle once again. He too lands upon the elegant floor, though in a heap of flesh, blood, and bone. And this whole time, his eyes have never parted from the sorrowful sight of that armor lying there, lifeless.
Lifeless.
"Nii-san!"
Completely, utterly lifeless.
And it's all his fault.
Of hours of playing cards on the train, rigging the game so that he can win… Of hours of chasing down the Philosopher's Stone together, shedding tears together and searching for that brighter future… Of all those years spent together, as brothers seeking redemption…
Of all his years of life, nothing could have prepared him for this final moment.
It wasn't supposed to end this way. His brother shouldn't have been lying there, soul departed, his armor body forsaken. Envy and all those cruel homunculi shouldn't have been standing there, staring at him with mild interest.
And so he stands to his feet, this time unwavering. He walks to that dull, limp, lifeless chunk of armor. He claps his hands together, as though he is praying—praying, praying, praying—for hope, and then he slams them into the unforgiving ground.
His hope burns brightly in his heart as he watches an alchemy circle flash into sight before him, surrounding the body of armor. Soon, he vows, I'll bring you back. And so, with that vow in mind, he watches as the alchemy circle remains, glowing brilliantly—
—Before dying, the magnificent colors fading to callous purple, and then fading to nothing.
He clasps his hands together. As an alchemist, a scientist, he was never one to believe in God, or some other higher deity. But now, he laces his fingers together, hands held as one, wishing and hoping and praying with all his might—and he prays for the deities to spare him of his current plight, prays for them to just. Let. Him. Bring. Al. Back.
Second try. He slams his hands into the ground and watches the alchemy circle flicker before him. But note the key word: flicker. It does not come into view, glowing superbly. It does not remain in place after appearing out of nowhere. It does not stay.
For it flickers, shining unsteadily with wavering light, before dying. Once. Again.
All he receives for his efforts is a loss of energy and shattered hope.
Except, this time, he does not have the energy to pick up the pieces and rebuild his hope. This time, he knows: Alphonse Elric is not coming back. Alphonse Elric sacrificed himself to bring you back, and he is never ever going to come back.
And this time, his hope has shattered wholly, resolve crumbled utterly, determination rent asunder.
He falls to his knees, stunned. But this time, he does not get back up. He does not stand once again. He does not turn to see the clenched fist that flies at him, courtesy of a smirking homunculus behind him.
When he needs redemption the most, his prayers are never answered.
Betrayal burns through him. Ah, good ole' betrayal. The game is over, and he is the loser. Not the winner, but the loser. And this time, he has no more lives.
This time, heaven is lost, gone with his totaled hope.