Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist or any part of it, but I do own this writing, and will take action if anybody tries to pass it off as their own. That being said, I don't mind if you use any part of this story as long as you properly credit me.

This is only a prologue (as stated in the title). I've done most of the work on the first chapter and now I basically just have revision left, so it'll be up in the next day or so. Enjoy!

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Rain fell in torrents upon the sleepy little town of Zerotime, and the town was preparing for one of the worst storms of the century; even some of the coalmines had been closed. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed to the extent that the ground itself seemed to tremble in fear of what the storm's wrath would bring. Somewhere, a diligent priest rang the church bell in warning, struggling to keep his balance against the strong winds blowing against the belfry. In a matter of minutes, the storm began to unleash its strength full-force on the small town. By five o'clock, the streets were cleared entirely.

Except for one lone figure.

The rain had accumulated in inches, and the water was already knee-deep to an adult. The thunder boomed and lightning flashed louder and brighter than ever before, and the water began to make small waves. If any passerby had taken the time to observe them, or if there had been any passerby, they would have noticed that the waves had all centered on one target.

One lone target. A man with long tangled gray hair wearing a long worn trench coat treaded through the now hip-deep water as if it had been as sunny and dry as a summer drought. He sheltered a cluster of small wooden chests as if each of them held a helpless baby. And, in a sense, they did. The man quickened his pace, and so did the winds and waves blowing against him. Nature itself was attempting to hold him back, but to no avail. The man stood in front of a small boarded up house. This house had been abandoned years ago, and it was evident why. In an alchemic mishap resulting in a fiery explosion, the entire left side of the house had been carved out, leaving only eerie silhouettes of the victims embedded into the walls as evidence that they had ever been there. The bell rang from the church again, blown by the wind as the earth's final warning. At this, however, the man cracked a smile. He placed each wooden box carefully into what was left of the kitchen and then climbed into it.

The water was shallow in the house, due to the raised foundation, but still not suitable for his plans. He pulled his wrinkled hands out of the baggy and torn sleeves, revealing each to have a series of complex markings making up two transmutation circles. The man pressed them against the cold stone and water, and transmuted etchings into the stone itself to make the circle he needed. He then raised the area in the direct center of the circle, and counted out each ingredient as he pulled it out of every chest. 25 kilograms of carbon, 4 liters of ammonia, 1.5 kilograms of lime, 800 grams of phosphorous, 250 grams of salt, 100 grams of saltpeter, 80 grams of sulfur, 7.5 grams of fluorine, 5 grams of iron, 3 grams of silicon, and bits of 15 other elements. He then examined the water around the etched circle, making sure there was a decent abundance. For his final preparation, he produced a wrinkled photograph from the baggy inside pocket of his coat. The picture depicted a young man with short silver hair and a stern face attired in a military uniform with a silver watch slightly hanging out of one pocket. He laid the photograph on top of the rest of the ingredients, and felt tears joining the raindrops that had been streaming down his face.

"I'm going to fix everything now… I'm going to breathe life into you once more."

He pressed his hands to the cold stone once more, and began to pray. The thunder and lightning met with the blinding light from the transmutation below, and a spectrum of colors radiated from the small house. The man smiled, but soon the spectrum turned to the darkest colors imaginable, and he realized something had gone horribly wrong. Suddenly, he was blown back from the circle and into the water, and could only stare as he lost control of the calamity that was unfolding before him. He screamed in pain, and fell into the water further, clutching his heart.

Or where it would have been.

He felt his body begin to shut down, and took one last look at his creation; he wished he hadn't. A grotesque being met his gaze, showing no humanlike characteristics at all, much less the boy he had tried to repent his sins by reviving. His last words subconsciously formed on his lips.

"Why couldn't it have been me?"

And with that, he plummeted into the water, his body flowing through the flooded streets through the trail of the water. It was clear now that the earth had not been trembling in fear; it had been weeping.