Title: Sinner.
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist.
Characters: Mostly Envy-Centric.
Series: Invidia.
Chronological Order: First.
Spoilers: For all the anime, even though this particular piece takes place before the anime series.
Beta: DramaQueen and Dynast were nice enough to go through this thing, though I'm hoping to convince Lady Jade to give it a go after she's done with her doujin. Special Thanks to Althea Astera Renata for her revision.
Rating: PG-13/R, for violence and swearing.
Genre: Drama.
Pairings: None yet.
Feedback: Please! If you spot typos, grammar, continuity (but bear in mind this is an AU fic), do tell me. I tend to write late at night and although my beta's are skilled, they can't always catch all my slips.
Quote: "All things truly wicked start from an innocence." Ernest Hemingway.
Word Count: /- 10 800. This was written in twelve hours, between Monday and Tuesday.
Notes: Invidia started as a drabble challenge for a rare pairing. But then, as I dwelled deeper into the possibilities and needs for it to work, I realized I was going to need a good background to have Envy acting and reacting as I needed him to. Thus, with the jumble of ideas in my mind, I went to sleep. The next morning, I woke up with all of it carefully sketched in my mind and set to work. Originally, It was going to be a one-shot, a long one, but then I broke the 20 000 word line and I knew this was too big for a one-shot. So Invidia got split into three main one-shots, plus two small interludes I'm working on. I hope you enjoy this as half as much as I did while writing it.
Invidia: Sinner.
"All things truly wicked start from an innocence."
The boy was small. He looked like a mouse, curled in a corner, peering curiously into a large open book. He couldn't be older than three and was having a hard time reading, but he looked cute. The man in the doorway let the corner of his lip curl upwards, then turned to the Alchemist. That curious almost mystical man that was walking around a work table with a calculative glint in his eye. The long grey robe was dirty and torn at some places, but instead of making him look run down, it added to the mysterious appeal. The stranger cleared his throat uncomfortably, and the child looked up at him. Behind muddied blonde bangs – he probably spent the morning playing outside – two bright and sharp green eyes seemed to glow at him. The Alchemist ignored him, muttering under his breath as he made notes on a wrinkled parchment.
"Er…"
"Aye, Alastor, speak or leave, but do not waste the meager air I have."
"That way you treat a friend, Paracelsus?" The stranger walked into the room, his clothes pristine and even a touch luxurious, much to the child's curiosity.
"Vyktor, go outside."
The child left silently, but not without treating himself to a last glance on the stranger, so different and yet so similar to his own father, and smiled.
"You are a smart brat, I will give you that," Alastor said with a sneer, circling the boy as a vulture would, "But you will need more than a bit of common sense for this, you will need talent," The boy shivered slightly as the black eyes fixed on him intently, "Tell me, Vyktor, do you have talent?"
"…yes."
With a backslap, the man threw him away from him, glaring.
"Answer me as if you mean it, rascal!"
Vyktor was small for his age, still very much a mouse and still too shy. Licking his lips, he knew crying in front of his tormentor would bring him no good. No, he would store his tears, cry them later when no one would see. Standing up slowly, he risked looking into the terrifying eyes of his mentor.
Alastor was an imposing man. Tall and always dressed so primly, with fine clothes and golden amulets, he was terrifying for a shy six year old boy who was trying to learn from him. The dark eyes were always looking at him with something Vyktor didn't like, as if he were another specimen for his experiments. Alastor's long black hair was always held back into a low pony tail, with a silken bow that somehow managed not to look effeminate on him. No, everything about him spoke of power and little patience for mistakes.
Certainly not enough patience to teach a young boy.
"Yes," The blonde tried to pull himself together, meeting the dark eyes and forcing himself not to whimper. He was trembling though, "Yes Master, I do have the talent."
"I will be the judge of that," The man moved unnervingly, as a big cat preparing to attack, "So eager to please your father, we shall see if the talent truly runs through blood."
"Father says he'll find a cure someday," The girl was pretty, her short black hair messy and her icy eyes almost unnaturally bright.
Vyktor shrugged, struggling to clean the vines he had been given. They were slippery and small, and Master Alastor had been very clear with him, if he didn't do it right, he would get punished. He risked a glance at the girl, crippled and weak, unlike the man that had fathered her. Her legs were thin and useless, little more than bone and skin, and her left arm was missing, but she smiled, and it made Vyktor uncomfortable for some reason.
"I dunno, Anna," He gave her an uneasy smile, "I hope so."
"Yes, and when I'm cured, I'm going to run around and play tag with you, you will play tag with me, right?" She made a small giggling noise, girlish and amused, "And I'll learn to ride a horse. Because horses are my favorite animals, they're so pretty… What's your favorite animal, Vyktor?"
"My favorite?" Vyktor smiled, showing off a missing tooth in his mouth as he shrugged, "Dragons of course! Do you think that your father we'll let us go see them then? When you're cured?"
"Dragons?" Anna laughed, and Vyktor found he didn't like it. Because she was seven and spoiled rotten, and she wasn't laughing with him. She was laughing at him. "Don't be stupid! Dragons don't exist."
"Do too!" The young blonde glared, indignation coloring his features, "Father told me so, they live in the mountains, far, far away, in Nauru."
"Nauru is a children's story," Anna said with a snort, "Your father is a liar."
"He's not!" The young boy felt his face grow red, his eyes narrowing dangerously, "Father is the best Alchemist in the world, ever."
"Sure," Anna made a condescending movement with her only hand, smirking. Even if her body was broken, she managed to make him feel smaller, less, "If it's so, then why are you learning with my father instead of him?"
As he ran away from her, lest he lose his control, Vyktor threw away the basket where he had been peeling and storing the vines. At nightfall, Alastor told him mean lies about his father and hit him a few times with his cane, to remind him who was in charge of things.
"It is quite alright," In a completely unfamiliar gesture, his father patted his back, holding him close against him.
The scent of death was strong in the air and the boy, despite his weariness, didn't ask as he let himself be held. His former Master's house had been reduced to ashes and the man himself… Anna… He couldn't really remember everything, just the bright light and the large black door, the soulless eyes behind it, promising and whispering horrible things as they stretched their fingers towards him.
"The Gate is a very unforgiving thing," His father rumbled as he held him close, "Never forget that, Vyktor, no one can really harness the power of the Gate, no matter how well thought out the arrays are."
"He said he was going to cure Anna," Wide green eyes looked up as the boy swallowed hard, "That he needed blood to make it work. My blood."
The nine year old closed his eyes again, and turned to the side, not being able to stop the wave of nausea cursing through his body. Large hands patted his back again, while his father muttered soothing nonsense that made him grin despite himself.
"I guess," The man once known as Paracelsus mused with a risen eyebrow, "That this means I've gotten myself a new apprentice then?"
Despite the fact he looked underfed, that his skin was covered in blisters from the explosion, his face pale and shallow, his hair messy and knotted… despite looking like a rag doll hastily put together, Vyktor Elric smiled, and the world seemed a little brighter as he did.
"Father?"
Stepping wearily into the lab, the boy blinked away the constant mist and tried to make out the figure bent over the worktable.
"Over here," His father waved a hand at him without looking up, but the boy didn't feel offended.
Such was the way his father was, and he wouldn't really change it.
"Mother gave me lunch," Setting the tray on a small clear space on the table, the boy nervously batted his hair away from his face.
"Mm?" Stopping his writing, his father blinked, then smiled, "Oh, food. Good."
They ate standing, since the older man kept jolting down random notes into his parchments, and the boy felt it was disrespectful to seat while his mentor was standing. At some point, his father stopped eating and writing altogether, staring instead at an apple in the tray.
"Vyktor?" Glancing over at the lanky boy, he saw him choke a bit to answer, "How old are you now?"
"I'll be twelve next spring," The boy seemed inordinately pleased with himself for some reason. It made his father smile.
"We should go to Xing," The Alchemist said suddenly, looking at his son with a certain glint in his eye.
"Why?" Vyktor blinked, he liked the mountains. Why would they leave?
"Because they have this lovely thing there, I know you will love it," The father ruffled the messed up hair in dire need of a haircut and grinned, "They call it chocolate. It's positively delightful."
"You are helpless. Absolutely helpless," The old crone smirked at him, smudging the ink of his scrolls and smirking when he snarled. But she hugged him to calm him down, and he hated it because it worked.
She was the keeper of the scrolls, the Xing equivalent of a librarian. She taught him the symbols, the language and their writing. She was a good teacher, but she liked to make him angry. She said he would need to control his temper, or die trying. She was old and wrinkled, but she knew things about almost everything, and though her sense of humor was acid at best, he delighted himself with her stories.
"Master Ming? Is this alright?" He offered her the scroll, and her dark eyes narrowed.
"Not quite," Ming Yue, sixteenth generation of scroll guardians, smirked and took the brush from the boy's hands, tracing the character herself, gracefully, smoothly, "Writing should be like your arrays, young dragon, careful and well measured. It is, after all, a reflection of your soul."
She yelled at him, smudged the lines he took hours to finish, even went as far as to hit him in the head with her writing brushes, but she always hugged him when he needed it and told him bits and pieces of stories and wisdom he couldn't quite understand, but he knew that were important. Besides, she had conspired with him, promising one day she would show him the dragons that lived in the mountains of Xing, to prove him that at least there, they were real.
"Rules are meant to be broken," She would say, smiling at fondly at him "But at the right time. Do you understand that? The key to gaining power comes from your will and the control you have over it."
And for that, the old crone would always be Master Ming, even if she was nothing like his former Master.
The scent of the capital was delightful, the boy decided, a healthy mix of animals, food, sand, wind and just the right touch of magic that made the city so beautiful. Atop her hill, the Forbidden Castle, where the emperor lived and ruled over his land. Vyktor looked up at his father, who was also enjoying the view.
"Nothing like civilization after a month in the wild, do you not think so, Vyktor?" His father was already walking down the main street, and as he had been taught, the young boy walked behind him as a sign of respect.
Whispers broke around them, since everyone knew or had heard about The Alchemist, the wizard from the West that had come to entertain their ruler. Vyktor felt slightly intimidated against the majority of the population, because not only did they talk differently, they dressed differently, ate differently; they looked different too. The young boy was too self conscious of his image as he trailed behind his father. His father was tall and imposing and people respected him. The best I can do, the blonde boy thought miserably, is get a chuckle or two for my efforts.
When they turned to the main street, his father paused in a small shop. The woman tending it smiled so brightly the room seemed to lit up as much as her eyes did, and she immediately went to hug his father and then fuss about him.
"Oh, you are back! Here, here, I made your favorite!" The chocolate scent was almost as sweet as the feeling of slender arms wrapping around him, and he allowed himself a small smile as the woman cooed at him. He was home, "Go ahead, Lord Alchemist, I will look after your son!"
His father grinned at him, then walked away to the castle. Vyktor was curious of the tall walls and the secrets that were surely lurking behind the gates of the majestic building, but at the moment he didn't care. He had chocolate, and really, what else could he need?
"Vyktor!" Wincing, the teen turned to face the wrath of his mother, looking mildly sheepish. Her eyes flashed with annoyance, "I have told you more than enough times! Do not interrupt your father's research, it is too important!"
"But-" He saw her eyes narrow in warning and sighed in defeat, "Yes mother."
"Good," She snorted and turned back to glare out of the window, at the busy streets, "The sooner he is done, the sooner we will leave this pitiful place."
"I like it," He rebelled slightly, frowning, "The people are nice and the food is good."
"The people are nice?" His mother gave him a slight disdainful look, "Sometimes you are too much your father's son. Look at them! They are not like us, distasteful beasts."
Vyktor bit back a remark, given most of his friends were locals, and bowed instead, turning to leave his mother's presence.
"Do not forget to be back early," Her voice stopped him by the doorway, as he turned to acknowledge her, she smiled, "Tonight is your birthday party and we have to make sure everything is in order."
Vyktor blinked. Today… He'd forgotten. He gave his mother a sheepish look again, shrugging.
"Oh please, Vyktor," She scowled, her lovely features turning severe, "You should be well aware this is important. Very influential people will attend, including representation from the Emperor. Your father has gained a lot of prestige here, do not ruin it with your lack of modals."
"I am sorry mother," He bowed again, hiding a slight frown, "I will be here on time."
"You better," She smiled a bit more kindly, "You do not turn fifteen every day."
Sometimes, she was very gentle and caring with him. But other times… Other times, it seemed as if nothing was worthy of her. Not father. Not him. Specially not him.
With a small shiver, Vyktor left in search of his Master. He was due another 'friendly' introduction to the ancient art of sparring, and he had never looked less forward to learning something new.
Eyes wide, he let the axe fall heavily, almost viciously against the wood. But instead of cutting cleanly as it should have, it splintered, and he swore.
"Vy, Vy, Vy…" Came a soft voice from under the large oak in the garden, "You are so terribly bad at this. Emotional trauma much?" The old woman laughed, amused at his distress and that distressed him more… until she pulled him against her and petted his back while pretending not to notice the tears.
He never cried.
"Your mother has a very special temperament, child," Ming Yue said calmly, soothingly, "That only makes it much more important for you to be good to her, to obey."
"How could I obey?" He shivered and pulled back with a betrayed look in his eyes, "She wants me to marry someone I have not even met yet!"
"It is an engagement, my dear dragon," She used the pet name sporadically, only when he was distressed or tired enough to not bother complaining, "You are sixteen, it is traditional in these lands to engage our youth so they will marry when they are twenty, it brings peace to the parent's heart, to know their children's future is more or less secure."
"But I do not want security!" The young man replied as he sat back, curling around himself as he pulled his legs to his chest, "I want to be like father, to travel and study and see the world," He gave his Master a despairing look, "Master Ming, how could my mother choose for me? What if I do not like my bride?"
The old woman was even more wrinkled than she had been when he met her, though when he had been a child, he had theorized that all the wrinkles in the world had decided to gather and live together on her.
She had hit him on the head for that comment too.
"You are not from Xing, my dear boy," Her smile was kind, countering the distressing effect of her words, "There are dragons in Xing too, have I not told you so? But the dragons from the Ba mountains are different than the ones that hide in your homeland. Both are dragons, both are power, but they belong each to their place, and nowhere else."
Vyktor blinked, frowning slightly as he tried to make sense of the riddle. She always spoke to him like that, at least when it was about something really important.
"Tomorrow I will go and speak with your mother," The old woman felt herself smile despite her serious tone, when the young man beamed at her again, "We shall see what I can do about it."
"I thought I had corrected all the damage Alastor had done!" His father snapped back, irritated.
"Do not bring him into this!" Vyktor scowled, "This has nothing to do with him."
"You know The Gate cannot be controlled!" His father gave him an icy look, "The price is too high, Vyktor, you simply cannot perform human transmutation."
"It's a matter of care, of details," He gave his father an almost pleading look. Please, I'm not making a mistake, this is serious, I promise you it is.
"Listen to me son, The Gate demands souls, human souls to be abated," His father's eyes were serious as he spoke, and Vyktor shivered slightly, hating himself as he did, "The stone… I have figured it out. How to make it, yet…"
"The cost is too high?" His heart caught in his throat, did it mean… had his father finally mastered The Art to the point nothing was impossible?
"Hundreds of them," But his father was horrified, and his miserable voice showed it, "Perhaps more."
"Oh," And Vyktor bowed his head, theories and facts about the transmutation of living things quietly and determinately shoved to the back of his mind, "Mother is sick, is she not?"
They hadn't said a thing to him, but it wasn't necessary, he wasn't blind. He saw the never ending trail of flasks in his mother's nightstand. The scent of herbal teas always boiling on the stove. Wise men from the Emperor's court, whispering softly in a language that had already become his own. The silence that settled in their home, since now all three of them spent day and night in the shabby lab, breathing fumes and drawing array after array.
"By this point," And his father looked positively dead, "I think only the stone would save her."
Ming Yue had been his mentor for nearly five years. He had arrived at her doorstep, holding his father's hand and afraid it would be like Alastor but worse, since he couldn't even understand the language. But the woman, though temperamental and strict, was also kind to him. She hit him mockingly with her writing brushes and made him do all sort of random activities to help him think. She had taught him to read, write and use certain characters as arrays. She had taught him of herbs and plants and flowers and things that were helpful by showing him when and how he could use them.
She had never, though, in those long five years, ever laid a hand on him with ill intent. She had defended him from his mother's avarice, from his own ignorance sometimes.
But that day, when her hand connected with his cheek, it hurt. It sent him stumbling back a few steps and when he could focus his eyes again, he saw her panting, angry and glaring.
"Why do you need the stone for?" She demanded, black eyes blazing, "It is but a chunk of crystal that only causes fear and pain. It is not worth it, nothing is ever worth it," And in the smoldering dark eyes, he understood, he understood, so when he was being embraced, he didn't say a thing.
He didn't need to.
They had done it, in the end, because the thought of losing her had been unbearable, too painful to contemplate. They had tried to buy time, but she was too weak, too gone…
He told himself he didn't regret it. He told his father so. But even as they watched her sleep, her face no longer pale with Death and her breathing normal and human and alive guilt crewed at their insides. Sure, those lives they had taken, they had already been taken by disease, but did they have any right at all?
"What do we do with it?"
He felt a strange emotion within him when his father let him talked to him like that, as if they were equals, as if he were a man, even if he desperately felt as a child. He glanced at the glowing red stone that his father was holding almost reverently. He could almost feel it's warmth from where he was standing, the glow of life trapped inside.
"I don't know son," He gave him a humorless smile, "I really don't know."
"Let's go home," He said suddenly, feeling his stomach revolt at the thought of staying another day in Xing.
He felt a spark of something that could have very well been hatred ignite within him, the low fire creating a slight aversion to the country itself, as if it had been it what had caused the great disaster. Or perhaps it had been the greed of the Emperor, who wished to own the Alchemist and his apprentice for his own designs. Perhaps it had been themselves, with their endless research and pointless wishes.
"Let's go home," He repeated, looking at his father with a note of pleading in his eyes, "Mother always loved the mountains."
So when they left the next morning, he left a short letter to his mentor, trying to explain himself without saying a thing. He knew, however, that the screams and the fires from Xerxes would never quite fade from his mind.
Now it was him who hid away from the lab, not wanting to be around when another fight over the stone started. His mother had developed a terrible side effect to the Elixir, an almost psychotic dependence on it. His father refused to give her more, fearing it would only worsen her condition, until he finally heard the real reason for her demands.
Then, of course, he left.
Vyktor didn't blame him, not really. He missed him, but he also knew that the stone had to be placed somewhere safe. Somewhere his mother wouldn't find it. It was bad she had become so obsessed, but it was simply unacceptable for her to find it.
No, Vyktor continued with his research on human transmutation. The why's and how's kept him up at night, and by the age of eighteen, the weight of his research had already made him look much older than he was in truth. But it was worth it, he knew he was close to a breakthrough.
To the understanding of The Gate.
So, of course, something had to go wrong.
He hadn't been paying attention, he hadn't been home for long enough, pouring over the King's libraries, manipulating things smoothly enough that his research could be carried out while the buffoon of a royal could still be appeased with shows of 'magic' here and there. He should have known his mother wouldn't give up that easily.
But until he felt the telltale feeling of Mercury fumes burning their way down his lungs, he couldn't have known what she was planning.
Oh mother, he thought ruefully as the world caved in around him, you just had to, didn't you?
He was certain he was being irresponsible. He was doing something dangerous, and even if he had been in full health, the journey itself could be lethal.
Walk twenty days, to the northwest. Straight, no matter what you find, climb, run, swim. Twenty days, straight to the northwest.
He was going to Nauru.
And when you find the peaks, high above the land of men, you will find the reign of immortality.
Vyktor coughed all the way to the peak of the mountains. Reaching through the narrow paths, he endured the cold and the winds, felt himself freeze to death almost twice a day, but he didn't falter. The words still burn in his mind, a petty fight with a crippled child that had dared to doubt his father's word.
They are the creatures who survived time. They existed before man was but an idea in the Gods' minds. They will exist when man is nothing but a tale told by the oceans and the sky.
When he reached the plateau, the fabled land of myth, he cried in silence when he saw them. They were there, free and powerful and immortal and beautiful. And Vyktor had never seen anything like them before. The image of them would be forever engraved in his mind, as the epitome of peace, of power, of nature.
But bear in mind, that these creatures are not fools. They guard the darkest secrets, but they scorn lies and their knowledge knows no end.
"Who are you?" The green reptile landed near where he was, a voice rumbling out of nowhere as the large grey eyes fixed on him, judgingly.
Speak the truth when you see their eyes, because they smell the foul rot of deceit and your death shall not be painless if you provoke their wrath.
"I am but a humble dying man," Vyktor shrugged, smiling nervously and noting faintly he was crying, "I am my Father's son."
"You are who you wish to be. If you wish to be your Father, then you will be… but I would much rather you to become yourself," The ancient creature lowered its majestic head next to him, nuzzling his chest and almost throwing him back.
And in that instant, that heartbeat, he understood.
Do you know why dragons fly, Vyktor? Because they are power and freedom, and when they wish something, they do it. It is what sets them apart. For them, there are no limits.
Because he had touched the magic that others scorned, he had breathed the scent of Time itself trapped into a creature who existed merely to fly and be free.
Thus, Vyktor knew he could die a peaceful man.
Father had come back when he had found out he was dying. Found him on his way back from the mountains, and though he asked, Vyktor refused to answer his questions.
He didn't felt so bad about dying, really. The Mercury inside him would rot and twist and disfigure him slowly and it wasn't going to be a nice way of dying, but he had made up his mind, and if anything, he was going to die with dignity. That's all he had left, anyway, given his mother had run away with her incomplete stone once she had understood the real consequences of what she had done.
No one knew of his journey, the very first secret he kept from his father, the understanding of Death.
Father didn't want him to die, though. The stone might have saved him, but neither wanted to run the risks. Neither wanted him to become like his mother, to live like that… because that was worse than death. And for the first time ever since he had brought up the idea, his father hadn't shunned Human Transmutation as an impossible, if beautiful, dream.
A perfect dream, Vyktor thought with wry amusement, now that the roles were reversed, but a dream nonetheless.
It hurt.
It hurt beyond anything he had ever felt before. Pain searing though ever inch of his body, or was it a body, really? He couldn't see, couldn't speak, couldn't hear, couldn't even hear the wail he just knew he was letting out.
He could only feel the pain, merciless pain.
The Gate cannot be controlled, Vyktor remembered in a faint moment of self, numb within his pain, oh father, if only you knew.
It was, surprisingly, his mother, rather than his father who had figured out what would make his broken and pitiful body whole again. While she had been gone, her thirst for the perfect stone hadn't dimmed, but all her experiments had merely resulted in more incomplete and, up to that point, useless attempts that she kept with her just in case she could use them later.
Upon seeing the wreck he had become, she screeched and threw everything in the room. Including that pouch where the red stones were held. They fell on him, and he wailed a little louder, because as irrational as it was, it hurt. And then one of them fell out of the bag as his mother quickly tried to get the bag away, and it just sank into him.
It was sex without the mess, Vyktor thought distantly, as his body calmed down enough he could actually feel something else but numbing pain. His mother must have noticed, because she dropped another stone. And another. Up to the point he no longer felt the pain.
That thing that was his body now reshaped, twisted and turned until he could feel again. He could see and breath and speak and be. But the very best thing was that his pain was gone. That horrible agony he would do anything to avoid.
Anything.
His father remained with him, noting with surprise that he healed far faster than he should have. That his eyes would occasionally turn purple when he was distracted with something. When he forgot his eyes were supposed to be green. He had seen the incident, had talked to him about it.
"It is the stones she fed you," He told him quietly, his eyes thoughtful, "Homunculus, you're not quite human anymore."
"I feel human enough," Vyktor replied, then paled as the stone was offered to him, "…Father?"
"Try it," He said, the red glint almost too much to resist, "It… I think it might undo whatever went wrong when…" He swallowed, "I know you can't do Alchemy anymore. This might help."
"I don't…"
But nevertheless he reached for it.
His father had been gone for such a long time. Vyktor knew why, but it hurt. He hadn't meant to swallow the stone, he really hadn't. But as soon as he had touched it, his new body had greedily taken it in, as it had done the others. He felt different, powerful, but not.
He definitely knew he wasn't human anymore.
He couldn't do Alchemy either, but he felt his new power cursing through his veins, the strength, the speed. It was not natural. He had been horrified at himself, when he had accidentally cut a finger off, and that flesh had merely melted back into him.
He wasn't human, he was a Homunculus.
His father knew, that had been the reason he was gone. Because he couldn't see him without flinching, without admitting he had sinned.
He was a Homunculus, he was a sin.
He had even tried to kill himself. Gone through all lengths of agony to end his existence, because he didn't have a life. Done everything he could think of, until he realized it. One couldn't kill something that wasn't alive in the first place.
He was a Sin, he was immortal.
And as he realized this, that spark that had been ignited so long ago flared to life.
He was immortal, and he Hated.
"Stop trying to waste it!" His mother screeched, angry, "It is a gift! The most marvelous gift of them all!"
"I'm a monster!" He yelled back, not crying, because monsters couldn't cry, "Look at me! What do you see when you look at me?"
"I see your father's last token to me," She replied quietly, and he felt he was dying for the second time when he realized she meant it.
"I'm not him!" His voice broke slightly, as he shook his head wildly, "I'm not him."
His mind flew over to point out all the differences between them. He was younger, thinner, smaller. His eyes were the wrong color, his voice was lighter, his…
The quiet gasp made him look up, and he suddenly wished he hadn't. There was a large and ornate mirror behind the chair his mother had been sitting on at the start of their discussion. Part of him died when he caught sight of his reflection.
His father was standing there, staring in horror.
He had run away, and she couldn't have stopped him. He felt a sick fascination with his new found ability, and alone in the mountains, and later in a far away town, he had tried it. He had made himself taller and shorter, thinner and fatter, his hair red and black, his eyes blue and brown. He had even dared to make himself female.
Eventually, he settled for his own body and tried to melt into the slow life of the small community. It was a bit difficult, a drastic change from everything he had been in the past, but the villagers were nice, they helped and welcomed him and he found he felt… he felt safe there.
"You're so cold all the time, my, I'd say you're a corpse if you weren't so lively!" The dark haired man winked at him, playfully, and before he could answer, he was being hugged tightly.
Safe.
These people, these simple villagers who adored the God of Snowstorms and lived out of the meager fruits of the mountain, they welcomed him, made him feel human again. But then, when he was finally starting to harbor the hope of humanity again, the sickness came and the town was wiped away by the wrath of illness.
Vyktor left after burying the last corpses and told himself firmly that a new start was in order. So he did. Again and again and again. But the wonder of his new body and his supposed freedom died after a while as did those who sheltered him, leaving a sour realization, cold and written on stone.
He wasn't human. Would never be human again.
In the depths of his exile, he created a new body for himself. One that was unique, that he would never encounter, anywhere. Small, lithe, deceptively fragile. He chose a coloring he would never find anywhere else, something that was completely unnatural.
He was a monster, and now he looked like one, a pretty monster. But a monster nonetheless.
He realized, as he let the lips of his new face curl into a grimace, he no longer had the comfort of death to soothe him.
She wasn't 'mother' anymore. She was Dante. She was his master.
She held his only weakness, and ironically enough, she wouldn't use it against him. No, her threat against him was to destroy it, thus sealing his fate to live on forever. For that, he obeyed. He stayed with her and followed her plans. He lied to her and kept from her the diaries that held the notes she needed. She didn't know he had consumed the stone nor did she know he knew how to make another.
He followed, but he hated her.
Occasionally, he felt guilt about that. One should not hate a mother.
But then he would remember he was not human anymore, and he would hug his hatred, keeping it close and tending it so it would become a roaring fire. He hated, because he existed. He existed, thus he hated.
And when she named him, the first of what would become her army, he didn't mind.
Envy.
He felt jealousy over humans. But not for their souls. Not for their humanity. Not for their lives.
He was envious of their right to die.
She let him run. She knew she held the reins over him, so she let him go. Let him hide among the humans, pretend he wasn't a monster. Encouraged him to, even.
He mixed and learnt and read and lived, but she always came for him. Before he sank too deeply into the illusion, she came to drag him back to the surface, to the truth. Truth that hurt and burnt, but that kept him sane.
She still wanted the stone, still wanted immortality, and it disgusted him, but he couldn't deny her. He had never been able to deny her.
Envy hated it. Hated Him. Hated them. Hated her. Because she would let him run away, hide, find people who he could have learnt to love... and then she would come back. Her eyes dark and glinting and so damn wicked but her voice was soft. Promising.
And even if she destroyed everything he tried to build, she would lure him back into her arms, hold him and pet him as if he were ten again and tell him it was for the best.
He hated himself for listening to her.
Dante made more like him. Six more to complete her set of perfect puppets. Fed them stones and gave them names, forced them to serve her. But still, none compared to him. He was the favorite, the strongest one.
The one that had eaten more than just red stones.
But she didn't know that, and he never told her.
She killed and destroyed and manipulated others, and he helped her, because he hated her so badly, hated humans so much. She couldn't make a stone for herself, so she convinced others to do it for her. He helped her orchestrate the killings, the destruction. To find the next body suitable for her.
Dante lead her crusade against Death. And always, always, Envy was at her right hand.
Dante had an obsessive nature, he learnt, when he stopped looking at her as his mother and finally saw her as the monster she was.
Probably worse than him, really.
She was obsessed with his father, convinced he had to be alive somewhere, though that was impossible.
She was obsessed with the stone, convinced she was meant to be immortal and be the messiah that would eventually defeat Death.
She was obsessed with him, convinced he was the key to immortality, and sure that she would find a way to gain his power without dying or having any weakness.
But over them all, she was obsessed with loneliness.
She had plenty of lovers, the bodies she chose were all beautiful, as she only demanded the best, but until then, she had never thought about making one of her lovers into her servant.
If Envy had known what would happen, he wouldn't have killed Greed. He hadn't liked her, she was loud and obnoxious and so much of a slut it disgusted him. It didn't help she had gotten it into her little head that he was just perfect for her.
He had discovered another nice thing he could do, aside changing his body to his will and, for lack of better wording, smelling others like himself. Something no other Homunculus could do. He didn't know if it was because he was older or because he had eaten the stone, but if he tried hard enough, he could steal the red stones inside another.
And that, he decided, was a rather nasty and thus lovely way to kill a pest.
He hadn't count on Dante making her newest boy-toy into the new Greed, though. And he sulked about it for a while.
The new one was even more lewd than his predecessor. Annoying too. He thought because he was on her bed most nights he was the favorite, and he tried and occasionally succeeded in railing Envy up with that.
"No, you can't," Dante had told him, glaring at him as she sat on her vanity, brushing her hair, "You can't keep killing off my servants every time they annoy you."
"He's a fucking bastard!" He snapped back, glaring, "He was coming on, on me!"
"You will not kill Greed, Envy, and that's final," And her voice held ice in it, "Or I'll make sure no one ever kills you."
This time, he had fled to somewhere not even Dante would find him. Mostly because she didn't know it existed.
"You, you're strong. Will you teach me to be strong?" The young girl looked up at him, uncaring of the writhing Homunculus on the floor, or the dead humans around. Her black eyes were wide and her smile was silly, but she was brave.
"I don't think this is a good idea, Master," The woman shivered even inside her thick furs, eyes scanning the paper critically, "No one would ever be able to undo this."
"Look Master! I made it all by my self!" She offered him a delicate cup, transmuted from a patch of dirt and turned into art, "You were gone so long this time! I learnt all the books you gave me! I can recite if you don't believe me!"
"That's precisely the point," He snorted, "This is something no one should ever find."
"I wish… I don't know. I don't know what I want, is that bad? I think it's what makes me human," She was a pretty girl, small and lovely. And she curled against him, asking questions that had no answers. He hugged her first, and felt strangely better as he did.
She was pretty, very obviously coming from Xing, with her long hair and her dark eyes. Envy had met her years earlier, while selecting the current Wrath, and had found her Alchemic talent and her will to learn alluring in some way. When she confronted him and demanded he taught her, he had agreed, and kept yet another secret from Dante.
"So you're not human, big deal," The teenager snorted, messy hair falling over her brow as her lips thinned, "Homunculus, human… who cares? You're Master, that's all that matters, right?"
"What's in there?" She asked curiously, looking at the sealed boxes curiously.
"That's my sister, Xi Tze. She's married to a really important man in Xing," Xi Feng smiled faintly, "I wrote her about you and she was scandalized. She says you have to go and meet her someday."
"If I told you, I'd have to kill you, Xi Feng" He replied with a smirk, watching as she smiled.
"I've grown, Master, now I have students of my own," The young woman smiled wryly, "You were really gone for too long this time."
"I'm going to die anyway," Her acceptance of death was the confirmation he needed to know he was doing things right, for once.
"I'm ill, Master, I will die soon," Her eyes glinted, peaceful and mischievous at the same time, "Don't look so sad. It happens to everyone. I just regret you never took me to see the mountains."
A fit of coughing sized her, and she shook violently. It lasted a few minutes, finally ending when she rested her weight against the cold rocks of the mountain wall, blood dripping down her lips.
"Nauru? It exists?" Her eyes had gone wide and curious, as they had been when she was a child, "Are you serious? Of course I'll do it! I'd rather die on the way – not that I'm going to, by the way – than sitting here all day. These people don't get it, they keep mourning me as if I was dead already!"
"Tell me," Her voice was broken, her throat protesting loudly at her recklessness and the cold weather.
"Master!" Her squeal of delight had caused him to chuckle as the large beast came down to them, to ask the same questions it had asked two hundred years before. Her eyes had widened ridiculously as he showed his face, not willing to provoke the wrath of the ancient creatures with his deceiving tricks.
"Sins," Envy replied, looking down with disdain at the boxes that held all his knowledge, "All my sins."
"Thank you for bringing me here, for sharing this," She hugged him tightly, eyes closed as tears gathered under their lids, and when she pulled away her smile was watery, "I'm still such a human, aren't I?"
And as she transmutated the rock to follow the carefully traced pattern, using the array for him, he saw her give away the last remains of life within her. He hated her deeply when she fell dead to his feet, the seal completed.
He hated himself when he broke his word, and cried for a human he had loved.
For a taboo, Envy mused wryly, Human Transmutation was fairly common. It was his job selecting the Homunculi that would remain in Dante's service and destroying those that were unfit for a role within the Sins. Dante only knew he could kill others like himself, not that he consumed them as if they were a delicacy. At a spiritual level, Envy felt himself strangely sated after consuming another failure, as if something within him strengthened every time he did. His power only grew with the red stones though, which he still consumed from time to time, when he could delight himself by killing a fellow Sin.
There were only two which he had been ordered not to touch. Greed, whom Dante still obsessed over, and Gluttony, who produced the precious stones they fed on.
The others, Dante didn't care much about, so as long as they were replaced.
"Do you think Mistress will make me human?"
The quiet voice brought Envy out of his contemplation and he turned to look at the 'newborn'. Sloth. He sneered at the teen. This one was promising, if only Envy could break those stupid human illusions he still clung to. The soft grey hair was a nice touch, he admitted, and stored the shade away to use in a future disguise. The brat was pretty, if anything, with the large eyes and the sad, beaten up puppy look.
"Why would you want to be human again?" The elder Sin snapped snidely, "To get killed again?"
"No," Sloth shook his head, but his face remained terribly blank, sort of, "I just don't want mother to be upset."
Envy froze for a second, then stormed away with a growl.
Greed was the perfect excuse, really. Everyone knew they hated each other, and since Dante wouldn't let him touch the bastard, Envy had the perfect reason to leave.
Xing was different this time. Not quite like he remembered, but with an aching sense of familiarity. The Imperial Castle still stood imposing on her hill, overlooking the capital. People still sold things in the streets, and their language had changed little over time. He did noticed, however, that certain Ishbalan words were mixing into the already complicated structure, and he figured it was nothing more but a side effect of trade.
Xi Tze was a lovely woman, younger than Xi Feng had been, six or seven years so, but when Envy finally got his ass on the move, he had found an ancient woman, well past her hundred years, wrinkled and prone in bed. Memories of his own Master came unbidden for a moment, before he roughly pushed them away.
He talked to her, about her sister, about his world, about nothing really. He talked and talked and talked until there was nothing left to be said and she had presented him to all her children and grand children.
"If you are ever in need," Xi Tze raised a hand, to cut off the indignant remark that was threatening to spill from the Homunculus mouth, "I know what you are, but hear me, if you ever need a thing, and any of my children, pathetic human things that they are, can provide it for you. Ask, because you have my blessing, and your name will not be forgotten under this roof."
He left that very night, disturbed beyond words and cursing his former apprentice to The Gate and beyond.
It felt refreshing somehow. Dante had known he needed this, the thrill of hunting, of delivering a deadly blow and allow the scent of death and blood to rush all over him.
He had been required to impersonate a boy and do the old 'orphan' routine, and while that on itself was pretty boring, dispatching the boy whose identity he was going to take and his family was not. Envy was, when the time was right, capable of an unnerving amount of cruelty.
By the time he was done, there were no remains of the little family, and his recent trip to Xinghad been pushed far into the back of his mind.
He was a monster, and monsters didn't need blessings.
"Oh look at you," The mayor of the town said gently, "Don't worry, child, we will take good care of you."
The small brown haired boy nodded shyly, biting his lip and holding back tears. The perfect image of broken innocence.
But if you looked closely, you could see the dark amusement lingering in his eyes, and a bloodlust that was not nearly sated enough.
"So it's true, you are alive after all."
The Alchemist blinked for a moment at the apparition before him, taking in the slender body, the strange colored hair, the undead eyes. It took him a moment, but recognition took into his features and he mustered a small, humorless smile.
"Vyktor," The man that now called himself Hohenheim said evenly, surprised at the frosty tone, but deciding he should have expected it, "It has been long, has it not?"
"Your son is dead," Envy spat with a glare, "And it hasn't been nearly long enough."
"I will never be, will it?" The Alchemist smiled, and it made Envy feel small; he hated him for it, "Not for us anyway."
"Why?" Envy didn't bother to clarify what he was asking, it was a rhetoric question against the world at large, a demand that he knew would meet no answer.
"The Gate is… an unforgiving thing," The older man – and Envy took a moment to marvel that he was older than him, it wasn't something he felt everyday – looked at him wryly, smiling thinly, "What it gives, it is not always what you bargained for."
"The stone," The assumption was automatic.
He knew, damn himself for knowing, but he knew that the man would never mess with The Gate. Understanding of it had been his dream, Vyktor's dream. Hohenheim only wished to find the limits, to trace and solidify them. Make them tangible. Vyktor was the dreamer, the one who thought everything was possible, that the rule of Equivalent Exchange his father had worked so hard on creating could be missed, cheated. When he had been alive, that contradictory view of their art had been what had allowed them to work well together, to create almost miracles, by mixing of their knowledge.
Vyktor's knowledge was sealed away in a forgotten mountain of the Briggs range and Envy had no use for theories that had meant everything for a silly human that thought he could bend the world to his will.
"I can see," Hohenheim said with a shrug, "And speak, sometimes, but It will no longer let me interfere."
"Dante continues to create fake stones," Envy informed him snidely, surprised when he wasn't pleased by the almost unnoticeable flinch on the Alchemist's shoulders, "They are close, but not good enough. She changes from body to body, but they rot faster each time."
"You are smart Vy-" The blond paused as the purple eyes glared at him, and with a sigh humored the volatile Sin, "Envy. You always were. She can't make the stone, she's not good enough. The more she uses that silly method to try and cheat The Gate, the more of her soul the Gate will steal with every change."
"So she's gonna die, big fucking deal," The Homunculus crossed his arms, looking away, "She should enjoy her goddamn luck."
"There will come a time," And Hohenheim looked grim, deadly serious and concerned, "When the patience of The Gate, to put it somehow, will reach an end. And you and I will be of the few that will remain standing to clean up this mess."
"Fuck you!" Envy cried angrily, stomping his foot and not caring if it was childish.
The Alchemist walked past and away from him, getting lost in the long road ahead. Alone at a solitary crossroad, Envy collapsed finally, hugging himself and allowing a few stray tears to fall.
"Fuck you," He repeated, a breathy whisper as he morphed into a bird, taking flight.
He hated his father for many reasons, but the most important was that he still dared to make him feel human. Even if he wasn't.
The new Lust was lovely, really. And much more likeable than her predecessor. It was a shame the stone hadn't been forged completely. Oh well, Envy thought as he motioned the taller woman to follow him, can't win them all.
"Where are we going?" She asked a bit dizzily, her body trembling slightly.
Envy looked at her again, and a hundred ways of answering opened up to him. She was still human somewhat, though that was strange given her memories were gone. But he liked her, and he figured he should try to build the first bridge.
He knew, somehow, this was not a Homunculus he would ever bring himself to feed from.
"Home," Lust smiled gratefully, "We're going home."
And Envy firmly told himself he was not lying.
"Fine," Dante looked at him with a frown, disdain glinting in her eyes, as her lips twisted into a grimace, "But you still can't kill him. He will be useful later."
Envy bit the inside of his mouth to keep from retorting something snide that would get him hauled out of the room with a bolt of light, and instead nodded curtly. He left the manor for a few days, coming up with a plan and a good way to humiliate the bastard, while at the same time sending the message loud and clear for the other Homunculi to hear. Even if they were all immortal, he was the one in charge.
To tell the truth, Greed hadn't expected it. In Envy's opinion, that just proved how much of an idiot the other was, but he hadn't noticed, not even suspected a thing. He had made sure everyone was present. From the tight ass Pride who was biding his time and preparing a new and larger scheme with Dante, to the stupid Gluttony, who only thought about eating.
"You're late Greed," Envy called out as the taller Homunculus arrived.
He tensed. There was something quite out of place in the smugness of Envy's voice, something Greed really didn't like. The others watched, curious and slightly nervous as their oldest brother, the one that had fed them the stones after their creation, smiled in that horribly foretelling way. Pride was the first to know it, but it was unfair because he was using his eye, and Envy took a moment to relish in the panic that raised in the usually stoic Sin.
"Yeah, so what?" Greed looked at him over the rim of his sunglasses, shrugging, "Want me to say I won't do it again or something, brat?"
There was an unanimous flinch from the other Sins, but Greed didn't mind them. To his eyes, they were all puny cowards who feared a shitty brat. He had never seen anything out of the extraordinary in Envy. Sure, he might be older by a few years, but he still acted pretty childish most of the time.
What could he do to him anyway? Kill him?
"Oh, don't worry your little brain about it," Envy smiled, "You will not be late again, ever."
And as the five remaining Homunculi were forced to watch as Greed was forcefully shoved into a seal, Envy delighted himself and smiled the entire time.
The were good children, reluctantly, Envy admitted that much. They were also painfully Elric children. The hair, the movements, the way they crowded around a book, the way they clumsily made their first arrays. The lack of the discipline from a teacher or the familiar touch of a parent was obvious, but they had talent. Oh, didn't they have talent.
Elric was a name that screamed Alchemy, it was in their blood.
He watched them and hated them and longed for them, in ways he couldn't really explain. The older one was energetic, brave and determined. He worked hard and did everything he could to please his parents and his brother. But the younger one intrigued Envy. Oh, he was an Elric, there was no doubt about it, but he didn't really act like it. For one, he was quiet. He sat back and watched his big brother work and didn't do a thing until he had told him it was fine. Submission was not something Envy could easily identify with the name Elric, but he figured genetics were a capricious thing.
They remind him of another child, who had once held their name and whose first array had been to fix a cup he had been clumsy enough to break. A child who had thought everything was possible, who could bend the world to his will.
"A fat lot of good that did," The Sin muttered as he walked away, ready to report to Dante, when he felt eyes on himself.
Turning around, he snorted upon seeing the man standing by the door of the house. Their eyes met for a second that felt like an eternity to both. Envy shrugged, then turned on his heel and walked away, not caring in the slightless about the remorse he saw in the man's face.
He couldn't have known that as he bowed to Dante that very night, Hohenheim Elric had already left the small house.
Envy arched an eyebrow as he dodged another blow to his head. Feisty little thing, but he figured it was because of the red hair. Redheads were always so difficult to deal with.
"No!" Wrath screamed as he launched himself against him in another pitiful attempt to save his hide.
When that failed, the kid set himself on fire. Oh really, Envy thought with annoyance, why can't you just fucking die peacefully? The 'living' torch ran blindly towards him, screeching, and do you really think I didn't come prepared?
There was an ominous splash and a subsequent scream as Wrath fell down, hissing and spiting.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, get some dignity," He sank his fingers into the lanky body, delighting on the shriek that tore out of his fellow Homunculus' throat as the red stones were ripped out of his body.
Watching the disintegrating mass of… well, whatever it was that made up a Homunculus, with disdain, Envy morphed into a copy of the one he had just destroyed.
After all, he needed somewhere to rest and that lovely family Wrath had been working on had a rather nice house.
"I found you a replacement, so stop scowling."
Dante looked up from the book she had been attempting to read and snorted. The room they were in was luxurious – as was anything Dante owned – and it reeked with decadence and opulence. The ceiling of the library was tall, the bookshelves stretched to either side, and the large windows allowed the late afternoon sun to filter in. Pride paid for most of their expenses, hoping to keep Dante in a good mood by showering her with presents and lavish decorations on her home. She allowed it, but gave no sign of appreciation for the Homunculus' efforts.
Envy personally thought it was a bit overdone.
Standing up, Dante placed her book on a nearby table, where there was a bottle of wine and an almost empty glass.
"Where?" Her eyes looked not too pleased with the results.
"Dublith," Envy smiled and Dante found she didn't like the sight.
It felt as if their roles were reversed somehow.
"I believe you're familiar with the name Izumi?"
They were really Elric children, Envy mused, as he returned to the same house in less than ten years. They were different now, cracked, but not broken. Worse for them, the Sin mused over the situation as he fed his newest 'sister', those that break, can be put back together. Those that crack, shatter.
"Who-" The woman stared at him for a moment, her body almost lax as she blinked repeatedly.
"Sloth," He acknowledged her with a smirk, "Your master is expecting you."
The bewildered woman followed him, confused but willing, and he wondered what kind of reaction this would bring out of the so called 'brothers'.
Not that he cared really, but the last century had been a big, fucking, boring blast.
Envy broke the man's neck with a loud 'crack'. Not because Dante had ordered him. Not because it was part of a mission. Not because it was necessary.
No, he did it because it was fun.
He had never considered himself a psychopath. He still didn't. To be one, in his mind, he would need to kill someone like him. So, given there wasn't anyone quite like him, he was merely following the laws of nature. The stronger survive, the weaker become food or entertainment. Or both.
Truth was, he was bored. Dante's schemes were growing more and more predictable and down right clichéd.
"You always leave such a mess, Envy," Turning around, he found Lust scowling at the doorway, "Who do you think is going to clean all this?"
"Bah," And he shrugged, not really caring about the matter, "It's just humans, Lust, who cares anyway?"
She gave him a strange look for a moment, as if she didn't recognize him, but then she shrugged and smiled.
"Yes, you're quite right," She linked an arm with him, eyes alight with deviousness, "Buy me dinner?"
And though he was scowling, Envy couldn't really say no to her. She wasn't human after all.
He mulled over his first meeting with the Elric brothers. His first formal meeting anyway. Oh, the kids were Elric alright, determined, passionate… blond. Envy wondered how Dante would deal with them, then figured he really didn't care, at the very least, they would provide him with amusement, and that was all that mattered.
His next assignment was muddy though, and though he would have really loved to do it on his own, he supposed working with Lust and Sloth wasn't so bad. At least he wouldn't be hearing Wrath's rants, shadowing the brat as he roamed 'his' island. The stupid brat irritated him to no end, though he couldn't really say why, but at that point, and with so much going on, he couldn't give himself the luxury of killing him. The sad truth was that he was needed and Envy had no intentions of provoking Dante's wrath – pun not intended – by dispatching the brat.
And speaking of dispatching, Envy heard the voices and smirked, that was his cue to enter the stage.
The play was fairly smooth, the script was flawless. The man, Hughes, was rather smart, but he didn't catch on to the trick until it was too late. With a feral grin, Envy willed his body into a different shape, delighting in the change of expression of his victim.
It went from weariness and just a hint of defiance to blind panic, and in that second, he struck.
"You're so damn pathetic," He told him as he bled to death, watching the skin go shallow, "But that's alright. You're a human, you're supposed to be pathetic."
"Who…" The man's voice was broken as he cough up blood.
Envy didn't like using guns to kill off his victims. They were messy and ineffective, generally leading to a dramatic death that was more clichéd than anything.
"A sinner," The Homunculus said even as he willed his body to melt back into his favorite form, allowing the man to see the face of who had killed him, "Just like everyone else."
Envy felt inordinately pleased with himself when he watched the light dim and finally extinguish itself in the man's eyes.
Maes Hughes was dead.
Envy was content.
(A/N) To be continued in Invidia: "Penitence."
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