The Pictonians are back...
But this time...
They're BLACK.
Welcome to an epic crossover fanfiction between Hetalia and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood!
A century later, Amestris's colours are fading. Xing is beginning to dominate the world trade. Drachma is constantly attacking the other nations around him in a conquest for land. Milos has become her own independent country. The Ishballan people have fallen to plague. Xerxes is ancient history. Aerugo has forgotten what battle feels like. Creta is hyper, as always.
Amestris is hosting her annual (and amazing) Halloween party. Her future has little hope: everyone worships the past and doesn't remember how to write their own history. She's slowly dying and doing everything she can to remain alive.
On the other side of the Gate (Yes, there are still minor ties with the first series), England is testing out a new spell at a Halloween party of his own. However, when it goes wrong, all the countries attending end up crashing their parallel Halloween party.
Worse, a new threat has come to 'trick or treat'. Definitely unwelcome. But it knocks at the door anyways.
In a world with different rules, things have definitely started to go wrong.
BEWARE: THERE ARE OC x CHARACTER PAIRINGS! IF YOUR HETALIA CRUSH IS TAKEN, THEN PLEASE DON'T COMPLAIN. IF YOU WILL COMPLAIN ABOUT IT, THEN DON'T READ!
The following characters are taken: Italy, Romano, China, England, Sealand
Thank you for reading this Author's Note/Summary
The night was dark and stormy, as all good Halloween nights should be. Lightning danced across the heavens while the bellows of thunder kept the time. The wind whipped tree branches around like little ripped up candy wrappers, and the leaves were swirling around in little eddies in the wind flow. Other curious objects floated around in the autumn gale, like shreds of tattered fabric or little broken bits of picture frames or little family photographs. The rain was a complete onslaught, pouring down from the heavens like a giant waterfall. Of course, no Halloween would be complete without England trying to cast some form of spell at a party, right?
The concrete basement wasn't exactly puny, but it wasn't huge either. Its floor was smooth concrete, and the walls and ceiling weren't much different. Bookshelves lined the walls, topped with cream, vanilla scented candles. In a corner, there was a small table with a rather thick book on it.
The large book was bound in old-looking black cloth or leather or something with rubies studding it. In flowing silver handwriting, the words The Keys to the Gate were written. Slightly below that was the author's name, Edward Elric.
England opened the volume, sneezing as dust drifted up from it and tickled nasal passages. The candles in the room flickered, casting an eerie lighting over the faces of the staring countries who lined the walls. The power had gone out earlier, and none of them had anything better to do. Many of the first few pages seemed to be pure introductory, but England attempted to read them anyways. The crackling pages and fading ink, however, were a century or more old and not yielding the secrets of the prologue. The only words that could be seen through the ages were 'Amestris' and 'Germany'.
As the book moved on, though, the ink grew clearer. Detailed (but rather childish) sketches lined the pages, but the most beautiful were the magic circles labeled as 'transmutation circles' for some branch of magic or science called 'alchemy'. There were several different circles of magic, but one highlighted towards the end was labeled the best and the most accurate. England drew that magic circle on the concrete floor of the basement with white chalk and flipped to the page with the spells on it after referring to the table of contents. That same, beautifully elegant handwriting outlined the basic chant as well as some variations for different results.
The countries shifted uneasily. It was as if all of them were voting on someone to go forward and ask the question they were all wondering.
America finally came forward, breaking the long and awkward silence. "Dude, what exactly is this supposed to be?"
England's massive eyebrows furrowed and he replied, "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
As he started chanting the spell, a weird purple glow came upon the circle he had drawn. It illuminated their faces and sent a breath of hot air blasted into their faces. The candles glowed green and flickered out, leaving them all in complete black aside from the violet glow. Little black hands began dancing up out of the circle and tugging at England's pant cuffs.
Italy looked frightened as usual, and even started patting around his clothes like he was trying to find his white flag. America appeared to be fighting terror and he was muttering something about how heroes weren't supposed to be scared by strange black hands and eerie purple lights. Russia was simply laughing to himself as his scarf was being lashed around be the hot wind. Germany was trying to keep Italy from running away. Romano was cursing. China was yelling something about bad luck from America breaking a mirror and his panda backed into the bamboo basket on China's back. Canada was sitting in a corner, forgotten as usual. It was just as it normally was, minus the creepy purple lights.
For a second, there was a small apparition in the center. He was young: no older than 16. His hair was long and golden, kept back in a braid. The apparition's golden eyes flashed as the wind tore away his jacket, only to reveal that his right arm was made of metal. He looked over his shoulder at England and grinned, and then he was gone. At this point, America was flipping out.
"G-g-ghost!" He said, pointing where the apparition had been. If America was already freaked out, then imagine his shock when England started vanishing.
Actually, deconstructing is a better word. It was as if he was slowly disintegrating from the feet up. Soon, England was completely gone.
Not long after England vanished, the little black arms were lapping hungrily at the other nations in the room. China was next to begin deconstructing along with his panda, and America was soon following China. Then Italy, Germany, and Romano fell victim to the hands, and everyone else in the room felt the cold tickling of the hands after that. France was soon the only one left, daydreaming about some gushy romantic stuff when he too followed the other nations.
England opened his eyes, feeling terrible. First of all, there were several hundred pounds of people above him, suffocating him not only with their weight but their heat. He seemed to be at the bottom of the pile. He heard faint yelling.
"Creta! Drachma! You might want to come here!" It was a female voice.
"What, did Drachma break the door again?" That was another female voice, only slightly more sing-songy and higher in pitch.
"Yes, but that's not what's important!"
"Oh my god. What happened here?!"
England felt some of the other countries stirring on top of him. Italy and Romano were clinging to Germany as Germany attempted to remove himself from the heap. China was moving too, apparently. England tried to crawl out from beneath the pile and felt like he only succeeded in swallowing more dust.
He reached his arm out and felt cold October air hit his hand. The rest of him soon followed. Then someone noticed him.
"Where am I?" England asked, flopping onto his back so he could have a proper coughing fit.
"You're on my lawn, you idiot! What makes you think you can transmute a whole bunch of people right on to my lawn?" the girl in front of him demanded.
He opened his eyes and sat up. He realized that this girl looked familiar, almost exactly like the man who was standing in the center of the black magic circle. Her features were vaguely more feminine, but still extremely tomboyish. Her dirty blonde hair was neatly braided and her golden, hawk-like eyes stared at him.
Germany was trying to climb out of the pile. The Italian brothers were holding onto his legs instead of trying to get out on their own. Germany mentally cursed the fact that it seemed they were trying to pull his legs out of their sockets.
China was having a much easier time. He didn't have any Italians trying to rip his legs off.
China and Germany tumbled onto the ground, bringing Italy and Romano with them.
England ignored the girl's question and asked, "What's your name?"
"So full of questions! You know you don't just transmute yourselves onto someone's lawn and expect that you get to ask all the questions, don't you?" the girl was worked up about the fact that, a friend of hers, hadn't arrived yet.
"Well, for one thing, I don't know how the bloody hell I got here, so I think I should get to ask a few things!" England snapped back.
China was walking over now, curious about why England was talking to a girl.
Then America and Germany and Italy and Romano tumbled out of the pile, soon followed by Prussia and Japan.
"You're in Central City, Amestris. And you can call me Evelyn for now." Evelyn said, extending her right arm for a handshake.
This day seemed pretty messed up already. New world, new people, and no candy.