Thank you for the reviews! What an amazing response :) I hope you enjoy this chapter. I realise there are many questions; they will be answered in due course through the story as it unfolds. I don't want to spoil things ;) Again, I want to remind you that huge liberties have been taken with the plotline, so please don't kill me.
Warnings: bad language and a little torture.
Chapter Two: Of Capture, Cloaks and Crazy Cultists.
…
…
On a dark, foggy hilltop, Death Eaters were gathering. Their cloaks shrouded their faces in darkness. A spell was being cast, a dark ancient spell that made the ground heave and the air growl.
A bedraggled lump fell on the earth, it might have been a woman once, her eyes were large and owlish behind a pair of round oversized spectacles, one of the eye glasses shattered. Her head bloody and hair mussed.
"I have brought you to witness your prophesy, Miss Trelawney." Hissed a voice.
The woman shook, her whole body trembling, and said nothing. Her head was bowed over her knees, wrists strung together with magical cord. She was gasping oddly, cowering in the presence of these dark cloaked Death Eaters.
"Repeat it." hissed the voice, wand steady and menacing in the gloom. "Let me hear it once more before your death."
"I don't remember," the woman choked out desperately, eyes wild and voice deep. "Please – I beg of you… I can't remember it… Please don't…" the words melded together in a long string of unintelligible pleading, her eyes were wet and fearful. She had long been broken.
The man with the voice sneered at the spectacle, and from his wand tip burst a hellish light, catching the woman in the chest. She was dead before her bedraggled head hit the ground, wide terrified eyes open, mouth slack.
"Severus," came the calm hiss, "read the prophesy to me once more."
A dark hooded man, his eyes glittering the dark light, nodded his head once. And his voice was carefully controlled as he recited the words.
"A trap he has laid for himself in choosing his enemy… the Dark Lord doomed to fail… an otherworldly weapon summoned under full moon's light, gives the power for one to prevail."
As he finished his eyes flitted to the woman's corpse on the ground, and for a moment his face changed. But it could have been a trick of the light.
The spell was growing heavy and dank in the air, and the Dark Lord's lips curved up into a smile. They had captured this pathetic woman and tortured her for months before a new prophesy was made, it had disgusted the Dark Lord to hear her cowering away from him, utter drivel coursing from her lips as if it would somehow save her.
He had punished Severus severely, for even thinking that this woman was a true Seer. But she had succumbed in the end, a new prophesy was made as she hung suspended by her wrists from the ceiling, voice deep and echoing.
The Dark Lord knew a true vision when he saw it; he could feel the truth inside her mind as he probed with careful fingers.
It had taken longer to find and weave the ancient spell, and he had taken great delight in telling that pathetic woman of her imminent demise. A sacrifice to bring the Weapon into the World.
He would finally rid himself of that stupid, maddening, insignificant boy, Harry Potter.
He would claim this otherworldly power as his own and prevail.
…
Edward Elric was in a world of dark impenetrable nothingness. His thoughts were only of Alphonse. He hated leaving his little brother, and hoped Al would understand that this was the only way to get what they'd always wanted. He looked to his arms that had been holding his brother close to him, and screwed his golden eyes shut against the unfairness of it all.
Edward felt his arm, his precious flesh right arm returned by Alphonse, being hungrily ripped from him, and he had to grit his teeth to keep inside a yell of pain. Then, hot fire in his nerves as the automail reassembled itself, every screw and bolt intricately clicking and twisting, and long tapered metal weaving together, to form his familiar heavy grey arm.
And it was heavy, after all these years having it attached, he had forgotten just how heavy and cumbersome his automail really was. It wasn't until he had been given his true arm back that he realised the strain it had been putting on his body.
Well, Al, I promise I'll find a way to get my arm back after I clean up this Gate business, he thought, flexing his metal arm to make certain all of the parts were in place; he didn't trust Truth half as much as he trusted Winry's automail expertise.
When he came back to true awareness, it was still dark but there were now large grey shapes to be made out, looming in the gloom like figures in fog. Ed panted a little, rolling his stiff shoulder and kneading the stinging, throbbing port with his fist.
He was standing, red cloak flapping in the wind, in a – what was it? He squinted. Truth better not have dumped him in the middle of nowhere, ugh, it was just his famous Elric luck winning out again.
It seemed to be some crumbled ruins in the countryside, and for a tense second, he thought he was standing in the burned remains of his old house. But no, it was much too large and much too old. And the air smelt different; it crackled with an unknown energy – not the familiar pulse of powerful alchemy, but something equally powerful and yet unfamiliar, that left a lingering and distinct tang in the air.
As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw them. Figures in dark cloaks shrouded in the darkness. Ed's golden eyes flicked around him cautiously, and then he chanced a quick look over his shoulder, unease prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He was completely surrounded, but for the crumbling ruins.
Just. Damn. Typical. His feet slid into the familiar fighting stance drummed into him by Teacher. It had saved his life more times than he could count, and he wasn't about to be caught unawares by whoever it was that was sneaking around the countryside cornering unsuspecting innocent people like himself.
"That's no weapon," Sneered a voice, "He's nothing but a child." Ed faced the direction immediately, but the figure who owned the voice seemed indifferent to be under Ed's scrutiny. Edward could glimpse a length of white blonde hair under the dark hood of his cloak, as the man inclined his head slightly as if the sight of Edward amused him. He obviously didn't think Edward was a threat. Well, Ed would show that idiot.
Another voice, gruff, heavy. From the opposite direction. Ed swivelled his head around quickly, ponytail flapping. "Some great weapon, we should kill this whelp, he's nothing but an entrée." A husky laugh, and then laughter from all around him. Who were they calling a toddler barely out of nappies?! He widened his stance, perhaps a bit of acrobatics would show these idiots just what he was made of. He'd let them make the first move and then shit would go down.
He was weighing up the best point of attack in his mind, when another voice broke out over the snickering and sneering. It hissed, quiet and yet with so much authority that the others were immediately silenced. Despite himself, a shudder ran down Edward's spine.
"Do not underestimate him." Came the commanding hiss, "Bring him to me, I want the Weapon alive."
The order was cold and calculating, as if Ed's arrival here was planned. As if he'd been ensnared in a trap the second he'd set foot on this godforsaken world. But how was that possible? What the hell was this nonsense about a Prophesy? Damn that bastard Truth, it was bad enough Edward had been tricked into coming here in the first place, let alone being trapped the minute he arrived.
"Hey," he said loudly, and all cloaked heads instantaneously snapped to him, "Why do you guys you wear those cloaks? Too cowardly to show your faces or are you just freakishly ugly?"
It probably wasn't wise to draw all attention to himself, but Edward hardly thought he would have been able to sneak away from these guys, being completely surrounded as he was. Besides, he'd had a really crappy day so far, and if these goons wanted a fight, he'd sure as hell be glad to give them one. It would do him good to vent out his frustrations by cracking a few cloaked skulls.
He bared his teeth in a snarl as some of the figures started forward; they both looked and sounded completely, unreasonably hostile – and sure he might have insulted them a bit but they had definitely started it. Well he was more than ready to kick all of their butts, especially seeing as all they had to defend themselves were some thin pointed sticks which they were brandishing in front of them as if they were swords. He snorted at them, ready to make a snide remark about their choice of weapon when all thoughts of mockery were instantly whipped from his mind.
Ed rapidly realised he had taken the significance of these sticks too lightly.
A sharp blast of light erupted from one of them; it was only thanks to his quick, indoctrinated (thanks to Teacher) reflexes, that Edward wasn't hit. And if the sharp crackle of energy and scorch mark on the ground where he had been standing moments ago was any indication, he would have been nursing a pretty bad injury by now, if not be running around with his ass on fire.
As it was he managed a quick improvised handspring away and then legged it as fast as he could behind a craggy wall to the right, heart pounding in his chest as more beams of light shot his way. Damn it! He jumped over one crackle of energy, only to be nearly caught in the shoulder with another, having to duck and then roll quickly out of danger.
He gasped in a breath, crouching low, having finally made it behind the rocky wall. He had no idea what the hell that strange light was, and didn't feel like waiting around to find out. Time to make a speedy exit away from these weirdoes.
He clapped his hands together in a fierce echoing slap and slammed them to the ground. A dozen rocky, grass strewn fists erupted from the earth, and he smirked as he heard the surprised yells of those stupid strangers over the wall. A quick glance around his makeshift hiding place revealed that his well placed stone fists had knocked a few of those idiots out completely, and they lay sprawled beneath the towering newly constructed pillars of rock.
Ed snickered and made to turn away for a hasty retreat. But a face was there, right next to his. A face with red eyes, pale skin and a serpentine nose, like two slits.
"Enough." The snake face hissed, a dark smile curling his lips. "You have convinced me of your worth, Weapon."
A slender stick was suddenly in the man's hand and Ed's golden eyes barely had time to widen before he was caught in a burst of light from its tip.
…
The officers of the Amestrian military and friends of the Elric brothers were standing around a large intricate shining circle on the ground. They waited, barely daring to breathe as the blinding blue alchemical light slowly faded. There in the middle of the chalk drawn circle that Edward had so carefully drawn moments before, lay a small white bundle.
Silence fell. Some had expected a fanfare, a yell of triumph. a grinning Edward Elric, with his arm around his little brother, walking out into the sunshine. The two of them, whole again just like they deserved. But the circle was deathly still and much too quiet. What had happened?
Van Hoenheim let out the breath that he had been holding and stood up quickly, making his way toward the center of the circle, foot brushing out a section of it hastily to make sure it would not be activated again. The others watched him go, some with confusion and others with concern, knowing that the boys' father should be the first to witness the outcome of the alchemy.
"Edward?" Hoenheim called, but as soon as he saw the small bundle lying in the still smoking heart of the pale chalk lines, he knew that one of his sons had not made it back. He swallowed, eyes shining.
"Alphonse." He whispered, kneeling and carefully taking the bundle in his arms. It seemed Truth had covered his son's modesty at least, Alphonse lay pale and bony and wrapped in a white sheet. But he was breathing, and his heart was beating – his son was alive, in a living body! "Oh Alphonse."
But it seemed as though Truth had taken Edward as payment, the small boy was nowhere to be seen. Hoenheim felt tears prick at his eyes. Had his sons not suffered enough? They had been though so much and had not even been able to end their journey together. The sheet fell back a little, revealing Alphonse's golden hair and closed eyes.
"What is it?" He heard someone behind him ask, stark and loud against the stoic silence of the other officers. He recognised the voice; Colonel Mustang. The man was blind; he didn't know that Edward had not returned, he couldn't see the shocked sadness on the others' faces. "What's happened?" the man demanded with all the authority of a seasoned General.
A woman replied quietly, tears in her voice. And then the Colonel came stumbling into the circle supported by his lieutenant with the blonde hair and fierce sad brown eyes.
"Fullmetal?" The man was saying, blinking rapidly as if that would return his sight. It didn't look as though he was used to relying on others for information, but he held himself proudly. Back straight and face determined. "Where is he? Where is Fullmetal?"
"Sir," said the woman brusquely, but not without compassion. She had a hand on the Colonel's arm. "He didn't come back."
The Colonel closed his eyes for a moment. "… And Alphonse?"
A tentative smile. "He's here, he's… he's human. Edward did it, he brought him home."
Hoenheim could scarcely believe it himself, his youngest son was alive and had his body back – something which even he was not able to accomplish. But Edward had. His brilliant son had. "He's in my arms, Colonel." Hoenheim managed to say, "But he appears to be asleep."
"Lieutenant, call for an ambulance immediately." The Colonel pressed his lips together, clouded dark eyes solemn. His lieutenant nodded sharply and gave a quick salute before swiftly leaving through the throng of hushed military personnel. It shouldn't take long to find a military ambulance to care for Alphonse, the place was heaving with soldiers. "How is he?" asked the Colonel softly.
Hoenheim took in his son for the first time in too many years, his golden eyes memorising every inch of his young face as though he was scared it would fall away to reveal that cold metal of the armour. Alphonse was thin, bordering on skeletal, and his skin was much too pale, standing out harshly against his bright golden hair. But he was here. He was here.
Hoenheim laid a hand on that soft blonde head and sighed, "He's… Alphonse." He replied, feeling pride well up inside of him, "My beautiful son. He looks just like his brother, and has his resilience as well. He'll be just fine Colonel."
Perhaps it was because this man had recently been made blind that he didn't realise that every emotion he was feeling could be read clearly on his face. Hoenheim knew that others cared deeply for his sons, but he had rarely seen it expressed so openly.
There was relief, fear and concern in equal measure lining the Colonel's face. His eyes may have been unseeing but they still held a deep emotion.
"You cared for Edward." Hoenheim said softly. "I'm so sorry."
"I wouldn't say I cared for the brat," said the Colonel, attempting a grin that didn't reach his unseeing eyes, "but I knew him well, well enough to know that he would never leave his brother like this. The Fullmetal I know would have given up everything before his own life, in order for them to stay together. They've been through too much."
Hoenheim remembered Edward's face as he had clapped his hands together for the last time, illuminated by that ferocious crackle of electric blue light. There had been no sadness there, only determination. He did not look as though he would soon be leaving his brother; he looked as though he had a plan that could not fail.
The Colonel's mouth was a grim line, "He should be here, this isn't right."
Hoenheim may not have known Edward as well as his commanding officer, but he too knew the devotion between the two brothers. Edward had promised to bring Al's body back, true, but he would only give up his own life as a last resort, knowing that Alphonse would sooner die than live without his older brother by his side. It was a cruelty Ed would never allow.
"I think you're right Colonel." Said Hoenheim, cradling Alphonse's frail body close to his own and standing up as the blonde Lieutenant hurried back to them with medical professionals in tow, "Perhaps when Alphonse wakes up, he'll reveal what happened to Edward. But I do not believe for a second that my son is gone for good. "
…
Ed woke, blearily. The darkened room swung back and forth like a pendulum, and his brain pounded against his skull. Ugh…
His groggy golden eyes quickly assessed that he had been kidnapped. Most other people would have panicked, but Edward's mind immediately ran a mile a minute assessing all of the weaknesses of his confinement and plotting the easiest and most likely route of escape.
Despite his small number of years, he'd been in situations like this ever since he had joined the military; it practically came in the job description.
His mind took stock of his assets. Which were very few. He was manacled to a wall. His fists were snapped above his head and a bar separated the two of them, about a foot's width apart. Wait, that explained why the room was moving… it was him, swinging from the ceiling, his boots scuffing the floor. He planted his feet down firmly to stop the queasy spinning of his cell.
The bonds burned and sparked when he pulled at them, huh, maybe this was that weird energy that Truth was so worked up about. Well, he would see how it fared against his alchemy. He grinned, but it turned into more of a snarl as he pulled against the metal cuffs on his wrists and tried to touch his hands together without success.
"My Master knew you would try that again," came a sultry, ensnaring voice. Ed whipped his head around to the source, blonde hair flying. His braid had long since come undone, and his unruly bangs hung in his face.
There was a woman standing to the right in the shadows. What the hell was it with these people? Always lurking in the dark, skulking around the place, wearing ridiculous outfits, he huffed out an agitated breath, causing his bangs to flutter in front of his eyes.
"Look lady," he grunted, golden eyes blazing, "I have no idea why your creepy Master kidnapped me and decided it would be a good idea to manacle me to a wall, but if you let me outta here right now, I won't have to break your ugly face with my fist!"
And then suddenly she was flying towards him, with ungodly speed, dark eyes wide and terrifying. Face so close that Edward could see her slightly yellowed teeth glistening with spit, her beyond pale skin seeming almost ethereal in the low light.
"You filth! How dare you speak about my Master. How dare you speak at all!" and then she was holding one of those sticks in her hand, a dark withered old thing that looked as though it had been struck by lightning; coiled, twisted and grotesque. "Crucio!" she spat, and Ed bit back a scream.
Every muscle in his body clenched at the sudden pain and his back arched, manacles clacking against the stone wall as he shook and spasmed. He squeezed his eyes shut at the intensity. It was like having the automail surgery again, all of his nerve endings were on fire, the ports on his arm and leg sparked and a sharp stabbing, like live hot wires, shot through his shoulder and tore down his left leg.
Then just as suddenly, the pain stopped. And he was left gasping, hanging by his wrists, blonde hair stuck to his forehead, slick with sweat.
A wide feral grin filled his vision, those yellowed teeth baring in a way that could rival Truth's. He saw no compassion there, nothing but fevered enjoyment and a lust for other people's agony, and he realised that whatever mess he had managed to land himself in it wasn't going to be easy to get out of.
This woman was like a homunculus in her cruelty, and unless he got the hell out of these bonds, he was in for a really shitty day. Who on earth captured and tortured someone they'd only just met?
"No screams, little boy?" The woman asked, fluttering her dark hooded eyes, "I love screams. I'm sure by the end of your short life you'll be crying and begging my Master and I to stop. You'll scream until your throat bleeds."
Ed winced, not only because his body was still racked with tremors from whatever the hell had come out of that stick and hit him in the chest harder than an angry Winry with a spanner, but also because this evil woman had used the dreaded word.
Twice.
He clenched the fists that were suspended over his head, and despite the pain racking his small frame he felt the familiar anger bubbling in his chest and managed to let it out.
"Who the hell are you calling so little he can't even pay for his little brother with his body because he's not equivalent in size?!" he yelled, cheeks flushing pink. The ferocity of his yell causing him to swing back and forth again.
The woman barely flinched at the tirade, and instead her grin grew wider and she brandished out that stick of hers as if she relished the challenge in front of her.
"You shall be fun to break little boy, I shall enjoy watching you die when we have had our fun with you. Maybe I'll rip off those strange metal limbs of yours… maybe I'll cut off the other two as well, until you're nothing but a writhing helpless worm."
Looking into her deranged face, he didn't doubt that she would do just that if provoked. He wisely kept his mouth shut for once. He just needed to escape, that was all, get together a plan and leg it the hell outta here before this freak with a stick lopped off his remaining limbs.
"Bella, are you antagonising the Weapon?" another voice hissed. Ed lifted his heavy head, shaking it slightly to remove the sweaty blonde hair from his eyes, "I'm afraid I cannot allow you to dismember him just yet; he may need his limbs to perform."
Perform? What the hell? Ed glared at the newcomer, and realisation sparked in his golden eyes; it was the snake faced bastard who had knocked him unconscious. No doubt he was the ring leader of this band of freaks.
"Such defiance," hissed the man, tilting Ed's chin upwards with the point of his stick, "I must admit, at first even I doubted that the spell had worked, but though your body is that of a child, your eyes speak of death and sorrow and power. I shall soon break you, Weapon, and you shall answer only to me."
Ed rolled his eyes, these guys were so dramatic. But then, he supposed, that was always the way with crazed religious cultists. And there was no doubt in his mind that that was what these weirdoes were. Maybe they wanted him for some sacrifice or something; that would explain why they wanted him to perform for them. Watch the cripple dance before slaughtering him for their gods, yadda, yadda.
He'd seen it all before, and had taken down every last one of them with Alphonse when they had stood in his way.
The snake faced man continued, and Ed's irritation bubbled and frothed. "I have learned the hard way that nothing should be underestimated, least of all those who look the most pathetic. You may look like a small child, but I shall control you, I shall break you, little Weapon."
Right, that was it, this guy had it coming! Edward knew full well what his captors were capable of when antagonised, and had no illusions that he would not be tortured for his insolence, but a little pain was never something to keep him quiet for long, and besides, his infamous Edward Elric temper had been stirred up into a tempest.
"Look pal," he ground out, eyes flashing, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I say we fight this out one on one! You won't be so high and mighty when my metal foot's kicking your ass!"
A small silence, those red eyes flashed in anger. And the man began to pace languidly around the small cell, each slow footstep on the cold stone echoed forebodingly, "You don't know who I am, do you, little boy?" he said in a calm voice that did not match the sharp ire in his eyes.
No, Ed didn't know who this idiot was, but getting called 'little' was really getting on his nerves now. "Can't say I've ever seen your ugly mug before, no," retorted Ed, "I would probably remember seeing something as hideous as your face; would give me nightmares for weeks."
A small beat, in which Edward was studied like a worm on a hook.
"Such insolence," whispered the man, "It amuses me." Funny, this guy didn't look amused in the slightest, and the air around him was darkening considerably, like a blossoming black storm cloud. "I am Lord Voldemort." He hissed, as if the name itself was enough to invoke fear and admiration, his red eyes shining. Edward had seen that look on so many people; it was the look of someone who believed they could do anything. It was hard and cruel and insane. "And you would do well to show me respect."
In spite of himself, Edward found himself shrinking back a little. There was something unnatural in the air around this man and he didn't like the feeling of it one bit.
"Never heard of you," said Edward, golden eyes locked onto those red ones. He was determined to show no fear in the face of this creep. In his experience, a kid standing up to a larger and more frightening enemy left them baffled, and made for a quicker and easier escape, "And if this is how you treat people that you've only just met, I can't see us becoming friends anytime soon."
"Enough of this insolence. You can attempt to be brave with your foolish words all you like, it shall change nothing. I know what you are, Weapon. I summoned you. And I shall take your powers for myself."
Okay, Edward thought, trying to calm his frazzled nerves, he really was getting creeped out now; Truth didn't mention anything about this weirdo. And the more time he spent with the man, the more he knew that he had to get out of here, or he was pretty sure he'd end up dead, promise to Al, or no promise to Al.
This guy was insane.
"I can smell the power in you, I can taste it. And I shall devour it, little boy from another world."
Ed nearly opened his mouth shock. Well, that was just peachy. Man, what a kick in the teeth. His secret was out already and he'd barely been here – what, half a day at most? "What the hell are you talking about?" Ed blurted out, trying his best to widen his eyes in innocence, in the way Alphonse was so adept at, and snorted softly, "You've kidnapped the wrong guy, do I look like a weapon to you? And from another world, what are you – crazy?"
"With those false limbs. With those burning, strangely coloured, eyes. Yes, I believe you are a weapon from another world. Do not play games with me, foolish boy."
"Master," said the dark haired woman, her mad dark eyes glinting, "I can teach him how to respect you."
Thankfully, Lord Voldemort, or whatever his name was, shook his head once, with the air of someone who was firmly in control of the situation. Edward shivered. "There is no need." He said, a smile twitching at his pale lips. "I do not need you to tell me anything, little Weapon, I shall take it for myself. You shall learn to respect me soon enough."
He strode forward and that strange dark haired lady stepped aside in a flurry of dark skirts, her eyes trained only on the other man. Was that love or lust in her gaze? Either way, all thoughts were forced from Edward's brain as soon as this Voldemort guy's long spindly white fingers closed around his skull.
"Hey! Get off me -" he started to snarl but then his golden eyes suddenly lost their spark, the light fading out of them like a pinched candle wick, and his head fell limply into Voldemort's hands.
And there were those red eyes inside his head, rifling through his innermost thoughts with cold slender fingers, as easily as if they were pages in a book. The Edward inside him growled and yelled and howled at this intrusion, but his body would no longer obey him.
Edward Elric, hissed the man's voice, I see all that resides inside your head. You can hide nothing.
He damn well could hide it! He needed to get that bastard out of his mind - how was he even here in the first place? How was this possible! The dark presence was everywhere he looked, spindly black tacky chords like inverted gossamer hung from one of his thoughts to another, and more were weaving themselves towards him, a web of darkness inside his head.
"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" he yelled, attempting to push the dark presence away, but Voldemort stuck fast, the darkness sticking and oozing like tar. The more Edward tried to push, the more his hands got covered with the shadows. They stained him like ink blotting on paper.
Such a complex mind. Such horrors.
And his mother rose out of the dreary depths of his memories; her smiling face, her kind eyes that spoke only of love and affection and soft cuddles by the fire when he felt sick, of home and of little Alphonse, and then just as suddenly as the image of his mother had appeared, she was replaced with that twisted mess of flesh that he and Alphonse had resurrected. The glowing red eyes, the awkwardly bent limbs, the foggy uneven breaths as it tried to heave in a gasping wet breath. The pool of blood.
Edward backed away from it, heart thudding. Not this, anything but this.
Such power. Came the greedy hiss. What I could do with such an immense talent.
Edward had had enough, he had expected nothing short of disgust and horror from this Voldesnake bastard at viewing these terrible memories; any normal person with a scrap of a heart inside of them would have cowered away from the images. But they had elicited nothing but a delighted hunger in the man's voice. Nothing but a lust for that gruesome power to become his own. It was sickening.
"It didn't work," Ed rasped, desperately trying to regain control of his thoughts as they slipped through his fingers like wisps of image-laden smoke, "It cost me nearly everything. No one should be able to play God!"
A laugh then, a mocking breathy sneer at his misfortune. The man obviously believed differently, and Ed felt a trickle of fear running down his neck. He had no doubt that this man would use anything and anyone to get to the top.
"Get the hell out of my head!" Ed shouted, viciously trying to wipe his hands clean of the darkness that stuck there, rubbing them desperately on the front of his red cloak. But the shadows held fast to his white gloves, spreading and clawing at him as if they were those terrible hands of the Gate.
And what is this Gate?
No. He couldn't let him see that!
To Ed's horror, the large stone Gate rose up next, but the memory was growing wispy and unclear; a smear of white and grey. He could see the childlike figure of Truth, as pale as a ghost. His grinning mouth was moving but Edward could not hear the chorus of jarring voices. He could read those words loud and clear though, "Mr. Alchemist." Truth was saying, teeth bared in a grin.
An Alchemist. Alchemy. This is what you call it. It shall be mine.
Then the image faded entirely and Edward opened his eyes blearily to the real world, mind unravelled and thoughts fraying, as though Voldesnake had pulled on a loose thread and his whole world had come undone. His head was so heavy he couldn't hold it up properly. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, running down and pooling in the crease of his lips. Dark red spots on the floor.
The pale spiderlike fingers withdrew, voice elated. "Enough for today. We shall continue tomorrow, Weapon. I wouldn't like to kill you so soon, when you have so much… potential."
Despite the fact that the shadows had now retreated from his mind's eye, Edward still felt stained by them. His golden eyes looked blearily up to his hands which were suspended above his head in chains, and could still see the darkness clawing at his gloves.
…
…
Thanks for reading.