Enigma
Part 1: Blood Lines
Summary
When several mysterious beings attack and destroy central command, they manage to steal an ancient tome that is rumored to be a keystone in an ancient conspiracy. Planning to use it in bringing about the end of times. Unwilling to take the chance, Mustang calls an unlikely group of fighters to serve as emissaries for the State Military. And with little to lose, they set out on a globe trekking mission to find the thieves. Uncovering something much larger than what they expected in the process, it will take everything they have to survive. But will they succeed?
Prologue
"Rest in peace."
"It's a solemn desire, our final plea on behalf of our dead. The hope that somewhere, beyond the reality we know, the ones we love are at peace.
It's an old hope. But on the whole a mostly effective one."
Roy Mustang had his back turned to the Preacher, but he heard the closing words of the sermon. And with nowhere else to look in the inky dark night, he kept his gaze fixed on the neat rows of newly planted headstones and granite angels. Listening as the shuffle of muted feet on grass and the occasional hitch of breath announced the migration towards the large iron gates.
The funerals were over for now, and as guilty as he felt for being so, Mustang was glad. Twelve burials in ten days was taxing for anyone, and while he was used to death there was not much he could do for anyone except make sure the firing ceremony went well. It wasn't easy to lose subordinates, and Roy had little trouble remembering how many times he had been a harbinger of death. Stepping into doorways or under awnings and explaining why he was disrupting otherwise peaceful lives wasn't an easy job to forget. It damned difficult, and more than once he had had to catch a swooning woman, or get down on a knee to look a child in the eyes. But he did it anyway, and he ended it the same way every time. Almost religiously, Mustang parted with the words: I'm sorry.
He didn't know why exactly, but in a lot of ways it seemed appropriate. It let him keep his professional stance, it let him express his sympathies. And did he mean it? Yes. In all the cases he could recall, Roy Mustang had meant what he said when he apologized. But right here and now he felt as though he needed to apologize to his fallen soldiers. But what could he apologize for? The fact they had died? Because some kind of sneaky little bastard has managed to reduce the Central Command building to nothing but a huge funeral pyre while he was gone for a few days? It was hard to know.
"And in any case, what did they do to deserve this anyway?"
The funeral goers were gone now, and Mustang spoke out loud to the tombstones and the silent audience beneath. "What did any of us do to deserve this, huh?"
Then he raised his arms momentarily, in what would have been a questioning gesture to the Heavens, but dropped them at the last second. Instead settling for a tired shrug.
"I don't know. I can't tell you. I wish to God I could, but I can't. For the life of me, I can't tell you what kind of screwed-up equal exchange this is."
The gravestones took the news well, unabashed by the Colonel's confession. And after one more salute for good measure, Mustang turned to leave.
That was when the wind picked up. Warm and stale smelling, it whipped suddenly into existence and stirred the grayish brown grass into a tiny chorus of dry whispers.
Mustang grunted, a pseudo sound of surprise and irritation.
"Must be a storm coming." He didn't say it to anyone in particular. It was just an observation and he made a mental note to keep an umbrella handy for next time.
"Oh you're very right Colonel." Someone said, voice as dry and dusty sound sounding as the grass's whispers had been. "There is a storm coming."
"Who-"
Years of instinct took control, and in one fluid movement Mustang had his trademark white gloves out and on his hand. Fingers in position, he whirled around to face his companion.
The man leaned against the crumbling wall of a mausoleum, twirling a dark wooden walking stick in his hand. Skin a pallid gray, and wisps of salt and pepper hair sticking out from under a leopard printed Fedora hat, he looked up at Mustang, saw the defensive stance and grinned. The action revealing a mouthful of nicotine stained teeth.
"My dear Colonel, I'm sorry if I startled you. I tend to forget what a quiet man I am." He pushed off of the wall with a shrug of his shoulders and with a crinkle of fabric, his thin body detached itself from the stone. Looking almost like a dried weed in the slick brown suit he wore.
"When the hell did he get here without me noticing? Was he part of the procession? I don't remember seeing him." The Colonel didn't say anything, and though an incredibly quiet old man wasn't exactly an emergency, something didn't feel right. But he put his hand down, and lest the man think otherwise, put on a polite yet professional smile. "That's quite all right Sir. No harm done."
"No harm done."The man echoed, the shit eating grin still on his face. "I just thought I'd come by and apologize."
"For what?" Mustang lifted an eyebrow quizzically.
"For the storm.: The man replied, as though it were a universally known fact. "Also, for what happened to those fellas there." He gestured vaguely at the twelve gravestones with the end of his cane. "It wasn't supposed to go down like that you see."
The polite smile vanished from Mustang's face and he didn't know whether to be surprised or angry. So he went with angry.
"You had something to do with what happened?" He asked darkly, taking a step forward. "You helped kill the men and destroy Central Command?"
The cane end dropped, and the weedy man shook his head almost sadly. "It wasn't supposed to go down like that."
Then Roy made his move, bringing an arm around and catching a handful of the man's shiny suit with one hand. With the other, he grabbed a shoulder and slammed the lanky body against the wall of the mausoleum, hearing the air exit in a loud whuoosh.
"If there wasn't protocol I had to follow you'd be six feet in the ground yourself." He said, a steely tone of fury in his voice. "People who screw with my subordinates and my station don't get off easily."
The man against the wall smiled again, but it was gentler this time, not so smug. And he stayed silent, the toes of his winged tipped shoes just barely tapping the ground.
"Are you going to tell me who you are?" Mustang asked, giving a fierce shake. "Or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"
His prisoner considered for a moment before replying. "We don't know exactly what we are Colonel. I can tell you we definitely aren't what we used to be. But with Heaven's help, we'll be that again one day soon."
Mustang gritted his teeth and knocked the man against the wall again. "You better damn well start making sense. And who is we?"
"I can't really explain it. The best way is to show you I guess."
With that, he closed his eyes and relaxed in the Colonel's grip. For a second they stood there looking like an odd pair of dancers that had forgotten the next step in their routine. The man against the wall smiling serenely, and Mustang looking infuriated and confused.
Then the body beneath his left hand shifted horribly. Mustang lost his grip for a split second, and a powerful shove knocked him to the ground. The smaller man doubled over and there was a horrible sound of cracking bones and ripping flesh. Something large surged inside the brown suit, and it ripped open at the seam to reveal a furry back of gristled skin and malformed knots of muscle.
"You see, Colonel," the abomination began, it's voice becoming guttural and snarling. "We don't know what we are. But we're trying to figure it out. That's why we needed the book. That's why we stole it."
It large and now ape-like hands came up and covered it's face. Another cracking sound and a face with canine like jaws and a wiggling porcine snout came into view, greenish black scales rimming the edge of it's chin. The suit fell away completely then, ripped to shreds by the bulging muscle evolution would have eliminated thousands of years ago.
Mustang, still trying to process this, clamped his jaws together and stood. Watching whatever it was climb to it's clawed feet.
"We're something that can't be explained. But in a way I guess you've heard of us." It looked up then, shining yellow snake eyes fixing on the Colonel.
"Are you some kind of Chimera?" Mustang asked, as that was the only thing that came to mind. "An experiment of some kind?"
The thing shook it's head vigorously, sending a spray of thick saliva flying into the void. "Nothing of the sort. Don't you see Colonel? We're the Damned. My brother's and sisters, all of us! But we want to be something more, that's why we stole the book. We didn't mean to kill those people, but it happens sometimes. And I meant it when I apologized. You understand don't you?"
There was a snap, and orange flames sparked to life. Finding ground in the thick fur, it ran up like thin bright snakes, and then exploded. The creature howled in pain, and Mustang raised his fingers again. But before he could attack again the thing slapped his palms together.
"Oh no you don't!" Mustang jumped forward as a purple ring of light appeared around the creature. But just as he reached it, the ground opened up and swallowed the beast.
The Colonel skidded to a stop just as the hole closed. Leaving a wrinkled scar in the dirt.
A/N: Well, here it is. It's not much but I hope you enjoyed reading it. It might not be so great because I typed it up at 3 a.m. I really wanted to get it up because my family is going on a trip for two or three weeks and I can't take my laptop. But for now, I hope everyone likes it. It's just a prologue after all. Review and tell me what you think!
