Hello all, sorry for the delay, but I found a major problem with the plot and I had to go back and revise a lot of content relating to Chapter 3, so for those returning the chapter before this one has changed considerably. But trust me it is better. As always, I hope you all enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Darkness encroached on Cyrus. It was suffocating. Tunneling.
The forest blurred around him, turning to stone walls. Cyrus ran, lungs burning. Chased by the black-eyed man with his fire, ready to scorch him again. Cyrus stumbled through an archway.
"You coward!" the man hissed.
All scenery vanished as fire engulfed Cyrus. Pain ripped a scream from his throat. Somehow, he managed to scramble behind a wall. He heard the thud of boots seeking near.
"Show yourself-"
"Cyrus!" Trovius called from a distance.
Was Trovius in the forest or the tunnels? Cyrus glanced around in a panic. He knew the doctor would save him.
"Please help!" Cyrus cried. His focus, broken.
The world was changing too quickly. What if his stalker heard his desperate plea before Trovius or Shelta did? He shoved away from the wall, which instantly became a tree once more.
There were no voices from the camp. Cyrus was almost sure he had lost his stalker, but didn't stop running. He tripped over a rough patch that oscillated between stone floor and leaves. There was an opening in the ground—snaking wires leading down into darkness. He knew he could escape into it.
Cyrus jumped into the pit and immediately hit water. The splash jarred him back to his senses. He stumbled out of a stream and onto the bank, falling into crunching leaves. The tunnels were gone. Peaceful forest surrounded him, just as it should have been.
Cyrus trembled, and glanced around. He wasn't convinced the chase was over. He tried to sift through the nightmarish event. The possibility of the black-eyed stalker peering at him from the trees became less likely by the second. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Cyrus sat on the bank for an hour attempting to calm down. Though, his shame made it difficult.
Now everyone had seen him in this ridicules state. What a pathetic creature he was, letting such irrational fears take him over like that! Trovius had ranted the entire morning about what a spectacular, perfect masterpiece of alchemy he was. He certainly didn't feel any of that now.
After agonizing over his cowardly ordeal, Cyrus knew he couldn't go back to camp. He knew he couldn't face anybody after the incident… Especially not Trovius. It wasn't the escape he had imagined his first night there, but he would have to take it for what it was.
Cyrus placed his head in his hands.
Maybe the event wasn't real at all- How could it be? Trovius had said he was a new born. How could a newborn know the feeling of burning flesh?
"It can't be real," Cyrus repeated allowed.
It simply did not make sense for a newborn Homunculus to have experienced such a thing. Fire was just a force, he reminded himself. It had no thoughts or motivations. It didn't have the ability to give chase. He would be okay so long as he avoided it.
He forced a laugh. The fear seeped out of him like a scabbing wound. Fantasy was fantasy. He would be okay. No one can control fire, after all.
It was late in the day, and Cyrus had no idea which direction he was headed. To make the situation worse, he knew almost nothing about himself. Trovius could have helped him learn, but Cyrus decided he couldn't stand the man. He was not willing to suffer endless rambling tendencies just to glean a bit of information. He was sure he had gained all the most important bits from that morning's long-winded lesson.
He knew about the Stone that gave him life, and the abilities that separated him from humanity. Now he intended to see what had brought all of these factors together. Cyrus didn't know where the transmutation circle was, but he was determine to find it.
After an hour of wandering, Cyrus spotted footprints in the soft mud around a stream. They must have been made by the Gypsies and Trovius from the night before, traveling through the rain to discover the source of the light near their camp.
He smiled. Finally, he had a trail to follow.
After a lengthy hike, the footprints brought him to an opening in the trees. Cyrus stared at the cleared ground, and regarded the patterns made in the dirt. The transmutation circle was massive compared to the one Trovius had shown him on paper the night before. Perhaps twenty-five yards across. It didn't look as if it had been drawn or carved into the ground. Instead, it seemed to be burned there, though the surrounding area wasn't scorched. The footprints from the gypsy camp were the only ones present in the mud. No others were seen.
Cyrus found that strange. Where had his creator come from? Where had he gone?
His eyes fell on the center of the circle, where a small human sized print was left. He assumed this was where Shelta and Trovius had found him. There was no blood, lingering clothes, or other sign that his creator had been drug into oblivion as payment for creating a homunculus. It was merely a circle, formed as if out of thin air.
Cyrus sighed, and took a seat by the elaborate design. What in the world was he doing there? Sitting at his place of birth, awaiting the arrival of some faceless alchemist, like a pathetic dog waiting for his master to come home? He wanted—no —he needed answers. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't find them if he stayed with the silent circle.
"My creator's dead." He muttered.
He hated having to set out with so little information. But greater still, was his hatred towards the fact that he never had the chance to tell off whoever abandoned him at this circle.
A twig behind him snapped and Cyrus rolled his eyes. "I wanted to be alone Trovius," he growled, and shoved himself to his feet. He turned to give the overbearing doctor a glare.
Anger evaporated from Cyrus' face, when he locked eyes with a stunned stranger. A younger man, olive skin, thin light hair, and gaping expression. He was no Gypsy, and was certainly not the old doctor.
"The pulse is stronger ahead do you see it, Tul?" Said another human behind the young man.
A tall man and two others arrived through the trees. They gathered around and stared at the Homunculus by the circle. The site of such a being made them immediately forget about the 'pulse.'
Apparently, Cyrus was not the only one looking for his birthplace. The four strangers' attention flicked to the circle and then back into his purple eyes.
"Who's this?" muttered the tall man, in a thick accent Cyrus didn't recognize. It was different from both Trovius and Shelta's individual drawls.
"Who're you?" Cyrus demanded back, not liking the men's intrusion into his birthplace.
"This array," spoke the man named Tul softly, as if he doubted his own broken Amestrian. "Were you just born here?"
A jolt froze Cyrus' muscles into place. These strangers weren't looking for the circle. They were looking for him.
"Are you my creator?" Cyrus blurted.
His question seemed all the conformation Tul needed. The man's face stretched into a wide grin.
"No, but we can take you to them," Tul extended a tattooed hand to Cyrus.
Cyrus backed away, his head and chest pounding. His creator was supposed to be dead, he reminded himself. How could these men guide him to a ghost?
"God's be praised, we found one." Muttered one of the men behind Tul.
The tallest of the group was shaking his head. He studied Cyrus closely. "I have seen all four Dolls; this isn't any of them."
"It is," Tul whispered, carefully approaching Cyrus. "I sense Morniza's Stone within this one."
Cyrus couldn't make sense out of what he was hearing, and what he thought he knew. Four men claimed to know his creator, some alchemist named Morniza, and they wanted to bring him home. Despite his hesitance, a small hopeful ache pulled at his chest. Perhaps he was wanted. Perhaps his separation from his creator was an accident. The thought was comforting.
"Why is it backing away?" pondered one man with a confused tone. "It should be listening to us."
"Should I stop it?" offered another. He pulled his worn sleeve to reveal smaller transmutation arrays lining his arm. Bracelets with similar designs finished the patterns that his arm lacked.
Cyrus' mind moved from confused but comforted to defensive. These men were not looking for him. They were hunting him. Were they lying about his creator? Should he run and lose whatever they knew, or try to fight them?
"Get away from me..." Cyrus crouched like a cornered animal and continued to back away.
"Stop, all of you!" Tul snarled at the other men, before returning his compassionate gaze to Cyrus. "We are not going to hurt you," he promised, rolling up his sleeves.
There were similar markings adorning Tul's arms. He started to pull off the decorative alchemic bracelets and laid them on the ground. He approached Cyrus with confidence.
Cyrus was forced to stop when his back hit a tree.
"We will take you home. Just come with us, and we'll keep you safe." Tul promised.
'Safe from what?' Cyrus wondered.
A uniformed man stepped out of the dense foliage. The party wheeled to face him. All four of their faces collectively turned pallid.
The site of the blue uniform with its silver and gold trim flushed fear through Cyrus yet again. It was the same garb worn by his killer in the tunnels. Though this lanky man had freckles and dirty blond hair—he was hardly the black-eyed killer stalking him in his nightmares.
"Amestrian soldier," gasped one of the men meekly.
It soon became "soldiers," as a small phalanx of bleach blond men with bright blue eyes and uniforms appeared behind the first.
Even with the tense standoff, Cyrus was locked in his head. 'The stalker in the tunnels is a soldier?' he thought hollowly.
"What's going on here?" questioned one lanky soldier of the party.
Tul stood stiffly straight. He seemed to forget the presence of the cowering teen pressed against a tree. Or perhaps he was trying to shade him from the soldier's view.
"We were separated from our friend," Tul explained, trying to remain casual.
The lanky soldier lifted a wiry eyebrow.
"Cretan accent, am I right?" the soldier guessed. "Am I to assume you are tourists, or do I need to see your papers-" his voice trailed when he noticed the circle on the ground. "Did you make this?" He demanded, much harsher than before.
Tul pursed his lips. He did not speak.
"Answer me! Who drew this? What is it for? We don't take kindly to foreigners sneaking in and preforming who-knows-what kind of undocumented alchemy behind our backs!"
The four men, addressed as Cretans, failed to respond.
The lanky military man gave an irritated huff. "Alright. Have it your way. You're all coming in for questioning."
The tallest Cretan man slipped his sleeve up to his elbow. He twisted an alchemic bracelet over his wrist. The lines of the band connected to the ones on his skin. The array activated with a breathtaking blue illumination. He slapped his palm to the forest floor, and blue light exploded around the party, shoving a wall of dirt into the soldiers' faces.
The Amestrian soldiers reflexively grabbed their guns from their belts, and shot multiple, deafening bangs into the dirt wall.
Cyrus felt the weapons' fire rattle in his chest and skull. His back pressed hard into the tree, his legs locked despite his mind screaming at him to take cover.
When the wave of dirt subsided, Cyrus saw that one of the Cretan men and one of the three soldiers was lying face down in the leaves. Blue light from the remaining foreigners attempted to counter the weapons.
Someone seized Cyrus by the wrist. It was Tul. The two pulled each other towards the denser forest, Tul desperately trying to get him away from the fight.
One ear-blistering bang, and Tul's grip fell from Cyrus' wrist, his body crumpled to the ground. Cyrus didn't have time to catch him, before a bullet called for him as well. Pain exploded in his shoulder, and he fell backwards against the tree. He blinked back tears and gritted his teeth, rushing a hand to his shoulder's aid. He pulled his fingers back. They were sticky and red.
Through ringing ears, Cyrus almost heard the lanky soldier question to another. "You shot the kid…call for a medic Second Lieutenant."
Cyrus' shoulder fell numb, which came at a great relief. Red sparks emerged from his flesh and started licking the injury. The pain faded. His Philosopher's Stone was healing the wound.
Cyrus' mind cleared when the pain vanished. He observed the Cretan men lying scattered around the scene, trying to make sense of their stillness. Finally, he noticed the two soldiers gawking at him, dumbfounded. They had obviously seen the bullet wound close, and the teen's blood vanish from his coat.
"W-what the hell is…he healed?" the lanky man gasped. "Like, those other homunculi can, the rumors about the Co-, it's all real?"
A jolt went through Cyrus' still sparking body. There were other homunculi? He was of the impression that he was the only one. More pressingly, why were the military men so terrified of other homunculi?
Tul gasped and held his bleeding stomach. Cyrus startled. The man was still alive, still determined. Cyrus thought of Trovius' healing alchemy. The doctor could heal Tul's fatal wound. Then Tul could tell him everything.
The stoic Second Lieutenant was cold. He glared hard into Cyrus' eyes, almost accusingly. "Are you one of them?" He demanded, reloading his weapon.
Cyrus didn't say anything. He had no idea what the Lieutenant was talking about. He was a homunculus, but didn't understand the horrified expression the officer wore when assuming this of him.
He flinched when the barrel of the gun aimed between his eyes.
The lanky officer's gun was shaking, stuttering to his fellow soldier, "We need to call Central Command…we need to inform Fuhrer Grumman and General Musta-" A single shot cut the officer off. The gun dropping from his hands. Then the lanky man collapsed.
The Second Lieutenant snorted, his gun smoking from firing the offending bullet. Cyrus sat stunned, wondering what in the world would prompt the military man to turn on his own partner. Cyrus' head was fuzzy and spinning. He wished he wasn't the military man's focus.
"Lucky," the Lieutenant sighed, almost in relief. "I didn't think anything would come of trailing these Arbus dogs, but they brought me right to you." He gave Cyrus a condescending smile. "Thinking they could outwit Creta's might…oh well, either way, two Stones down, two to go." He shrugged and pulled off one of his gloves, revealing a transmutation circle of his own. His palm reached out to Cyrus, the lines of the array glowing.
'Run! Do anything! damn it!' Cyrus shrieked internally at his frozen muscles.
Tul was gasping, drawing a circle in the dirt with his fingers. Though to no avail. The imposter soldier dispatched the human at Cyrus' feet with another bullet. He flinched away from the red spray that splattered his face.
The looming Amestrian/Cretan soldier knelt down, and pressed his glowing hand to Cyrus' chest. Cyrus squinted his eyes tight in anticipation of death.