Fandom: FMA
Title: Phoenix Rising
Characters: Ed, Al, OC

Pairings: Elricest
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, slight incest, slight yaoi, attempted suicide, violence

Author's Notes: AU

Word Count: 2,009

Status: Incomplete
Disclaimer: When pigs fly.

Summary: Alphonse Elric was dead, Ed had killed him, and from the bitter ashes of that crime, the killing machine known as the Soul Alchemist had been born. The Soul Alchemist; Amestris' deadly secret weapon of war. Alphonse Elric.

Phoenix Rising

Chapter 9

Stennin Fortaine gripped the wrought iron balustrade and stared over the roofs of the city below. Smoke still rose lazily on the afternoon air. Most of the civil unrest has been put down by the Premier pro-tem, Alexes, and the chaos that followed the late premier's demise was mostly under control. But there was no satisfaction on Stennin's face. The eldest son of the late premier, he had just about grown up with Alexes, and viewed him rather like an uncle. And if anyone had to follow in his father's footsteps, and as Stennin himself was still too young to assume that mantle, there was no one else that he would rather follow as the new Lord of Drachma.

But he had had been standing at attention behind his father when the hapless commander of the western front had assassinated the leader of the land. Though enraged and horrified by his father's foul murder, he'd seen the commanders eyes, and knew.

A little less than a year before, Stennin had been on the front lines himself, and had the misfortune to come face to face with none other than the Soul Alchemist himself. Watching his own men turn on each other and had seen the hollow empty look in their eyes. The same look that was on the commander's face when he'd committed the highest act of treason against their land that any man or woman could. And then, when it was over, and life had come into the commander's eyes once more, and that man had looked around with horror at what he had wrought, Stennin knew.

Damn that foul boy as deadly as poison, as beautiful as an angel, and as deceptive as a lie. He was behind the death of Stennin's father. Soul was responsible for the chaos and mayhem that followed on the footsteps of his father's assassination.

And by everything that Stennin held dear, Soul would pay… with his heart's blood before he died.

Fall had arrived with a scream of wind and a bone chilling rain. The day in question was quite a shock after the almost balmy weather that had preceded it just 24 hours before. But such was the weather in that particular neck of Amestrian woods.

Sam swiped at a dripping nose as he loitered, once more, around Mustang's tent, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to come or go so that he could deliver his 'distress' message, knowing that if no one could see or hear the Soul Alchemist as he skulked within it's canvas depths, that particular man could certain at least hear what was going on outside. And Sam knew instinctively that using the appellation of Fullmetal would ensnare that young man's attention like nothing else would. Alphonse Elric may be dead inside to all intents and purposes, but there was still enough of him left to drive him to his brother's side in time of duress.

But Sam had more than an hour more to wait before anyone came back to Mustang's tent. Obviously Soul himself was exempt from having to do anything to prepare for their imminent departure on the morn, but no one else was. Had Sam known that Al was alone in that tent for the almost three hours he'd been lurking, he would have gone in himself. But now the best possible candidate for Fullmetal's plan came his slow but thunderous way. Sam sniffed but grinned to see Armstrong strode single mindedly across his path. The man's booming voice and excitable personality was best for penetrating the tent and letting Soul hear what must be heard.

"Captain Armstrong!" Sam exclaimed as he burst onto the seen as if he'd been running up. He even panted appropriately. "Captain Armstrong! I must see General Mustang right away!"

Armstrong paused in his ponderous way and blinked a moment, placing the young man before him. Then his eyes twinkled gently. "Ah, Lt. Jansen, a pleasure to see you. How is Fullmetal? Fine I hope. Forgive me, young sir, but I simply do not have any time to spare right now, nor does his Generalship. I regret…"

Normally, Sam would die before rudely interrupting a superior officer, but this was falling nicely into his plans. "No, you don't understand, sir. Fullmetal went out to check on some suspicious activities, and he's missing, and…." Sam internally winced at how he forced a frantic and frightened tone into his voice. Such was not the young sniper's way at all, but it was cut through the much bigger man's politely worded rejection.

"What?" Armstrong thundered, and Sam was slightly soothed that he'd taken exactly the right note with him. "Fullmetal's missing? Again?"

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yes. He'd heard some distressing rumors about a renewed attack upon this base, and so went to investigate it. He was supposed to return and report hours ago, but he's not been seen or heard from since. I've scouted the area, and… and… all I found… was this…."

Silently, Sam brought out Ed's distinctive red coat, half shredded and stained with what looked like blood. His chin quivered convincingly. "Can't you help? Please! Ed's been my partner for years, and if something's happened to him again…." Sam turned away as if he could not go on.

"Ah! Our young friend is in Distress! We must go to his rescue! Such youth and bravery cannot go unprotected!" Armstrong flexed and his shirt leapt from his overly large but impressive physique almost with a will of its own, fluttering away in strangely attractive shreds. Sam struggled not to laugh, as it would blow everything to kingdom come. Ed had told him about this man, but it took seeing to really believing.

"Indeed!" The man went on loudly, "We…"

Hands suddenly took the coat from Sam's hand. Startled, the young man turned to behold Soul turning the clothing over in his hands, scrutinizing it carefully. Sam swallowed nervously as Armstrong's boisterous declarations faded away in the face of the younger man's appearance. Sam hoped their prop would pass muster. Soul, though young, was no fool.

Soul looked up and met Sam's eyes, and stared into them. Sam resisted the urge to swallow again, and felt as if he was physically and spiritual naked under Al's cold gaze.

"Take me to where this was found. Now." Was all he said, his voice almost glacial.

This time Sam was helpless against swallowing nervous, and discovered that his hands were shaking.

Ed stood beneath the low hanging boughs of an Aspen; it's gold and crimson leaves drenched and limp. Already many of them had fallen in the onslaught of the night stormed that had passed with the dawn. There was an almost unearthly stillness in the woods around him, the silence broken only by the relentless drip, drip, drip, of rainwater from overhead, filtered through the gaudy, but fading canopy above. He was watching the space slightly before him, waiting for Sam to lead his brother here. Oh, he'd planned this out most carefully. What he was about to do would not only end his career with the military, but could possible end up with imprisonment. Not that Ed cared. Neither he nor his brother would ever return to the military.

Focused intently on the carefully prepared glade ahead, and the path on the other side that led to the camp, and dwelling intensely on what he planned to do, he heard a rusting in the brush behind him, and felt the ice cold nudge of a gun barrel against the base of his skull once more.

But this time Ed wasn't emotionally overwrought and contemplating death. Not this time, and certainly not again. He ducked immediately, sweeping his metal leg out and around.

But his assailant was obviously prepared for some sort of reaction, and leapt lithely aside, and began to circle, the dark and deadly barrel of the large gun ever steady in the man's hand.

The man was tall, good looking, slightly older than Mustang, and dressed in somewhat travel stained Drachmen high command dress greens. Ed was astonished. From all he'd heard, most Drachmen would rather die than come here, but obviously this was no ordinary soldier, not dressed and skilled like that.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ed snarled, circling the man as well.

"Your brother's executioner," was the cold reply and mirthless smile. "And you're the bait that will bring him to me… Fullmetal Alchemist."

"Not this time, asshole," Ed snarled, leaping forward, clapping his hands. With the blue white crackle, his handblade slid free with a satisfying hiss.

Since the gun had been in the faint hope that the young alchemist could be easily subdued, Stennin, for that is who it was, deftly slid it back into his side holster, and nimbly slid out two long and lethally serrated hand blades of his own. Though not alchemically created or attached to his body, they were never the less deadly weapons, and he was exceedingly skilled in their use. He easily parried Ed's strike with the left blade, and slid the right across the younger man's side with the right.

But Ed had been in to many hand to hand combats, and he blocked that blade with his thick boot, flipping backwards, his flesh hand supporting his weight for a brief moment, his handblade glancing off the ornate hand guard of the other man's blade, and he bounced back upon his feet in a defensive crouch.

Stennin turned as fluidly, and landed deftly on his feet right in front of Ed once more. There were sparks and blade clashed against blade, and Ed's other hand slid under his short black jacket and yanked out his own dagger, shorter and plainer than the Drachman's, and parried the other viciously wielded blade. More sparks.

It was as smooth as a choreographed dance, elegant in their simplistic but effective moves and countermoves, the clanging and grinding of metal and the softer, meatier sounds of flesh striking flesh almost musical in their skill and determination.

Ed began to get nervous. The fight was leading him farther and farther away from where his brother would come, unknowing of this Drachman's treacherous plans. Nor could he land a real strike on this man. For the first time since the fight began, he began to doubt himself. But no. By the man's own words, Ed was the only thing standing between Al and death. It wasn't as if he doubted that Al couldn't protect himself in the event Ed fell, but if the young blond had his way, Al would never, ever kill again. Not for hire, not under orders, not in self defense. Not if he, the Fullmetal Alchemist, had anything to say about it.

Ed danced away from yet another blow, feet sliding in the slimy rain wet fallen leaves, and he used that misstep to his advantage. He ducked under Stennin's second strike, shoving his dagger's hilt between his teeth, retracting his handblade. The flash from that led directly into the next alchemic reaction as he clapped his hands again. Several large and deadly stone spike shot up from the ground under the Drachman's feet.

He swore as the older man leapt up and away.

"Well done, Fullmetal," Stennin smirked. "But not good enough. This ends here." The man shoved both blades away, his hand moving under his coat.

"We'll see about that, fucker," Ed snarled. Another crackle and with the grace and skill of years, he pulled his beautifully lethal lance from the moist soil at his feet.

"Oh yes, we'll see…"

Ed looked up in time to see Stennin holding a little grey bag in one hand, the other held flat out in front of the man's face, fingers out. A quick blow, and Ed blinked, gritting dust clouding his vision, acrid upon his lips, and thick and cloying in his nose. Whatever it was, it acted quickly, and before he knew it, Ed was falling, his vision dimming.

Shit… not again, dammit…. Al….