A/N: I love this chapter...so pretty...Nainne has done a wonderful job on this one, so I'm certain that she'd love if you left comments on her wonderful work. I apologise for the long update time, but I hope that this chapter leaves you satisfied! Enjoy! I must say, this is my favourite chappy yet!
Before most soldiers could pull out their guns, a wave of Drachman grey was upon them. It was a mess of close hand to hand combat for most, and those who weren't as specialized were quickly cut down. Not even one Amestrian soldier was prepared for the onslaught, and some did not carry their close range weapons on them. These were quickly eliminated. Almost without exception, those who had been closest to the front, and had had no time to prepare themselves or to even recover from their surprise or shock, were too, killed. Men who only moments before had been chatting cheerfully were now screaming in pain and death. Blood flowed freely from open wounds, heads were cracked and cut open like watermelons, or lopped off. Stomach wounds ensued, guts spilling out over the ground, sometimes having entrails of multiple people tangled together as one. Red pulsing masses that were once stomachs, intestines livers were strewn carelessly over trampled, bloody ground.
Of course, even though they too had been taken by surprise, Mustang and Hawkeye didn't quite suffer the same fate as some.
When the ambush had begun, the Colonel had been gazing out over the fields, feeling rather depressed. The sun still had not fully risen, the dull glow from the sun casting ominous shadows over the battlefield. Tipping his head back, he allowed his eyes to wander for a second upwards. The sky had been a gloomy grey colour, dampening his mood, for grey skies often meant rain. The Flame Colonel did not like rain for obvious reasons. He lifted a hand up to the sky, stretching it out, as though to grasp the clouds and toss them away, so that he may be able to have a days rest. His eyebrows furrowed. No luck. Sighing, he had just closed his hands around his mug of coffee, and was about to take a sip, when a huge bang penetrated the air. He shot up, and placed his fingers in a snapping position, being in the military made that his second nature, and looked around warily, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, and his feet in a defensive stance.
Another gunshot pierced the silence. He slowly turned around, and walked carefully and warily towards the sound, his lips dry, and his hands tense, ready to snap at the first sign of danger. There was another shot, and suddenly, someone came running his direction, a blond blur, with a grey flash, but before he could snap, or cry out, the blur quickly situated itself in front of him, gun pointing in the opposite direction. Hawkeye!
Before he could speak, Riza intervened.
"It's an ambush, sir,"
And all hell broke loose as the waves of grey swept over them.
Soon, a small clearing had been formed with the sharp-shooting Lieutenant and the flame-wielding Colonel in the centre. Snap, bang, snap, crack, bang, snap, snap. A steady rhythm soon grew from the Colonel's flames and the Lieutenant's guns. Many men fell.
---
"Ah… Ah…" Edward managed to gasp, his hands tremble as he stared at the blood thing on his lap, frozen in shock when Aylesworth's bloody limp form, mainly his head, had landed in his lap, a soft thump following the impact. Although it was short lived. The sound of the head falling into his lap rang in his head, as he fought to get his bearings, staring down wide-eyed at the prone form in his lap. Shouting was all around him, but he couldn't hear it. People were screaming in his ear, but he didn't register it. All he could do was to stare, and to feel the numbness that was creeping up his body, not of pain or death, but of sorrow and anger. What was he to do? What could he do?
Suddenly, there was a resounding slap, and sudden pain brought him back to his senses. One gloved hand slowly rose to his cheek, as though in shock, as his blue eyes finally registered Fillmore, standing there, his own gloved hand looking rather swollen, his eyes down casted, and full of regret. But the boy, though registering the slap, did not respond. He simply stared, before bringing his eyes back down to the body on his lap, tears beginning to fill up his eyes.
Finally, out of desperation, Fillmore tried something else. He grabbed his handgun, taking careful aim, he placed it next to Ed's head, and pulled the trigger, the gun pointed at a Drachman soldier who was struggling with Cotler. The man fell with a resounding crack from the gun, clutching his chest in agony. But it had worked. Edward responded to the noise of the gun, jumping up, tears streaming from his eyes, the body falling out of his lap, and hitting the ground with a thump… Fillmore grinned grimly. Two birds down with one stone. Edward at least had some sense in him now, and his shot had found its mark for once.
Without looking back, Fillmore, pleased with the results, picked up his gun and began systematically firing, aiming randomly into the crowd of grey, careful not to hit any of his allies. More Drachma soldiers fell. Here and there, small clearings were being formed, small circles of groups of people. As with many others, Fillmore wielded a bayonet. The knife end would be easily detachable should the time to need it come. And came it soon did.
Edward sprung into action as soon as the body hit the ground. Nearly blinded by tears, he dropped to one knee while he brought his hands together and slammed them down on the ground as though in anguish, as though wishing to let out all of his grief. He let out a an angry cry as blue alchemic light flashes along the ground and grey spikes jutted diagonally from the ground, outwards of the small group, impaling any who had been unlucky enough. People screamed. Enraged, he wiped his eyes free of his tears, his eyes determined, and with a flourish, transmuted the projections back, blue light spinning wildly and sent out another wave, only further. He was rewarded by a fresh round of screams, added to the already deafening cacophony of cries. Strange. He really didn't feel any remorse at the moment, despite that he knew, realised, was fully aware that he was causing the deaths of others. It was amazing what he could do once he overcame his obstacles. He toyed with that thought for a while, before pulling out number of small knives from his belt, and with a flash of blue alchemic lighting, transmuting them together, charged, his new weapon spinning in his hands like a dervish.
"This one's for you, Aylesworth!"
And he stabbed the weapon into the body of a drachma soldier, impaling it, and nailing it to the ground, his face savage, and his hands steady. With another shove, he nailed the body completely into the ground, the soldier still alive, and screaming from the wound, before turning away, and running off again, this time, into the thick of battle.
---
By this time, the small circle that had been temporarily formed back where Edward's internal battle had been taking place, was rushed upon, and Ilsley immediately fell prey. The man screamed as a bayonet found its mark, pinning him to the back of another Amestris soldier. The last thing he saw was stars.
Fillmore lasted for a bit longer, battling bravely. Quickly, he spun around, stabbing his bayonet into an enemy soldier's back, and watched as the blood trickled down his back, and the body go limp, as the scream faded. It was almost entrancing. But when he tried to pull his weapon back out of the body, he found that it was stuck, and spent a few precious seconds trying to dislodge the weapon, a desperate look on his face. When he finally dislodged the weapon, he was brought down with a severe side wound from a jab from a sword, which made it easy for his neck to be lopped off in two magnificent fountains of blood. The killer licked his lips, savouring the kill, before engaging in battle again. However, he never got that far as Cotler had whipped out his side arm, and had shot him, dead, before using the same gun to knock his opponent on the head. Who ever said that you couldn't fight close combat with a gun?
---
Edward could hear his own rasping breathing, and his sweat trickling down his forehead, stinging his eyes. But he didn't have the time to brush the beads of sweat aside, for as soon as he killed one, another took his place, as savage as ever, and he had to kill again, blood on his eyes, leaving a trail of impaled bodies on stone spires.
He was performing what seemed to him an endless cycle, a grim repetition of events that had transpired only a day earlier. Really, in these situations, he was more of a fighter than an alchemist. Slash, stab, down cut, elbow then step, down slash, upper cut. Repeat. Occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of someone's face, of their expression as they went down in a spout of red; expressions of horror, pain, of fear. Edward knew that no matter how much time passed, those faces would be ones that were seared in his memory forever; a reminder of the deed he had done, a reminder of what lengths he would go to for his brother. After running yet another man through with his knife, he turned and jumped onto another, emitting a blood-curdling scream that was lost in the din as he brought his blade down to sever whatever ran through the man's neck.
- - -
Iris whipped around, her eyes wide, and her hands trembling slightly, frantically trying to keep attackers at bay. Her breathing was harsh and rasping, and a cramp at her side was forever nagging her, but she couldn't give up, no matter what her mind said. No matter what her mind told her. It wasn't easy. At any moment, she could be out numbered and rushed, someone who she hadn't notice could take a gun to her, someone might come at her at her blind spot, attack from the back…the possibilities were endless. At any time, it was at least one against three, if not a more disproportionate ratio. Yet, fighting alone under this sort of pressure was what she thrived under, it was where she could bring out her full potential, it was where she could strike out without inhibitions, without the worry of injuring her opponent, since he had to die anyways. Yes, it was what she lived for. She would duck and stab upwards, hopefully catching her target unawares, slash sideways, catching someone in the stomach, block a blow and jab with her own blade. She revelled in the looks of pain on the other's faces, not because she enjoyed causing it, but because it was a testament to her own skill.
Suddenly, she saw someone lunge towards her, and quickly spun to block and counterattack, but never got around to it as a pile of blue came hurtling towards her and knocked her down. From her vantage point, she watched as the soldier, his long hair tied up in a pony tail whipping around in the wind as though a tail off of a horse, State Alchemist, she could see now, placed both hands on a nearby Drachman, and proceeded to scram, taking Iris with him. It was evident why soon enough. A massive explosion occurred where the two had just been, an explosion of red and white, dust flying everyone, and panic ensuing among the ranks. Iris stared for a moment, and would have been shell shocked by what had transpired, if not for her experience. All she could see were entrails and blood, as well as dismembered body parts where the group of Drachma soldiers once stood. She could hardly breath because of the thick smell of sulphur in the air, and the putrid smell of decay. And she couldn't move by the suddenness of it all, before the screams of the wounded brought her back. "Thanks," she said, nodding towards the man. Both soon engaged in fight again.
- - -
Radon smiled. Unbeknownst to Iris, he enjoyed battle as much as she did. Only, he enjoyed watching people blow up. It was really quite amusing. He had found that he could concentrate the explosion in certain parts of the body, so that he could blow each of the limbs off, detach the head, and maybe include a nice hole in the stomach too. The effects were really very amusing. Locating another target, who had intended to make Radon his victim, he quickly ducked and placed both hands on the man. He smiled as he felt his three transmutation circles glow. One was hung around his neck from a chain, and two were tattooed on his either side, in a formation of a perfect equilateral triangle. Before the Drachman knew what was happening, his various body parts were scattered within a twenty-metre radius, and Radon was off and away. He had chosen his target well, for the man had been surrounded by Drachman grey. With that one explosion, at least 5 others had gone down with him. Luck was on his side today.
Suddenly, his face became transfixed in a mask of horror, as he grabbed the blade now protruding from his stomach. Maybe today wasn't his lucky day after all.
- - -
Sora smiled grimly as she saw her opponent drip with blood. While she could only see his face and hands, she was certain that the skin on his entire body had been destroyed sufficiently. Taking that one instance in which he howled with pain, Sora whipped around, as her braided hair hit him in the neck. A blade had been braided in, with the triangular end of it protruding past the hair tie, concealed in the little bushy bit at the end. It had been suggested back when she was still six, and as a result, many of the young girls had had similar slim blades woven in. Normally, it wasn't sharp enough or large enough to do damage, but with enough force applied, like she had just done now, it was enough to slice through the skin of a full grown elephant. Someone's neck might as well have been cream.
She wrinkled her nose. Even though it was an effective way to kill, she also knew that the blood stains would never be able to be washed out of her hair.
Sora was deadly. She knew that, and Iris knew that. Perhaps that was the full extent, as even those who had trained her only knew her abilities in one field. Besides, not even her parents had been consulted in some of her training. Her jewellery was anything but decorative. If one observed her two bracelets closely, they would find a circle on each bead inscribed with a five-pointed star with a circle inscribed into it. Looking closer, one would find that miniscule characters were carved and painted next to each point of each star. Each bracelet held five of these beads. On her back, an intricate tattoo with five interlocking circles connected by a large five-pointed star that expanded through all five was drawn with a flourish of colours. One red, one blue, one yellow, one brown, and one green. In the centre of the five circles and the one large star lay a smaller circle, with another star transcribed into it. This one stood out in start contrast to the rest, as opposed to the colourful rainbow the others were done in, this one had a stark black circle, and a pure white star. The importance of this marking, only Sora knew. She was also the only one to know the full potential. She would rather keep it that way.
Mindlessly, three more men had gone down like the first. Skin destroyed, and in that one moment of excruciating pain, they were felled. It was simple, really. All it was, was a reversal of the healing that was found much more commonly in Rentanjutsu. If it could be used to heal skin, it could just as easily be modified to destroy. This was the nature of the Xue clan's alchemy.
She gracefully moved past the dead, her light brown almost twinkling, as she gave the Drachma soldier, who had tried to sneak up on her from behind, a scathing look, before whipping around, her braided hair catching him, his neck slit. He crumpled to the ground. Looking down upon the body, she could easily make out the horrified expression on his face, and a feeling of pity surged through her. She turned away.
'I'll pray for them later,'
First, she had to survive this.
- - -
Armstrong, by now, had long discarded his shirt, and said shirt and long been trampled and cut into little ribbons by his alchemy and bayonets of soldiers. And for once, he didn't look nearly as glistening-y as he usually did, no pink sparkles, no showing off of the muscles. Instead, a grim look had made its way to his features. He brandished his fists, his gauntlet almost sparkling in the light, before pointing it at a group of drachma soldiers just before him, his brows furrowed, and his back sweaty from the battle.
"Behold the art that has been passed down through the generations of Armstrongs!" he declared loudly in a booming voice, as he punched straight down, his muscles rippling. Starting from the point where his gauntlet covered fist had made contact with the ground, a zigzag line of miniature statues of Armstrongs, constructed of a mixture of stone and ice, each wielding a wickedly sharp blade, rose from under Drachmans' feet, piercing their bodies thoroughly. Another thump and the ground was as smooth as it had once been.
- - -
Taft and Garson stood back to back, a whirling hurricane of guns and knives. In one hand, Taft held a metal, reinforced side arm, and in the other, a long dagger. The dagger was of an interesting design; one side had a jagged edge, the other was smooth. The tip had three prongs; it was as if someone had cut a wedge into the centre of the tip, and had inserted another sharp point. Garson opted for the more traditional bayonet, rifle slung over his shoulder, blade in hand. The two together managed to keep their structure stable, repelling attackers. That was, until someone lunged at Garson, knife in hand. The problem with the bayonet was that it was awkward and unwieldy, and not nearly agile enough to completely block that particular attack. Instead of pushing the assailant and his blade back, the knife's edge slid down the bayonet's side to slash open Garson's stomach. Garson screamed. Suddenly, the fragile balance fell apart, and they were soon felled upon like a carcass by a flock of vultures.
- - -
Iris smiled. By now, she had pinned this one down, and it was obvious that he wouldn't last much longer. None of his injuries were too serious, although they were numerous. Yes, one more should finish him off…
Standing back for a moment, her problem disposed off, she observed the scene around her. It was eerily similar to the last battle. With one exception. The Drachmans wanted their revenge, and they were getting it. They were being paid back in blood. Sighing, Iris slunk off, cat like, and pounced onto someone's back, dagger in hand, as she let out her own battle cry.
- - -
Al stared, wide-eyed, at the carnage that was happening before him. A hurried word from the Colonel had sent him away from the mayhem, to help with the shifting of the field hospital. He had been worried about his brother though, and had come back to see if he could help, maybe. After all, he was better at sparring than him. However, that was before he had seen this, seen the blood, seen the death. That was before he had heard the screams of the dead, of the wounded, of the dying. Here and there, he could catch evidence of his brother. A giant stone fist rose out of the ground, a body hanging limply in its grasp. Spikes littered the landscape, some slightly broken, others still intact, and some impaled an unfortunate fool. Even more, he admired his brother, yet, he was deadly scared of him too. How could his brother do this? The caring, slightly violent and explosive, and sensitive brother that he had always known…
Unable to take it any longer, he turned tail and fled. If he were human, he would have cried.
- - -
Edward growled as he circled warily around his opponent. This had gone on for long enough, and he didn't enjoy leaving his back unprotected. He wasn't stupid, and knew enough that it was very easy to take someone down from behind when their attention was focused elsewhere. Also, he had been fighting for some four hours now, and he was exhausted. So far, no one had gotten in any serious hits that could do any damage. The Drachman, because Ed was above his ability, and Ed, because the Drachman blocked too damn fast! At least, Ed knew he still had one trump card up his sleeve. His automail, nor manner of alchemy hadn't been exposed yet.
Except…the problem with having your ace up your sleeve, was that the other person might have one too.
"Having trouble keeping up, kid?" The Drachman soldier smirked in a way that was way too similar to a certain idiotic Colonel. Besides…he had called him short.
Ed growled again, and let fly one of his smaller push knives a bit hastily.
"Oh my, is the little bean getting angry?" The man chuckled inwardly. So amusing that almost every short person got pissed at having the facts stated. Now if that kid could just let fly…then maybe he could get one good shot in. After all, what damage could one berserk kid do anyways?
As it turned out, a lot. Ed did let fly with all he had, and he was angry and pissed from the amount of short comments he had gotten over the past week but couldn't retaliate. Edward smoothly swung his dagger in his left hand to the man's neck before bringing it down and slashing at his stomach. Before the guy knew what had hit him, a very hard fist flattened his nose. Growling, Ed transmuted his right arm, blue alchemic lightning crackling wildly, so that a blade came shooting out of the side, forward, to skewer the guy's brain. He could feel the blood on his hands, or at least his non-automail hand, but strangely enough, he couldn't care less. The blood was almost refreshing to him, washing away the dirt that had cumulated on his hand, from transmuting things, and from fighting in general. It was almost peaceful.
But he couldn't relax. Not now. Whirling around, he swung his transmuted blade into the neck of another Drachma soldier who had tried to take advantage of his momentary distraction, a savage look plastered on his face. Yes, when obstacles were overcome, Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, was a very valuable asset.
- - -
In the chaos of their surroundings, no one noticed the Drachman soldier that had just been dispatched by Edward crick his neck as he stirred before dusting himself off and standing up. "Nice going, Fullmetal shrimp. Seems like you're worth more than we thought."
---
Snap. Another life turned into a pile of cinders. Bang. A bullet through the neck, blood gurgling from both the entry and exit wound. Click. Reload. Snap. A flare of heat flashed into their faces. Bang. Into the eye, at close enough range that it pierced through the retina, the jelly like part, past the nerve points, and into the brain.
Hawkeye and Mustang, still back to back, stood their ground. Both were firing frantically, both knowing that if anyone got too close, they could be in trouble. Mustang could feel his fingers being bruised, injured, sore. Hawkeye still had enough ammunition to last a while, but it couldn't last forever. And even someone with a blind eye could see that the Amestrians were not doing well.
- - -
Damnit. Iris had met her match, or rather, someone who was more than enough for her match. Any bystander would have been able to tell who was winning. And it wasn't Iris. Her opponent moved to run her through, but at the last instance, opted instead to split her skull instead. Iris ducked, but not nearly enough. Instead of getting impaled, she got buffeted with the side of the sword, the edge barely grazing her skull. Iris dropped. The man smirked, preparing to deliver the final blow. Iris resigned herself. Such a pity though, she had just seen her cousin again too…she did wish that she had had a longer time to spend with him…
The last blow didn't come. Someone came hurtling through, knocking the man's blade away. To Iris, the person looked very familiar… "Sora?" she asked, half to herself, half to whoever it was, before she slipped into unconsciousness.
Sora growled as she faced the man who had Iris so badly. The man snickered, unperturbed. "Oh, another one? How fortunate for me then, two girls in one day. Weaklings, the lot of you. You ought to be home cooking dinner and whatnot."
Sora snarled menacingly, before she set on him with claws and fangs. "No one hurts my big sister (1) and gets away with it!" Everything that she could fight with, came pouring out. The other guy was dead before he even knew it. Not that it mattered to Sora. As long as he was still standing, she tore into his flesh, clawing at any part of him she could get at. All that was left when she was finished, was an unidentifiable bloody mass.
Dropping to her knees next to Iris, Sora quickly pulled out something tucked into the back of her shirt. She couldn't do much for Iris now, but at least she could stop the bleeding.
- - -
Edward jumped back as he saw a flame burst into life nearby. Only one person could have done that. Swivelling his head around, sure enough, he caught sight of the raven-haired man, back to back with the shorter blond sniper. Ed fought his way over to join them. Despite his earlier kills, now that he was thinking slightly calmer, he tried to avoid death as much as he could, once again, preferring to aim for non-lethal, crippling shots. Men fell down in agony now, but not in death, all calling out for their comrades to help them.
Edward made his way to the edge of the circle, his body aching. People charged him from all sides, but he stood his ground, his mind quickly processing information, and his transmutation brought about bouts of death, as alchemy wasn't the best for non-death results. He edged forward painfully slowly, gritting his teeth, and alchemic lightning nearly surrounding him.
And for his efforts, he nearly got crisped. A burst of flame conjured up by a certain colonel flashed by his face, singing a few strands of his blond hair, stained with blood and sweat. He leapt back at the last moment, and crashed into a Drachma soldier, and spent the better part of three minutes fighting to get the upper hand. After dispatching the soldier, he got up, swearing, and rolled quickly towards the centre.
Mustang, was tired, but not too tired to notice the red jacket. But he didn't acknowledge it, and instead continued firing, fire flying off of his finger tips, as people were incinerated by the heat of the flames. Ed stood up, and still annoyed at his close miss at becoming baked shrimp, clapped his hands together before slamming them into the ground. Spikes impaled yet another rank of people, holding the Drachmas at bay. Hawkeye nodded gratefully at the young boy.
"Sir, I don't know how much longer we can last," Hawkeye shouted over the din as she reloaded her guns. Her ammunition was becoming scarce.
"Dammit, just keep on going!" Mustang replied, continuing to turn men into crisply scorched filets.
Edward knew what they meant. He had seen the devastation that was being wrecked on the Amestrian soldiers. It was true that they had the lethal "human weapons", but they were few, and the Drachmans were winning purely through strength in numbers.
Hawkeye nodded. She knew what he meant. 'Kill as many as possible so it's easier next time. Wait for the retreat,' was his unspoken message. No need to say it out loud though, because for it to be voiced, would only make their clear loss more evident.
Fortunately, or maybe not, the cry came at that moment.
"RETREAT!"
Ed looked around, not certain what to do. Around him, men were scrambling for their lives, hoping to get out of this alive. Several Amestris soldiers tripped, and were trampled by their fellow comrades, before quickly dispatched by the Drachmas, who were routing the rest of them. He felt a surge of anger fill him at the sight, at the sight of people dying such a way, trampled and lying in filthy mud, as their comrades escaped. Humans were such animals.
It felt wrong to just give up on a fight. But the price of life was too great. It wouldn't be right to sacrifice even more lives.
'More fighting will not end all fighting, not now, not ever.'
"Damn it!" Ed screamed as he slammed his hands to the ground, sending up a long row of spikes extending across the distance. He could feel his anger and frustration mounting, and as he poured all of that frustration into his alchemy, the wall of spikes grew, impaling Drachma soldiers, and covering for the Amestris retreat. At least he could maybe stop some of the bullets that would no doubt be fired.
"Come on Fullmetal, now's not the time for heroics," Mustang screamed at him while tugging at his sleeve. The Colonel hated retreat too, but that was the only thing they could do. He knew that if they got to their reserve lines, they would have enough reinforcement to hold the opposition at bay.
When the younger alchemist didn't move from his spot on the ground, the older man cursed, before with astounding strength, lifted the boy up from the ground, Edward's eyes wide with shock, and ran, carrying Edward with him.
Soon, sounds of gunfire were being heard from both sides. They had reached the Amestrian reserve lines. The battle was over. The Drachmans had regained what they had lost.
(1) Not literally. Term of respect...Iris is not actually sora's big sister...it's like in japanese...nee-san, kay?
Not only muffled is our tread;
To cheat the foe.
We fear to rouse our honoured dead;
To heal us go.
Sleep sound old friends – the keenest smart
Which more than failure, wounds the heart
Is thus to leave you – thus to part.
Australian soldier, ANZAC
A/N: So. This took forever. Unfortuantely. We had a bit of a problem at school, for both my beta and I, except I think I'm having a very, very, very busy time for the next while...Reasons? English, Biotech, Chem, German, Biotech, Compsci, Biotech, music stuff, biotech, a gym assignment (of all things!), Bio portfolio stuff...and more biotech...sigh...Meaning, I'll be missing for the next two months or so, maybe for christmas though...anyways, I'll probably have some oneshots up over the next few days, depending on how biotech goes...and I apologise for the long period of inactivity...
