DISCLAIMER: I do not own Berserk, or its associated characters. I do not own Full Metal Alchemist, or its associated characters. I'm just writing this for my own amusement. And in this chapter, we gain even more protagonists…
THE DESERT
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Two days of sleeping, in whatever shade he could find. Two nights of pulling himself across the desert, scrounging up whatever food and water he could find, watching his exposed skin get ragged and raw from the blowing sand.
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Still, Caska was out there somewhere. Maybe in trouble, maybe worse… And with that always in his mind, he kept on going, in the direction that the sun set. West…
Step.
Drag.
And he paused. Squinted his remaining eye, as he dug the sword into the sand, and braced himself for a second. Finally, he reached into a pouch at his side, and pulled out a small, yawning figure.
"Hrnn.? Wuzzat? Ah…" Puck yawned, and flexed his wings, as Guts held him up by an arm.
"Hey, elf. You see what I'm seeing?"
Puck blinked. Stared, and cheered! "A city! I knew it! C'mon, let's go…"
"Whoa, there."
He let Puck go, and the tiny elf flittered desperately to avoid a fall. "Gah! I mean, what are we waiting for?"
Guts took a grip on his sword, as he pointed with his metal arm. The gears grated, and the fingers twitched, as it locked into place.
Damn. Needs oil, soon, and cleaning. Can't do it out here, with all this sand…
"See all those little shelters around the town wall?"
"Oh, those?" Puck squinted in the moonlight. "Wow, I thought they were garbage heaps."
"Nope. Looks like refugees."
"Refugees? What difference does that make?"
"If they're building shelters outside the wall, probably means the gates are closed at night, to keep them from sneaking in. So we wouldn't get inside the city. And refugees are usually running from something. I come in at night looking like this, well..."
Puck winced. "Yeah, you might have a point. No sense in having to fight a whole bunch of innocent people."
Guts was silent a minute.
"Yeah." He said, finally.
"Anyway, I haven't seen any ghosts here. Take watch, and wake me if anything happens, I'll rest up for the morning."
"Right!" And Puck flitted out among the dunes, moving in a looping, low circle as Guts settled into the sand, pillowing his head on his good arm.
We'll try this tomorrow…-----
Step.
Drag.
Step.
Drag.
Jannis nudged Kimmal awake.
"Hey. You see what I see?"
The large man grinned, lifting his floppy, wide-brimmed hat from his bald head. "I see easy pickings."
Jannis grinned back, his mismatched teeth shining yellow in early morning's light. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?"
The two men got up from their seats in the shade, and picked their way through the fringes of the refugee camp, kicking or shoving anyone who got too close to them. Women snatched up their children and got out of the way, men looked aside and at the ground, and the elderly survivors watched them go with glares. They were not well-liked, Jannis and Kimmal. But they were Ishbalan, so they were tolerated.
And in a few short minutes, they were standing in front of their latest mark.
He was a muscular man, under the grimy bandages. He might have been large, but with the way he was leaning on some kind of wide, metal tool, it was hard to tell. One eye was permanently shut, and one of his trouser legs ended just above the knee, where he had been maimed. His left arm was automail of some sort, and Jannis smiled to see it. Automail's good money, even used… The man was looking them over, no real expression on his face. Every square inch of him was covered with a fine dusting of sand, and his exposed skin was burned. It was normally pale skin, not the darker hues that indicated Ishbalan blood. Which makes him fair game, no one in the refugee camp will stand up for him, thought Jannis.
Despite his raggedy condition, the man's belt had several pouches on it. Pouches that looked full, and inviting…
Kimmal grinned, and set his thumbs in his belt. "Evening, friend. You look like you've been through a lot. Unfortunately, we've got bad news for you…"
"Yeah." Said Jannis. "Liore already has enough desperate wanderers. So, you can't come in here."
"Not without a tax, anyway. And we're the collectors." Sniggered Kimmal.
The man was just watching them. He was, of all things, looking bored. Jannis frowned.
Jannis didn't see the small, green elf perched on Guts' shoulder, though he was looking straight at it. No one did.
And the man finally spoke, his voice rough and deep. "I don't have any coin. Guess you're out of luck."
"Well then, that's fine. We'll take that automail arm of yours. You won't miss it, you're doing fine with one leg. Or maybe we'll take that shovel you're lugging around. Sure, you'll have to crawl, but we don't mind…"
"Have you seen a strange woman show up in the last few days? Dark skin, like yours? She's a little scatterbrained…"
The pair blinked. Then Jannis shrugged. "Haven't seen anyone in the camp, but I haven't been looking. You could go in and look for yourself, if you paid the tax. Hell, we'd even let you get into the city! Just a small donation friend, and you can go see the sights to your heart's content…"
"Hey." The man was looking past them, at the watching refugees beyond.
"You just gonna let things go this way?" The man raised his voice, and looked around at the bystanders.
They looked away, not meeting his eyes, and the women pulled their children into nearby tents.
Kimmal laughed. "That what you were hoping for? Rescue? You've got the wrong color skin for that, and we Ishbalans have our own problems nowadays. So, we have to look out for ourselves. And now, I think that's enough stalling." Kimmal slid his knife from his belt, and Jannis pounded his meaty fist into his palm, grinning.
"You're guilty of tax evasion, so we'll be confiscating all you've got. Now, if you don't struggle, you might get out of here without a beating…"
The man shifted his… shovel, or whatever it was, to his automail arm, and looked at Jannis. Jannis took half a step back, before he caught himself. That eye… That's the eye of a dead man…
"So. Right or left?" The man asked, in a conversational tone of voice.
"What? Oh, just get him!" And together the pair rushed the cripple, who fell onto his back, and KICKED as Kimmal rushed forward! His boot caught the Kimmal square in the groin, and LIFTED him up and over, sending him rolling onto the sand, clutching himself, and seeing red. He was out of the fight, howling and sobbing as he squirmed, and dimly he heard Jannis bellowing in rage. "I've got you now, you bastard! Not so tough with my hands around your neck, are you? HAhahahaha…wha?"
Then, the sand shook for a second, and there was a dull BOOM.
After half a minute, his ears recovered, and the pain was not so much. He saw his knife a few feet away, and crawled toward it desperately, reaching out his hand… Just as a booted foot came down on his fingers, and with a CHUNK, a massive wedge of iron was shoved into the sand, a few inches in front of his face. He screamed, and finally realized just what the tool WAS, even as the faint remnants of his rational mind dismissed the idea.
It was far too big to be called a sword.
Too heavy, too thick, and far too rough, it was more like a heap of raw iron...
"Let's see," came the stranger's voice, as he ground his heel on Kimmal's hand. Kimmal whimpered.
"By the way you were holding your knife, I'd say you were right handed. So I'll start with your left. Have you seen a strange woman come through in the last couple of days?"
"J… Jannis! Help me…AGH!"
The stranger had pinned his outstretched left hand to the sand with a throwing knife.
"Jannis. Was that that other guy's name? Sorry, you're out of luck, then."
And in horror, Kimmal looked around.
And saw the stunned crowd, and the red pulp sprayed over their faces. He followed the grisly trail down, until he saw the mangled mess on the sand, that had once been Jannis. There was a strange smoke in the air, a heavy, hellish scent, and he heard a faint hissing…
He looked up at the stranger, and saw the smoke pouring out of his automail, slowly dissipating in the desert wind. What did he do? What did he DO to Jannis? And his fevered mind could only seize upon one answer…
"Look. It's real simple. Have you seen a strange woman come through here in…"
"Alchemy…" Hissed Kimmal, and around him the crowd gasped. "You… you're an alchemist! A murderer!"
"Wrong answer." Kimmal howled, as another throwing knife thunked into his hand. But by then, the crowd was murmuring, and he could hear them pressing forward.
The stranger looked up, and his eye widened. "Damn."
His foot came away from Kimmal's hand, and with a yell of triumph, Kimmal shoved it forward and grabbed the knife…
…As the stranger kicked Kimmal in the head. And Kimmal knew nothing more…
---
Guts hopped awkwardly, recovering from the kick. The bandit seemed to be solidly out, and he knew he'd need his footing shortly. He looked around, at the outraged crowd, and heard the low murmur of an unfamiliar language.
"Look, I told him and I'll tell you, I got no coin." He spoke, and saw only angry faces.
"You're an alchemist! You killed poor Jannis with alchemy! You're a murderer! Heretic! MONSTER!" Came the response. The first few stones arced past him, and he narrowed his eye.
"What'll we do?" Yelled Puck, as he ducked behind Guts shoulder.
"Might want to get clear." Guts murmured back. "Still getting the hang of fighting on one leg, had to use the cannon on that guy. This could get messy."
"But… But, they're just people! They're just scared…"
Guts didn't bother looking down. "So, what? I should let them kill me here? Leave Caska to whatever fate comes her way?"
Puck blinked. "No, but…"
A rock bounced off of Guts' sword, as he shifted it around to block. Safe behind the massive blade for a second, he turned his head to Puck. "They would have stood by, and let these two morons work me over. Now they're ready to kill me over these two wastes of space, and I got no idea why. What a joke, huh?"
Guts wasn't smiling. His face was sad, and more than that, resigned. He knew what was coming. And he didn't have any way to stop it. Demons were one thing, but this…
The crowd grew louder, and Puck heard them start to rush forward, gaining courage as others came with them, and a small hail of stones thudded off of Guts' blade…
Tears leaked from the corners of Puck's eyes. He flew free, unseen by the mob that was rapidly surrounding them. "I… I know. Just… Can you not kill them?"
Guts sighed, and shifted the sword, his free hand plucking out throwing knives from his bandolier. The mob slowed, and started to spread out, no one wanted to be the first to reach this terrifying man…
"I wish I could." Guts murmured, as he looked around. There's a lot of them, and I can't move so well, with no leg and my arm full of grit.. Not even sure I can swing this sword right… If I was whole, maybe I could do this without killing any of them. I could get away.
But
I'm not whole. And that makes it simple.
If
I want to survive this, then I can't hold back.
For a second, they stood, looking at each other. And for a few more seconds, he thought that they might back down, that they could all walk away from this, that he wouldn't have to wade through an ocean of blood on this day.
And then, the stone caught him on the brow. Light and sharp, it had come out of the sun, blinding him until the last second. It cut his forehead, and sent him reeling for a second.
And in that second, the mob moved in, and he did the only thing he knew how to do.
And they died, and they died, and they died…
TWO HOURS LATER
After quarrelling and a good sand-fight, the armored figure and the short, blonde, red-coated kid walked over the rise, and looked at the city below. "There she is, Al! Liore. Let's hope that this time the rumor is true…"
"Only one way to find out, brother… Hey, what's that?"
He pointed, and the small figure shielded his eyes from the sun, as he looked around.
"Looks like a caravan, but I don't see any horses… And they're pretty poor for merchants. Let's go see what's going on."
The two brothers trudged up to the city, waving at the first in line of the "Caravan." "Hey, what's going on?" The blonde asked. "Where are you going?"
The old man shook his head, and scowled at the city. "A monster came in, and started killing our people. The guards did nothing, we had to fight him ourselves! And then, when we were about to overwhelm him, the Templars came, and took him inside. Threatened to shoot us if we didn't let him go! Damned cultists of a false god…"
He spat, and the blonde kid blinked. "Wait… You're Ishbalan, aren't you? I didn't think there were any of you guys left…"
The old man's face hardened, as tears leaked down his wrinkled, brown face. "Well. There's ten less of us now, and more wounded. We're abandoning this worthless town, and they can keep their damned monster and their evil cult. Don't go there, young man. There's nothing but sorrow there."
And the caravan started up again, the Ishbalans making their way into the desert, as the two strangers watched them go.
"Ed." Whispered the armored figure. "What's going on here?"
"I don't know Al… But we're gonna find out!"
And with the sun at high noon in the sky, the Elric brothers walked through the gates of Liore.
