Hi, people. Sorry I haven't updated in so long. Like, seven - eight months? There really isn't a good excuse for it. Well, I'M SORRY. I figured that I should start writing once the schoolwork load has diminished a bit. And it hasn't until now, because I'm going to high school and our teachers never have any secret meetings so they don't know how much they give us altogether. And they're teachers, they should know. Sorry, I'm ranting again. I'll just give the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I do not own SINF and/or Fullmetal Alchemist.

"I hope you're kidding," Alphonse said, not excited at all.

"Why would we kid about such a thing?" Saint-Germain said. "You know that the myths and legends are all true. Is it really that surprising that a Roman war god is—?"

"Not that," Al said abruptly. "I already know that. What I don't get is why we have to see a Roman war god. Please tell me something sounds wrong about that. Because if I'm right, Mars Ultor means 'Mars the Avenger'. I don't have a death wish. I don't know about you two, but I'm perfectly fine going to see this Noticula person you've mentioned earlier."

"It's true that Mars is bitter after all these millennia," Joan said after a while, "but he's still neutral as far as I'm concerned. He won't destroy you for any wrong reason."

". . . Why did you say 'you'?"

Saint-Germain sighed, rubbing his forehead. "The god has got two minions that take the form of a half-goat, half-human being."

"Fauns."

"Right. But they're not any old jolly good fauns you've heard about in the stories. These guys are the real deal. One senses your worst nightmare and throws you into a hallucination and the other feeds off of your fear. If you show any of these things in their presence, you're gone. Just like that."

Alphonse gulped.

"But that isn't very likely, with Mars' condition," Francis finished.

"What is his condition?" Alphonse asked.

"Well, remember what we said about him being stuck?"

The young boy nodded.

"The thing is . . . he's really stuck. As in stuck in place and unable to move. So there's really nothing for you to fear."

"And you're sure about this."

"N . . . no," the count admitted. "I'm trying to get you not to feel fear by lying about it, but it doesn't seem to be working."

Alphonse stood up from his seat. "It doesn't matter to me. I don't see why I have to fear a mythical being." He sighed wearily. "All right, let's get this over with. Which way is the Paris Catacombs?"

"Are you sure about this?" Joan demanded urgently, standing up quickly. "Are you positively sure about this?"

The boy shrugged. "If Mars decides to kill us, we're dead. And if we fail into getting his support, we'll die anyway. What's the difference between that and not going at all? The only choice we have is to succeed. I don't see another way."

"I don't want to make you do something you'll regret," Joan said, clearly distressed as her French accent was showing through.

Francis placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll be fine."

"Wait—I'm not going in alone," Alphonse said, holding up a finger. "That's one of my conditions. Don't you think it's better if we all went together? You know, strength in numbers? If I do manage to get out of there alive by myself, I don't want to recount it from the beginning for you two."

"You're right," Joan said. She took her fiancé's hand. "Come. The nearest entrance to the Catacombs is a few blocks away."

The trio got up and went downstairs via a wooden staircase built behind the actual church that led outside.

"Handy," Alphonse commented.

"Why, thank you," Joan said.

"So where are we headed exactly?"

"There's this park a view blocks away," Francis began. "We move a statue aside and there should be the entrance right under it."

"Aren't you afraid anyone would see us?"

"That won't be a problem," the count replied. "Nothing a little magic couldn't fix."

Alphonse hesitated. "Well . . . all right. If you say so."

He wasn't exactly comfortable with the prospect of magic yet. He accepted that it was real, but thinking that many depended so much on it made him reluctant to agree to further exploits.

The three casually slipped into the bustling street, making sure that their secret mission wasn't noticed. A man and woman stood hand-in-hand with a boy in the middle, their son, and they seemed like any other typical family. However . . .

"This is never going to work," Alphonse said.

"Shh," Joan hushed. "If you say it won't, it won't. Now be quiet."

"This way," Saint-Germain said, crossing the street and into an alley.

He led Joan and Alphonse past the alley and emerged at the other side, where they ended up in a green park. There was a pond nearby, where the children played and birds swam. An elderly man sat on a bench, feeding the pigeons. And a bunch of schoolchildren sat under a tree, listening to what their teacher was saying.

"Doesn't seem very empty," Al pointed out.

"It's in the garden," Francis whispered.

Together, all three of them merrily marched across the park, none of the other visitors paying them any mind. A hedge opened up for them, and they entered. It looked like a maze at first, but the bushes opened up to reveal a lush garden filled with colourful flowers and singing birds. The center was in the shape of a square. White marbles statues were situated at each corner.

"It's around here somewhere," Joan said, beginning her search for the entrance. "I would remember it, but all these statues look the same to me."

Alphonse decided to help search, looking under bushes and trees, flowers and vines. When he went under some foliage to examine the soil, his foot got caught in a tangle of leaves and he heaved with all his might to get it out. He tried a couple of times, and on the last try, he successfully dislodged himself from the vegetation. However, the force of the pull sent him stumbling backwards and he bumped into something hard and cold.

He whirled around, just in time to see Cupid shatter on the ground.

"Sorry," he said, though he knew Cupid couldn't hear him.

"That's okay," Joan said. She looked down. "You've found the entrance at least."

"What? I did?"

"Oui. We'll fix the statue. Then we'll enter the catacombs."

With his magic, Saint-Germain repaired the statue and pushed it up beside the hole leading down into the depths. Joan went in first, then Alphonse, and then he was last to close up the entrance.

The tunnel was submerged in complete darkness.

"Anyone got a light?" Al asked.

"Yes, hold on." Saint-Germain held up a hand and willed his fire magic to work. Then his hand sparked to life. "Ah! There we go."

"Isn't that something," Joan murmured, taking her fiancé's hand. "He's the Master of Fire, you know."

But Alphonse wasn't listening. He was staring straight down into the blackness.

"I could hear it," he murmured. "Souls. So many souls. I didn't know how many have died and were thrown in here. There have to be . . . thousands." He tilted his head to the side. "And yet . . . there is a large soul down there as well. Is that Mars?"

"Yes." Joan sounded surprised. "You can sense souls?"

Alphonse grasped at his shirt. He nodded once. After all, he used to be just a soul as well, stuck in an empty suit of armour.

"I've never heard of that ability," Francis said. "Well, in any case, we should get going."

They went down, down, down—it went on forever, never stopping, it seemed. Finally, the ground leveled out and Saint-Germain's light flickered. They've stopped in a hall, filled with human skulls.

"No matter how many times I've been done here," the count said, "I can't quite get used to this sight."

"Moi aussi," Joan muttered.

They continued on. The hall kept on going until they reached a rectangular room that looked like the sewers. The first thing that struck Alphonse was the smell. It was musty, stinky, gross. It was rather unorthodox to place a sewer inside the graves of millions of people.

"Yes," Joan said, as if answering Alphonse's silent question, "the sewers of Paris are connected to the Catacombs."

They pinched their noses as they walked past. They came to another hall still filled with human skulls. A little while later, they came to a bigger room, one filled with white bones. In the center of the room stood a bone-white pillar and a giant skull of . . . some kind of prehistoric animal. The large kind.

"He's in there," Francis said.

Alphonse gulped. The eeriness sent chills down his spine. He was hoping it'd take longer to get here, because he was dreading the meeting with Mars. If this Elder was imprisoned in such a rotten place, he had to be menacing and no less terrifying.

Francis and Joan were already heading through the bone gates. Alphonse stood frozen in his spot.

"What's wrong?" Joan asked, peering over her shoulder. "We must hurry, Alphonse."

"No. Sorry. It's just—" He clutched at his chest. "I could feel such a tremendous soul in there."

"Are you frightened?" asked the Count. "It's all right if you are."

"I'm fine," Alphonse assured him.

"Are you sure you don't have any aura?" the count said. "I don't think sensing a soul is possible for any mortal human."

Joan squeezed her fiancé's hand. "Now's not the time. Alphonse"—she nodded once, reassuringly—"do not show any fear."

Alphonse jerked his head once. He didn't have the courage to come up with a response. He was afraid his voice would come out pathetic and squeaky. Before Joan had brought it up again, he was fine. But now that she reminded him to show no fear—guess what? He was frightened. Fear threatened to grab ahold of his legs and force him to run the other way.

But he couldn't. They made it this far, and he wasn't going to back out. He was seeing this through.

For Brother.

"Come on, then."

Joan and Francis led the way. Alphonse was right behind them—so close, he swore he stepped on their heels a couple of times. He wrapped his thick coat around himself. Was it him, or did it just get so much colder and darker?

It was probably the work of Mars the Avenger.

The cavern was dark and ominous. There wasn't a light except for the fire Francis had conjured up in his hand. Alphonse did not know much about the powers of magic he possessed, but he could guess that the reason why the count couldn't make a bigger light was because it would burn up his aura. Truthfully, Alphonse didn't want to catch a glimpse of everything. He was better off not knowing.

"How big is this place?" he whispered.

Even though his voice was only so wispy and quiet, the sound made him cringe. Alphonse knew it was impossible, but his voice seemed to literally echo around the cavern. The loudness and the long drawn-out echoes gave him an idea about how big this cave actually was. It wasn't just his voice that shook him, either. There were the tell-tale sounds of footsteps belonging to him and his two other companions.

There was another sound out there—some kind of quick scurrying—but he couldn't be sure.

Come on, Al, he told himself. You've survived going through the Gate—on numerous occasions, even. This you can handle.

But in real life, some reassurances just didn't work.

"He's not too far off," Francis said in his normal tone of voice.

Compared to his earlier octave, the sound of the count's voice made Alphonse fear the collapse of the cave entirely. But he had to trust the Frenchwoman and the count. At first he didn't trust them. Maybe he still didn't. But they were all he had, and he had to stick with them through to the end. Besides, they came down here already, many times. Not much could go wrong.

And as soon as he thought that, the entire cavern lit up. One-by-one from the center, arcs of torches lit outwards and around, encircling the cave in a harmony of torchlight. The occupants froze.

They certainly weren't alone. Not too far off, dark figures began to emerge from the shadows. They came up from behind a giant statue—a depiction of a man in armor. As Alphonse looked closer, he realized that the statue was glowing red hot, with a reddish-purplish aura surrounding it.

"Don't tell me that's Mars," he said.

"Do not show fear," the count ordered.

Alphonse shut up, converting his brain power to controlling his emotions. This was no time to go nuts about everything—about how he'd lost his brother, about how he was all alone, and about all that he learned, about the magic and gods—

"I told you not to show fear," Francis said. "Stop thinking, Alphonse."

"I'm trying."

The dark shadows from before took shape. Well, if one could call it that. They resembled short, furry creatures, but they seemed to shift in and out of existence, as if they were actually made of shadows. Alphonse caught sight of a pair of horns. He didn't know which was which, but one thing he was fairly certain of: This was Phobos and Deimos, Mars' servants.

Both Phobos and Deimos flanked the glowing statue's two sides. That was probably Mars right there, trapped in some kind of rock.

"Oh…" Alphonse said. "Oh. That's what you meant by 'stuck', wasn't it?"

Joan nodded her head grimly. "Yes. Years ago, a terrible curse was unleashed upon Mars. This spelled caused Mars Ultor to be trapped right in the hardening case of his own aura. It's a terrible fate."

"I should say so," rumbled a deep voice. "Or perhaps I deserve this."

"Mars," Francis said.

"Every time he moves up from his place," Joan continued, "his aura would harden again. That is why he cannot ever leave this cave."

"That is not the case. I choose not to leave because I vow to protect the people."

"By staying trapped down here?" Alphonse asked. "You think just because you're insane it means you could stay away from everyone? Whether you like it or not, people are dying out there. You can help them."

Alphonse shut his mouth, realizing what he'd just done. Joan looked at him sharply, shaking her head.

"All anyone's ever done is come down here asking for my help. Just let me sleep. If I must be like this for eternity, I would rather rest for eternity rather than fight."

"But you are the war god," Alphonse said.

Joan shot him another look, urging him to shut up. Let us deal with this, her look said.

Alphonse reluctantly mellowed. They were trying to find his brother. He had a right to be a part in this.

"Please, call off your servants," urged Joan. "We come just for a simple question, because we think that you might know the answer."

"You think I would know, being trapped down here for centuries," said the god. "Don't make me laugh."

"Why are you so bitter and cold?" Alphonse demanded. He couldn't help it. If this small talk continued, he would never find out where his brother had gone. "Why do you refuse to help anyone? In the stories, you were a hero—a hero of the people. Are you going to abandon us again?"

"I abandoned you a long time ago!" the god bellowed. A fissure cracked in his rock armor. "First it's my two sons and now this…I do not want to help! I cannot! Leave. Me. Be!"

Mars' anger caused a tremor to occur in the underground cavern. Alphonse's knees buckled and he tumbled onto the floor.

Phobos and Deimos unlocked themselves from their paralyses and approached the humans. They bared their fangs, claws extended. Alphonse dreaded the thought of dying here, in this dark, damp cave. And the worse thing?

He would never get to know what happened to Edward.

Fear . . . Horror . . . Pain . . . Sadness . . . Loss.

So many things echoed in Alphonse's mind, threatening to tug him out of the present and into the past—a past where many of his fears and horrors were hidden. He didn't want to go back there. But Phobos and Deimos were taking advantage of it. He had no choice. He had to go back.

It's the only way to fight it, a voice told him.

He felt a terrible wrench, one more horrible than when he felt his whole body disintegrate into tiny molecules. More horrible than being tore apart before the Gate. More horrible than seeing his dear brother die with blood seeping through the hole in his chest.

To fight it is to accept it.

The first thing he saw was the basement of his old house. He saw a chalk-lined transmutation circle below his feet. He saw a giant bowl with dark matter inside. Two drops of crimson liquid. So this is just after their mother died. This is the moment that would change their lives forever. The moment that started everything.

Things seemed to go by in fast-forward. Alphonse saw his own self beside a younger Edward, bending down before the transmutation circle and activating it, calling for their mother.

But things started to go wrong. Before Alphonse could register what happened, he was back in his smaller body, reliving the moment that he always wanted to forget, but never could. All over again, he felt his body being torn apart and dragged inside the Gate.

"Brother!" he screamed.

Al!

Alphonse eyes widened. That voice . . . It was his, Edward's.

Al! Alphonse! Not my brother! Bring him back!

Just as his body completely disappeared, Alphonse was dragged out of the fray and watching everything in third-person again. He saw Edward crying over the malformed mutation that was their 'mother', and saw him call back the soul of his younger brother.

To fight it is to accept it.

"Mother's gone," Alphonse spoke, as if he'd just realized it. "We can't . . . It's impossible to bring back the dead."

It was like some sort of punishment. The same event, from start to finish, played over and over again.

Alphonse felt stinging tears slide down his cheeks.

M-Mom . . . ?

The scene shifted. He was no longer standing inside the musty old basement, but outside his house. Except his house was burning. Edward was beside him, like always, and he sported his flaming-red coat, which seemed even more blazing in the flickering embers of the fire.

We no longer have a home. Edward looked determined. We can't go back.

"No turning back," said Alphonse.

No.

"But Brother, what are we going to do now?"

Isn't it obvious? We can never come back to this. We need to move forward. We need to get our bodies back.

His surroundings dimmed. Alphonse hung his head.

"But is that really all it is? Was burning our home really going to erase all the sins we've committed? All you're doing is running away, Brother."

The scene melted into darkness, and was quickly replaced by another. This one was more recent. They were under the earth, in the city that disappeared overnight. Wrath was still by the side. Rose was grief-stricken, holding her baby. And Edward . . .

He was laying there, his life bleeding out of him. Envy was laughing.

"Brother?" Alphonse's voice seemed tiny, unimportant. "Brother, don't go."

He'd brought Edward back to life. But everything else he had no control over. No matter how many selfless decisions he made for his brother, Edward would always come back and break the record. He watched as Edward once again sacrificed his mind, soul and body to revive his younger brother.

There is no such thing as Equivalent Exchange. And if what my father says is true, then Al's soul should be still inside the Gate. My body, mind and soul should be enough to revive him. But that's all I could give him, in the end . . . And perhaps, another chance at life, without all this crap I've put him through.

With a resounding clap throughout the stillness, the darkness lit up. Slowly, Edward's existence melted away, until in his place, was a sleeping boy.

"Why, Ed? You're always so selfless. Why don't you just live for yourself and be happy?" Alphonse felt himself getting sleepy. "Don't you understand? I did everything for you. I was supposed to die in the beginning."

The scene changed, and for the last time. Alphonse recognized this memory. This was right after he'd reunited with Ed and taken down Eckhart, the one who caused all the destruction in Amestris with her warship. Wanted to conquer Shamballa, she said.

They were on the human-made ship. Edward was transmuting it in half. Each piece was headed in a different direction.

I've got to get back and close the Gate, so nothing like this can happen again.

"Why?" Alphonse yelled. "What about everyone? What about Winry? Don't you know she'll miss you too?"

Edward smiled. Sorry, Al. This is something I've got to do. He turned slowly, as if to draw out the moment so it'd last longer, and then disappeared into the bridge. Alphonse realized that Edward didn't want to leave as much as he wanted him to stay. But he had to. This wasn't his world anymore.

"Let me go," Alphonse demanded at Mustang.

Are you sure? the ex-colonel said. You know you can't come back, Alphonse.

Alphonse nodded once. "Make sure you close the Gate on this side. And also . . . take care of everyone for us."

Mustang relented. Alphonse performed a quick transmutation to get him across to the other half. He readied himself for the trip, hiding inside a suit of armor, just like the old times.

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea," he said to himself as the memory dissolved. "We're in this mess because I decided to come along. If I listened to him, maybe we wouldn't be having this problem, or another tragic story."

To fight it is to accept it.

"I accept it," Alphonse said, closing his eyes. "I accept all of it."

He was wrenched out of time again—but this time it was smoother, more calming and gentle. Alphonse knew he was in the right place. His chest felt so much lighter, rid of all his worries. There was really no use to fear anything.

Alphonse opened his eyes. He suddenly found himself face to face with Phobos and Deimos' claws, an inch from running him through. He was kneeling on the floor, panting like he'd run a marathon, but it was from the adrenaline. Phobos and Deimos stood over him, frozen in their spots.

Then they made a harsh cracking sound, like they were made of stone before, and now they've just broken the spell. They backed away from him and into the shadows once more.

Joan and Francis came running over and knelt down beside him.

"Are you all right?" Joan fussed over him like an over-concerned mother. "What happened? Did they hurt you?"

"No," Alphonse said.

"What did you see?" Francis demanded.

"I don't…"

A hoarse barking sound came from the statue of Mars Ultor. Alphonse noticed that he was actually laughing.

"You, mortal, actually fought off my minions. No one has ever done that before."

"I had help," Alphonse admitted.

"I would like to know how you managed that."

"Actually, I came here in search of an answer. I can only tell you so much." Alphonse waited for the god's response, knowing he would be disappointed once again. However, this time a surprise came around.

"And I shall give you the help."

"Hold on." Francis got to his feet and stood over his fiancé and Alphonse protectively. "You just said that you won't help us, just a second ago. Something's odd about this. Why the sudden change of judgment?"

"It is not fitting for a god to say this…but this boy has given me hope. Survive a few more years, young one, and perhaps we can save the world."

"And you'll be willing to help?" Alphonse said.

"I will not promise that. A lot can change in a century. You mortals always think just because we are gods, and that we have been this way for millennia, means that we cannot change. Time goes one, people change. It is how life works."

"But you're willing to help now?"

"Correct. Since you passed my test, I shall grant you that much. Now what is your question?"

Alphonse was still a bit dazed from his nerve-jarring 'test', so he crawled to his feet, standing before Mars Ultor. He trusted the god not to suddenly betray them all and summon his terrifying minions.

"I am looking for my brother, Edward," Alphonse stated, straight to the point. "We came because we wanted to know where he might be."

"I told you," said the god, "being trapped down here means I'm not up to current events. And Edward is a common name. You need to be more specific."

"Elric," Alphonse said. "Specific enough?"

Mars stood straight up, cracking open his hard shell of a prison, and grasped at Alphonse's shoulders. His grip was strong. He was currently rid of his rock aura, and Alphonse could see the full glory of the war god, standing regally in his crimson armor.

Alphonse was afraid that once his aura started hardening again, he would never be able to get out until Mars moved again. And the god made it seem like the effort was only a once-in-a-century-thing.

"You are Hohenheim's son." It was a statement, not a question.

Alphonse nodded stiffly. He couldn't exactly move his head very well. Mars' hands were massive.

"He came to me once before," Mars said.

"He's dead."

"Unfortunate."

"Don't say it like he's just collateral damage!" Alphonse felt his anger boil just from being too close to this guy. He figured this was one of Mars' affects—you know, from being a war god, and a highly insane one.

"Where was your brother last seen?" Mars asked.

"Why? I thought you didn't know?"

"If this is about that Edward, then I would know that he is no longer in this world."

"What—are you saying he found his way into a Shadowrealm?" Saint-Germain said.

Mars didn't say anything. He was probably nodding. But it was pretty hard to tell.

When Mars looked down at him, Alphonse could see a pool of sparkling blue eyes. It was filled with anxiety, sympathy, and above all else…compassion. Alphonse didn't think the war god was capable of this. The moment seemed to have lasted forever. Mars' eyes spoke thousands of words, many of them Alphonse found confusing. And then Mars blinked, his irises once again replaced by liquid hot fire.

"I need more specific details if I am to help you," continued the god. "Tell me where you have last seen him."

"A few days ago," Alphonse supplied. "Off the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. He was on a boat ride with a guide."

It wasn't much, but Alphonse could feel the god's shaking hands. He was afraid the hardened aura would crack again and spray him with sharp shrapnel.

"I do not think your brother is in this world," Mars confirmed. "He is also not in this time, either. You would best abandon searching for him. He's a lost cause."

"How can you say that?" Alphonse demanded. "I would never stop searching for him! He's my brother! Siblings don't just abandon each other like that, no matter where they are—when they are."

"I commend your chivalry," Mars said with surprising regret, "but you can't do anything for your brother. He is in another time entirely. If you wish, you can live the rest of your life out and hopefully meet him again someday. But I cannot guarantee that the time is near. He may be two hundred years into the future. Time holds no boundaries, nor is it merciful."

"I can't just leave him," Alphonse muttered.

"Tell me," said Mars, "did you find anything on an ancient circle with geometrical patterns on them?"

"Is that important?" Alphonse said, shoulders sagging.

"Did you?"

"Yes, now that I think about it." Alphonse perked up. "Ed was looking at a book with a transmutation circle on it. It's located in the Gulf. Do you think he…?"

"Yes, I believe he went forward in time via that transmutation circle. Such a thing to call it, too. Tell me, which world are you from?"

Alphonse stared at the god in disbelief. He turned and saw that neither Francis nor Joan had heard anything.

"Amestris," he told the god. "Beyond the Gate. Do you know of it?"

Mars stared. "Yes. Now everything makes sense."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The transmutation circle. It has the ability to do extraordinary things. It's the very thing that sent your brother forward in time."

"Forward? How do you know that?"

"Because, I imagine, there are far greater problems in the future than now. Which also means that the problems now cannot be resolved in your lifetime. The Great Circle probably needed your brother's help for that reason."

"Why him?"

"Because he was the first. You can try to go there and activate it, but it will not work. It already has a candidate. You'll just have to wait things out, I'm afraid."

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Alphonse prompted. "Please, can't you bring Edward back?"

"It is out of my power."

"Then can you bring me to him?"

"That is also out of my power. Although"—Mars got a gleam in his eyes, and that was pretty hard to miss—"there is another way."

"What is it?"

"You have to wait."

"You already mentioned that."

"No. I shall help you wait."

"How will you—?"

"You have no aura," Mars noted. "Perhaps that shall make things a little easier."

"Hold on!" Alphonse suddenly shouted, causing both Francis and Joan to come over to see what was wrong.

"Have you got your answer?" the count asked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alphonse said to Mars. "What do you mean it 'makes things a little easier'?"

"I shall make you immortal," said the god.

"Wait, what?" Francis said.

"It will help you wait, like I said."

"That is not helping," Joan said. "Pas du tout. You can kill him by Awakening him!"

"Oh Truth," Alphonse breathed. "You can't be serious."

"Do you not want to see your brother? I don't understand what the problem is."

"This boy has no aura to begin with!" Francis said. "You can kill him!"

"Not exactly. You've been misinformed. In fact, it's safer when the target has no aura, thus no fear of an overload of senses."

"He could gain an aura. It's still too risky!"

"That is true. But at least the process will be less dangerous. The effects afterwards may hurt a bit more. You have heard of Gilgamesh the King, correct? He was thought to have possessed an aura in the first place, but lost it after his Awakening. Now he has nothing and cannot use the magic he has knowledge of. It's such a shame too. I pity him."

"How does that help?" Joan demanded, her French accent pronounced with stress.

"With Alphonse Elric's Awakening, I believe the process will be backwards. No aura to begin with, after Awakening, he receives an aura, and he is immortal. It has not been done before, but not impossible. It is a gift bestowed upon you by a god. Why do you hesitate in this decision?"

"Because I'm not stupid," Alphonse said. "I've heard about this Awakening process. And I know I'll die. So no thank you. Let go of me and I'll promise you I'll find my brother, but in my own way."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter," Mars rumbled darkly.

Before Alphonse could process what he meant by that, a blinding light wrapped around his mind, forcing his senses to withdraw completely. He was floating in a white, empty plain, similar to the one Truth resided within.

"Too many times," he heard the voice was Mars speak, "too many times have I seen foolish mortals make the same mistake. I will not let that happen again. My sons were the prime examples. They were stubborn and simple-minded. You will soon see how this Awakening shall benefit you. I regret this by forcing this on you, but this is for your own good, Alphonse Elric."

Pain exploded inside Alphonse's mind. Everything seemed to literally shatter. His every being burned with a bright fire, threatening to implode outwards from the inside. Alphonse couldn't sense anything around him. He could feel strong hands gripping him, and he could feel the horrible pain, but nothing else registered. He never felt so alone.

Mars' voice echoed inside his mind, making his throat burn.

"Alphonse, son of Van Hohenheim and Trisha, of Clan Elric, of the race humani…"

There were more words, but Mars' voice became warbled and static—something about Earth Lords and the Ancients' betrayal. It cleared later on, enough for Alphonse to hear the rest of the Awakening.

"I Awaken this terrible power within you…These are the senses that the humani of abandoned."

Behind closed eyes, Alphonse braced himself.

"To see with acuity…"

Pain pricked behind his eyes. They were like a thousand stabbing needles into his cornea. It was worse than uncomfortable. It was nearly unbearable. But—he kept reminding himself, only to keep him sane—for a person with an aura, it had to be tens of thousand times worse than this.

"To hear with clarity…"

His ears popped. Something buzzed behind his head. It felt like a huge gravitational force pressing on his eardrums. Alphonse squirmed, but he couldn't feel himself doing it.

"To taste with purity…"

His tongue tingled. When was the last time he'd eaten something, brushed his teeth? His mouth tasted so bad. Hadn't he noticed this before?

"To touch with sensitivity…"

His nerves turned on like a live wire. He could suddenly feel the god's hands on him. It hurt so badly, it felt so heavy. He could feel the breeze wafting into the cavern. What was this? Why did the breeze sting him so badly?

"Please stop," he whimpered.

"To smell with intensity…"

Air rushed out his nose. When he breathed in again, his brain could detect every smell he brought in. Most of them weren't good fragrances. Alphonse threatened to wretch up what he didn't have. He gagged instead.

"I bestow these gifts upon you, humani, so that you may bid well to use these newly found senses wisely."

Mars cracked his arms away from Alphonse. The sound of it made Alphonse cringe and stumble backwards. He hit the floor hard—or was that just the sensation of his heightened touch? Either way, it didn't feel so good.

Alphonse was gasping and groaning with pain. He opened his eyes, seeing every little detail. He saw the count and Joan of Arc hunched over him. He shut his eyes closed. It was so, so bright. He knew the room was dark, but it was still so bright.

"Please stop this!" he heard Joan yell. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but everything hurt. "Shut his senses off! You can do that. Teach him how to turn them off! It's too much for him to bear."

Alphonse cracked open an eyelid and saw Mars pointing a hardening finger at him.

"Be still, and let the knowledge of the senses become in your control," he said."Humani, I give you the knowledge of the old."

A pure black haze exploded around Alphonse, threatening to consume him. The force of the blast sent both Francis and Joan flying backward. They couldn't see anything in the darkness. The black haze seemed to have made everything darker.

"Be careful!" the count told Joan. "We don't know what it can do!"

"Alphonse is in there!" Joan yelled. "We have to save him!"

"Foolish mortals." Mars was standing unharmed inside the storm. "Watch and see."

Saint Germain squinted into the black cyclone. Standing in the center of it was Alphonse, all well and alive, looking at his hands in shock. His eyes were black like the shadow, an endless pit of darkness. The storm was circling around him, not attacking him.

"He's the…!" Joan said, figuring out what was going on.

Mars nodded. "Yes. He is the source of this power overload. It will end soon, and his senses will be lowered to a minimum where it will not harm him. He is in control."

"But that's…"

"Yes," Mars said. "You are looking at his aura, pure black as the night, rarest of them all, perhaps the most powerful standing by itself. I almost cannot believe it myself. Not many in history have had this colour of aura. He's the most fortunate humani to possess such potential. Although I was hoping he wouldn't have an aura at all. Now imagine the danger he will put us all in if he doesn't learn to use it effectively. I wasn't planning on giving him magical ability along with immortality and heightened senses. Training him will be your jobs from now on."

Joan continued to gape slack-jawed as the aura storm slowly subsided. The torchlights were no longer obscured by the haze and lit up the room again. Alphonse stood there for a split-second in utter shock before he tipped sideways and crashed towards the floor.

That was enough to get Saint-Germain and Joan to abandon their stupor and run for Alphonse.

Joan scooped him into her arms. "Alphonse?" she called to him.

"He's sleeping," the count said. "We should get him out of here."

Joan nodded, and then paused, staring at the peculiar expression upon Alphonse's face. "He's smiling, mon chérie."

"We ought to ask him what happened between him and Mars that got him this way," Saint-Germain muttered.

Mars backed into the darkness and sat at his throne, hardening into his place. Then he watched as the two couples brought the unconscious frail boy out and away from his cavern.

"You will come back one day and thank me for this," Mars boomed into the emptiness. "And may I see your brother alongside you as you do."

Edward was still screaming.

"You scream like a girl," Dora muttered irritably. "Please shut your mouth."

"I'm sorry," Edward said, trying to catch his breath. "It's just you gave me quite a scare th—" His mood immediately turned sour. "Wait. I don't scream like a girl."

Dora pitched her eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"No," Ed replied very exasperatedly. He stood up from his place on the ground and dusted his pants off, trying to not look at the old woman. The absence of her eyes unnerved him, especially when he thought she was looking at him—when she had no eyes to look in the first place.

"Where have you been?" Dora demanded, hands on her hips.

Edward massaged the quickly growing bump on his head, grimacing in pain. He'd hit it hard.

"Why are you so wet?" Dora continued to say. "Didn't you take an umbrella with you? I told you it was going to rain tonight!"

"Yeah," Edward said, dropping all expression from his face. "And I like to know why you know that, and why you have mirrors for eyes. I doubt that was an accident, so I'm leaning on you being clinically insane. What the hell are you?"

The old woman pursed her lips, turning her head sharply to another mirror. Edward watched her curiously, wondering why she was doing that. His genius of a mind started to work the pieces at a quick pace, putting the puzzle together bit by bit.

"I asked you first," Dora said. "I'll answer your question, when you answer mine. That's Equivalent Exchange, isn't it, al-che-mist?"

Well, thanks for reading! Things may seem a little different - the facts and the writing style, because I have been training myself constantly by writing everyday. Also, I no longer have the books, so I have no idea how things actually go. I have to go on Google and use the Wikia, which isn't helpful by the way because it provides no details whatsoever. I hope you like my version, though. It's turning into a bit of an AU. Hope you don't mind it.

Remember to review, folks! I like feedback very much.