Chapter 29: Duel
The soldiers from Fort Briggs were renowned throughout Amestris for their strength, their discipline, and their indomitable courage. They were not as well-known for their wisdom. Falman would never know why Captain Buccaneer, having just watched Wrath single-handedly kill a dozen of those indomitable soldiers and destroy a tank, thought it would be a good idea to charge at the homunculus in single combat armed with nothing more than his chainsaw automail arm. The "fight" was over in an instant, and now Buccaneer lay motionless in a pool of blood and ruined automail parts as Wrath walked away with a smirk.
Falman, still guarding the Main Gate, watched in terror as the homunculus strode toward him. He had seen and heard everything: Hawkeye's desperate attempt to physically throw herself in Wrath's way; the Colonel's final, doomed struggle against the creature possessing him; and the moment that battle was lost, the man now trapped forever inside the homunculus. Falman's eyes had met Hawkeye's for the briefest moment as she ran past him through the gate, her despair and horror mirroring his a hundredfold. But there was no time for mourning, only the grim completion of their duties. Now she raced to find Dr. Marcoh, to use his power to destroy the homunculus, even though killing what was left of the Colonel would destroy her too. And Falman would remain at his post, making his own doomed last stand against Wrath, even though he had no hope of surviving.
He raised his sidearm and pointed it at the approaching creature. His entire body was shaking. "I can't let you through, sir," he said, his voice cracking with fear.
A smirk still played at Wrath's lips. "There's no need to put on a show of bravery, Falman. Open the door. That's an order." Falman's only answer was to tighten his grip on the gun. The homunculus sighed. "I'll kill you if I have to—there's nothing to stop me now—but I'd rather not."
Falman stared the homunculus down over the barrel of his gun, refusing to yield. He knew he was going to die here. He didn't want to die, but even more, he didn't want to be killed by the obscene monster in front of him, grinning smugly while it wore the Colonel's shattered soul like a trophy. The idea that whatever remained of Mustang, the commanding officer who would have given his own life to protect his subordinates, was about to cut one of them down with hardly a thought was more than Falman could bear. Tears filled his eyes.
Wrath's smile faded as he raised his sword. "This is your last chance, Falman," he growled. "Stand aside. Don't try to be a hero." He was growing genuinely agitated, the sword trembling slightly in his hand. "Damn you, man! Don't make me kill you!"
"I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang," Falman answered quietly, tears running down his cheeks. He doubted he would even be able to leave a scratch on the creature, but he might as well go down fighting. His finger moved to the trigger.
"Hey, you!" came a bellow from the middle of the plaza. "Don't go trying to act brave with such a pathetic look on your face!"
Both Falman and the homunculus stared, incredulous, as the gravely wounded but unexpectedly living figure of Captain Buccaneer half walked, half stumbled toward them. The automail of his right arm was completely destroyed, and among other injuries, his left forearm was bleeding profusely from a deep sword slash; he had wrapped the broken automail chain around it like a tourniquet. "I'll show you how a real man fights," he sneered. But his breaths were labored with pain, and he sagged down on one knee; he could barely stand, much less fight.
"So pointless," Wrath scoffed in response, waving his arm to take in both soldiers. "Is this what you people call bravery? Throwing your lives away for no reason?"
"That's right," came a new voice from somewhere above them. "Humans are as stupid as they come." They all turned to look up. High above the Main Gate, Falman made out a figure lounging on a parapet, clad in black Xingese clothing. Greed—the homunculus with the grudge against his own kind. "But for some reason, I just can't bring myself to leave 'em hanging," he finished with a dry laugh.
The second homunculus leapt gracefully off the parapet, plunging three stories' distance and landing with such force the plaza stones cracked in a circle around him, as he alighted neatly on his hands and one knee. "Besides," he added, his grin twisting into a scowl as he stood up, "both me and the kid have a score to settle with you, Wrath."
From his post in front of the Main Gate, Falman took in the scene: Wrath's smirk returning as the two homunculi began to circle one another, each taking the other's measure. Buccaneer and the other Briggs troops watching from the sidelines, tensed and waiting for an opportunity to strike. And off in the distance, a leaping Xingese figure approaching over the rooftops—no, make that two figures, with a second one approaching even more distantly behind. Falman smiled mournfully. The Colonel might be gone forever, but at least his killer would have a hell of a fight on his hands. And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to stop him.
Inside Central Command, Hawkeye ran blindly, with no immediate direction except away from the Central soldiers who were patrolling the corridors. Despair had shattered her, left her numb and empty. The Colonel was gone, and all her hope had died with him. Wrath's return had also caused their truce with the Central troops to collapse. There was probably no chance for any of them now; but she forced herself onward, fueled by grim resolve, the only thing she had left. After dodging two patrols, she took shelter in an empty office and radioed Fuery.
"Fuery here." His voice was cutting in and out, punctuated by bursts of static, indicating that he was sifting through a barrage of transmissions. "Lieutenant, what's your status? Is Wrath—?"
She could not bring herself to tell him and the rest of their team about the Colonel yet, not in the middle of the battle, when she needed them to focus. "He's still engaging the Briggs forces at the Main Gate, but the battle won't last long," she reported urgently, working to keep her voice from breaking. "I need Marcoh now, Fuery! Where the hell are the alchemists?!"
"We got a partial transmission from them, probably from underground. We're working to boost the signal—Teague, what have we got?" There was another burst of static. "Stand by, Lieutenant."
Hawkeye waited anxiously, breathing deeply to calm herself, the profusely bleeding wound in her left shoulder knifing her painfully. She needed to take care of that, she realized numbly. Forcing herself to focus, she carefully removed her jacket and examined the injury. Just a flesh wound, purposely dealt by Wrath to cause her pain and blood loss but no permanent damage. She tore a sleeve from her jacket and used it to make a field dressing, tying up her shoulder through vision still blurred with tears.
Through the haze of pain and grief, it suddenly struck her that it was oddly quiet. There was some gunfire still coming from the Main Gate, but only sporadic battle sounds in the distance. If the Central forces were rallying, why wasn't she hearing it? "Fuery," she spoke into the comm. "What's our status? Are our forces holding?"
There was a crackle. "Yes, we're still holding. But word of Wrath's battle with the Briggs forces is starting to get around, and some of the Central forces are starting to fight back."
"Only some?" Hawkeye echoed, stunned. "After Wrath's broadcast?"
"He didn't say which coup he was putting down. A lot of the Central soldiers apparently still think we're on their side." In spite of everything, Hawkeye broke into a smile. Breda, you're a genius, she thought. Her own battle was lost, but there might still be hope for the resistance.
Then: "Found them, Lieutenant! The alchemists are in the first level basement of Laboratory 3, about half a klick southwest of Central Command. It's a large circular room."
"Got it," she replied with something akin to relief. She had been in that room before, the night the Colonel had first been taken. "OK, I need you to track Wrath while I go get Marcoh. We've only got one chance at this, so I need every bit of intel you can get on his movements."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Swallowing with resolve, Hawkeye slammed down the comm and ran for the basement staircase, headed southwest.
Wrath hauled himself up out of the drainage sluice that flowed beneath Central Command, cursing. So much for his triumphant return to his castle. Now he found himself dripping wet and skulking in its basement.
What's wrong with me? he questioned himself. Even with his right eye destroyed, the battle with the Briggs forces at the Main Gate shouldn't have lasted long, and its outcome shouldn't have been in doubt. But the resistance soldiers had unexpectedly been joined by Greed and a highly skilled Xingese fighter, the old man Fu, and together they had put up more of a fight than he had anticipated. It wasn't just their skills that had gotten the better of him. He should have slaughtered every enemy without a thought, but he had inexplicably held back. He had finally killed the officer in charge, Captain Buccaneer. He had slaughtered most of the other Briggs soldiers. He hadn't gotten around to killing Falman because the man wasn't a threat; and he hadn't been physically able to kill Greed, although he had tried. But he definitely should have killed Fu.
It was the Xingese bodyguard girl who had distracted him. Arriving late to the battle, alighting on a high ledge the moment Wrath had struck at the old man, she had cried out "Grandfather!" in a terrified voice. In that instant, Wrath had found himself flashing back ten years ago to that day in Berthold Hawkeye's decrepit house, when his former alchemy master had collapsed and died in his arms, and Riza had walked in and cried out for her father in that same voice. Back in the present, he had suddenly felt such pity for the Xingese girl that he had pulled back his attack and merely disabled the old man. That split-second distraction had allowed Buccaneer to attack from his blind spot, setting up the final attack that had knocked him into the moat below the Main Gate. A stupid moment of weakness.
Well, whatever had happened, the battle was over now, and he had made it inside Central Command. Next he needed to find Riza, and…what? Punish her? He did want that. Although he had shown her only patience and kindness, she had spurned him, betrayed him, and cost him his irreplaceable right eye. He was already imagining some exquisite and well-deserved punishments for her, and now there would be no rebellious human soul to stop him from carrying them out. But even as he entertained those thoughts, he felt his stomach curdle, found the idea of hurting her to be shameful and repulsive. What was wrong with him? Was his Mustang half really making him so weak?
No matter, Wrath resolved. He would decide what to do with Riza later. For the moment, he merely needed to find her and put her somewhere where she would be protected from Father's human transmutation reaction. After all, he would hardly be able to punish her or choose to be merciful if she were dead. And the eclipse wasn't far off now.
Finding her was another matter. How would the rebel forces be communicating? He located an abandoned security station, turned on its two-way radio, and spun the dial through various official channels: Command, Police, Fire, Medical. All were being used by forces loyal to him, as expected. The rebels would probably look for an empty channel, somewhere no one would think to check in the heat of battle. He cycled through several dead channels—Sanitation, Motor Pool, Commissary—until he reached Building Maintenance, which was alive with chatter. Got them!
The broadcast was crackling with overlapping reports. "2nd Platoon here. The Führer's office was completely overrun by dolls, no enemy survivors—"
"Something's going on in the hallway outside Conference Room 12. There's a huge monster fighting with Major General Armstrong and Major Armstrong—" Loud crashing noises, shouts and scattered gunfire could be heard in the background.
"Black Squadron here! North Gate's under attack by dolls, heavy losses. Need backup now!" Heavy gunfire and artillery blasts accompanied the plea.
Wrath grinned at the familiar sounds of battle. And he had thought that Amestris had no more real wars left in her! If only it didn't have to end so soon…
"Affirmative, Black Squadron. Anti-Establishment volunteers moving to assist." It was Fuery's voice. Another of his faithful subordinates. "All other locations, I need eyes on the Führer. Last sighted in the moat outside the Main Gate. Repeat, any sightings of the Führer."
"East Gate here, no eyes on the Führer. A couple of Central platoons are giving us trouble, but we're managing." More gunfire.
"Infirmary here. No sign of the Führer. Holding."
"Armory, no Führer here." Now it was Havoc's voice. "Holding. Any news on Hawkeye?" That got Wrath's attention.
"She's moving to intercept Dr. Marcoh. Stand by." Aha—Marcoh must be the key to her plan to "save" him. But how? And where was she?
"White Squadron here. We sighted the Führer in the moat near the West Gate a few minutes ago. Looked like he swam though an intake under the building." Heavy gunfire. "No eyes on him at present. We've got our hands full with Central forces AND dolls."
"5th Platoon here. We're on the second floor, southwest quadrant. No eyes on the Führer, but we're reconning dolls overrunning the staircase below us, headed for the basement. Any forces in that vicinity, prepare for attack."
Fuery swore. "Any free forces, move to the southwest staircase, basement level, to assist Lieutenant Hawkeye. She's intercepting an asset that we cannot lose. This is maximum priority!"
Wrath grinned and snapped off the radio. She wasn't far away.
Lust struck out repeatedly with her extended fingernails, but May was small and agile, and dodged every attack. Annoying little brat! She was getting angry now.
"Get back here, you little bitch!" the homunculus shouted. They dodged and weaved through the underground corridors, the little girl remaining too far ahead for Lust's fingernails to be of any use as a weapon. May might be young, but she would have to slow down eventually, Lust thought irritably.
But when she turned the next corner, she stopped cold. They had reached a juncture leading to two more tunnels, and the girl had fled through the one on the left. But to the right, Lust sensed a much more desirable quarry. Killing the brat could wait, she decided. She rushed down the right-hand tunnel and burst into the chamber at its end. Her target, startled, turned to face her.
"Wrath!" Her voice cracked like ice.
"Lust!" he exclaimed, smiling with genuine surprise. "You're alive! Where have you—" His smile disappeared as he had to leap out of the way of her fingernails, which nearly removed his head.
"How dare you," she bellowed, shaking with fury. "You dare to stand there and make pleasantries, when you killed Envy!" Through her rage, she noted that he was injured. His right eye had been completely destroyed, and he had several other wounds. She struck again with both hands, her right hand poised to skewer his heart while her left aimed to sever his legs at the knees. He dodged the first thrust and parried the second with his sword.
"Oh," he replied calmly. "So you found out about that."
"How could you do it? Why did you kill him?" she shouted. She paused her attacks and circled him, assessing his condition. He was moving more slowly than usual, favoring his left side, where he appeared to have been grazed by a bullet to the ribs.
Wrath merely smiled. "It was revenge. He killed my best friend. Nothing you could possibly understand."
"Oh, I understand revenge better than you think, Wrath," Lust growled. "Envy was family." She lunged at him again, feinting for his head with her left hand, then swiping upwards with her right in an attempt to break his sword as he parried; but he saw through the ruse and pulled back in time. Something else about him was different: his voice and mannerisms, the way he moved. "You've finally absorbed your human, haven't you?" she demanded.
"I have," he answered with a smirk as he ducked her next thrust, with both her hands aimed at his neck. "There's no longer anything holding me back from taking what I want. So I'm afraid I won't have as much need for our little liaisons in the future."
"Good. Then I have another reason to kill you," Lust spat. She struck for his groin this time, and again he parried. But she had merely been playing with him up to now, testing him. Tracking his movements, noting where he was slowest, where he was weakest. His injuries were taking a toll. He still moved faster than her, but she could still regenerate. The fight would be an even one.
His eyebrows rose. "Well, they say hell hath no fury—" he began, and she attacked.
They fought in earnest now, circling in close, both of them striking quickly and brutally, again and again. He still moved very fast, and his sword penetrated her flesh repeatedly, the continuous flash of red light from her regeneration illuminating their battle. Her rage allowed her to ignore the momentary bursts of intense pain. She scored fewer and more superficial hits, but the damage she inflicted was lasting.
From somewhere in the surrounding corridors came the sounds of gunfire, the shouts and screams of soldiers, the pathetic cries of living dolls as they attacked. But no forces breached their chamber, and the homunculi ignored everything outside it, focused solely on their mutual goal of annihilating one another.
As the fight wore on and she dealt him more blows, she saw that he was beginning to slow further. The next time her fingernails struck, she pierced deeply, skewering his left thigh, and he leapt backwards away from her, coming to rest on the other side of the room.
"You're not half bad at this," he remarked. He was still wearing that infuriating smile, but beneath it he was panting in pain, and leaning on his sword for support as if it were a crutch. She had hurt him. Good.
"But you're relying too heavily on your regeneration," he continued. "Your Philosopher's Stone is getting low." He was right, Lust realized; she had not absorbed enough of the dolls to reach anything close to her full strength, and in her fury she had not even noticed how little energy she had left. "Another strike from me, and you'll be dead."
"You're not doing so well yourself," she countered with a smirk of her own. "You're slowing down. And all I need is one vital hit."
"You won't get it. Not before I get to you, and my next blow will be fatal. At best, you'll sacrifice yourself to get your revenge."
"Shall we kill each other, then? A lovers' suicide pact?" Her mouth twisted into a grin. "I don't think so, Wrath. You're bluffing. You'll never reach anything close to your full speed with that leg injury."
"You're not skilled enough to defeat me." His smile was mocking, defiant. "And you flatter yourself. We were hardly lovers. You were just convenient."
Lust laughed, confident now. "You know what I'm going to do, after I kill you? I'm going to go find your cold little wife. I know you've stashed her around here somewhere. And I'm going to give her a thorough working over," she purred. "Right before I tear her to shreds."
Her words should have enraged Wrath, provoked him into attacking her. But now he was only smirking broadly, his single eye glittering with amusement. "No, Lust," he laughed, "you won't."
It was only then that she realized he was looking past her.
Lust turned just in time to see Riza Hawkeye framed in the doorway, a gun in each hand, both pointed at her. As if in slow motion, she saw the muzzles flash and the guns recoil as the woman opened fire, felt the impact of the bullets ripping painfully through her chest. And it was too late: her Philosopher's Stone was out of power, her body no longer healing, and she felt herself crumbling, disintegrating. All of her, even her tiny host body.
No—not this way! Not by that frigid bitch!
She only had time for a wordless scream as she turned to dust.
