Disclaimer: Still don't own FMA, but I own my OCs.
Fifty-Five
Yoki heard the wrenching of metal and dove behind a dumpster, among the trash. He trembled, but did his best to keep his teeth from chattering. Cautiously, he peered out around the corner, then immediately darted backward, pressing himself against the wall.
Kimblee walked by a moment later.
Yoki almost yelped, but clamped his hands over his mouth. Kimblee didn't seem to take any notice, and continued walking until he came to the mouth of the alley. He looked this way then that, gathering his bearings, then went toward the left and disappeared.
Toward the Third Lab.
A few minutes after Kimblee was gone, Yoki finally stood. His legs were shaking. The ex-military man whimpered. Words spilled from his lips; he'd never been the type to keep his thoughts to himself.
"M-might as well just l-let him g… N-no, no, I can't do that…. If I d-don't do something, something…he'll…"
He didn't know what else to do, so he stumbled back to the car. A huge fear clenched his lungs when he caught sight of the steering wheel, but after a moment, he got in the driver's seat. When he closed the door it sounded like a death toll.
Kimblee wished he had a gun. He was a horrible shot, but that way he could stand at a distance.
He fumbled to start the car. The keys had been left in the ignition. Despite Scar's awful treatment of the vehicle when parking and Kimblee's forceful exit, it ran perfectly well. His hands were trembling so badly that his steering was jerky. Somehow he managed to leave the alley and turned left.
He saw Kimblee walking.
Before giving himself time to think—for surely he would have pissed his pants and turned the car around—Yoki stomped on the gas. The car lurched forward, accelerating at a speed Yoki couldn't fathom, not that he could think of much at this point. He headed straight for the white-suited man.
Kimblee turned around. His eyes might have widened—Yoki wasn't sure, he was swerving and trying not to close his eyes—and he leapt.
Yoki thought he heard the hood hit something, but then the world around him stopped and he kept going into the wheel.
Everything was black for a moment.
He only knew he was alive because everything hurt. Warm liquid poured down his face. His chest ached—his ribs ached—his head ached most of all. He tried to call for help, but all that came out was a moan.
He faced the door. Someone wrenched it open, but Yoki couldn't make out who it was. He was in so much pain that he could hardly remember anything. He only saw white and a dull red-brown, like dried blood.
"I think I'll leave you be." The person sounded pained, too, but only slightly. Most of what was in his voice was contempt. "Slow deaths are the worst."
Yoki passed out.
()()()()()
Hohenheim stopped. "Lan Fan."
The bodyguard halted and looked at him. So did May and Marcoh.
Hohenheim pointed to the vents above them. "You want to look for the prince, right? Go ahead."
Lan Fan blinked stupidly. "What?"
"Go ahead."
She glanced at May and the old man. "But…"
"We'll be fine," Hohenheim insisted. He looked at Marcoh, staring straight into his eyes. "And I'm sure you want to look for Envy. I can continue on by myself."
Marcoh said nothing, and Hohenheim knew that he'd been convinced with such few words. May stepped forward, though. "But this isn't part of the plan," she said hesitantly, her fingers nervously fretting with the end of one of her braids.
Lan Fan shifted. He knew who she was thinking of. "If you're sure…"
Hohenheim nodded. At once, she took off, rushing up the wall and entering the vents. She perched there for a moment. She gave them a nod—and maybe a soft smile—before pulling down her mask and disappearing.
"But…" May grabbed at her clothes, fretting. She glanced to Marcoh, then looked to Hohenheim.
He knelt down and smiled warmly at her. "I'll be fine. I need to do something—I have to take responsibility. And you two…" He looked at Marcoh, and his smile vanished. "You need to avenge her. Her father and friend. I understand that."
Hohenheim didn't like it, but he understood it. If anyone were to kill one of his sons, he would strike back tenfold.
"He's right, May," Marcoh said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You just look out for yourself when we leave Mr. Hohenheim. We'll all be fine."
She rounded on him. "I'm not going to just look out for myself! I don't want you getting hurt. I…" Tears began to leak from her eyes. "I-I don't want anyone getting hurt anymore…."
"I don't, either," Hohenheim said, standing. He looked down the corridor.
This—all this war, all this hurt, all this death…the pain he felt, the pain his sons felt, the pain Marcoh felt for his daughter—all this was his own fault. He couldn't make it all go away. But he could set things right.
"Go back the other way," he instructed them. "Try to meet up with Edward and the others, but don't let them come after me."
May grew quiet again, but Marcoh nodded.
Hohenheim smiled softly. "Thank you."
He started down the hallway, thinking of the Dwarf in the Flask at the end. At the center of it all.
()()()()()
"So I guess this is what happened to Barry," Ed said, touching the metal chunks with his foot but steering clear of the rotting corpse. Its rank odor filled the room despite how spacious the area was.
He thought of Al for the thousandth time that day. He had to force himself to not imagine Barry's armor and corpse replaced with his brother's steel and frail body.
"That's some door," Zampano commented, purposely ignoring the disgusting scene on the ground.
"I don't see any handles," Jerso said.
Ed forced himself to move away from Barry and walked up to the colored doors. He studied them for a moment, wondering what could be behind them. "…Well," he said finally, "let's see what's behind door number one."
He was about to clap his hands, but sudden sound assailed him. He backed up, covering his ears, seeing the chimeras doing the same. The sound echoed everywhere, and it took Ed a moment to discern what it was.
Many, many people were screeching.
As quickly as the sound had begun, it ended. Ed and the chimeras looked around wildly, then reluctantly pulled down their hands.
"Maybe we shouldn't open the door," Zampano said shakily.
Ed hesitated. "We have to go forward."
"Especially since all those people could be getting hurt," Jerso added.
"They didn't sound like any kind of people I've ever met," Heinkel said. Darius nodded his agreement, too unnerved to speak.
There was a moment no one spoke, and then Edward stepped toward the door again. He paused, then clapped and put large handles on the doors.
"Brace yourselves," he warned, then pulled on them with as much force as he could muster.
They were met with a corridor.
None of them moved; they hardly breathed. Ed peered down the hallway and saw that there were dozens of archways on both sides leading off in unknown directions. Lights hung in exact intervals, dispelling most of the darkness.
"…Well," Edward finally said, sighing. He began to step inside. "I guess we'd better go st—"
"KYAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Ed bolted backwards, and the men shifted into their chimera forms. Ed was stumbling but took the cue and made a weapon: A long, heavy spear of concrete.
The screaming continued, and the sounds of jostling people reached their ears, too. Darius and Heinkel hurried to shut the doors, but they were door late.
The corridor filled with thin, unnatural bodies that ran like a strange mixture of person and dog. Each one had a gaping maw and only one, large eye in the middle of the forehead.
Edward would have been sick if he weren't afraid for his life.
()()()()()
At first, Roy thought the screams were a hallucination. He only heard them faintly. He wondered if he was finally going insane, or had somehow been transported to Hell, to Ishval.
The chimeras guarding him were nervous both times the screams sounded, so he couldn't be imagining it all. He could hear them growl and cause their chains to clink as they struggled against their bonds.
Roy stood and cocked his head, listening. In the past few months, he'd been able to hear so much, even in his dank hellhole. Normally he only differentiated between the chimeras (they were both annoying; the one that had bitten him he'd named Ed, and the other he called Maes). He could also tell the difference between the gold-toothed doctor and Envy, even with the homunculus's shape-shifting abilities.
For a moment all he heard were the sniffs of the chimeras. Then, faintly, he heard clinking in the vent above him. Rats weren't uncommon, but Roy tensed. The tapping-like sound grew louder, grew closer, and he thought he could make out footsteps.
His imprisonment had already been an agonizing eternity, but waiting for what happened next was torture.
"Colonel?"
He angled toward the voice, his mouth falling open. "Lieu—?" He coughed. "Lieutenant?"
"Colonel!" Riza kept her voice from shouting, but he heard her joy and relief.
He heard something metallic shift against something metallic, and he assumed she dropped to the ground when he heard a slight thud. Another thud followed, this one heavier, and Roy thought it was Breda until the person grunted, and then he had no idea.
"Colonel," Riza said again, grabbing his shoulders and checking that he was all right—well, that was what he supposed, because she kept moving him slightly but with unintentional force. "Are you injured?"
He couldn't help the smirk that pulled at his cheeks. "Not anymore, but be careful. Ed bites."
Riza chuckled slightly, like she immediately understood. Her grip somehow became comforting, almost like a hug without the embrace.
Oh, god, he thought. Is this real?
He laughed suddenly and put a hand to his shaggy hair, to the unkempt beard trying to grow on his face. I thought I was ready for this day, but I'm losing it. He laughed harder.
"Colonel?" Riza's grip on him tightened. The chimeras were growling. "Colonel, are you all right? Sir?"
"Minute," he said, sitting on his cot. "Give me a minute."
"Sir," she said. "I'm sorry, but right now you have to prove to me that you're not an impostor."
Roy's mind was so frazzled that it took him a moment to think. Ed and Maes's growling wasn't helping. "My back."
He imagined Riza nodding, maybe smiling. "Okay. Rivers of mud and all that," she said, confirming her own identity. She paused. "Sir…the chimeras might alert someone. Scar needs to…take care of them."
Roy flinched—not at the mention of Scar, nor at the notion that he and Riza were together rescuing him—but at the thought of killing Ed and Maes. No, he told himself, they're chimeras that will kill us given the chance. He jerkily nodded before he could stop himself.
He thought that maybe Scar did it as quietly as possible, but both alchemical bursts sounded like gunshots to him. Worse. He was used to the sound of gunshots.
"Sir?" she said softly.
He rubbed his temples. "I-I know." He stood. "…Shall we go, then?"
"Of course. But wait one moment."
There was a slight rustle, and Riza gently raised his arm and put something in his palm. Roy felt the object—no, objects—with both his hands and smiled at the texture.
"My gloves." He carefully slipped them on. They felt familiar but strange at the same time. It reminded him of the first time he'd returned to see Madam Christmas after being in the Ishval Hell for so long. Like everything was the same except for him.
"You're welcome," she said, warmth in her tone like she must have been smiling. She grabbed his shoulder and they walked toward the door. Roy's foot hit something—Ed or Maes?—and he stumbled slightly.
"Sir?" Her tone was sharp with concern.
"Ah, Lieutenant… I can't see anything. I'm blind."
"What?! What did they do to you?"
Scenes flashed in his mind—whiteness and everything and everywhere and shadowy runes and screams for mercy—
"Alphonse," he said suddenly. "And Fullmetal. Where are they?"
"A-Alphonse split from us to watch the outside hallway. He couldn't fit through the vents."
"The door's open," Scar said, almost speaking over Riza, but Roy had already heard the squeaking hinges.
He pulled away from Riza, earning a worried "Colonel!" as he stumbled through the doorway. He heard clanking metal from the left, and he opened his mouth to speak.
"Colonel," Al said in relief, slowing, but there were still footsteps behind him.
Roy, thinking of the circle needed for earthen transmutations, clapped his hands and put them to the floor. The concrete shook, and he felt a blunt chunk of it spring up behind Alphonse and strike the would-be assailant in the abdomen.
His rescue trio seemed speechless.
"Well, well."
And from the right corridor came a memory of a gold tooth and eyes staring in different directions.
"It seems going through the Gate did improve your alchemy after all."
()()()()()
"Dr. Marcoh?"
"Hm?"
"You haven't been hearing me…."
Marcoh glanced backward as they hurried along the way they had come—at least, as fast as he could move his old legs. May looked at him with worry.
"Sorry," he said, but didn't elaborate. He looked forward again. The screams they'd heard earlier had concerned him, but they weren't at the forefront of his thoughts.
"Dr. Marcoh."
Once again he did not hear her.
"Doctor—!"
"Dr. Marcoh?"
He froze, and May stopped right beside him. Shao May's fur rose and she bared her teeth.
Out of the shadows strode Kimblee.
"…What are you doing here?" Marcoh asked. His throat was dry but his fists were clenched. The Stone weighed heavily in his pocket.
Kimblee took another step forward. He was limping heavily on his left leg—it looked like it might have been twisted under his white pants—but he still exhibited an air of lethality. The X-shaped scar on his bloodied face only enhanced this.
"I couldn't just let you guys go off on your own. It's not safe down here," Kimblee said smoothly. He regarded the two with cold eyes. "…On my way here, your friend tried to run me over and crashed. By now I would assume he has died."
Ice ran through Marcoh's veins.
May gasped. "You—Mr. Yoki?!"
Kimblee shrugged. "He crashed. I did nothing."
"You—you—!" May's sob turned into a scream.
She threw her knives toward Kimblee and onto the ground at her feet. Alkahestic light lit the walls, and the concrete shot out and caught Kimblee's arm as he dodged. He grimaced, but before May could perform another transmutation, his expression turned into a grin and he put his tattooed hands on the floor.
The ground ruptured, sending dust and concrete chunks in every direction. Pain screamed in Marcoh's shoulder, and the shaking ground sent him topping over. He heard May shriek from somewhere on his right.
The dust and darkness clouded the air. Marcoh struggled to sit up. As he did so, Kimblee's footsteps echoed in the sudden silence.
"I didn't know what to expect from the man who made my Philosopher's Stone, but it was something…greater than this."
"You evil…bastard…," Marcoh ground out between his clenched teeth.
"Me, the evil one?" A white shape loomed out of the dark dust. Grey eyes slanted with contempt stared down at the old man. "I never used Ishvalans as ingredients to make the ultimate alchemical weapon. I never set it up so that it would be Ishvalan souls that helped to kill their brethren."
Marcoh made it to his hands and knees. He glared at the dirt, his hands trembling. His vision was blurry.
"You, my good doctor, are the one who set it all up for me. So as much fault as I have, you have it so much more."
"…You think I don't know that?" he whispered shakily.
"And yet you had the nerve to flee," Kimblee continued, disdain sharpening his words into weapons. "To settle down in an unknown town as an unknown doctor. And you even adopted a daughter, right? I was ordered to kill her if given the chance, to make you more cooperative. But I hear I no longer have that chance…."
Marcoh's trembling grew fierce. He turned to glare up at Kimblee. The man scoffed and kicked Marcoh's ribs, sending the old man down once more.
"I can always kill that girl, though."
"L-like I'll let you," May said weakly, still unseen.
A blast of panic shot through Marcoh, and he thought of his daughter.
"I think not." Kimblee lazily strode toward May while favoring his leg.
Marcoh didn't stop to think. He grabbed the nearest shard of concrete and scraped it against the floor. Kimblee was too busy chuckling to hear the sound of it.
He suddenly let out a disgusted hiss and spat, "Filthy Xingese trash. Almost as bad as the demon-eyed bastard children in Ishval."
The comment hit Marcoh like a blow.
He slapped his hand to the circle, the Stone—once Kimblee's—trapped in his fingers.
Spikes of concrete shot from the ground. One hit Kimblee's shoulder, spinning him around. The others missed, except for the one that pierced his lower left abdomen from the back. The deadly point protruded from Kimblee's stomach.
Kimblee immediately coughed out blood. Red stained his white clothes, ran down his leg onto the floor. His whole body jerked. His grey eyes, wide and euphoric and condemning, stared at Marcoh.
"T-true…h-huh?" His throat was trembling so much that it was hard to make out what he said. "K-k—killer…"
He slumped and died.
There was no sound. Finally, Marcoh collapsed on the ground.
He cried.
a/n: Whoops, guess I have a bunch of inspiration to get stuff done. It's only been three days, not a month this time.
Tomorrow I'll be a high school graduate. D8 This is crazy shit. Crazy I tell you. Don't grow up if you haven't already.
If I don't update within the week (lol don't count on it just look at my track record), I probably won't upload for a few weeks. I'm going on a well-deserved vacation~ I'll write when I can. Have a good summer, guys!
EDIT: Also, I completely forgot, but the next anniversary of the fic is on July 12! I'll probably do another question-and-answer type thing, as well as some sort of wacky AU adventure like last time. Leave me some ideas or questions you want seen/answered. I'll do my best!
