A.C.: If wishes were horses then beggers would ride. If I could fly away, I would, but I can't, so I stay...
Summary: Upon finding the diary of the legendary Phoenix Alchemist, Edward is thrown into a plot long since launched into motion by the fabled war hero...
Timeline: Sometime before Hughes is dead.
Warnings: oocness, grammar/structure/spelling mistakes, spoilers?
"You're Dante?"
A shriveled woman, frail, rather like ragged folds of wet paper. After all these years, her body is failing her, wrinkles and moles sprout up every which way. Her skin is mottled, her hair is gray.
She has the same scent of perfume...
Hoenheim...
Father...
"You must be Edward, I've heard of many great things about you..."
"Did you know Hoenheim Elric?"
A familiar smile, Ed feels sick.
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His brother had been kidnapped. How a suit of armor could be kidnapped he didn't know. He knew that he had to find him however, had to.
He follows a chimera inside a bar called the Devil's Nest, and come face to face with the devil himself.
The devil's acolytes are more chimeras. Those who fought in the Ishival war and were condemned wrongly to death. Those who were supposed to have been executed years ago resurfacing as half human half animals.
What has the military been hiding all this time? Ed wonders as Izumi enters the fray. How much do anyone know of this? And more importantly, does Mustang know?
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Red stone, not quite philosopher's stone but enough. We're issued one each. We run out of one we get another, and another, then another. Whatever is left of the alchemist population uses one up in at least two days. The effects are astounding. One man can clean up a sector faster than ten, I can demolish a whole town, Ironblood can shoot down a whole population.
There's fire everywhere, crying men, women and children. Dead people on both sides, genocide, suicide. Everything... and I... I killed them all. I'm no better than any of them. No better...
I am nothing...
Crystal wonders why I use so many up in such a short time. Even Crimson who uses it sun up to sun down doesn't use that much. It's a secret... I hope they understand.
What's a person to do when they realize that the reality is but a distant dream in the makings. What to do when a person's hands are covered in blood, covered in blood of their own. Not enemies but those on the same side.
They were innocent and they were not. They knew the consequences and despite it all, chose to pay the price.
But they have taken my sanity with them.
I contemplated suicide, ripping my arm off, all in a matter of minutes with a barrel in my breast.
But then I remember MY dreams. And the farewells of Crystal as he pulls me out of my misery. He promised mother that he would protect me. I promised not to tell.
In this world where no one understands...
There's no one else but yourself
I should have realized that a long time ago.
My arm bleeds once more, it tells me that I still have things to do. I still have deads to bury...
But what to do when this is over?
-Ryan
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Edward suddenly realizes that this information is private, and he is the privy to the events that occurred in the Ishival war through another's eyes.
He shakes,
Disturbed...
Horrified at what this journal contains
Sand washed by the blood of thousands
Yellow and crinkled beneath the Ishival sun
He quickly rips the entry out, stuffing it in his pockets before closing eyes to calm himself.
Too many implications
But hasn't he learned already?
The truth is another form of a lie
But what if it's not?
What if the journal is true?
He squints his eyes shut and wills the words away.
But they won't
Not when he's seen what's at the bottom of the page.
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I will create the philosopher's stone
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The woman is kind, looks familiar. She has his gray eyes. Her replies are brief but satisfying, at least until they enter an oriental mansion full of odd trinkets collected over the span of a few years.
She asks him how he is, and how his family is. Then they get down to business, Gracia has gone to put Elysia to sleep and to freshen up. Extensive trips can't be too good for his earth bound angels. Neither is it for him but he could deal, he has gone through worse things before.
Her face is grim as she asks how he is. Maes is sorry he can't give a definite answer.
She starts on the history of Xing, the emperor who rules all and his many wives, concubines really, from every clan worth counting. The countries handsome princes, all vying for the throne. The beautiful princesses, little doll like girls promised to prominent heads in the court.
By this time Elysia is a sleep, a servant brings them intoxicating tea and Gracia has joined them.
There are many dragons, none like the ones back west, the great malevolent beasts that breathe fire. Here be dragons that are benevolent, kind, selfish at times but are for the people. Dragons with marvelous scales of a carp, same dragons with feathered consorts. The same that peer into his skin as she speaks...
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He could never be like Roy.
He couldn't be calm, level-headed in desperate situation. Desperation sought panic, together fear and then the descent to madness. Tang of alchemy staining the air, coppery blood spilling on the floors.
His movements are jerky, rapid, the other's movements are smooth, almost artistic.
Yet in those precious moments Ed can see the weakness behind the 'ultimate shield'. It's the only thing that saved him as bloody corpses fell all around.
The dead make him feel queasy, he excuses himself behind a few crates. Al calls out hesitantly, Ed is sure if he could, his brother would be doing the same.
A reason why he could never be like the colonel
He wouldn't be able to withstand the burden of the lives of men placed on him.
Ed wonders how he got through it all.
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Alchemists are really disgusting. We seek out and destroy, we seek out only to bring them back time after time in a never ending cycle of death and rebirth. Even as we kill, we think of ways to revive someone, perhaps bring them back to beg them for forgiveness. To get rid of this burden known as guilt, to sleep a little easier at night when things are quiet. To retain whatever is left of our sanity in one desperate stroke.
Funny, I've just described a phoenix.
-Ryan
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"If you want to live a long and healthy life, I suggest you back out now. What I'm about to do... it might hurt, just a little." a devil-may-care smile is back on again but it does not reach his eyes.
His eyes had seen the corruption within the military, how the main pillars supporting it had crumbled to pieces one by one. How the most insignificant are raised to foremost positions because of they are easier to move.
Fuhrer is gone now, vacationing somewhere in the south. Though Armstrong's muscles will sorely be missed, it's the best time to set everything in motion. If the plan went through... well... he would be a fuhrer and justice would be flames, rekindled from long cold ashes...
Hawkeye stands by him loyally, so do others, he wonder's how he managed to gain all their trust. Mustang is tempted to cry out, to make them go away, knowing that he would be condemning them to death one by one. Until the only pawn he has left to move is himself.
"We're staying chief." says Havoc, flicking out the remaining cigarette butt in his mouth. "Because we believe in you."