DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters or settings within this work. Skyrim is owned by Microsoft & Bethesda Studios, and Fullmetal Alchemist is owned by Square Enix and Hiromu Arakawa (love your work!). Please support the official release.
"There's something comforting, facing death like this; wouldn't you agree? It's all that matters, nothing else seems to exist outside my pure instinct to survive. Rank, personal history, birth, race, sex, the name given to you; it's all meaningless, this is the only thing that's real, to fight on behalf of my own life and nothing else. I've never felt so complete, I guess you could say I've finally arrived."
"I've lived my life by forever following the path that had been set for me. Thanks to the idiosyncrasies of humanity, it was... at least a life worth living for... and maybe even a life worth dying for."
In his final moments, King Bradley contemplated these words. Turned them over in his head. He didn't truly know why, all things considered. His world was fading to black ever faster now. His final breath had been taken. His heart was about to stop beating the lifeblood out of his veins. Still, if humans could afford to be a little sentimental upon death, he figured, why not? It wasn't as if he hadn't indulged himself up to this point.
He was satisfied with the words. Hell, he was satisfied with everything he had said out of anger or grim satisfaction. Well... Given the whole blinded by the sun thing that had led to his death, perhaps he could admit fault in the god spiels he'd let loose.
"A life worth dying for, hmm?" asked a smug, multilayered voice.
Bradley opened his eyes in shock.
He was no longer lying beneath Central Command, but standing in what appeared to be a white void. And standing before him was a being as white as their surroundings, yet he could clearly see it. The figure had no features save for a wide grin, and a silhouette matching his own. Well, before he'd lost his limbs.
Bradley narrowed his eyes (eyes? Plural? And his limbs were all back? Questions for later.) at the figure. "And who the hell are you?" he demanded of it.
The figure giggled, putting its hands on its hips. "Straight to the point, aren't we? You're quite demanding for a dead man, King Bradley."
Bradley clenched his teeth. So he was dead. And whoever, or whatever, this being was, it clearly possessed the ability to summon the dead straight to it. He didn't know what else it was capable of, and his Ultimate Eye was giving him absolutely nothing on it. Clearly, losing his temper would yield no results whatsoever.
Still...
"You haven't answered my question," he said softly, raising an eyebrow at the strange being.
The figure laughed again. "Come now, what did you think your Father was trying to absorb this entire time?"
Bradley stared at the figure for a moment, then scoffed. "You? You're God?"
The figure's smile finally turned upside down. "I am called many things. You may call me God. You might call me the World. Or, perhaps, the Universe. I am One, and I am All." It pointed a finger at Bradley, smiling once again."Which also means that I am You."
"I doubt that very much," Bradley huffed, finally turning his back to this so called God, and frowned.
Before him stood a great gateway of polished stone, bearing the Ouroborus mark of the Homunculi. So, this was the Gate of Truth. The real Gate of Truth. To be honest, he couldn't see what all the excitement was about.
Behind him, God laughed. "Disappointed, are we? I'm glad to see the feeling's mutual."
That got a rise out of him. Bradley whipped around, glaring daggers into the being who dared call itself God. "And who was it that allowed itself to be absorbed by my Father? Who was it the Ishvalans prayed to for salvation and revenge against my actions, and remained silent?"
God chuckled, shaking its head. "If there's one quality you homunculi share with the humans, it's that you think far too highly of yourselves."
"Excuse me?" Bradley instinctively reached for his swords, grumbling when he found nothing but empty air.
God held up a finger. "You believe yourselves so superior to the humans that granted and ended your existence." Another finger went up. "You believe that, even with a Philosopher's Stone containing the souls of both Xerxes and Amestris, that your Father would ever be able to contain the entirety of my essence." A third finger went up. "And finally, you believe, even now, that with your weapons, you could even hope to harm me."
Bradley grit his teeth. Despite his anger at this figure even suggesting any of this, he had to admit, the evidence of what he had personally experienced up to now did add up to its conclusions. Still, maybe, just maybe-
"You still haven't answered my last question," the man made homunculus pointed out. "Why did you abandon them?"
"I am not their God," it answered, still giving him that loathsome grin. "Nor do I believe they would accept a god such as myself." It then frowned. "But I have indulged you long enough, war dog. And I have found you to be... Disappointing."
Bradley snorted once again. "Disappointing, you say? May I ask in what regard?"
God pointed towards Bradley. "You were the first man to be turned into a homunculus. A man with a Philosopher's Stone at his core, powered by a single, wrathful soul. A man with the eyes of a god. And yet, you took the gifts granted to you by plots and circumstance, and simply lived the life that had been planned for you by one who wished to remove his Sins instead of understanding them."
"I did what I was created to do," Bradley answered with a shrug. "I don't see why you're so concerned."
God sighed, shaking its head. "Even now, you are blind to the truth." It then smiled once again. "No matter, I know just what to do with you."
Bradley narrowed his eyes at the being. "And what do you mean by that?"
God just chuckled, and he heard the gate behind him open with an ominous creak. Bradley whipped around yet again, now face to face with a great eye.
"What is this?" he demanded, even as shadowy tendrils shot out from the gate.
"The Truth of your despair," God answered with amusement.
Bradley grunted, leaping back in an attempt to dodge the tendrils. There was only one problem with his plan. He was quick, and could see where the tiny black hands were heading. But they were faster. And far stronger than he.
He struggled against the tendrils as they dragged him into the Gate, turning to glare in God's direction. "I'll get you for this," he growled, tugging at one of the arms wrapped around his waist. "I'll wipe that smug look right off your face, if it's the last thing I do."
God giggled, waving a finger. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Bradley. You're going to be quite busy where you're heading."
Bradley could only struggle more against his captors, finally letting loose a howl of wordless, impotent, unyielding rage as the Gate closed with a deafening thud.
His head ached. His throat was dry. All signs pointing to him not being dead. Blast it all. And the damned bumping and sounds of creaking wheels weren't helping his headache.
Hold on a second.
Bradley opened his eye (Singular once more. Strange.). The light hurt as he squinted, but he forced them to open all the same.
He was... most certainly not in Amestris anymore, nor even in that damned void. Instead, he was greeted with a cart, traveling through some misty pine forest, along a stone brick road in serious need of repair. He was surrounded with men in strange, medieval clothes, and the man driving the cart... Definitely some kind of soldier in... Leather armor? Why did he and the other passengers have rope securing their wrists together? And why was he himself in rags that did nothing to keep out the cold?
"Hey, you," said the blond man just across from him. "You're finally awake."
Bradley squinted at the man, frowning as he assessed this stranger.
The man was obviously another soldier. Not from the same outfit as the one driving the cart, but he was most certainly in uniform, leather mixed with a navy blue fabric. Probably the enemy of their captors. Blond, as he'd noted before, with a matching mustache and beard, and a rugged countenance.
The stranger smiled, a movement that betrayed just how tired he was. "You were trying to cross the border, right?"
Bradley felt his frown deepen. Border? He couldn't remember any border crossing. He'd never even left Amestris. At least, not to his knowledge.
The stranger seemed to take his silence as affirmation, continuing, "Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us." He then frowned, jerking his head to the left. "And that thief over there."
Bradley glanced to the stranger's left. The other two occupants could not be more different if they'd tried. There was another blond sitting beside Bradley, wearing fine, blue clothing (at least, for whatever time period this was), who was glaring at their driver, his green eyes glinting with defiance and rage. His mouth, Bradley noted, had been gagged, which probably didn't help the man's mood.
The last passenger, who was probably the thief mentioned, was a scrawny twig of a man, with brown hair and matching eyes, who was directing his anger towards the speaker.
"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief spat out. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If it hadn't been for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."
Skyrim? Empire? Hammerfell? What nonsense had Bradley found himself in? He'd never even heard of these places, not even in the history books Pride and Father had provided.
What was God up to?
The thief turned towards Bradley, breaking him out of his silent contemplation. "You there. You and me; we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
The first man shrugged, gently chiding, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
The soldier driving the cart chanced a glance behind him, shooting a tired glare at his passengers. "Shut up, back there."
The thief huffed, turning towards the gagged man. "And what's wrong with him?"
The first man whipped towards the thief, growling, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
Bradley couldn't help but snort. Obviously, these Stormcloaks were some kind of rebel force, and their leader had the audacity to name them after himself. The arrogance of humans never ceased to amaze him.
The thief, however, was less amused. "Ulfric?" he asked, his face paling. "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they've captured you-"
Bradley nodded, finding the thief come to the same conclusion he had in real time to be quite amusing, despite the implications for himself.
"Oh, gods!" the thief groaned. "Where are they taking us?"
The first man sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know, but Sovnguard awaits."
The thief shook his head, pleading helplessly to the air, "No, this can't be happening, this isn't happening!"
Bradley sighed, gazing up ahead, and letting the pair continue the conversation in peace.
They weren't the only cart on the road, nor were they the only prisoners. More soldiers wearing the blond man's garb were bound in the back of several carts, with a lone man upon a horse leading the procession. The man was older, if his grey hair was anything to go by, and wore a red cape along with his leather armor. Obviously the commanding officer of Bradley's captors.
And even further ahead, he could see the walls and towers of what seemed to be a small town. It was nothing next to an average Amestrian town, of course, but that simply seemed to be a product of the time period he'd found himself in.
As they drew closer to the town, a guard atop the wall called down, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"
The commanding officer nodded as he rode through the gate. "Good. Let's get this over with."
The thief clasped his hands together as best he could. "Shor, Mara, Kynareth, Akatosh- Divines, please help me!"
Tullius turned off the road, and the carts drove further into the town. As they passed, Bradley noted that Tullius was now speaking to another figure on horseback. A woman garbed in black robes, with pointed ears, golden skin, hair, and eyes, who seemed rather upset about something. Strange, but so was everything else he'd witnessed thus far.
The blond man glanced over his shoulder at the pair, growling, "Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." He spat into the cart. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."
Bradley shrugged, turning to examine the rest of the town. Some villagers were watching the procession, as well as more than a few soldiers. Without his swords, and with his hands bound like this, escape would be a chore. Not impossible, but certainly difficult.
The blond sighed, breaking his train of thought. "This is Helgen," he said wistfully. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He then looked around, letting a bittersweet smile cross his face. "Funny... When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe..."
Bradley nodded. It made sense, he supposed. Still, these fortifications were doing little to comfort him. One State Alchemist, or even a tank would be all it took to bring them all down.
Off to the side, a boy sitting on a porch asked an older man next to him, "Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?"
The man shot his son a serious look. "You need to go inside, little cub."
"Why?" the boy asked. "I wanna watch the soldiers."
The man shook his head. "Inside the house. Now."
The boy sighed, getting to his feet. "Yes, papa," he grumbled, marching in.
Bradley scoffed. Selim wouldn't have questioned the order. Then again, he was a much older homunculus, so perhaps it wasn't his place to judge. Still, the lack of discipline rankled him.
The carts were now coming to a stop, all halting before one of the walls. Two soldiers were facing them and their occupants, another blond in leather holding a rudimentary clipboard and quill, and a dark skinned woman in steel armor. And to their right, a stand and a basket had been set up in an open space, with a hooded man bearing an axe right behind them, along with a woman in yellow and orange robes. It took little to no imagination to figure out their purpose.
"Get those prisoners out of the carts," the woman barked out. "Move it!"
The thief looked around, his fear rising dramatically. "Why are we stopping?"
The blond glanced at the thief, snorting. "Why do you think?" he asked darkly. "End of the line."
Their cart came to a halt, and the blond gave Bradley a smile. "Let's go," he said, jerking his head towards the pair of soldiers. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
Bradley sighed as they all came to their feet, marching off the cart in an orderly line.
"No, wait," the thief pleaded, hopping off the cart. "We're not rebels!"
The blond, who had taken up position behind Bradley, shook his head. "Face your death with some courage, thief."
The thief turned towards them, sweat trickling down his brow. "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
Either not hearing the thief, or simply not caring, the woman called out, "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."
As he and Bradley got off the cart, the blond groaned. "Empire loves their damned lists," he muttered.
The man with the quill checked his board. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," he said, sounding every bit as tired as the blond who now stood beside Bradley.
As Ulfric marched towards the block, the blond called after him, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."
"Ralof of Riverwood," called the man with the board, and the blond followed his leader. The man nodded, checking his list again. "Lokir of Rorikstead."
The thief approached them quickly, shaking his head. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"
"Halt," the woman growled, but Lokir paid her no heed, racing past the pair.
"You're not gonna kill me!" the thief yelled with one last bid of defiance.
The woman made a gesture. "Archers!"
A pair of leather bound soldiers readied their bows and let loose, both arrows hitting their target. Lokir was dead before he hit the street.
The woman turned back around, glaring at the prisoners. "Anyone else feel like running?" she demanded.
The man bearing the list blinked, staring at Bradley. "Wait," he said. "You there. Step forward."
With a shrug, Bradley did as he was ordered, coming to a halt a few paces from the pair.
The man with the list frowned at him, hesitantly asking, "Who... are you?"
Bradley smiled. Finally, someone was asking the obvious question. Still, what name to give...
"I go by the name of Bradley," he said, carefully omitting his first name. Given the time period, they might take it as a title instead of just a name, and since he had no idea what nations existed outside of those mentioned by Lokir earlier, it was probably best not to test his luck.
The man nodded, taking it down. "You're a long way from the Imperial City," he commented. "What are you doing in Skyrim?"
Bradley did his best not to narrow his eye. Perhaps being mistaken for an Imperial citizen could do him some good. "Simply exploring," he lied. It was close enough to the truth, but to be honest, he had no idea of the real answer either.
The man nodded again, turning to his companion. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
The woman scoffed, shaking her head. "Forget the list. He goes to the block."
Now his eye narrowed. If she'd been an Amestrian officer, he would've immediately had her shot for pure incompetence.
Hesitantly, the man nodded. "By your orders, captain." He turned back to Bradley with a sigh. "I'm sorry. We'll be sure to send your remains back to Cyrodiil. Follow the captain, prisoner."
The captain turned and marched towards the block, Bradley following. Perhaps if he caused enough chaos, he could nab a sword and make his escape. Sure, being on the run from the law wouldn't be ideal, but at least he'd had enough experience with that after the assassination attempt at the train.
Apparently he'd been the last, as all the other prisoners were assembled by the time he got there. And the general, apparently finished with whatever the so called Thalmor wanted, was standing before Ulfric.
"Ulfric Stormcloak," he said as the captain and her companion took their positions beside the block. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
Ulfric apparently had some words for the general, but they were forever trapped behind the gag he now wore.
Tullius placed his hands on his hips, glaring at the Jarl. "You started this war," he accused. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now, the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"
At that moment, there was the distant sound of a roar. Not any beast Bradley had ever encountered, nor any of the other attendants of this apparent execution. For everyone was looking around in confusion.
"What was that?" asked the soldier with the list.
Tullius glared back at him. "It's nothing. Carry on," he said, turning his back on Ulfric and marching off to the side.
The captain put a fist to her chest, giving the general a bow. "Yes, General Tullius!" She then turned to the robed woman, nodding to her. "Give them their last rites."
The woman did not respond, simply raising her hands towards the heavens. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius," she recited, "Blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"
Another Stormcloak Bradley hadn't yet met stepped forward, marching towards the block as he shouted, "For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!"
The woman lowered her hands, glaring at the man who'd so rudely interrupted her. "As you wish," she huffed, stepping away from the block.
The soldier glanced back at the captain, demanding, "Come on! I haven't got all morning!"
The captain scowled, placing a hand on his shoulder and a foot behind his knee, driving him to the ground, and forcing his head and neck onto the block.
"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials," the man spat. "Can you say the same?"
The captain stepped back, and the hooded man raised his axe above his head. With a powerful swing, the soldier's head rolled into the basket, and his body fell to the side.
"You Imperial bastards!" cried one of the other prisoners.
"Justice!" called out one of the bystanders.
"Death to the Stormcloaks!" yelled another.
Ralof, who was standing beside Bradley, shook his head. "As fearless in death as he was in life."
Bradley nodded, having found some respect for the dead man before him. He'd faced his death in much the same way as Bradley himself had. Albeit, Bradley had put up much more of a fight beforehand, but still. It was good to see he wasn't the only one.
The captain pointed towards Bradley. "Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!"
Another roar rocked the town, louder this time, and once again, everyone visibly searched for the source.
"There it is again," the soldier with the list said nervously, looking around. "Did you hear that?"
The captain glared at him, grounding out, "I said: Next. Prisoner!"
The man sighed, nodding again, and motioning to Bradley. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."
But Bradley did not move. For he'd found the source of the noise. Streaking towards them from the distance, high above the mountains, was a creature straight out of myth and legend. A dragon. Black as night, with horns curling away from its face and teeth as sharp as steel, probably tougher to boot. It was coming fast now, faster than anything he'd ever seen. Unless you counted himself and the other homunculi, of course. Especially Sloth, when he could be bothered. Which was rare.
"Are you deaf?" demanded the captain, losing her consistently strained patience. "Step towards the block now! Move it!"
"Come on," said her companion. "No need to make this harder than it already-"
The dragon streaked across the town, roaring once again, and sending everyone into a panic.
"What in Oblivion is that?" yelled Tullius as he and the other Imperials drew their weapons.
The captain turned towards another soldier, having missed the dragon itself, but not its shadow. "Sentries, what do you see?"
The soldier shook his head. "It's in the clouds-" he started to answer, just as the dragon landed on the tower before them all.
"Dragon," yelled one of the Stormcloaks, face pale as she backed away.
The dragon pulled back its head, roaring once more. Scarlet and grey clouds blotted out the sky, and rocks began to fall to the earth, sending the entire crowd into further confusion, everyone going this way and that, searching for shelter.
All except for Bradley. He was eyeing up the monster, searching it for any weak spots as he prepared for... Anything, really.
There were none. It was as if the beast had been carved from a block of black diamond. And yet, where diamond was brittle, this thing was not.
And it stared back at him, narrowing its burning eyes, the only possible avenue for damage. It pulled back its head again, roaring something that... almost sounded like words. Words of a language entirely foreign to him.
A wall of what seemed to be solid air flew towards him at breakneck speed, and he dodged, leaping to the side.
But he'd miscalculated by a centimeter. The air hit his side, and he rolled much father than he'd meant to, falling to the ground with a thud.
Bradley pushed himself to his knees, shaking his head. Any more force, and he'd definitely be dealing with a concussion. Possibly worse. Thank Father he'd seen it coming and dodged when he did.
"Don't just stand there," Tullius barked out. "Kill that thing! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"
Ralof raced to Bradley's side, his hands unbound and now holding an axe. "Hey, Imperial!" he yelled over the chaos. "Come on, get up! The gods won't give us another chance!"
Bradley glared at Ralof, but had to admit he agreed. With a grunt, he forced himself back to his feet, giving the man a nod.
Ralof returned the gesture, turning towards another tower, where the other Stormcloaks had gathered for shelter. "This way," he ordered, racing towards the door.
Without a word, Bradley followed, once again wondering what in God's name was going on.