FicWad

Hello! My first fanfiction on this new website I discovered. This was originally posted on my account on fanfiction.net (find me at 'alchemicwifi' there and I copied it directly from there to here, so if there are any thoughts that aren't in italics, it means I missed them when I was editing. Does this website let you do multi-chap? I hope so. Anyway, enjoy and please review!

"Make sure to kill as many as you can! Whether it's children or men, shoot at your own will!"

"Find a suitable test subject and disable them!"

He pressed further against the wall, using the advantage of the shadows in order to evade a harsh spray of bullets nearby. They hadn't been aimed for him - they hadn't even hit their target, a demon he acknowledged was a royal guard from the Central castle - but they had been far too close for comfort. Perhaps taking refuge in the only upright structure on the street wasn't exactly the most intelligent idea, but it was the best he could do with the situation at hand.

Yet another explosion shook the ground, with the immense power of an earthquake. A whimper resounded from the darkness behind him, washed away by the unloading of bullets behind the wall. Instantaneously he realized just who had made the noise and moved to cover their mouth with an ash-stained hand. "Shush, Alphonse," he hissed quietly, multicoloured eyes barely perceptible through the glowering cloud of residue that contaminated the air. "They'll find us if we make too much noise! You don't want them to find us, do you?"

Footsteps, thunderous and heated as heavy-duty leather boots struck upturned chunks of tarmac and scattered pools of silver-tinted blood that painted the rubble, rang from outside the crumbling doorway. Edward Elric froze in that position - much to his younger brother's unspoken discomfort - only shifting his eyes to watch for any approaching danger. Royal navy uniforms, donned with clattering disks of gold and silver held to the fabric by coloured strips. Guns held in ripped buckskin holsters, or in blood-stained, shaking fingers. Edward supposed that they were being just as courageous as the demonrace were, but for all the wrong reasons.

They were deteriorating. The demonrace was falling. The humans had been unfairly prepared for this war and the demons hadn't even seen it coming until first blood had be spilled in the South side of the Underworld. No one knew why they had come. No one knew why all of this chaos had been ignited. Edward had wondered whether it was to take back something they had lost to their kind, but what exactly? They had never caused trouble with the affairs of the Overworld. They may be called demons, but they weren't necessarily ghastly in their deeds and demeanor.

And now, only three hours later, everything was falling apart.

His house had been reduced to little more but singed rubble in the aftermath of a loose explosive long ago. Luckily they hadn't been in it at the time of its destruction - his mother had told Edward and Alphonse to get to safety before promptly taking off in a different direction - but they had watched it happen. They had watched the home they had grown up in and shared memories in crumble to nothing but ruins before their very eyes. Everything was gone. What had remained of their past life was now left in flaming tatters.

Fire roaring as it caught the walls. Spitting ashes as it spread to the floorboards. Alphonse sobbed into Edward's shoulder, the latter's golden eyes dancing as he watched the flames destroy everything he had once known.

And it was painstakingly heartbreaking. Usually Edward wasn't the one to cry in the difficult times they had faced; that was Alphonse's standing, not his; but this was an exception. How could anyone blame him? Here they were, a twosome of innocent fifteen-year-old brothers lost in the midst of a war between good and bad, watching everything they had once loved rip away from them by the hands of cold-hearted humans and their artificial weapons. This wasn't something they should be going through at their age, yet they were. How could they be so soulless as to put them through this?

A flash of distantly proverbial purple energy broke through the darkness caused by the ash and Edward finally regained his senses. The figure that followed the burst of light was harmless upon first glance; the horns that twisted from the side of his head was a dead giveaway to his species. Not to mention the dim amethyst flame that was balanced on his fingertips, lighting the room up just enough for them to see through the piling residue but not so much as to draw attention from the adversary side.

"You guys can't stay in here," the unidentified being stated. The voice was male and amiably smooth, suggesting both kindness and pity in only its tone. Edward knew he could trust the demon with their safety, until they got to their mother that was. "It's too dangerous and they're bound to blow it up before long. Where are your parents?"

Edward pulled his hand away from his younger brother's mouth, then found Alphonse's quivering fingers and held them as if he were holding onto the boy's very life force. At the contact, Alphonse leant further into Edward's shirt and rested his forehead against his smooth grey horns. The older of the two observed the man quietly, before supplying, "we don't know. Our father left us when he were only little and our mother told us to run before doing so herself in a different direction. I... we're too scared to g-go outside to find her..."

It felt purely immoral to be admitting to his weaknesses like this, but Edward knew all too well that playing the brave one was going to end up becoming meaningless. They needed the evidence that their mother was safe and unharmed before they could even hope to feel better. Or perhaps, watching a human meet their end would be enough to boost their inner confidence. It wasn't like they didn't deserve it, anyway; for all he cared, they could go ahead and shoot themselves in the head with the guns they seemed to be so fond of.

If only they would.

"I hate this all," the being sighed, stooping beside Edward and Alphonse with sympathy shining in his gaze. It was then that the former noticed the stream of silver-tinted blood pouring from a gash in his forehead, dripping off his chin and onto the dusty floorboards below. The crimson colouring was accented in the light of the indigo flame in his palm. "A couple of kids like you shouldn't be in the middle of all of this. I just wish that the humans would realize what they're doing and stop before anyone else gets killed or anything else gets pointlessly destroyed."

Edward pressed closer to Alphonse as a waft of ice swept the deteriorating room, shivering in the cold that plagued their bodies. "I- we're not k-kids," the older brother objected inaudibly. The ash was staining the skin on his exposed arms a faded black, the bruises accented by the dim lighting. The unidentified demon released a soft, compassionate chuckle and the purple-hued flame in his hand brightened by only a fraction.

"Your eyes," he began. A finger touched gently at his cheek but Edward pulled away from it like it was diseased. "You inherited the silver from your parents, but what about the gold? I've never seen any sort of ability that would give someone a golden eye such as that. It's beautiful."

Alphonse seemed even more uncomfortable as he leant into his older brother's back, glancing at the anonymous figure through the heavy clouds of substantial cinder. It was getting darker and darker in the room, even with the soft light of the older man's neon lavender flame. Maybe they should leave soon - he was sure that he could hear human soldiers approaching from outside and the building was crumbling with every insignificant movement. And if any of that didn't kill them, he was sure that the ash would do so instead.

Multicoloured eyes stared suspiciously at the figure, and a blonde bang fell in front of a skeptical silver and gold gaze. "Mana manipulation and elemental wing manifestation... why do you need to know?" Edward responded, his voice stronger now. Not everyone asked about another demon's power just because they were fascinated by the colour of their eye. Gold was perfectly normal in the demonrace, and the silver was just inherited. Becoming interested by such a thing in this situation was something to be careful of.

But it didn't seem like the demon had any bad intentions with this information. Instead he just seemed curious and perhaps slightly envious, if someone were to squint that is. "Mana manipulation? Isn't that a spiritual demon ability?" A firm finger poked at his arm and Edward shied away immediately at the foreign contact. "But you're a physical demon. You look, sound and act like one, anyway."

The teenager shrugged, but said nothing. It wasn't like he knew, anyway.

Wrinkling his nose, the older man stood. "I need to get you guys out of here now," he said critically, all traces of his previous humor gone from his voice. "I got too off-track and now you're in even more danger. King Bradley is taking the injured and young demons into the Western castle for protection and he requested I go out on a last minute search. Thank God I found you, or you would have been dead by now-"

But he suddenly stopped.

Alphonse jerked away as the man's body hit the ground.

Edward felt his blood turn to ice as he stared at the crimson puddle collecting around the man's lifeless cadaver, running within the crevices left by scattered chunks of asphalt and wooden planks snapped from the floorboards. In his back, two bullet holes, both flowing to all comers with the red liquid and staining his blue shirt a portentous purple.

He's dead. He was shot in the back.

It went silent. Edward stared at the body, bathed in the pool of white light left by the open doorway. Skin slowly staining black as ash imprinted the pale colour. Horns crumbling as the demon's life force slipped away like water in his hands. The blood still spreading, twisting within the broken floorboards and collecting around Edward's thin leather shoes. That metallic scent bating the air like it had poured from the Underworld's skies. Dead.

Killed by humans.

Humans are bad.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

They kill the innocent.

The light that accented the lifeless body shifted as a shadow crossed its path. Hands shaking as they grasped a sobbing Alphonse's, Edward looked up at the doorway. Yet another figure, a gun held vertically in his hands, fingers working to load bullets into the chamber. The lack of demon horns protruding from his skull was all Edward needed to identify that this man was going to cause them harm. A wretched human being. One that had the heart - or rather, lack thereof - to assassinate someone who had plainly been helping a couple of children out of the midst of this meaningless battle.

Humans kill.

He said something, but Edward didn't understand it. All he could hear was the sensation of his heart palpitating, forcing ripples of blood directly to his temples. He sat, paralyzed, and felt his once-strong demeanor crumble before his very eyes. He was disconsolate, and for the first time in his life, secluded from the rest of the world. Not even Alphonse's whimpers of terror from this indissoluble trance.

Fear was crippling. It froze every muscle in his body. A foreign emotion to someone who had been forced into being brave and protective for so long now. Edward hated it; he just wanted it to leave, so his movement wasn't restricted and the breath wasn't ripped away from his lungs. So he had the freedom to run from the danger and get to safety before more blood was spilled in this room.

Edward felt his blood turn to ice as he stared at the crimson puddle collecting around the man's lifeless cadaver, running within the crevices left by scattered chunks of asphalt and wooden planks snapped from the floorboards. In his back, two bullet holes, both flowing to all comers with the red liquid and staining his blue shirt a portentous purple.

A distant gunshot pulled his world out of the water, and Edward gasped.

The man smirked and Edward grasped Alphonse's hand tighter; the boy quivered from both fear and the haunting cold. "Al, we need to go," he said, swallowing his anxious stutter as mismatched eyes met detached honey brown and silver. "There's a door out in the other room of his house. It should let us get ahead of the guy so we can loose him completely. Upon three, we run. Got it?"

Alphonse nodded gradually, uncertainly. Hazel and silver eyes glanced away from the smiling soldier and at his older brother. This was when the trust that they had in each other would be tested. Their close relationship would be strained by the sheer intensity of the war. Edward was strong and fearless - he cared about his family, so much so that he often got injured trying to help them. Alphonse didn't want that. He wanted to be the one protecting his older brother today.

But... he couldn't. He was too scared.

The human man said something in that foreign language of his and someone else joined them, also adorned in the royal navy military uniform the humans all seemed to be clothed in. Both held guns in their holsters, but the taller of the two had some sort of different weapon in his hand, the metal of the pointed end glinting in the orange light of a faraway explosion.

Edward knew what guns were. He knew what bullets were. He knew the damage dealt by them and how to avoid them. But he didn't know what the odd plastic contraption was or what it did exactly; the liquid it was filled with - a dark green, swirling with some sort of paler energy like a constricted whirlpool - was making him exceedingly nervous. Something about it gave off an uneasy aura and he felt that it wouldn't be good if he were to make contact with it. The only thing about that was that it was quite clear it was for him. Either that, or it was meant for Alphonse instead.

But there was no way that he would be letting them get to his younger brother. The state of affairs may look dreadful and he may be downright petrified, but that didn't mean his duties as the older one of the family weren't still in play. With the sudden burst of confidence came the brotherly protection that Alphonse needed. "One," he whispered. Two pairs of kaleidoscopic eyes watched the still-motionless soldiers as they shifted, slipping their knees underneath them so they could launch themselves off the ground in one silky motion.

As if realizing their unfolding plan, the man who had been holding the needle strode through the doorway and towards the teenagers. Alphonse squeaked. Edward made no reaction. They would get out. It was just all about perfect timing and exploiting their more-diminutive size against the enemy. Just wait...

"Brother, please! We have to go now!"

"Two..."

The solider was only a meter away. The needle was poised flawlessly for attack. Edward levered himself onto the balls of his feet and Alphonse shakily followed.

"Three..."

"They're trying to get away!"

"Go!"

In one smooth movement, chaos unveiled like an opening curtain. Everything seemed to steady into slow motion as everyone moved at once. The soldier jerked forward to grab Edward's arm, his fingers curling around the plastic contraption as he positioned it directly for the teenager's upper arm. He wasn't sure what it was or what it would do if it were to come into contact with him, but the man's expression wasn't exactly portraying an optimistic consequence.

And Edward simply acted upon impulse. Within moments he was up off the floor, his hands by now grasping his younger brother's as he pulled the smaller boy behind him. The loose chunks of tarmac and greasy demon blood that sprayed across the floor made for a rougher footing but they successfully managed to cross the room without a trip that would have literally made a difference between life and death.

They barely got a look at the room they had entered. It was just as dark as their previous hideout and the ground, while smothered by a layer of collapsed ceiling and, wasn't stained in blood like it had been in the other space. The scent was ashy instead of metallic - not exactly pleasurable, but better than the smell of the demon's spilled blood.

Edward pulled a quivering Alphonse to the doorway that would had presumably lead to another room in the house, but it must have met the explosive wrath of a grenade, for the walls were blown out and the snapped floorboards were burnt over with a sheet of crumbing black ash underneath the remains of the collapsed ceiling. The scent of gunpowder still bated the air with its furious odor, choking Edward with its sheer strength.

Finally Alphonse's courage returned and he sprinted forward a few paces to catch up with his brother instead of letting himself be dragged. The two hopped over what was left of the wall, nimble like rabbits in their panicky desperation to get away from the humans. Perhaps running directly into the street wasn't exactly the best idea, but Edward didn't have time to think of a better option. He just wanted to get his little brother to safety and find his mother on the way.

"Brother," Alphonse panted. "Brother, I can't- we c-can't..."

Multicoloured eyes stared into his younger brother's own. Left the same beautiful silver as Edward's own, but the right wasn't as golden; it was a gentle hazel instead, holding none of the antagonism and fierce frustration that his overprotective older brother possessed in his own gaze. Softer, kinder. Clashing with Edward's demeanor like two swords pitted against each other.

Alphonse was scared. That much was obvious, by a single brief glance. Pale skin stained by bruises and ash, wide, alarmed eyes, quivering legs that barely held his weight. Shaking fingers that ran along his blood-splattered, twisted grey horns like it was a nervous habit. How could he blame him? They were only fifteen and they were already stuck in the middle of this worthless skirmish. Edward had no doubts that he looked just the same.

Touching the end of his own horns just to make sure that they weren't damaged with anything lasting (they weren't, luckily), Edward put a hand on Alphonse's shoulder. "Al, when we find mum, it'll be okay. In fact, I bet she's out looking for us! She'll find us. I promise. For now, I think it's a good idea that we run."

Edward wasn't sure whether those words were to relax him or his older brother anymore, but he didn't care. It seemed to do the trick, for Alphonse was suddenly bouncing impatiently on the spot and actually grinning in the buzz of newfound energy. "Yeah! It'll be better when he find mum! She'll be with King Bradley in the Western Castle and we'll be okay. Come on, Brother, let's hurry!"

The younger boy's renewed buoyancy was all Edward needed to feel that thrilling adrenaline rush as they took off down the street, evading larger chunks of upturned tarmac and swallowing their distressed tears as they passed the bleeding bodies of those they recognized as their own kind. They ignored the flaming buildings, the thundering gunshots as bullets discharged for their target. They just kept going. Something about sprinting down the street in the midst of fatal jeopardy was exhilarating despite the reason they were actually running for.

Edward already had a preparation forming in his mind. It seemed simple, but he knew better than to think that it would be like that when they actually carried it out. They would find their mother and get to the West castle, where King Bradley was apparently taking in those who were vulnerable in this conflict. There, they would be safe. The power of the demons who guarded that general area was inconceivable - the humans would be no match against their supernatural supremacy. While the enemy had guns and explosives, the demons had a whole different spectrum of abilities, ones that would have been considered unfathomable for the Overworld.

And he wasn't going to cry throughout all of it. No, he was going to be brave now, so his brother could feel brave himself. He swallowed down that tight sentiment restricting his airways, the lack of moisture in his throat stabbing at his gullet like a knife hacking into his stomach. Crying now was weakness, and weakness gave the humans that sick satisfaction they seemed to crave so much.

"Brother, where do we go?!"

"Anywhere, Al-"

He felt the pain before he heard the shot. White hot and burning like a wildfire, ripping and tearing at his limbs with no restraint. It felt as if he were being cut in half with a blunt knife. The agony was so strongly accented that he didn't feel his body hit the ground, nor did he feel rough, gloved hands grabbing at his forearms. He only heard the objecting cry of Alphonse as he realized what happened. Black tinted the edges of his vision and Edward felt his world plunge underwater.

The voices were muffled. Everything spun as his body was moved, the light from distant explosions flashing in his blurred vision. Faces were far away and their features were hidden by the sweep of a lingering shadow. Something warm was running down his arm and torso. Pain laced his structure, but it was dulled. Numbed by the ice-cold waves that flooded all he knew.

But then, it stopped.

It was an endless abyss, lacking the colour and noise of any world that could have been imagined. There were no corners, there were no walls, there was no ceiling, there was no floor, and there were no ways out. He couldn't see anything but the eternal sheet of unpretentious white, and, for a long, long while, it remained just like that. Silent and motionless in its own whirlpool of close-mouthed illusion.

A flash, from a distant surface that didn't seem to exist. It wasn't blindingly bright, but it wasn't dull or muted instead. There was no chosen colour to it either, and he didn't feel like white was the proper word to label it with. He would squint in that general direction but would see nothing but the fading waves of light from the previous coruscation.

Boom. Another explosion shook the ground and suddenly the pain stabbed at his shoulder once more. Edward gasped greedily as his access to oxygen became restricted, ash and blood clogging up his senses. It was all too much. Too overwhelming. He needed to get out. He needed to get away. Humans. Humans. Humans were bad. Humans killed the innocent. Humans were killing him-

And all he heard, before everything went dark, was a single, deadly gunshot, and a scream.

,,,

"Hello, how may I help you today?"

The girl stared at the menu above the Starbucks employee's head with desultory hazel eyes, her hand inattentively toying with her silky snuff-coloured ponytail as she scanned through the choices. It took a good few minutes of tongue-tied silence, but eventually she decided on an iced caramel latte and went to stand on the receiving end of the counter.

Roy Mustang surveyed her out of the corner of his eye as he turned to get the ready-chilled coffee from the fridge. That pale grey shirt she wore really accented her polished build and her denim shorts revealed bronzed, willowy legs. Whistling absently as she swung on her feet, Roy was secretly pleased in the presence of her natural beauty - the fact that she was wearing little makeup was something he hadn't expected to become aware of. Her skin was clear and tanned, yet she wore no foundation. Unbelievable.

Checking out literally every girl I see on the streets has its own pluses, he thought to himself as he mixed the iced coffee with a spoon, appearing as if he were paying full concentration to his work when, in fact, he was simply being his narcissistic self. I can tell whether they wear makeup like fucking Barbie dolls or are just naturally beautiful.

"Manwhore," a voice whispered, directly beside his left ear.

A vainglorious grin tilted the corner of his mouth and he busied himself with stirring the caramel sauce into the miniature jug of milk. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hawkeye."

The blonde woman rolled her eyes at her co-worker, exasperated by his egotistical state of mind. She plunged the teabag into the mug of boiling water, staining the once-clear liquid with a subdued verdant cloud. "You know you're a manwhore," he insisted. With yet another conceited smirk as he poured the caramel milk into the chilled coffee, Roy watched her pass the cup to an elderly customer. The way she softly told him that it was hot to the touch made him smile - it was rather odd seeing someone who he had known to be so aggressive behave in such a manner.

But Roy also knew that Riza had a motherly personality hidden behind that thick veil of impassioned admiration for those who were superior to her. The way her melting chocolate eyes diminished whenever a mother entered with her sobbing child, or the way she spoke to the elder customers with such a hospitable tone that he was sure she was a different person. She was disciplined - almost never seen 'dropping formalities' to the boss despite him doing the complete opposite around his subordinates - and wasn't prone to showing public affection, but Roy could read her like an open book.

Yet, her character showed a mix between a tortured woman looking for redemption she felt is unreachable, and a resigned acceptance of past mistakes and their consequences. What those mistakes were, Roy didn't know, but he wasn't one to invade in his friends' past life.

"You're just crying because I'm holier than thou."

Riza Hawkeye's sharp cinnamon eyes turned over to Roy, a blonde eyebrow cocking at the remark. Other than that, she spoke out no perceptible feedback, too preoccupied with serving her next customer to answer.

Blending the caramel milk and coffee with his spoon, Roy snickered. Putting his co-worker in the center of his appalling sense of humor was probably his favourite part of the day. Of course he always got a thrashing with a cup or a spoon in the back room as a reward of his undying efforts, but it was worth it if he got to act like an patronizing bastard who slacked as much as he possibly could, when he could. That had been a difficult prestige to withhold when he first started, without getting fired anyway.

"One iced caramel latte," he announced in a commentator-like tone, fitting the cap onto the top and holding it up as if it were some sort of momentous prime to be worshiped in all of its glory. Roy took great pride in his flavoursome creations daily - after all, they did always turn out extraordinary. Feeding his inflated-like-a-beach-ball ego with a remarkable serenade only made the drinks ten times better.

The girl he had been serving gave his act a distasteful glare and took her order before shoving the money - three pounds - into his hands, keeping her dainty fingers away from his as if he were contaminated. Instead of becoming affronted by the persnickety attitude, Roy just grinned widely and bid her a good day, watching her leave the shop moments after.

Beside him, Riza snorted. "You scared her away."

"She was intimidated by my dashing looks," he persisted, turning away from his co-worker to adjust the apron around his slim build. "Besides, it's not like I wanted her to stay. Her eyes were so far apart it was abnormal, and did you see those slugs she calls eyebrows-"

As if offended, Riza self-consciously ran two fingers over her own eyebrows. "I'm going to strangle you in a minute. You know that she was flawless, you big dumbass. Look, you have a customer. Get to work, Bucko!" And with that charming statement, the blonde moved to serve a middle-aged woman who was waiting at her side of the counter.

Roy watched her as he greeted the elderly man in front of him with the standard, 'hello, how may I help you?', observed her undemanding smiles, her peaceful coffee brown eyes. The breeze that blew in from the open door toyed with pale golden strands, upsetting the bun and the hawks' wing fringe and playing with the loose strands that fell behind her ears. Sometimes, Roy would wonder how the gales that swept the tranquil streets of Central City would make everybody look like supermodels, yet he just looked like a drowned hedgehog.

Maybe it's just the way I style it, he thought as the elderly man took his sweet time deciding on what he wanted to drink. His dark hair - perhaps in keeping with his persona - was worn casually unkempt, falling over his eyes; in more formal or somber situations, however, he was known to wear it neatly slicked back. Perhaps it wasn't exactly the best match with the whipping winds and the breeze that the cars turned up as they passed by...

The young man barely managed to register the order given to him - a weak Earl Grey tea - before he turned around, facing the cupboard where the china cups and identical plates were stored. This was a benchmark routine. Get the most delicate cups they had (the older men and woman seem to hate the clumpy ones they gave the younger clientele), boil the water, pour it in, dip the teabag in and give it to whoever was waiting. Easy.

But as he opened the cupboard, something peculiar happened.

A violent flash, one that didn't seem to have a real colour-

A flash, from a distant surface that didn't seem to exist. It wasn't blindingly bright, but it wasn't dull or muted instead. There was no chosen colour to it either, and he didn't feel like white was the proper word to label it with. He would squint in that general direction but would see nothing but the fading waves of light from the previous coruscation.

Roy's eyes widened by a fraction and he robotically let out a harsh cry, feeling his body give way to gravity and disintegrate against the slate-grey floor tiles. Around him, teacups and plates shattered as they too made contact with the ground, sending shards of china spraying across the floor in an almighty orchestra of smashing crockery and distressed shouts from all around the coffee shop.

And just as those pulses of energy disappeared from view, there was a figure.

He blinked against the overwhelming headache, his vision lurching and dipping as he dizzily looked up into perturbed chocolate brown eyes. That figure - the only he remembered from all those years ago, when the image of supernatural creatures had been thought of as a reality - would come closer every time his eyelids slid shut and he did everything he could to keep that from happening. Seeing the shadow he had nearly forgotten about was, in a way, comforting. The demon was still looking for him. He knew it.

Did he still believe that the supernormal existed? Yes.

Did he still think that the demon - his demon - was going to find him? Yes.

And this only proved it.

The fact that, just as he was going to forget those words completely, the demon had gained his abiding awareness once more was just a memento that he was coming. Roy didn't care that twenty was far too old to be believing in bullshit like Heaven and Hell (unless the dogmatist was religious, of course). This was a true memorandum from the creature he had been waiting for. He knew he'd have to keep it as a cloak-and-dagger; he had no interest in being checked into a mental institute by fretful acquaintances; but...

He had been waiting for this for years. No words could describe his silent discomposure at this point.

The demon. It's body shape - piddling and lissome - was somewhat proverbial to his eyes. The lack of twisted bull's horns protruding from the side of his head was, while being something that wouldn't have triggered that commonplace feeling in his chest, was somehow conventional to him. Perhaps the aura of the astrological demon was just imprinted into his mind and he couldn't shake it off.

Shadows still shielded his features with an ominous pool of black. The long hairs that fell over his back blew behind him with a nonexistent breeze. Attenuated legs advanced forward a couple of steps, before he stopped and stood motionlessly, staring at Roy with unseen eyes.

Silence.

The hide bounding knot in his stomach emancipated itself and his back fell to the floor as he unsteadily glared up at the hand hovering above his head, right in his line of vision. "Roy," a voice, drowned underwater by whatever mythological (what an ironic word) force had smothered his senses. "Roy, are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance or something?"

It took a second, but Roy finally registered Riza's speech.

"He's real!" Roy cried. "I promise you'll see him one day!"

Finally, she'd had enough.

"Roy. Demons. Aren't. Real. Stop thinking they are, because they aren't, and you'll only be disappointed that no demon has showed up on your doorstep when you're on your deathbed."

The water drained from his ears. The sound of his name being called stabbed into his brain and he felt his head spin as he re-opened his eyes; having not remember them close, he was naturally very perplexed, and he let out a harsh cry of surprise as Riza's sharp snarl of, "Roy Mustang!" caught his attention. Blearily, he looked up at the swinging lights of the coffee shop.

What had happened?

"Roy-"

"I'm up," he groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead. "Ugh... what happened?" He felt a hand dishevel his hair and suddenly Riza was beside him, smiling as if he had just awoken from a life-saving operation. Had he really looked so close to death's door that it made her feel actual sentiment over his questionably congenial health? Or was the apocalypse finally striking the Earth? Either way, the sudden change in her persona was alarming and certainly unexpected.

"You just... collapsed," she breathed, brushing blonde bangs out of the way - this was when Roy realized that her hair must've fallen out of place during the complete trepidation. "You need to go home, Roy. I don't think you need the hospital but you can't work with the risk of this happening again."

I had collapsed? He shifted, looking above the counter to see the curious faces of previous customers leaning over to examine the circumstances. The descend had made so much clamor that even the people from upstairs had come down to see just what the pandemonium was about. All of this attention would have usually been invited, but now he just felt uncomfortable; if he looked identical to how he felt, then he was probably looking rather repellent as of now, and he didn't like so many eyes staring down on that train wreck.

It was an endless abyss, lacking the colour and noise of any world that could have been imagined. There were no corners, there were no walls, there was no ceiling, there was no floor, and there were no ways out. He couldn't see anything but the eternal sheet of unpretentious white, and, for a long, long while, it remained just like that. Silent and motionless in its own whirlpool of close-mouthed illusion.

Roy jolted as his vision flashed ashen.

"Hey... you should go home," someone from over the counter stated acutely. Roy blinked again, then moved so his back was against the nippy surface of the fridge. Perhaps he should go home. It wasn't like Riza would let him serve anybody else in his condition and his head was still gyrating like a merry-go-round. Besides, it wasn't like there wasn't anyone to reinstate his spot behind the counter; Jean had been slumbering for three hours now and he was still getting compensated for it, since he did show up to work as he should.

Riza nodded sagely and stood up, holding her hand out to Roy. The young man didn't hesitate in taking it and he used Riza as an anchor to pull him to his feet. He could only happen that nothing else supernatural like this would happen at his own house and that the world would give him time to recover before meeting the demon he had been waiting to arrive for so long.

Pfft. Fat chance, right?

,,,

Thump.

Roy's head jerked up from the pillow. Though his eyes were open, he couldn't think why; his heart was pounding, his mind empty. It was as if a hypodermic of adrenaline had been emptied into his brain. He strained his eyes into the utter darkness, breathing rate beginning to steady as he makes out the light streaming from the top of his curtain rail. It was morning, thank God - he would have been ready to die if it had been anything before five.

Thump.

He furrowed his brow, finally realizing what had driven him awake. Who was knocking at his door this early in the morning? It couldn't be past eight AM yet. Pulling his body deeper under the warmth of the duvet covers, Roy let his head collapse against the pillow once more. Everywhere but his bed was practically sub-zero and he had no interest in getting frozen over just to answer to some idiot. They could wait until he was ready to wake up.

Thump. Thump.

Roy opened his eyes again. The walloping against his apartment's front door was getting louder, like whoever was out there was getting more desperate each minute he was being ignored for. If they were refusing to go away after this much time, then he must have a damn good reason to be waking Roy up.

"I'm coming..." he groaned, though it probably didn't reach the door. Slowly he rolled out of bed and onto the floor, untangling his exposed legs from the bed covers as they threatened to lure him back into their tempting kindliness. Goosebumps ran up his limbs as the cold touched the skin but he pushed the objecting voice in his mind away as another violent thump shook his front door.

It took effort and a whole lot of self-determination, but Roy managed to get himself off the floor. He wet his lips and confusedly rubbed at the stubble he really needed to shave off. Most likely, he looked like an absolute mess. He always did when he first woke up. But right now he really couldn't care less. Whoever had actually waken him up was going to know that he had disturbed a hot college student who really needed his beauty sleep.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Be PATIENT," he shouted, rubbing his eyes as he crossed the living room.

Thump.

Roy clenched his fists, fumbling with the front door keys. It was way too early to be dealing with putting the keys in the keyhole; he couldn't even do it when he was fully rested without bending down to look directly at it. Another weak thump resounded out just as he opened the door, like they had given up completely. Roy didn't blame him. He must have been out there for a while if Roy hadn't awoken to the first one.

"Hello...?" he grunted tiredly, blinking against the light that attacked his senses from the outside corridor. No one answered. In fact, no one was there, standing at the door like he had expected them to. The only sound he could hear was raspy breathing from the figure huddled beneath his feet-

Hold on.

What?

Roy paled.

He felt the pain before he heard the shot. White hot and burning like a wildfire, ripping and tearing at his limbs with no restraint. It felt as if he were being cut in half with a blunt knife. The agony was so accented that he didn't feel his body hit the ground, nor did he feel rough, gloved hands grabbing at his forearms. He only heard the objecting cry of Alphonse as he realized what happened. Black tinted the edges of his vision and Edward felt his world plunge underwater.

The voices were muffled. Everything spun as his body was moved, the light from distant explosions flashing in his blurred vision. Faces were far away and their features were hidden by the sweep of a lingering shadow. Something warm was running down his arm and torso. Pain laced his structure, but it was dulled. Numbed by the ice-cold waves that flooded all he knew.

The fact that there was a child outside of his apartment door, huddled into his knees with his long hair, the blood that stained it with streaks of crimson both old and new contaminating the pure golden colour underneath was shocking in itself. None of his face was visible, nor where his hands or feet, he had curled in on himself so severely He seemed to contract as Roy opened the door, the drought it caused unsettling him like an animal distressed by the movement.

But what made Roy stop in his tracks wasn't this unexpected appearance. It was the sheer amount of blood that seemed to have come with it.

Discolouring the corridor's carpet, tinting the pale blue colour a deep royal purple. Scraped across the wall where the boy must have fallen. Collecting across Roy's wooden flooring as it ran from underneath the mystery teenager and through his door, surrounding his feet. There seemed to be silver trace in the harsh crimson colouring, but Roy wasn't sure whether it was just the lighting or not. Either way, it was blood, and it was currently flowing from the teenager huddled in his doorway.

But then, it stopped.

It was an endless abyss, lacking the colour and noise of any world that could have been imagined. There were no corners, there were no walls, there was no ceiling, there was no floor, and there were no ways out. He couldn't see anything but the eternal sheet of unpretentious white, and, for a long, long while, it remained just like that. Silent and motionless in its own whirlpool of close-mouthed illusion.

A flash, from a distant surface that didn't seem to exist. It wasn't blindingly bright, but it wasn't dull or muted instead. There was no chosen colour to it either, and he didn't feel like white was the proper word to label it with. He would squint in that general direction but would see nothing but the fading waves of light from the previous coruscation.

Roy blinked against the sharp flash of white and red that rang through his mind, too focused on the situation at hand rather than what seemed to be some sort of incoming mental illness. He would have to get that checked later.

A groan, barelt audible and devastatingly weak, pulled Roy out of his trance-like state. "Shit," he cursed, bending down and leaning closer to the child's shaking figure. He couldn't be more than fifteen-years-old, however it was difficult to tell due to his inconvenient position on the floor. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of thick liquid pooling around his bare feet, he moved to touch the boy's quivering shoulder. "Kid... you alright? You awake?"

Boom. Another explosion shook the ground and suddenly the pain stabbed at his shoulder once more. Edward gasped greedily as his access to oxygen became restricted, ash and blood clogging up his senses. It was all too much. Too overwhelming. He needed to get out. He needed to get away. Humans. Humans. Humans were bad. Humans killed the innocent. Humans were killing him-

And all he heard, before everything went dark, was a single, deadly gunshot, and a scream.

No response. He should have expected to be answered with silence; he doubted it would be easy to talk in such a distressing condition. Pity softening his onyx gaze, the college student touched at the silver-tinted blood. He was suddenly very much awake and he wasn't entirely sure what to do.

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