Disclaimer: You know the routine…. Yada yada… I don´t own fma or any charas… way to break a heart ;_; I won´t write this sentence again. At least not in this fic. Goes for all chapters.
Warning: Royed, so expect yaoi. Gays. Men loving each other. Don´t like it? Don't read it.
Violence, swearing, increasing warning-list
Another warning: First Fma fic. First english fanfic. And it´s not my native language, so expect wrong spellings and grammar mistakes and whatever. I´m sorry about that, but I most likely wouldn´t be able to find all mistakes, even if I read it 200 times. If you happen to be a beta and willing to fight against my mistakes in exchange for getting the chapters earlier than any other person, please feel free to contact me. I´d love to hear from you. Even if I doubt it will be an equivalent exchange (since you will get a lot of work in exchange for my crappy writings XD).
As mentioned, my first fma fic. So please let me know what you think. The prolog may be a weeee bit confusing, so I will try to update the first chapter as fast as possible. Even though I doubt it will be of much help, since the story won´t be exactly AU and not exactly alternative plot. Just something weird. But if you like or dislike the style or just think this is total crap, let me know. As I´m quite insecure about this fic so far, your review will have a great impact on whether I will continue to try writing in english or not.
Should I be blessed with reviews, I will answer them at the end of the coming chapters.
'Speaking' (Happens a lot… just not much in this chapter.)
'Thinking' (happens from time to time.)
"Letters, reports etc." (Poor Roy…)
The air was thick with the metallic smell of blood and still prickling from the power of the alchemic energy. The sensation sent goosebumps over his skin, but he didn´t even feel it. Nor did he feel the gaping holes in his flesh, due to his bodies surrender to the shock.
If he would have been able to think clearly, maybe he would even have laughed over the irony. He always had a sense of black humor that never failed to disturb at least some people. Being not able to feel the pain but still feeling the clearly missing limps… yes, this was definitely something that would have amused him at any other situation. Any other situation, than lying on the floor, bleeding and dying.
He knew there was a chance to survive this. Miniscule, but still there. With its long history of war, Amestris had developed an amazing medical system. The doctors have become used to saving the lives of soldiers and civilists, who have been crippled by weapons and alchemy.
But to survive, he had to get out of here. He had chosen this building because nobody ever seemed to come here. No one would even hear him scream. And with his missing body parts he would be death, before he made it. Nonetheless, he had to try. Crawl out of here, just enough to get within hearing range of someone. Anybody. He had to try.
'Please… be alive.'
He had to try. No matter the results of his experiment. One of the effects was his current situation. But the outcome he hoped for… 'Did it work?'
If it failed, he would have to do it again. He needed to survive for that. But did it really fail? Maybe, just maybe it wasn´t in vain. Maybe his calculations have been right. Maybe…
He blinked, his sight was blurred and the darkness didn´t help. The building had been cut off from electricity long ago and the candels he brought were either blown out or dimmed to small, glowing points somewhere in the dark. Just one had of the flickering lights had survived. The flame was dying painfully slow, just like the man who lit it.
Nonetheless, it was enough. Enough light to make out the small movement. Up, down. And up again. His breath caught, his throat seem to tighten.
'She´s breathing.' Hope. Sweet, delicious, painful hope. Now, after seeing the movement, he can make out the sound. Harsh and filled with agony, but there.
'She´s breathing. She´s alive! It worked!' But she's hurting. He needed to get help. Now. For the both of them to survive, he needed to get up again. Let her alone for the bit of time it would take him to find help. And then, he would never leave her alone again. Or she him. Just like they promised each other on the day of their wedding.
Tears made their way down his cheeks, as his hands scrambled over the cement. Leaving trails of blood from the cuts. Missing fingers. But it didn´t matter. The tears were tears of happiness. He was happy. She was alive and he could do it. He could push himself up to enough to drag his body over to the door. Up the stairs and maybe someone would hear him if he screamed from there. They would make it.
He tried to push himself up and forced his upper body away from the floor. Where was the door? As fast as he could but still so very slow, he turned around and felt his blood froze.
There, in the doorway stood a hooded figure. The thought to ask the stranger for help didn´t even occur to him. The moment he spotted those strange eyes he knew, without a doubt, that they would not make it. The young man would not help him.
As the stranger observed the surroundings, he made his way into the room. Every other step, there was a small, clicking sound and he eyes of the bleeding man were drawn to the source. A staff. And on the top – a reaping hook. What a fitting name. He didn´t want to see this. He looked away and back to the breathing body in front of him. The hope now replaced by despair and regret.
'Please. ' He begged, this time aloud. 'Don´t hurt her. '
He tried to reach for the leg, as the man passed him. But it only took away the support of his body and once again, his cheek hit the hard ground. Not even caring about yet another cut.
'Don´t hurt her.' He repeated, despite the knowledge that the man was not here to help him. Or her. On the contrary. 'Have mercy.' This time he tried to look their gazes. Golden eyes. He didn´t knew such a color could exist. They seemed so sad, so full of pain and regret. But determined. No hesitation, no wavering as the man placed his weapon in position. Just above the slow movement that had filled him with so much hope, seconds ago. Up and down.
'No.' This time it was barely a whisper. 'Please, have mercy.'
A last glance from those golden eyes. A confession of awareness – he knew what he was doing - and in the same time almost an apology. The next thing he knew was yet more blood splatter on the floor, as the blade cut through the body, though his reason to live. So easy. As if there was no resistance. Shattering his hope and in the same progress his sanity.
'NO!' This time it was a scream.
So, what do you think? More?