Chapter 1: 1, 2, 3, 4...
Chapter Text
Xing, Imperial City, February 19th, 1921
Alphonse Elric let out a long, pained sigh as he sank onto the couch in the living room of the small suite he was renting near the Alkahests Quarter- he’d been up since before dawn, training with Mei at her old Alkahestry instructors’ school and he’d barely been on his feet when he’d gathered his mail from the landlord’s flat and said his goodbyes to Mei.
He scattered the small parcel of letters across the black lacquered table in front of him and automatically rifled through it- letters from friends. Some sort of official looking envelope from the local bureaucrat’s office…still no word from Edward, it seemed, as he did not recognize his brother's spidery handwriting on anything. If Edward hadn’t made it an insane habit of going incommunicado for long periods of time since they’d gone their separate ways after the Promised Day and its fallout, Al would be worried. He knew Winry was worried- even after their wedding day, Edward’s wanderlust hadn’t ceased- he’d barely been home in the year after the wedding and it was fraying her nerves raw; their first child was due by summer and she’d not heard from him in months.
She had every right to be far angrier than she was, if he were being honest.
Finally, he was down to the last envelope in the stack, and he froze as spotted the clipped, thin script he’d been hoping to find, and he snapped out of his exhausted haze as he tore open the envelope- and just as quickly stopped in confusion as the contents tumbled out.
Alphonse reached down and picked up the first from where it had fallen on the floor- a note on blue and red trimmed stationary, with a handwritten note:
“Saint of Arms City, March 1st, Central Station Café, 10am, meet you there.”
The handwriting was Edward's, but not much else about it was, and Alphonse frowned in confusion as he picked up the other item that had fallen from the envelope, and his frown deepened; a thin, delicate looking dragon fly, dried and pressed between sheets of wax paper. Al turned it over in his hands, confused and more than a little put off by it- it clearly meant something but what? Why would Edward send him this? He ran through memories and lessons, and drew a blank on anything in their past that would give the dead creature any meaning to him. He set it down on the table, carefully not sure if he was worried it would break or worried it was cursed.
Get a grip, Alphonse.
He stared at the dried insect for a moment, then heaved himself off the couch and made for the telephones stand- it would be early, or late, in Amestris, but he owed someone a call right away no matter the hour.
He was just reaching for it when it began to ring.
He picked it up, eager to get whoever it was off the line so he could call Winry,
“Hello, I’m sorry, but…” he began in his halting Xingese,
“Alphonse? That better be you, if the damned operators sent me to the wrong number, I swear…” despite the hisses and pops of the long-distance connection, Alphonse recognized the voice and the tone right away,
“Winry! I was about to call you!”
Silence.
“You heard from Ed.” It was not a question.
“Yes, how did you…”
“March first, ten a.m., Saint of Arms City, and a dried dragonfly?”
“Uh…how did…”
“Because a courier just brought me the same letter- it’s the middle of the night here but she’d been instructed to wait until now to deliver it- when did you get yours?”
“Just now.”
They both fell silent.
“Al, this is weird, really weird. I don’t like it.”
Alphonse was lost in thought; two letters, delivered on two different sides of the world- at the same time? He shook his head- that was most definitely not something Ed would do, yet the note and the writing on the envelope were absolutely in his brother's handwriting- he picked the envelope up and checked for a return address, and felt a chill run up his spine when he found none.
What was going on? Why Saint of Arms city?
The town was the largest weapons producer in Amestris, one huge military arms plant that had churned out arms and ammunition for Fuhrer (I'm certain it's Führer and not Fuhrer? I'm not sure if there's a different from the German and English one?) Bradley’s war machine- but since the Promised Day and the ascension of Fuhrer Grumman, he’s heard it had fallen on hard times as the need for new weapons had faded…why would Ed even be there?
“Al?”
“I’ll go, but Winry, please stay away. I agree, something isn’t right.”
“Ok, but let me…”
“No! I mean, no, I’ve got it. If something goes wrong, I’ll get in touch with you and we can go from there.”
Silence again.
“Please, Winry.”
A deep sigh,
“Fine.”
The line went dead- Alphonse spared a moment to look at the silent receiver, and then he made his way towards his bedroom to start packing.
On the other side of a burning desert an ocean of misunderstanding, Winry Elric stared at the phone for a brief moment to ensure the connection was dead and immediately picked it back up and started dialing, stroking the slight swell of her belly, as if trying to comfort the life growing there,
“It’s ok, little one. Your papa and his brother are idiots, but you’ve got lots of aunties and uncles…”
Saint of Arms City, February 20th, 1921
Two heavy trucks that pushed down the dilapidated cobblestone streets of the former heart of the Amestrian military, heavy former military transports that had been secondhanded to the military police- now the Federal police after the whirlwind of reforms instituted by the new government.
They did not look like police vehicles anymore.
They’d been modified with solid rubber tires, bullet-proof glass covered in chain link fence and low armored boxes over the cargo bays, with low turrets mounted on them for the passengers to fire out of.
As their engines roared, a small family gathered around a burning barrel watched them pass, the adults frowning as the flickering streetlights illuminated the script painted on the back of the second truck- How’s My Driving? And a phone number for the local emergency service line.
Inside the vehicles, speakers mounted on the bulky two-way radios they were equipped with crackled to life;
“Alright, gentlemen, sorry we had no time for a briefing at the station, but we have an unknown number of gunmen currently firing on firefighters and patrol units on the top floor a flat block in the Richtoffen district- multiple casualties,” the voice, tired and angry, simultaneously echoed through the metal passenger boxes.
Both trucks were identically set up, and the people inside them were nearly so- eight in each, four per side, sitting on heavy metal benches. They were clad in the black uniform colors of the Amestrian Federal Police- but where others might have the standard wool uniform, replete with silver trim and flowing skirts, they wore mechanics jumpsuits, dyed midnight black, with bulky bullet proof vests covered in magazine pouches and equipment, holsters low on their thighs for easy access rather than riding in the small of the back, black painted helmets instead of caps, covered their faces with black balaclavas and their weapons- submachine guns, shotguns and high capacity pistols -were heavily modified with ring sights and bulky electric torches mounted on the side or on welded on foregrips.
They were soldiers equipped for the very particular battle field of their city- crumbling tenements, half abandoned factories and a desperate, angry populace ridden with corruption, crime and violence and flooded with weapons of every description made surplus by the sudden outbreak of peace and hope, and any pretense that these men and women were police rather than enforcers of the last stand of civic order dropped quickly in the spiraling chaos overtaking Saint of Arms City.
“Patrol and Fire were responding to a mass exposure of Trixie Dust in the building, first called in by a school across the street when an exposed individual attempted to gain entry to the fifth-grade classroom…”
One of the officers in the back narrowed his blue eyes in confusion before turning to the man in the seat next to him-
“Trixie Dust?”
“Really, Boot? Trixglyulen flower dust, or whatever the fuck the full dumbass name is…”
“The aphrodisiac that old wives peddle at the markets?”
“Yeah. Fucking smirk if you want- concentrated, it makes you horny as hell, makes you forget your own fucking name and endlessly open to suggestion. And the stuff the dickbags make around here is very, very concentrated, now, pay attention!”
“Charlie Team has perimeter, Delta has insert, straight up to the top floor on two staircases, four stories up.”
“Number of gunmen?” another voice crackled from the radio, alert, calm yet still tense with anticipation,
“One confirmed. Exposure in the building was isolated to the top floor, most of the rest was evacuated before we had to pull fire back. Patrol is holding to finish the sweep when you’ve neutralized. However, whatever was up top was able to expose the whole building when it got into the vents, somehow. Masks on, gentlemen, and be prepared for a major stash house up there.”
By luck rather than design, the vehicles came to a halt just as the man on the radio finished talking. The officers held for a moment and they took the time to pull their gas masks from identical bags mounted on their vests, and the long hoses that snaked from the rubberized masks to the filters inside the bag and the wide red-glass eyepieces made the already menacing troopers look inhuman- like aliens forced to walk Amestris in protective gear.
The ninth member of the squad, the sergeant who led them, scrambled from where he’d been riding in the front seat to the back of the truck before he swung the door wide and now looked at his troops, before nodding once.
“Let’s go.” The simple command came oddly muted, stifled by the heavy gas mask he wore, but it was heard.
The eight military police swiftly left the back of the truck, while next to them the other nine-man squad fanned out wide to cover the exterior entrance of the ugly, run-down flat block that they converged on, and the entry team shoved open the stained and dented brass doors of the lobby, the glass to dirty and cracked to even see through, and swept through- they were veterans of half a dozen missions in buildings identical to this one, tumble down and cheap apartment blocks for workers that had been half-ruined even before the city’s economy had crumbled.
The lobby was fairly clean, given the exterior of the building, but empty, scattered with debris and odds and ends abandoned when the building was evacuated.
In the shadows of a dark corner, low grunts and moans could be heard.
One of the MP’s flipped on his light, unneeded until now in the fading winter sun outside, and illuminated a few scattered piles of clothing- and a trio of naked bodies.
A man sat slumped on a bench, stroking himself, seeming intent to get back to the other two; a young woman with red hair and a gray-haired man with a ratty beard, his flabby body streaked with grime, pounding away at the girl, who moaned loudly in ecstasy as he bent her over a splintered wooden bench, his hips slapping against hers quietly in the dark.
“Fuck’s sake…” the blue-eyed MP muttered,
“Told you it wasn’t funny, Boot.”
The team kept pushing forward,
“But…what…”
“Charlie Team will take up the lobby and have fire get them out of here once we deal with the dickbag with the gun. Keep moving.”
As if to underscore his point, a flurry of shots rang out from the floors above them.
“Keep it tight, Delta.” The team leader called from his spot in the middle of the formation.
They reached the first stair case, a wide spiral of chipped marble and patchy carpet.
“Red Team.” Was the simple command, and four of the eight-person squad quickly peeled off and prepared to move up to the fourth floor, “Wedge the doors on each floor as you go. If there’s anyone else who’s been exposed, I want them contained.
The woman leading the section nodded,
“Yessir.”
“Blue Team, on me.”
The other four and the commander made their way through the rest of the wide hall of the building's lobby to the back stairway, but the commander called a halt at the frosted glass door with Kita written on it in faded gold letters. The door was half open, and the sound of children crying could be heard from inside.
The commander ducked inside, the team held the hallway with baited breath, and only exhaled until the commander came back out, signaling all clear before slamming the door and using a heavy rubber wedge to jam it shut before scrawling a bright orange exclamation point on it with a paint stick.
“What…”
“Come on, Boot. The shit in the air in here makes you dumb and horny. Why do you think?”
“It’s that bad?”
“Yes. Now shut up and watch your angles, Boot.”
The five Federal Police made it to the back stair case and poured upwards on the metal stairs, stopping only to wedge the doors on each floor, ensuring whoever was on them was sealed inside, and to carefully skirt around the buildings maintenance man and his apprentice who were locked in each other’s arms on one of the landings, and the FP’s snickered quietly to themselves as they made their way past them and the stairway filled with the rhythmic jangling of a key ring against the railing below them.
The suppressed mirth died when they made it to the top floor and found the door propped open by the corpse of a firefighter.
One of the team held his weapon on the door while two others pulled the body back after checking for a pulse and finding none.
“Breach.” The commander ordered, and the four officers lined up on the entry to the floor, counted to three, and they went in.
The hallways were unlit and the light had almost faded, and they flicked the light on their weapons on, one by one, illuminating two more bodies, one in the black uniform of a Federal Police patrolman.
“Three more down…wait, fuck! Drop the weapon! Drop it!”
What had looked like a dead firefighter slumped on a wall near a T-Intersection in the hallways tossed aside the police issue pistol he’s been holding and tried to raise his arms; he was wearing a respirator and breathing raggedly,
“Got him pinned…he’s down there…” the wounded firefighter nodded at the hallway behind the wall he’d been sheltering behind.
“Secure him.” The commander ordered, and one of the officers began cuffing the man, ignoring his hisses of pain. From the other end of the hallway, the other section of Federal Police emerged from the other stair case and began to make their way towards them.
“Boot, you’re up.” Came the commander's next order, and the blue-eyed federal officer nodded and slung his weapon as he opened the medic bag at his side and began administering to the wounded firefighter.
In the meantime, the commander took a long metal rod mounted with a mirror off his back and used it to check around the corner, while motioning for the other team to do the same.
The doorway at the end of the hall the firefighter had indicated was open, and the barrel of an automatic rifle was poking out from the shadows inside.
The commander glanced at the other team, whose section leader had checked the opposite direction and now looked at him and shook her head.
“This is the Federal Police! Drop your weapon! Now!”
“Fuck you! They fucking killed ‘em! They…”
“Drop it! Do it now or we’re coming in!”
“My brothers are dead!”
The inexperienced medic nodded his head at his work as he finished bandaging the wounded firefighter,
“How come that asshole with the gun isn't all horned up like the rest of these degenerates?” he whispered
“Yeah. Sometimes Trixie Dust exposure just sort of…”
The hallway rang with automatic gunfire as whoever was in the room at the end of the hallway opened fire.
“...puts the zap on ‘em.”
“Stun grenades and then move!” the commander shouted, flattened against the wall as gunfire splintered the wood next to him.
He pulled a short cylinder with a round pin out of his vest, while across from him the section leader did the same, and they yanked the pins out and tossed them at almost the exact same time.
Twin ear slitting bangs and bright flashes lit the hallway, and then all nine officers were moving, weapons trained down the hallway while a member of each section covered their backs.
The gunman staggered out of the doorway, rifle clutched in his hands.
They were supposed to call for him to drop the weapon and surrender.
The report filed would state they did.
The team leader raised his submachine gun and cut the man down in an instant, and the squad kept flowing into the apartment the dead man had emerged from, finding it eerily still. Tall bags of red powder cluttered the dirty living room, individual glass vials of it were piled on the kitchen counters- one almost empty bag had spilled into the heating vent near the living room's bay windows.
“Got a possible exposure point!” The man leading the Blue team called when he spotted it, and just before his team stacked up on a closed door that led off the living room, while the Red team took the other. The commander counted one, two, three on his free hand and both teams kicked down the doors and moved in.
Red team found an empty bedroom, bare except for a mattress and a floor cluttered with guns and ammunition.
“Sarge! In here, now!” the blue team leader called.
The commander made his way to them, and froze in the doorway.
“What the fuck?” he whispered.
There was a sumptuously furnished king bed inside, taking up most of the space in the tiny room.
There were two bodies on it, both male, both with their throats cut and their wrists slashed, and the bed was filled with blood, and the air stank of copper even through the team’s masks.
They were also both nude- and posed. One lay on the bed, arms and legs chained to the bed posts, while the other sat in his lap, on his knees, arms chained to the ceiling fan above him.
His back had been torn open, and his lungs pulled out, before being spread out and tied to the ceiling to hang up like wings.
The commander stared, took a step forward, and felt something crunch under his boot. He looked down to find the floor was covered from wall to wall with the dried corpses of thousands of dragon flies.
“Everyone, out, this is on investigations now.” The commander growled, as the team quickly left, grateful to get away from the macabre tableau.
The older officer who’d been pestered by the blue-eyed rookie spotted something as they went and suddenly asked the inexperienced young man,
“Hey Boot- how about you cut a finger off the guy chained to the ceiling?”
“…what?”
The older officer shook his head and stepped in to lean over the new guy,
“Your fucking mask isn’t sealed; I was checking you for exposure- like I said, people on Trixie are open to suggestion.” He tightened a strap on the rookie’s mask, “You idiot.”
“What’s going on, Mannsfeld?” the commander asked,
“Hey, Top, Boot’s mask wasn’t on right, we got a possible exposure. Seems fine though.”
The commander looked at both the other officers, face unreadable behind his mask,
“Take him down to the medics anyway, use the main stair.”
“Yes sir. C’mon Boot.”
The pair of federal police left the red-dust covered apartment and wound their way through the bullet riddled hallway, past the corpse of the gunman, and down the wide marble stair case Red team had cleared, passing a sobbing couple on of the landings, handcuffed to opposite sides of the railing,
“Shit wears off quickly.” The veteran explained, as they passed by, “And the results can be pretty nasty.”
When they made it to the lobby, they found the woman they’d found being rutted in the corner quietly arguing with the team leader of Charlie squad,
“Please, the children, I need to check on them,” she was crying, as she stood trying to cover her body with her torn dress, “I’m their teacher…” she sobbed, nodding to the still sealed door to the daycare the commander had marked.
“Ma’m, you need to get outside with the medics. We’ll handle the kids until the building’s safe…”
“Hold up, Boot.” The veteran ordered, before waving at the other squad leader and holding up a series of hand signals,
“The buildings are clear, miss. Head outside and the medics will take care of the little ones.”
The woman numbly nodded, shoulders slumped in defeat,
“C’mon with us, miss.” The veteran gently ordered, and the woman fell in between the veteran and the rookie as they made their way outside.
Once outside, as firefighters draped a blanket over the teacher, the veteran tore his mask and balaclava off and let his helmet fall to the ground as he deeply inhaled the cold winter air.
Hesitantly, the rookie did the same, revealing a youthful, unlined face and blonde crew cut which clashed with the veteran’s scarred visage and shaggy mess of salt and pepper hair.
He shook his head, again.
“Welcome to Saint of Arms City, Boot.”
Saint of Arms City, March 1st, Ten A.M.
Alphonse sat in the café indicated in his brother's note, a newspaper in front of him and an untouched cup of tea next to that.
He glanced at the headline- something about a police shoot-out from weeks ago, where seven people had died. That caught his attention, and he was almost happy to be distracted by the atrocity, and he unfolded the newsprint to read more.
Several firefighters and policemen had been killed by a gunman who had apparently murdered his brothers beforehand. The paper was light on details but heavy on insinuations about the horror of the killings, and Alphonse set the paper aside, stomach going queasy; he didn’t need to be reading about things like that right now.
He’s been distracted by the paper long enough, however, that when he looked up from it he was shocked to find he was no longer alone at the table.
“Who are you?”
The middle-aged couple, well-groomed and respectable looking, wearing identical dragon fly pendants over their expensive clothes, smiled at Alphonse’s surprise,
“You’re just how your brother described you, Alphonse,” the man smiled,
“I’m Beatrice, and this is my husband, Phillip.” The woman spoke, with an identical smile to her husbands on her face as she reached out her hand to Alphonse. He didn’t take it.
“Oh, I do apologize if we put you off.” The woman said, pouting slightly, “It wasn’t our intention…”
“We should have introduced ourselves better, of course. Not just sat down.” The man continued.
Alphonse leaned back in his seat,
“Where’s Edward?”
“He’s safe, the safest place in the city; the Sanctum, by the side of High Priestess.”
There were many questions raised by that sentence, but only one that mattered,
“And how can I find it?”
“Why, it’s a secret, of course. One that I can assure you that you won’t figure out on your own.”
“And if you try and be naughty and make us tell you, I assure you that you never will.” The woman smugly pronounced, before tapping her amulet- and with a quick glance around, Alphonse realized how many of the people in the café wore a similar ornament.
And that some of them had bulky looking bulges in their clothing, or were carrying heavy cases.
They were armed to the teeth.
“Now, of course, we’d prefer if you just came with us, of course…”
Alphonse sighed. And nodded.
Across the street from the café, a short man with closely cropped black hair watched Alphonse Elric through the plate glass front window as he stood and went with the odd-looking couple that had sat down with him.
Kain Fuery narrowed his eyes as Al climbed into a black touring car with them, did his best to memorize the license plate and ducked down an alley towards where his own vehicle was parked.
He’d been the nearest of Colonel- no, General -Mustangs inner circle to the Saint of Arms City when Winry had called the him with a dire premonition about Edward Elric’s safety, and had gotten on the ground as soon as he could when the General had ordered him to set up surveillance-
He almost didn’t feel the bullets that stitched across his back.
Almost.
There was a moment of searing, burning agony, and he gasped just once before he heard the echo of the shots of the alley walls, and then nothing, ever again.
Chapter 2: ...5, 6, 7, 8...
Chapter Text
Saint of Arms City, First of March, 10:50 AM
Alphonse hesitantly climbed into the wide, black touring car the couple directed him to and sat as directed, in the seat furthest from the separated driver’s compartment, while the couple from the café took the seat behind the driver.
Their wide smiles had returned, and Alphonse stared back at them blankly, face as neutral as it would be if it was still made of steel.
“Oh, don’t be so upset, Alphonse, we’re taking you to see your brother, after all…” the man said with an amused lilt. Beatrice took a silver-plated cigarette case engraved with- surprise! -a dragonfly, out of her purse and opened it, offering it to Alphonse,
“I don’t.” he automatically answered,
“Thanks.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m afraid I do, though,” Her husband reached over and took one of the thick, hand rolled cigarettes from inside before Beatrice took one for herself, and they lit them with a silver plated lighter the woman took from her bag and soon the car was filled with a thin cloud of vaguely herbal smelling smoke.
“I apologize for the smell; clove cigarettes, you see.”
Alphonse said nothing.
The man casually reached for a small box on the wall and opened a vent on it,
“It’s going to get cold; we have a short but hectic journey, it will take some time,” he explained, seeming to be unnerved by Alphonse's stoic silence and needing to talk, “Let’s get this heater fired up, shall we?”
Phillip flicked a switch on the side of the box and the noisy heater installed in the back of the car flared to life, blowing cold air until it began to heat up.
Alphonse pursed his lips for a moment in confusion- he could have sworn that a puff of red dust had come out of the vents when the thing had flared to life. He let the observation slide with a passing wish that whatever was wrong with the thing would make it burst into flame and take the car with it.
They rode in silence for a few minutes more and Alphonse felt his head growing heavy from the situation he was in; the tense state of readiness he was holding his body in was taking its toll.
Slowly, unwillingly, he let himself wind down, but kept his careful, silent watch on the couple.
Phillip looked over at Alphonse speculatively, before asking;
“Edward wanted me to ask you- what did he get you for your eighteenth birthday?"
Alphonse looked confused and while he intended to stonewall the man yet again, he instead answered; “Ah, an Alkahestry journal, my first one…” before catching himself and trailing off back into silence.
Phillip smiled, nodded and said nothing further.
Suddenly, the car veered down an alley and came to a stop in a lot covered in patches of melting snow and yellowed grass.
“Ah, dear Alphonse, I’m afraid this is where we part. Maybe I’ll see you again, at the Sanctum.” Beatrice said, her voice flushed with a breathless edge that Al found more than a little disturbing,
“Ooo…I wouldn’t mind seeing you see him again, either.” Phillip agreed.
Alphonse felt his blank façade slip into a nervous smile, just for a moment, before he froze it in place and looked out the window.
A heavy freight van sat nearby, and the driver, dressed in overalls, a black wool coat and a red bandanna, waved at him from the cab and pointed to the back of his vehicle.
The couple had leaned in for a kiss and that was rapidly building in intensity, and Alphonse ducked out the back of the touring car as quickly as he could, shaking his head to clear it as he slammed the door and made for the back of the van.
To his surprise, it was lined with cushioned benches and a young woman in a short fur coat and a red dress that clung to her curves in a way that left very little to the imagination was reclining on one of them, reading a book, one hand propped in her white-blonde hair.
Alphonse froze in surprise at her appearance, and she regarded him curiously for a moment, looking him up and down with wide, brown eyes before going back to her book.
“Alphonse, if you’re not going to get in, please close the door, it’s freezing out there."
Al looked around one last time, and climbed into the sealed passenger compartment and shut the door behind him.
The truck promptly got in motion, and Al had to scramble to take a seat.
The two sat in silence for a long time as the truck took turns seemingly at random, which jolted Alphonse around the compartment while the reclining woman stayed oddly still, as if she was anticipating the wild rides next direction.
She did set up eventually but only to scoop up her bag and take a long, silver and black pipe out of it.
Alphonse watched in fascinated curiosity as the woman took a black satin bag out next, and began to back the bowl of the pipe full of an odd assortment of leaves and dried flower petals, all dusted with some sort of red powder “…her slow, deliberate movements...almost sensual…” Alphonse observed in his thoughts before shaking his head to clear it, “Where the heck did THAT come from?”
The woman struck a match on her seat and brought the slender pipe flaring to life, not bothering to ask Al either for his permission or if he cared to indulge in himself, and soon the cabin filled with the heady aroma of whatever the pipe had been loaded with- it was spicy, making his nostril flare with a sudden pop of sensation. He took a deeper breath of it, involuntarily, and this body felt warm, oddly comforted by the smell of the smoke
“That’s odd. Probably not good…” Alphonse thought-though quite why escaped him at the moment, “Was it something else? The…dust? The dust on that mix she was smoking looked like something I’ve seen before, recently. Why was that bad?” Alphonse dismissed the line of reasoning as stress and focused on his mission to get Edward.
“Are you taking me to my brother now?” Alphonse asked, wincing at his own naïve tone.
Instead of answering, the woman slid down the bench until she was right next to Alphonse, and rested her head in his lap and gazed up at him.
Alphonse leaned back in his seat, as if trying lamely to get some distance, but didn’t try and stop her. She leaned up to take a drag of the still lit pipe she’d been balancing., blew the tangy smoke up and into Al’s face, and simply asked;
“Can I suck your cock?”
Her sensual voice dropped to a whisper as she bit her lower lip, her eyes pleading with him. She wanted him, desperately.
Alphonse's eyes went wide, and his shoulders tensed, but he didn't move. His mind was a battlefield. One part of him was consumed by the image of this beautiful woman, the heat of the fantasy making him blush. The other, stronger part, screamed for focus. He had to find his brother, no matter the cost, and he chastised himself for even a moment of weakness.
The woman smiled confidently up at him and Alphonse's mind raced yet faster- he knew there was a reason he absolutely needed to say no, but he wasn’t sure…completely sure.
“N-no. No. No thank you?”
“I’m not going to ask again.”
Alphonse shook his head and was oddly happy when he remembered he’d asked the woman a question already,
“Where’s my brother?” he repeated, “Is this truck taking us to where he is?”
The woman sighed.
“Yes, it is. We’ll be there soon, Spoil Sport.”
The woman fell silent- she set aside the pipe and produced her book again, though Alphonse had no idea where she’d been keeping it, and spent the rest of the ride with her head in his lap, reading, while he fidgeted uncomfortably.
Eventually, the truck came to a smooth halt, and she sat up and stretched as two burly men in rough looking workers clothes and red armbands opened the back door- ominously, both of them were wearing respirators and had rifles slung on their backs.
“Clyde! Good to see you!” the woman called, as she recognized one of the men,
“Our new friend Alphonse was a lousy travel partner- could you come sit with me for a minute before we head inside?”
One of the guards hesitated, then laughed under his mask and climbed in the back of the van, eyes hungry over the respirator that half covered his face.
Alphonse shook his head again and climbed out of the truck, happy to be away from the woman.
“Oh! Alphonse!” she suddenly called, and he stopped promptly and looked back to see what she wanted. The woman was reclining in the arms of the guard, but she ignored him long enough to continue,
“Edward wanted me to ask you- what did he get you for your eighteenth birthday?”
Al’s expression narrowed in confusion- hadn’t someone just asked him that? But he casually answered, “An alkahestry journal.”
“Are you sure?”
“I…think so…”
“I don’t think so, but that’s fine. Go see your brother! I’m sure he’d love to see you…” she trailed off as the guard tore his re-breather off and nipped her neck.
Alphonse quickly turned away, and found the other guard looking blankly back at him, before pointing to a set of heavy wooden doors across a cracked, narrow sidewalk form where the truck had parked- he really should have looked around more, he thought, but he needed to see Edward quickly, so he made his way to the door, stumbling slightly as he went before catching his balance. “Must have been the long ride”, he thought, as the doors slid open in front of him and he stepped inside.
Alphonse stopped as the doors slammed behind him with a sudden, echoing boom that made him jump- he looked behind him and found the guard in the gas mask staring back at him. The armed man nodded his head forward, and Al turned around, back towards the building’s interior, intent on studying his surroundings.
He was in a wide entry hall, with long walls of uncovered planks and timber set up in a square shape- the walls on either side were set with short, rectangular apertures near the ceilings- he was ill at ease with this, it reminded him of something, some sort of fortification- and then he spotted the ventilated barrels poking out from the walls and recognized them immediately- machine guns. Machine guns sticking out from firing slits. The sudden recognition fought back some of the haze that had set in, and he looked down at the floor, covered in threadbare old rugs, counted to three, and looked up.
And reality almost went blank.
There was a wide-open space in the middle of the wall in front of the entryway, framed by red curtains and like the rest of the space, lit with yellow electric light from strings of bulbs hung from the ceiling. When he’d looked down to try and focus it had been empty. When he looked up, a woman was standing there- average height average build, but he took one look at her wide smile, her angelic face, the long brown-hair in a loose pony tail that hung over her shoulder and her wide, blue eyes and a memory almost buried by grief and loss nearly ripped its way physically through his memories, memories of a woman who looked just exactly like this…
“Mom?” Alphonse croaked, barely finding his voice, and speaking before reason could catch up with desperate hope.
The woman chuckled, and the tones were light and merry but unfamiliar to the alchemist.
“No, I’m sorry Alphonse, oh…I do apologize. I know from talking to Edward how much we look alike and…I’m sorry.” The woman profusely apologized, though her eyes remained still, dancing with a hardened edge the Alphonse couldn’t see,
Alphonse tried to set his jaw, but his determination quickly faded,
“I’d like…I want to see my brother.” He demanded, almost petulantly…before letting out a small cough.
The air in here seemed to be swimming with dust. Red dust. He thought that was odd, but he pushed the thought aside, but here was something ominously familiar about the spicy scent that seemed to cling to the air in here- did it have something to do with…the dust?
“Who are you?” he asked,
“I am the High Priestess, and welcome to my Sanctum.”
“Umm…the high priestess of…what?”
“Of Eyes of the Aurealum.”
Alphonse’s mind flooded with questions, but he could voice only one, a clear mantra his consciousness was clinging unto like a lifeline,
“Where’s Edward?”
“Of course, you must be worried, he should be finished now. Follow me.”
Alphonse did as he was told, falling in behind the red robed woman as they left the fortified entry way- at some point, she paused to pull on a rebreather mask, a delicate thing with a single filter, chased in silver and black leather, with a clear glass window on the front so he could still see her mouth.
That everyone else seemed to be wearing these masks and he didn’t have one was vaguely concerning, but he remained focused on his goal; find Edward. Anything else right now was a meaningless distraction, he told himself.
They wound their way through a few high walled corridors and switch backs, and Alphonse spotted a few more firing slits and machine gun emplacements- but these were meaningless details, like the masks.
Eventually the thick wooden walls gave way to red curtains- red curtains lined the hallways, lined wooden cubicles, draped from the ceiling across cushioned recesses and circular sunken pits lined with overstuffed couches and everything was bathed in the warm glow of the lights strung across the ceilings, while on the walls antique gas lights flickered in crystal sconces.
There were people now- in street clothes, in red robes, a few in the rough gear and clothing of the sentries out front, but the vast majority wore nothing at all.
Alphonse’s face reddened, not just at the rampant nudity, but at what so many of the people here were doing.
The scent of the red dust and the sight of so much skin hit him hard, scrambling his thoughts. He felt lost in a haze. "Edward... I need to search for Edward... I need him now." He panted. A wave of unfamiliar heat swept through his body, making it feel clumsy and strange. "Why's my body feeling so weird? This’s so embarrassing, in front of all these strangers?" He thought, mortified as he tried to discreetly hide the growing bulge that involuntarily tented his trousers.
He closed his eyes, but he could still hear the ecstatic moans and the sound of flesh against flesh all around him. Something was drawing him to it, and even though he’d shut his eyes against the temptation that built in him, he still wanted with a furious desire his rational brain drowned under.
“Come, it’s a lot to take in, at first,” the High Priestess purred in Alphonse’s ear- the mere vibration of the words made him bite his lip as blood flowed to his member; this wasn’t him, this wasn’t right, but his body no longer felt like his own.
He gasped as the woman’s hand found his before intertwining their fingers and giving a short, sharp tug.
“You can keep your eyes closed, for now. They’ll be open later, of course, but it’s early days for that now.” She sympathized, before leading Alphonse on.
Occasionally, Alphonse felt hands on his body, groping, caressing and insisting as the Priestess led him forward, but with a few soft words or a sharp noise, she made the strangers release him- and eventually she spoke again, after tugging Al’s hand to show him to stop;
“You can open your eyes now, Alphonse.” The Priestess announced, and Alphonse slowly did as he was told- and was just in time to see a naked young woman with tussled black hair open a set of red curtains and step out into the dim light of the main room.
Alphonse caught the reflection of a white, viscous liquid dripping from her breasts, and then she stumbled away to rejoin the sea of bodies that Alphonse dared not look on.
“Ah, perfect timing- he’s finished!” The Priestess cooed, her voice oddly not distorted by the gas mask she wore; Alphonse had a distinct thought that he should be worried about that mask, but it was overridden by a sudden onslaught of concerns he couldn’t quite grasp ahold of, for some reason.
There was…another girl? A blonde girl? Who should be with Edward…Winry! How could he not know that right away? Alphonse grit his teeth as he suddenly hardened his thoughts against the swirling vortex his mind had spun off in.
“That girl was…with Edward?” Alphonse growled
“Why, of course,” The Priestess acted shocked at the sudden anger, “Come now, Alphonse, what’s wrong with two adults enjoying a little liaison, hmmm?”
“He’s married. To…” Alphonse took a moment, but the name came back to him, “To Winry.”
“Is he?” The priestess smiled sadly under her mask, “I’m afraid, well, you should go in and talk to your brother. I’m sure he needs you right now. Lots of unfortunate facts have come to light during his time in the Sanctum.”
She set a sympathetic hand on Alphonse’s shoulder and smiled sadly at him from behind her mask, and then she was gone, leaving Alphonse alone in front of the red velvet curtains.
Steeling himself anew, he pushed one aside, and prepared to go in,
“Oh! Alphonse?” the Priestess suddenly called from behind him,
He really wanted to get inside, to see Edward, he needed to, needed to help Edward, something as clearly very wrong, but instead, he stopped and said,
“Yes?” he was curt, and managed to choke back the miss his manners tried to dictate he add to the response.
“Do you recall what Edward got you for your eighteenth birthday?”
Al narrowed his eyes and turned to look at the woman, but couldn’t find her in the crowd,
“No.” he said; hadn’t someone else just asked me that?
“Ah. Shame.” The Priestess was suddenly by his side again, and she leaned in close, her dark blue eyes boring into his, “You care very, very deeply about your brother. And he cares for you just the same- isn’t it romantic? The bond, it’s far deeper than just brotherly love, I think.”
And then she was gone again, leaving Alphonse’s thoughts to swirl off down a dozen, muddled paths once again.
Romantic? Al thought, what’s that supposed to mean? Such an odd way to describe his bond with his brother…but for some reason, the word filled him with a sudden warmth, and when he went to confront his brother, it was now with a small smile on his face that melted the steel wall his mind had thrown up.
He opened the curtains, and stepped into the space on the other side.
He found himself facing another wall of red fabric- groaning in annoyance, he felt across it, feeling claustrophobic and hot in the fabric swaddled space, until he grasped an end and pulled it back while pushing through, finally coming out in an open space- dimly lit by a single lamp draped in red gossamer sat on a stand and furnished with a leather wing chair, a low bookshelf and a huge, iron framed bed…it appeared empty at first and a sudden, white hot rage flared in Alphonse’s chest.
Edward was supposed to be here! His mind raged, like a child.
And then the knotted blankets on the bed moved, and a bleary-eyed man with long blonde hair sat up on the bed.
They were both silent for a moment, with Alphonse staring at the bare-chested man for a moment, until his mind caught up with his eyes,
“Brother?” he asked, quietly.
“Al!” Edward Elric shouted as he leapt off the bed, with Alphonse’s mind having mere moments to assess that his brother was absolutely naked as the day he was born before he had folded Alphonse into a bear hug, bulling into the slightly larger man close and pressing his forehead to Alphonse’s neck, nearly sobbing as he spoke,
“You came. You’re here...you got my note! The Priestess asked me to write, she said you’d come but I wasn’t so sure…for some reason, I can’t remember why…”
It took Alphonse a moment to realize that his brother was babbling but he couldn’t find the words to get him to slow down. He did gather himself enough to push his Edward back a little, to get a look at him- he was fit, healthy looking, his auto-mail leg looked polished- Alphonse had a sudden worry that someone or other- he had trouble recalling the details -would be upset that it looked like a new mechanic had been looking after it…what was their name? Winry!
The sudden recall of the name of his brother’s wife- was she more than that? He couldn’t remember, he thought she might have been his friend too – in any case, recalling her name brought a slew of other details about his brother’s condition into sharper focus.
His body was marked after all- maroon hickeys scattered his neck, bite marks traced across his shoulders…and a glance down that lingered a bit too long showed that his dick shone with liquid, and he smelled like sex- Alphonse thought for a moment about how he knew that…images of girl with black hair and wide smile looking down at him in the shadows of some distant night came, and were gone. Angry at his inability to remember, he lowered at his wayward sibling,
“Edward, what are you doing?”
“What d’ya mean?” the eldest Elric slurred,
“What about…Winry?” Alphonse demanded, “You’ve been…” he started to accuse,
“Is that fucking bitch here?” Edward snarled, his voice sharp, his gold eyes suddenly focused with anger.
Alphonse froze. His mind grew clear, just for a moment. That was not something Edward would ever say. An image flashed in his mind, a distant echo of danger of someone with purple reptile eyes and a too wide smile who could look like anyone with a thought and flash of red light, but he remembered enough, still, to know that whoever that had been, they were long dead.
Which meant his brother had really just sad that, and the hurt Alphonse somewhere deep in his core, and he felt a tear in his eye when he spoke,
“Brother, you don’t mean that- what’s wrong with you?”
“That cheating fucking slut…” he growled.
“What are you talking about?”
“Not even my fucking kid.” Edward muttered, seemingly oblivious to Alphonse’s protests
“Edward…”
The older sibling pointed to the bookshelf,
“Bottom right corner.” He growled, and went back to sit on the bed.
Alphonse looked in the spot Edward had indicated and found a plain manilla envelope, and when he opened it a sheaf of photos spilled out, showing a woman with a blurry face in bed with a man, riding him, back arched, face turned to the ceiling in a cry of orgasmic bliss.
“See Al? It’s Winry. Priestess showed me, wanted me to know.”
Alphonse squinted, going through the picture; the woman’s face seemed blurry in each one,
“Edward? Are you sure…”
“Goddamit Al, look at the pictures!”
Al looked again- this time he saw details he hadn’t earlier; a pony tail, piercings in her ears…
“It’s Win.” Edward proclaimed, voice filled with grim finality.
Alphonse glanced at his brother, and back at the photos, and now he saw clear as day the woman was his brother’s wife, in the arms of another man. Wordlessly, he reorganized the pictures and slipped them back in the envelope, and when he did so, he could have sworn the woman’s face was blurred again, but dismissed the thought as wishful thinking.
“They showed me the photos… and something inside me cracked. Or maybe it was already cracked. I don’t remember anymore.” Edward continued, and Alphonse stood and came to set by his side, ignoring his brother's nudity to set a comforting arm around his shoulders.
“Why did you come here, Edward?” Al asked, and for some reason felt absurdly pleased to have formed the pertinent question.
“I heard…I heard alchemy worked differently here. Sometime in the past…I came to see if…if I could use it. To use my alchemy again.”
That hurt- Alphonse could recall exactly why his brother couldn’t use his alchemy anymore.
“That’s why I kept looking…to find…I was stupid Al! This whole time, I was chasing…I should have been home Alphonse! If I hadn’t…Winry wouldn’t have…”
“Edward, you can’t blame yourself for that.” All whispered, running his hand across Edwards forehead, his cheeks, brushing away the tears that were welling there, before he let his trailing fingers tangle in his big brothers long locks,
This felt nice…he thought, idly, as he was briefly distracted by the feel of Edward's soft, golden hair. It stirred a need inside him, a pull to touch more of him, to run his fingers through that hair, to feel his skin, to see Edwards eyes scream for him.
“We gotta go, Al…” Edward pronounced, as his voice and expression filled with determination, pushing his brother off of him as he shakily got to his feet.
“Are…you sure?” Alphonse asked, his mind still reeling with the fantasies that had just filled it.
A loud series of chimes suddenly echoed through the room around them, and the air filled with motes of red dust that danced in the dim light. Alphonse was once again certain that this was odd and something he should be seeing a pattern in, but he couldn’t quite recall why…
“Hello, my Dragonflies…it’s dark outside and the streets aren’t safe, so I want you all to stay here for the night, and get some rest. The vans will be here in the morning to take you all home safely.” The high priestess voice emitted form speakers somewhere above them, in the bare rafters of the building, and despite the electronic buzz and feedback from the speakers, the woman’s voice seemed as warm and inviting as ever.
Edwards' determination seemed to fade, and after a moment, so did Alphonse’s.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt for us to rest here, and start fresh in the morning…my head’s swimming… Alphonse’s thoughts raced, but then slowed, and he yawned.
“D’you want to sleep with me?” Edward asked his brother, as he stretched out on the bed
That sounded…pleasant. It was very pleasant. But something in Al raged that it was a terrible idea…
“No…no I’ll sleep over in the chair.”
Ed nodded, and seemed to drift off. And Alphonse staggered over to the plush chair and slumped in it and had just enough time to wonder why anyone would have an armchair facing a bed before he drifted off to sleep.
“Hey, Al.” Edwards' voice called, and Alphons’s eyes opened- but the world stayed dark, and Alphonse felt a moment of panic before he felt hands on his chest, that slid down before resting on his hips, “It’s fine! Al it’s just a blindfold.”
“Brother, why…”
“D’you remember what I got you for your eighteenth birthday?”
That question…again?
“No…”
Alphonse felt the hands move, massaging the sensitive spot where his hips met his pelvis through the fabric of his shirt and trousers.
“Do you remember what I did for you on your eighteenth birthday?”
One of the hands slipped to Alphons’s groin and squeezed,
“No…” Alphonse muttered, either to stop Ed or to answer his question, he wasn’t sure. The squeeze became a firm stroke, and some line that had held in Alphonse all day finally broke, and he moved his hips to mirror his brother’s hand and moaned softly.
“Good…that’s my little brother…”
The dirty praise of his brother made a wave of heat wash over Alphonse, and his breath hitched in his chest, coming out in short, heavy pants.
The other hand joined the first on his crotch, rubbing in slow, firm circles the ground the rough fabric of Alphonse’s clothing against the sensitive contents it hid, until deft fingers snagged the first button of his fly and popped it open, and the next, so slowly that Alphonse was almost panting with anticipation when the last button was released, and all the while the other hand continued to knead and grope him through the tented fabric around his cock.
“Open your shirt up, Al.” Edward commanded, voice firm but sounding with an odd electronic buzz- Alphonse chalked it up to his own excitement playing tricks on him and began to strip off his coat and shirt, while his brother tugged his pants down, pushing Al’s butt up so he could slide them all the way off, and then all sat nude save for the thick blindfold that still covered his eyes.
“Not so “little” are you, brother?” Edward quipped, but before Alphonse could say anything back, his mind was lost as felt warm, wet pressure engulf his hard, throbbing member, before it tightened with suction and slid back up.
"Edward’s sucking my cock!" Al’s mind screamed at him, "my brother’s…this is wrong…" and then the pressure was gone and he felt tantalizing wet tickle slide up his shaft as Edward licked down before taking his little brother’s balls in his mouth, one after the other, and Al’s mind went blank.
“Fuuucck.” Al breathed, and he heard Ed giggle, though he could swear the sound was far too high of a note to have been his brother’s laugh, but than those warm lips wrapped around his shaft, and his mind found only pleasure once again.
It went slow like that for he knew not how long, but eventually, his brothers pace quickened, and Alphonse hands dug into the wings of the chair like claws, and his hips raised to meet his brother’s mouth as one Edward’s hands fondled the heavy sack at the base of Alphonse’s prick, and the other joined his lips in stroking Al’s pride.
Edwards mouth left his brothers dick just long enough for him to growl out,
“Fuck my face, Little Brother.”
Some part of Alphonse’s mind managed to recoil at his brother words, but the rest commanded his hands to seize a hold of Edwards long blonde locks and pound his throat until he was pouring cum into Edwards belly.
So, he did. There was another too high-pitched sound, this time a squeak of surprise, as Alphonse blindly grabbed ahold of Edwards hair and dragged the delicious mouth down his cock at the same time, he thrust upwards, and he continued on lost in pleasure and ignoring the strangled gasps of his brother as he chased his release…chased it…Al slammed Ed’s mouth down, until he felt Ed's nose tickling the hair on his groin.
Al screamed when he hit his peak, and he felt his dick throb as he pumped his seed into Ed’s mouth, holding his older brother in place until he came to a juddering halt that left him gasping.
Edward tore his mouth off his brother and gasped for air, and Alphonse reached up to tear off the blindfold so he could see to comfort him, but strong hands seized his wrist- I thought Edward was on the floor – Al’s mind pointed out.
“Nuh-uh, Little Brother, not until I say so…” Edward cooed- the coquettish tone seemed out of place for someone who was just gasping for air, but Alphonse didn’t have time to think for long, as Ed continued, “OK! Take it off and join me on the bed!”
Al finally took the blindfold off, finding the dim room still lit by the single lamp- he could have sworn he saw one of the curtained walls moving -and his brother, still on the bed, nude. Just like Al was now.
Alphonse giggled as he stood and stretched, before joining Edward on the bed, rolling his eyes as he did so; why was Edward pretending to be asleep after all that? Alphonse shrugged and joined his brother, snuggling up to the slightly smaller man before whispering,
“Now that you mention it, I do remember what you got me for my eighteenth birthday.”
“S’nice.” Edward muttered- the older sibling froze for a moment, as if confused by Al’s presence, but then he scooted backward to curl into his chest and wrap one arm in Al’s.
Al laughed at his brother’s remarkable commitment to the bit, and slid his free hand down Edwards side, retracing the path his brothers’ hands had just taken across his own body, and Edward moaned his approval,
“Alphonse,” he gasped, “Yes…I need this…need to feel close to someone…I love…”
“I love you too, big brother.” Alphonse whispered in Edwards ear, as his hand found Edwards stiffening prick.
“Fuck, yes…” Edward cursed, as Al began to stroke him.
Alphonse leaned forward, his mouth seeking the trail of old hickeys up and down Edwards neck and intent on replacing the stranger’s marks with his own.
Edward groaned as Alphonse nipped his neck at the time his thumb swirled the precum oozing from the tip of Edward’s cock down and over the sensitive spot just underneath it.
Ed reached around to grasp Alphonse’s shoulder, pulling him closer as Al began to stroke Ed’s shaft faster,
“Make me cum, Al. Fuck…make me…” the taboo, the excitement and the Trixie Dust they’d been inhaling drove the brothers on, faster, ore frenzied, until Ed’s fingers clawed into Al’s shoulder and he shot his release across the already stained red sheets of the bed, long pools of white splattering out of him before he rolled and pulled Alphonse completely on top of him, and hungrily pressed his lips into Alphonse’s, holding him tight, never intending to let him go.
Through a thin screen of gossamer fabric sewn into one of the curtained walls around the room, the High Priestess smiled- she’d removed the flowing, ponytailed wig she’d worn to imitate these two fools’ dead mother, and she stood, bareheaded, her own hair long shorn, and watched her pawns move as she’d wanted them.
The next day, on the Railroad Tracks Between Central and Saint of Arms City, close, but not close enough
Roy Mustang leaned his head against the closed window of the train compartment, both gazing at and not seeing the scenery pass by, lost in dark thoughts of the friends he’d just lost, and the two others he feared to lose soon after.
He closed his eyes, sighed and leaned back in his seat, gazing at the compartment’s ceiling.
He shouldn’t have sent Fuery alone.
He shouldn’t have let Ed wander.
He should have never let either of those boys leave his presence ever again until he was good and sure all that they’d seen and done hadn’t shredded their minds.
Roy’s lips curled in a sneer- he’d been playing politics and reforms in Ishval and Central trying to make up for his past sins and now the lives of three people who’d depended on him were over.
He sat up, shaking that thought off.
He would get Al and Ed back.
“You know, it’s not actually called “Saint of Arm’s” because of the weapons depots and arsenals?”
Mustang’s brows knit together and he looked over at the man who had asked that question, the only other person in the compartment, who until then hadn’t spoken a word.
It was an older man, balding, wearing a twill suit with leather patches on the elbows, and he was looking at Mustang from behind both black rimmed spectacles and an open book.
Deciding he could use a distraction, Roy looked at him, and raised an eyebrow,
“Oh?”
“Yes, oddly enough the name predates the weapons plants- those came into being because it was easy to get iron ore from the mountains across the lake, and water power from the rivers to run the forge hammers and mills…but the name, the name is ancient,”
Roy smile indulgently despite himself, and the academic continued,
“And even then, it’s a shoddy translation from the language of the society that lived here before we Amestrians came, a local tribe that was absorbed who knows how long ago…”
“I’d always wondered about the odd name,”
“In the ancient language, it was actually “”The Legged God’s Home.”.”
“The what?”
The man turned his book around to show Roy the illustration copied unto the page- was an ancient image that still seemed strangely life-like, a picture of a giant spider, eyes in rows, front legs raised while the back were planted on the ground, its pedipalps and fangs open to strike.
Roy curled his lip at the grotesque image, and then looked closer,
“What are those symbols on it?”
“Oh, numbers, we believe. The tablet with this image was found while a sub-basement for an arsenal was being built…”
“There are nine symbols, not eight- of it’s the Legged God, and a spider, what’s the ninth symbol?”
“Ah, you caught that, did you? The ninth is the body, of course, and the true soul of the god, well obviously, it’s where the brain is, but the tribe revered it especially it seems.”
“Huh.”
“Anyway, it was reputed to have lived in the caves where the city now stands- and there are actual caves there, actually, used for storage by many of the armament firms.”
“And let me guess- the workers go missing occasionally, with the only sign being giant silk webs?”
The academic laughed, and Roy smiled at his own joked,
“Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid.”
The two fell into silence after that, and then the academic spoke up again,
“I hope my pointless history got our mind off whatever was troubling you for a bit, son.”
Roy shrugged,
“It helped. I appreciate you trying. Are you a teacher or something?”
“Travelling professor, really. Travelling now, at least and happy to have a job after the university shut down- it was kept open with donations from the arms companies and the families who ran them, and since their profits have fallen off, well,” the man shrugged.
Roy could only smile in sympathy at the unintended consequences of the peace he’d secured.
They passed the rest of trip in silence, and when the train rolled into the grand station of Saint of Arms City, Roy was out of the compartment and off the train before the man could take down his luggage.
Once outside, Mustang had barely a moment to glance around before he found himself in the middle of a ring of Federal Police- the infamous “breach” specialists of the local chief, eight officers in bizarre armor and carrying heavily modified weapons, watching outwards as the ninth man, the squad leader, looked Mustang up and down before asking,
“Brigadier General Mustang?”
Roy nodded, once.
“I’m First Sergeant Richter. My men and I are under orders to bring you straight to the morgue.”
Chapter 3: ...9,10,11,12...
Notes:
Hey guys.
This one is fucked up.
If you want just the action bits or the world building, just read the sections with actual times in the location descriptors. Anything that sounds more ominous is the parts that are something else.
If your just here for the other type action, reverse that instruction.
8/10/25 Majority of grammar issues and all left over editors notes removed. Don't do rewrites on no sleep and post without final checks everyone...
Chapter Text
Saint of Arms City, March 2nd, Time Unknown
Alphonse awoke, slowly, his eyes opening almost languidly, face drawn into a smile he'd been wearing so long it almost hurt- after last night, how could he not be? His vision was blurred, like he'd spent last night on a bender, but unlike a night of drinking, the natural high he was running on left him still feeling every sensation and warm emotion from the previous night with absolute clarity, so intense it made him feel like his brain was going to buzz out of his skull, in the most pleasant way possible.
He shifted slightly, curling the man he'd been cuddling tighter to his chest, nuzzling into his long blonde hair- and promptly rolling back a bit, fighting a sneeze- Alphonse rubbed his nose, looked at his palm, found it covered with a thin coat of some sort of red dust…why did he feel like that was important? How did he know the spicy, alluring odor it filled his nose with?
His brother stirred, letting out a worried, distressed noise as he pushed himself into Alphonse, and the younger brother promptly forgot the detail of the red dust and pulled Edward closer, resting his forehead on Edwards shoulder and giving it a slight nip,
"Mmm…Al. G'morning."
"Is it morning?" Alphonse asked; he looked around the room, finding only the same red lit lamp and crimson curtains as the night before, oh yeah, there wasn't a window in here. Silly. He chuckled, and nuzzled his nude body closer to Edwards own bare flesh, wrapping one arm around his brother's chest and the other around his hip as he pressed him tight.
"What 'cha laughing at?"
"Jus' bein' silly, forgot there's no windows in here…"
"Yeah…yeah." Ed ward said the word twice, the second time in confusion, "That used to bother me…but you get used to it."
"Could get used you to being with you." Alphonse breathed huskily- he never wanted to let go of his brother again. Feeling Edward this close…in this way? How could he have never seen that this was what he wanted? What they both needed? What was the point of everything they'd gone through together, if not to love each other, in every way possible?
"Hey, Alphonse." Edward whispered, voice flushed with need,
"Yes, big brother?"
Edward rolled slightly and set a hand on the back of Alphonse head, crushing their bodies together in an awkward kiss,
"I can feel that one of my new favorite parts of yours is awake too…" Edward whispered.
Alphonse snickered in response and moved his hips so his cock nestled between Edwards ass cheeks and gentle rubbed himself against the warm pressure there.
"Nuh-uh Al. That thing isn't going up there without a lot if preparation…"
Al went still for a moment, confused by what his brother meant; the mechanics of sex with a man were not something he'd ever considered before…for some reason. Why was that? He couldn’t recall why he wouldn’t have…
"I can go…up your…?" Alphonse couldn't bring himself to plainly say what he meant- I can talk to Brother about anything? How can I not ask about this…I love him?
But for Edward, the sudden flash of shyness was utterly captivating. It stirred a powerful need inside him, a desperate pull to claim more of his little brother.
"Up my ass, yeah." Edward said, suddenly confident and brash as ever, "And I want you like that…I want to return the favor," he dragged Al in for another kiss, and Alphonse's confusion melted into the warmth of Edwards mouth, "But for now, let's try something else…" Edwards scooted away from Alphonse, who had to suppress a whine at the sudden loss of contact, but Edwards was quickly back with a small glass bottle he'd pulled out from the side of the bed,
"That's lube?" Alphonse asked pleased that he'd known- "How had I known…I remember talking. And giggling. And feeling embarrassed and laughing when I talked about things like this, about sex…it felt so good at the time, so warm, like I do with Edward…" and then Alphonse took a deep, frustrated breathe and the dancing motes of red dust that filled the air killed the memory of a black haired girl with almond eyes named Mei who had laughed with Alphonse in the corner of a tea room as they awkwardly tried to talk about love and it peripheries, and she would come to his thoughts no more until Alphonse's ordeal in this corrupt world was over.
"Uh-huh," If Edward still had any stray thoughts of the wife a stranger had made him hate, he didn't show them, "And we do need it for anal, but I have something else in mind- it won't be as fun, but you'll like it- trust your Big Brother…"
"Absolutely," Alphonse proclaimed, his voice hoarse as he watched as Edward rolled on forward a bit and parted his legs, propping his auto mail left leg up on its knee as he poured a generous amount of lube on his hands, which he quickly spread around his inner thighs before clamping them tightly shut.
"Now, get back behind me," Edward commanded, "Like you just were."
Al did as he was instructed, and felt the tip of his cock slicken in the viscous liquid dripping from the back of his brother thighs,
"Slide it…" Edward began, but Alphonse abruptly understood what was going on and snickered as he pushed himself forward, guiding his stiffened prick into the tight, slick space between Ed's thighs as he let out short, sharp gasp that turned into a hissing intake of breath.
As his brothers warm, fleshy thighs closed around him, a sudden embrace that made Alphonse's face burn hot, he thrust his hips faster, a needy rhythm driven by the overwhelming warmth he felt in his chest, his body running unnaturally hot as he gasped, "Big Brother," Al moaned, "I…" don't say it, some part of his mind raged, not like this, no, it's not right, but the words that tumbled out of Alphonse's mouth silenced it, "I love you."
"You like that huh? How's it feel, Al?" Edward didn't answer Al's proclamation, but he didn't have too, his brother already knew.
"G-good," Alphonse stammered, "But not as good as inside you is going to feel."
Alphonse pulled Edward close and began kissing across his shoulders as he began to slowly thrust, going in a slow, steady back and forth as he felt the new experience out; Edward, meanwhile, relaxed and enjoyed the warmth of his brothers length as it glided between his thighs, letting out a gasp or moan as the lube slickened tip brushed up against a sensitive spot, and he began to use his lube slick hands to jerk himself off as he enjoyed the sensations of having his little brother between his thighs, and his strong arms wrapped around him as well, as Alphonse folded him into a tight embrace.
Alphonse picked up the pace, trying to build up friction as he quietly moaned in pleasure- while Edward worked his hands faster up and down his own length, his thoughts went wild, flaring with memories, from recent events bright with clarity to distant echo's that seemed covered in shadow- the warm feel of Al's hands on him last night, both around his cock and holding him tight, making him feel warm for the first time in what felt like months, how overjoyed, and for some reason terrified, he'd been when Alphonse had opened the curtains to this red velvet pris- Eds mind cut the word off midway, just as Al's cock rubbed hard against the rough patch of skin between Ed's balls and pucker, and Ed lost his thoughts in the sudden jolt of pleasure.
Older memories were there too, obscure, barely remembered; there was terror, triumph and joy in them- selfish thoughts, of feeling safe and being able to sleep because his brother was there, unable to find his own rest in the night, but standing vigil over Edward who could rest easy from the things that hunted them only because Al was there, watching over him, thoughts of guilt and thoughts of triumph, holding a frail body in the ruins of a battlefield, listening to him breath, seeing those bright eyes after so, so long…and uncorrupted love flared in Edwards chest, joy and warmth, and his eyes shot open, and Edward Elric was here again- and then the red haze crashed down over his consciousness, and the overwhelming nightmares led him to the only sensation that brought him solace anymore.
Ed moaned, screamed out loud in pleasure as he wildly ground his hips against Al's cock and shot his release across his bed, fresh white pools of jism joining the old stains that covered it.
Ed' mind went blank, and his body went limp, and he didn't offer any resistance besides a playful squeak as Alphonse rolled him over unto his belly, clamped his thighs around his prone brothers, and began to wildly thrust, fucking the lube slick space between Ed's thighs wildly as he chased his own release; chased, and found it, and he sank his teeth into Ed's shoulder hard enough to draw blood, making his big brother scream as Alphonse came between his thighs, washing them with his seed as he kept thrusting his cock, riding out his orgasm.
Eventually, he quieted, slowed, stopped and the curtained room filled with the sound of two ragged breathes as they swam through a murky ocean, back to the dimly lit space they inhabited, and Alphonse nuzzled Ed's neck and pushed him over on his side, his brother still limp as a rag doll, and he lay beside him to gaze into his eyes- their hands sought each other, and if a distant voice in either of their heads screamed at the wrongness of it, it only made them hold each other tighter.
They remained locked in their languid embrace, even as red robed Dragonflies darted into the room, the cult members laying out a platter set with fruit and wine, and a large bowl filled with towels soaking in hot water, marking their passing with giggles and stolen kisses from the prone Elric brothers- Alphonse reached out to cup the breasts of the middle aged woman who carried the towels, and she moaned, smiling as set the bowl down on the book case- she made to join the brothers on the bed, but was pulled away by the others, back behind the curtained wall they had emerged from; the moans and gasps that came from the other side showed that they had not gotten far before indulging her, and themselves.
The Elric's stiffly stood up from the bed, walking around opposite sides but soon finding themselves next to each other again, brushing shoulders, as if making up for years of distance after being joined at the hip for even longer.
They ignored the food and drink, instead choosing to grab the towels form the bowl to wash up with before they grew cold- and, in the state they were in, neither was willing to let the other wash himself, and they ended up holding each other and giggling like schoolboys as they washed the remains of their previous exertions off each other- Alphonse paused in worry, seeing his towel was streaked with red, but he dismissed his concern as he realized that the red was from the dust, not his brothers blood, and so he ignored it and the final dull peal of warning his mind dredged up, and took up a fresh towel to finish washing his brother, ending up on his knees as he gently washed the lube and cum off his thighs, stopping as he saw Ed's excitement rise.
"Edward…I missed you. I missed you so much while you were gone, Brother."
"Al…I'm sorry, I…"
Alphonse lifted Edward's swelling cock and peeled the foreskin back, gently rubbing it with the warm towel and soon finding it standing at full mast before his mouth- he smiled up at Edward, his face running red from where the motes of Trixie Dust had caught to the damp from the towel that was still clinging to his skin.
"I finally remembered what you got me for me eighteenth Birthday, by the way…"
And, then, just like his mind now insisted Ed had done for him years ago, Alphonse opened his mouth and took his only flesh and blood on this world as deep into his throat as he could.
Saint of Arms City Morgue, March 2nd, 2:37pm-
Roy Mustang sat at the autopsy table, silently holding vigil next to the body of Kain Fuery, thin, drained of life and almost ethereal save for the puckered line of bullet holes that stitched across his chest, still pale and swollen under the harsh, bright lights of the morgue.
He did his best to ignore them, and to ignore the chemical reek or the way the slightest noise clattered far too loudly in the tiled room, as around him the work of the medical examiners carried on, and the table they'd placed Fuery's body on was far from the only one occupied at the moment.
He was aware of the glares he was getting from the staff, angry at this intrusion into their busy little ossuary, but while they may have voiced their disapproval to a mere Brigadier General, the heavily armed and armored monster looming behind the metal stool Roy was sitting on was another matter.
Reaching out to squeeze Cain's cold hand one final time, General Mustang stood,
"Thank you, Sergeant." he told the man without looking at him, but he certainly meant his gratitude.
"Yes sir. Happy to help." Sergeant Richter quietly acknowledged, his calm voice at odds with his menacing, black uniformed appearance.
Mustang turned, his face resting in an impassive glare, but he stopped when the Sergeant set a hand on his chest and handed him a box of tissues before pointing to his balaclava covered cheeks, keeping his pale blue eyes impassive.
Mustang took the Federal Policeman's meaning, and he wiped his face off with the offered tissues and he was surprised when they came away wet.
He didn't thank the Sergeant this time with anything but a deep nod, and then followed the man out of the morgue, with the rest of the four-officer squad the Richter had taken with him falling in behind them as they made their way up from the bottom floor of Saint of Arm's City's central hospital, where the sprawling city morgue was housed in the basement.
"Was your Colonel the one who kept them from doing an autopsy?"
"Yessir."
"Why?"
"Cause of death seemed plain. We let the coroners do an examination and a toxicology screen and ended it there,"
"Toxicology screen?"
Richter nodded as he walked next to Mustang; his men had fallen into place around them, two in front, two behind, and the moved quickly but kept their eyes in motion, looking at doorways, blind corners, hands on their weapons.
"You know about the local flavor?"
Mustang did; he may have been overseeing the reconstruction of Ishval, and lately of Lior as well, but he kept careful watch over the situation reports and informational memos that flowed through the State Militaries wire and mail systems.
"Trixie Dust?"
"Yeah," The sergeant sneered, "Pardon, Yes, Sir." He answered, more formally.
"That bad?"
"That effective. We have to be sure, with everyone. Thankfully the shit- the substance isn't quite mind control. It wears off unless whoever is exposed stays that way."
Mustang pondered that while they walked, and the Sergeant asked,
"Did your man have family?"
"Two sisters, a brother. Parents." The words were curt; they needed to be nothing else, "I'll write to them. When it's done."
"In the meantime, I have some unforms on the way to make sure his body is on the next train home. Graves registration in Central is already aware."
Roy felt something in the corner of his eyes, clamped them shut, and opened then again as his face fell into a sharp glare.
"We'll get the fuckers, Sir." One of the officers growled.
"Mannsfeld." Richter cautioned, but Roy answered anyway,
"Yes. We will. Take me to Quardrich."
"He's waiting, Sir."
Saint of Arms City, The Sanctum, March 2nd, 3pm Precisely
The High Priestess of Eyes of Aurealum walked through her flock like a ghost, occasionally letting a hand brush against a shoulder or offer an intimate caress to the writhing masses as she passed amongst them.
None touched her in return- her holy aura, and the knot of burly, gas masked guards with clubs that surrounded her, kept them away, for the most part; a heavily muscled, dark skinned man separated himself from a group in an orgy pit and approached her, as if entranced, and brushed off the first and only warning shove from one of her guards before being dropped like a sack of stones from a blow to the head.
The Priestess stopped and sauntered over to the man, using the toes of her bare right foot to turn the man’s face to look up at her, and left it there to rest as she surveyed the fallen giant; in addition to his dark skin, the mass of white braids on his head identified him as different- his eyes were dazed, but, usefully, alive. She gazed down at the man for a moment, looking into his red eyes before gently turning the Ishvalan’s face back away with her foot.
“This one could prove useful.” She told one of the guards, “He’s Ishvalan, he’ll have no love for the Military or the Fed- let his state of exultation fade, and make sure he knows the only way he’ll feel it again is if he takes up a mask as one of the Warders.”
“Yes, Madame Priestess…”
A pair of her Dragonflies, a young man and woman, approached the fallen man, as if oblivious to the guards around them, and attempted to stir him awake, and when he didn’t move, they attempted to wake him with low shouts and worried calls, using distressed words the Priestess was not bothered to hear, and when that didn’t work, they seemed at their wits end. The girl shrugged, as if losing track of what she’d been doing and looked up at the Priestess, motioning to the man,
“Can I?”
The Priestess smiled indulgently and stepped back,
“Of course, my little Dragonfly.”
The woman babbled her thanks and climbed unto the man’s face, dragging his mouth open as she ground her sex against it, while the dazed man moaned in confusion and enthusiasm; the girl’s paramour, in the meantime, had spread and lifted man’s legs and was aligning himself to claim the Ishvalan’s hole.
“Wait until they’re done…” the priestess ordered the Warder she’d been talking too, and continued on her rounds, leaving her guard to sort out the details.
Saint of Arms City Streets, 3:19 PM.
Roy leaned back on the metal bench between the two heavily armed Federal Police on either side of him- one the Officer named Mannsfeld, the other an awkward young man whose eyes were wide with fear, looking comically large, framed as they were by the tight balaclava mask he wore under his helmet,
"Lighten up, Boot, he's only a General." One of the officers on the other side of the vehicle commented, and the young policeman flinched, much to the other's amusement.
"How much longer to HQ?" Mustang asked, loud enough to be heard through the open window hatch that led to the drivers compartment where Richter rode with the driver.
Before the Delta squad commander could answer, something pounded across the side of the armored car, like high velocity hail stones, and Mustang flinched and ducked as he recognized the sound of incoming fire impacting armor plate,
"Speed up!" Richter ordered, and the drive hit the accelerator, while from outside Roy could hear the roar from the engine of the armored truck containing the rest of the Breaching Specialist team as it sped up as well,
"We just took fire, Sergeant!" Roy angrily shouted, "And you're not stopping?"
"Why? We're just gonna get hit with something heavier if we stick around. That was just a kid with an SMG trying to show how tough he was. We'll see him again, don't worry…and we're ten minutes out, to answer your question."
Roy grit his teeth- the rules he'd lived his professional military life by did not cover casually ignoring incoming automatic gunfire, but he wasn't here to argue tactics, or even to wonder how it had gotten so bad in this city without anyone form Central noticing- or caring, if they had noticed.
Content to let this grim thought swirl in his head with the others already rampant there, he kept his peace until the vehicle slowed, and from outside came the squeal of hinges, like a gate being opened, and then stopped completely after covering a short distance further, and Roy waited impatiently until the Sergeant has gone around to open the doors and, with a gruff word of thanks to the officers, Roy snatched his small day bag off the metal floor and hopped out of the back, stopping in surprise as he found himself in a university quad; the faded stone letters on top of the entrance to a nearby building read "Saint of Arms University, Established 1871".
But this was not a place of learning anymore.
He was surrounded by parked police sedans and armored trucks like the one he'd just arrived on; there was as huge, empty fountain in the center, and the ground showed jagged edges and geometric remnants from where it had been roughly trans-mutated into a parking lot, and the tall, brick and granite buildings were ringed with a high wall topped with razor wire that his alchemist's eye immediately marked as being but made up of the same rough and ready alchemy the ground had been transmuted with.
"Roy!" a voice shouted, and he turned to find a man in the black uniform of the military police walking down the granite steps of the nearest building towards him; he was rangy, powerfully built, brown hair cut in a precise buzz cut and his face was covered in knotted scars and his wide nose crooked to one side.
"Colonel Franklin Quardrich." Roy Answered, stiff and formal in his greeting.
The officer regarded Mustang with deeply set, dark eyes for a moment before sighing and nodding.
"If it's like that, you'd better come inside."
The Federal Police Colonel waited for the Army Brigadier General to join him, any hint of familiarity burned off his serious expression as his demeanor took on a far more serious air,
"Let's walk and talk, Sir. Leave your bag at the front desk."
When they entered through the open, heavy oak doors, of the university building Mustang paused to leave his bag, taking in the faded looking lobby, its bulletin boards covered with notices and wanted posters, but faded papers with old test scores and advertisements for fraternity's still poked out from underneath; the transition from education to enforcement still seemed to be underway.
"My office is on the back of the top floor, come on."
"This is the university that shut down after the arms firms supporting it went under?"
Quardrich turned to look at Mustang briefly, before shrugging.
"I wouldn't say went under, more like curtailed operation. We're not in an active war, but there's still demand."
"But…"
"C'mon, Mustang, do you seriously think that old man in Central has the balls to tell Olivier "no" when she snaps her fingers and say she needs another five-thousand artillery shells?"
Mustang set his jaw, but didn't answer.
"Especially after whatever her and her Briggs boys did a couple years ago…"
If Roy's jaw had been set, now it was actively working as he ground his teeth,
"I wouldn't know."
"Well, I would. Us old MP's, we see things- like troops movements back North from Central two days after the whole country blacks out and hey presto we have a new government, just like that."
Quardrich grinned at Mustang as he fell in step with the Flame Alchemist,
"And didn't you get a promotion about then?"
"Do you have a point?"
"Nah, course not. But if General Rage Junkie doesn't get what she wants, you think Grumman, or any of his boys, could stop her from doing whatever it was they did again?" Quardrich's grinned turned predatory, "Goddamn, it is a great time to be alive, Sparky. All sorts of fun shit going on. Makes the cop in me feel like a kid on his first date."
"You're not a cop, Quardrich. You never were, and you're lucky this exile was what Bradley sent you to after Ishval."
"Ahh…the old one-eyed wet blanket was too wrapped up in piling children's skulls up in the most Zen way he could to understand just how goddamn fun urban warfare really is."
Roy shook his head- Quardrich had been a captain at Ishval- ignoring orders to participate in the "cleansing" of the suburbs to instead lead his company to storm straight into the urban heart of Ishval, clearing rebel strongholds as they went, with their maddened officer leading them room by room as they broke the heart of the population's resistance in the West of the city.
They'd wanted him shot, but Bradley had demurred, citing his bravery and how his urban warfare tactics had been so innovative and kept casualties among his men so low that they needed to be studied, so he'd been tossed into a Military Police exile as a Colonel in a quiet area.
That had been then. Now, with Saint of Arms decaying into almost open warfare on the streets, now he was the right man in the right place for Roy Mustang. But he was still sick of the gleeful warrior act by the time they made it to Quardrich's office.
He was not prepared for the blaze of anger that erupted, however,
"Goddamit Roy, what the fuck were you thinking not telling me about your guy being on the ground?!?"
Mustang stepped back, and let his own fury overwhelm him,
"And how the hell was I supposed to know who I could trust?" he roared back,
"Who you could trust? What the fuck do you think this is, a fucking detective novel? This city is a fucking warzone!"
"And you're rolling in it like a pig in shit, Frank!"
"I'm doing what I have to do to let the poor fucking people you assholes have abandoned to rot here have a chance at walking to the fucking grocery store safely, Roy! If I have to let my boy's gun down a half dozen shit bags and bullshit the reports so some kid can go to sleep without listening to heavy machine gun fire than guess what? I will."
The Federal Policeman's eyes blazed and he slammed his fists into his desk,
"And so fucking would you, Roy, don't bullshit me like you wouldn't."
"I need your help, Frank," Mustang sighed, "Those two I told you about when you called me to let me know about Fuery…"
"What about 'em?" Quardrich probed,
Mustang sneered,
"What do you want, Quardrich? Name your price."
Frank closed his dark eyes and sighed,
"I want to save the two boys those fucking shitheads have grabbed, Roy. What the fuck do you think I want? What happened to you, man?"
Roy's eyes widened; he'd been playing political soldier for two years, and now that he was faced with one who'd never stopped being at war, he was shocked to find he'd forgotten- leave no one behind.
He looked down at Quardich's desk; Alphonse and Edwards military records were sat there, along with a thick filed marked "Eyes of Aurealum"
"I got started, but it's gonna be an uphill fight, Roy. You ready?"
Mustang, the hardened State Alchemist playing politician, looked at the scarred soldier playing policeman and nodded
Saint of Arm City, Time and Date No Longer Conceivable
Edward and Alphonse were on their knees on the bed, locked in a tight embrace, kissing each other slowly- any hint that they still knew what they were doing was wrong, was not what they'd ever have wanted was gone, save for an incessant ache that they sought to drown out in the only way their clouded, eroding psyches could still conceive; with each other's bodies.
Edward slide lube-slickened fingers down Alphonse's back, tracing them down to the rim of Al's puckered entrance,
"You ready?" was what Edward had said, right before they'd fired the transmutation circle in the basement of their mother's home.
"You ready?" he asked again, as he and Alphonse were about to take yet another irreversible course of action, only now, with the red dust leaving them frantic, with a primal need for each other burning in their veins, their actions risked their souls at the whim of another, and the path was not their own.
Though every instinct screamed for them to stop, their bodies moved on their own, desperate to touch, to feel, to be consumed by the other.
Alphonse nodded, Ed kissed his cheek, and he slid a finger into his little brother.
Al cried out at the short, sharp pain, and Ed stopped, kissed him, lingering on Alphonse's lips, and withdrew to continue to massage the outside of his brother's hole again,
"Sorry…sorry…"
"No…no, again. I'm ready."
Edward traced his lips across his brothers again, before breathlessly whispering in Alphonse's ear,
"Together."
Al's body tensed, running hot as he understood what his brother intended, and he brought his own fingers, as slick with lube as his brothers, seeking the entrance to Edwards back passage, and when he brushed the rough flesh there, Edward gasped and bucked his hips, dragging his hardened cock across Alphonse's in their tight embrace, and as they locked lips to drown each other's cries, the brother's probing fingers slipped inside each other, exploring, loosening and opening each other up in a kind of game that neither could ever have imagined playing.
When they finally ended their messy kiss, a thin skein of spit still connected their mouth, and their giggles at the ridiculous sight, drugged out of their minds as they were, were almost obscene in their innocence, although they soon faded as they locked their golden eyes with each other, panting and gasping at both the sensations the mutual fingering was bringing and the expression the forbidden pleasure brought to their faces.
Ed was looser than his brother and Alphonse had no inclination to ask why, though he could guess as to the reasons easily enough.
"How long has Ed been here? What have they been doing…" Al formed the thoughts, and then lost them as Edward slid another finger inside his little brother and gently rubbed his prostate,
"Ed! Fuck!" Al cried, seizing up and almost going limp as Edward steadied him with his free arm.
"Shhh…you'll be ready, soon." Edward comforted, "You'll be nice and loose and then you can take this," Ed ground his hips against Al's, rubbing his cock against his little brother's stiffness, "Like a good little brother. Does that sound nice?"
"Mm-hmmm…but I'm gonna get you ready too, Edward…I'm going to fuck your little asshole raw…" the vulgar words sounded wrong in his mouth, but that only made his hardened cock leak more. To prove his point, Al added another finger to Ed's asshole, making a total of three, "So loose down here, Brother…" Alphonse whispered, and the tone of recrimination in his voice made Edward moan,
"Needed to be ready for this monster," Ed returned, pushing Alphonse back to look down at his brother's throbbing member.
"So…who's first?" Alphonse asked, tone mockingly innocent.
"Wrestle for it?"
"Sureahhhhhh!" before he knew what was happening, Alphonse found himself swept flat on the bed by a sudden sneak attack from Edward, who ended up on top, pinning his brother to the stained red sheets.
Ed was silent and Al was taking short, heaving breaths as he felt Edward tracing the precum slick tip of his cock over his back.
"Are you ready?" he gasped in Al's ear.
Alphonse nodded, bit the stained sheets in front of his face, his frayed mind relishing the salty taste that flooded his mouth- was it from a man or a woman? Edward or a stranger; Al moaned as his mind reeled and then a burning pain seared his insides as Ed eased the tip of his dick into Alphonse's loosened rectum.
"Oh damn," Ed hissed, "You're so tight, Al. Stop me, nghh," Ed moaned as his little brothers hole contracted on the tip of his prick, "Stop me if it hurts too much."
Alphonse shook his head, and Ed wasn't sure if he was telling him that he didn't want Ed to stop, or if Al was saying he never would.
Ed kept up steady, gentle forward pressure, pushing Alphonse open carefully, watching for any sign that he wanted Edward to stop, but besides a low, keening whine that seemed to Edward to be a mixture of both pleasure and pain, Al gave no sign, and soon Ed felt his ball sack pushing against his little brothers as he bottomed out in Alphonse's ass.
Al spit out the cum soaked fabric of the red bed sheets and gasped,
"Did I do good, Brother?"
Ed nodded as he still atop his little brother, nuzzling into his neck,
"You're doing great, Al. My perfect little brother- I'm going to make you all mine, now" Edward's mind flared white hot in embarrassment at the words he'd just spoke, embarrassment and some deeper feeling he could have sword was revulsion, until everything dissolved into a red haze of lust, and Edward Elric started to fuck his little brother.
"I love you , Alphonse…I love you so much…"
"I… mmf…I love you too, Big" Al moaned as Ed dragged his cock over Als prostate, "Brother! I wish…oh God, I wish it had always been like this…"
Edward chased his orgasm, building speed, ignoring a stray sense of confusion- "Hadn't it always been like this?" but Alphonse was loosened enough for Edward to take him properly now, and the thought faded as the adrenaline thrill of pleasure coursed through him.
"Alphonse…I'm gonna cum."
"Big Brother!"
"Fuck…Al…" memories flashed, memories faded, wrongness and shame consumed him, but the only thing that Edward Elric truly felt since this city had swallowed him in a web of false promises and drugged air sank it's claws in him and he chased the blissful peace of his orgasm until his mind went blank and his pupils narrowed, pleasure swallowing him as his cock spewed gouts of cum into his little brothers guts.
"Big Brother!" Al cried again; heyd been rubbing his precum slicked cock across the soft sheet's and the plush mattress as Edward had been rutting him and he found his own release just as Edward did, but his relief was not as complete as his brothers and he found himself still with a painful need as Edward slowly pulled out of the mess he'd made of Alphonse's hole and rolled unto his side to cuddle his little brother.
But rather than seeking an immediate release, Alphonse, feeling his head clear just a bit, rolled over to look into his brother's face, seizing the moment of lucidity, to ask a question, just one question while he could;
"Brother…you said…you came here because they had some special alchemy? Or could…could you get your alchemy back?"
Ed nodded, clear headed enough to answer,
"Yeah; the rumor about the alchemy was just…old legends, from a civilization that used to be here. But I met these people in a café near a shutdown university. It was a police station now; can you believe it? The new Federal Police took it over after the university ran out of money…the damned state was supposed to have changed- they have money for an army of cops, but not a university?" Edward scoffed.
Al frowned; that outburst seemed like something Edward might say…but it felt off. like he was repeating something someone had told him, and that definitely didn't seem like Edward.
"Brother…your alchemy?"
"Oh…the people I met, Beatrice and Phillip, they told me about the new faith that was building here, the new purpose it was giving. They said that the woman running it, The Priestess…she could even give me alchemy back." Edward frowned; there was more to the story, he thought- sitting in the café, watching Beatrice and Phillip, they were creepy, I was looking for an exit…and then Beatrice had blown cigarette smoke in my face, apologizing, saying it was an accident, but it smelled so good, spicy, it made me feel warm…
"And did you get it back?" Alphonse asked, innocently, though he was confused and almost certain something had happened that cost Ed his abilities, and that his brother even been happy about it at the time.
Instead of answering right away, Ed favored Alphonse with a crooked grin, his eye's lingering on Alphonse still-hard member, before crawling across the bed to rest his hands on the metal bars of the filigreed headboard, offering Alphonse a view of his taut ass he bent forward on his knees.
In a shower of blue sparks and bolts, Ed transmuted the metal into a sleek set of manacles around his wrist's, binding himself to the bedframe.
Alphonse's mind reeled with a volley of question that refused to be dulled this time, but they faded to nothing at his brother's next words;
"Yeah Al, I got it back." Edward looked back at Alphonse over his shoulder, his eyes full of lustful challenged, "Now don't let me out until you're completely satisfied."
Before he even realized what he was doing, Alphonse scrambled over the bed until he was resting his hands on Edwards hips, aligning himself and pushing his cock up Edwards ass, losing himself again in the haze of pleasure.
But soon, even as his hips were ringing off Edward's with a steady slap of flesh on flesh, as he was fucking his big brother like his life depended on it, his eyes fixed on the fresh scar on Edwards back, between his shoulder blades, but then Ed was convulsing with another orgasm, and the wild pressure on Alphonse's dick triggered his own release and the pleasured filled wave of ecstasy washed Al's curiosity away with it.
From behind her gossamer hiding spot, the High Priestess watched her penultimate acquisitions pleasure each other with a sneer on her delicate features.
She'd taken an abundance of caution and given herself extra time to wear away at the mental defenses of these two, expecting that getting them into the proper state for what she needed them to be would take far more time than it seemed to have required.
After all, Edward's mental defenses had been strong enough that he's nearly broken free after the second day in one of her old sanctums; it had taken a deep dive into his background, the production of the doctored photos with a woman who looked just enough like his wife to convince him that they were evidence of his beloved's infidelity with a little artful blurring and an unholy amount of Trixie Dust; she didn't like using the vulgar street name for her creation, but had adopted it for simplicities sake.
That blow to his being, coupled with the gambit she'd pulled "restoring" his alchemy, had eventually broken down the last of the older Elric sibling's defenses enough that he'd eventually lost himself in the rhythm of the Sanctum's embrace.
"Priestess," one of her acolytes whispered, harshly, "I…I hate to ask…but what makes these two so special? What makes them different from the other fraternal sacrifices?"
The High Priestess shushed the woman, leading her away from the thin curtain and back out unto the main pleasure space,
"Of course, it's natural for you to be curious." The woman cooed, covering her irritation, "It's the eyes, my Dragonfly. Their eyes."
"Why do," the woman began, but her leader cut her off,
"Golden eyes; the only people to have ever been recorded to have had eyes like that were from ancient Xerxes- have you heard of it?"
The woman shook her head, and the Priestess fought back a groan; why was she bothering with an explanation to this mental midget?
"It was an old civilization, powerful, advanced- it sat somewhere in the Eastern deserts. But then it vanished, with no trace- save those two boys' and their eyes. That's powerful, that's a connection to the ancient times, the forgotten times- and just the catalyst we're going to need for the ritual to succeed."
The Priestess had nearly choked when she spotted Edward's eyes for the first time, after her recruiter had brought him in, and had been over the moon when she'd dosed him with Trixie for the first time and he'd admitted to having a brother.
The acolyte nodded, her face growing euphoric,
"You mean, when we sacrifice them, it will usher in the Great Rebirth?"
"Yes, my Dragonfly- just so."
Saint of Arms City, Federal Police Headquarters, 4:10PM
"So basically, Sparky, the families and companies running this fine university whose bones you're standing in right now decided their money was better spent on themselves instead of education the populace of a city that was starting to die on the fuckin' vine, and shut it down."
Frank slid a photo out of the file labeled "Eyes of Aurealum" and passed it to Mustang,
"That's the former head of both the botany and philosophy departments here, name's Clare Annehold."
Roy picked up the picture; it was of a severe but still attractive looking woman that looked to be in her late thirties, black haired, wide, honest blue eyes, high cheek bones and lips that might have bene sensual if they weren't turned into a half sneer.
"Philosophy and Botany." Roy spoke aloud, instantly grasping the implications, "The Trixie Dust?"
Frank chuckled, darkly,
"Not much gets past you still, huh Roy? Yeah, pretty soon after she got the axe, that shit started popping up on street corners and when the local police would bust up parties. It's derived from the Trixgolyeum Pepsis flower, and you'll never guess what this woman wrote about for her doctorate."
Roy looked out the window, spotting a few rows of abandoned, overgrown greenhouses in the fading afternoon light. This mess most likely started mere meters from where he was standing, it seemed.
"Trixe Dust is a bad fucking monster- most people get horny as fuck and just fuckin' lose themselves in it- a few go completely bug fuck, though. The only good thing about it is it wears off quickly, and you need a wholly fucking insane amount of it to completely mind blank someone, so thankfully it can't quite be used like a damn roofie."
Quardrich frowned,
"Well, that and it's gotta be inhaled. It dissolves in liquid; so recreationally, it gives a high and makes you wanna fuck anything that moves, normally, but it does hit you with a dose of euphoria."
"And with a local populace that's bored and under-employed, looking for an escape and feel good, it's easy to see why it's so popular." Mustang thought aloud,
"Yeah. It was a good moneymaker for old Anne for a while. We think it built her some connections with the local mob types, too, nothing confirmed though. Trixie is addicting, or the feeling of what you do while you're under it is, the head shrinks are still testing it." Frank shrugged, "The worst part is, once it wears off you remember everything with perfect clarity. It's bad- we've had people accidentally exposed that offed themselves when they come down. It takes over your body, Roy, takes over what makes you who you are and builds someone else that just wants to get off and does what they're told and likes it."
"And where does this cult come in?"
"Ah, well that's the second part of Clare's retirement plan; the Eyes of Aurealum; the name doesn't mean anything, no one we ask about it in academia has ever heard of it before; as far as we know it's all Annehold's brainchild, and she must be one helluva worker, because she has a big, mean, creepy as fuck following and she built it fast."
"How many?" Roy asked, but Quardrich shrugged and continued,
"They first popped up on the intelligence guys radar just before the university closed, nothing worrying at first, just flyers like this showing up," Frank handed Roy a sheet of paper from the folder; it had a rough photocopy of dragonfly and a long screed about bringing the pure life of nature back to the polluted city poorly printed on it, "But then with Trixie on the scene, the disappearances started, we started getting reports of people dropping out of their lives for days, only to come back with stories about red curtained fuck fests and gardens grown indoors in abandoned factories- crazy shit, but we've found two huge warehouse spaces that were used by the cult- apparently they move around -with rafter to floor sized red velvet curtains and thriving little oasis growing in abandoned chemical waste pools that look as healthy as if they were in the middle of the forest."
"Alchemy?"
"I'd guess, but it's not light work; they have a heavy hitting practitioner somewhere in the ranks it seems, but thankfully it's not Clare. Her files say she didn't have the talent."
"What can you tell me about her?"
Frank shrugged,
"Nothing good- as in no one we talked to had anything good to say about her. She was smart, but manipulative. Not mean but she looked down on people, full on narcissist a lot of her colleagues said, definitely a control freak."
Roy though for a moment,
"What's the command structure of this cult? Do you have anything?"
"Not much. They just looked like another bunch of assholes taking advantage of the rot around here, until…well."
Roy didn't catch that, lost in thought.
"Does she delegate, does she have underlings, or does she try and do everything herself?"
"The cult has gun hands, and guns, lots of 'em; they trade with the crime syndicates and use Trixie to pay. We think she had a few people she uses; a witness identified what we think are her main recruiters at the café your guy Alphonse disappeared from, for instance, but from what we can tell, she likes being in charge."
"That's a weakness, then. If we get pressure on her, she'll crack trying to look after every fire we manage to set in her operation,"
"Well, that's the catch I was hinting at and you seem to have missed, and it's a bad one."
"What?"
Frank spread a sheaf of photos form the file across his desk, each showing an identical nightmare scene; two naked male bodies, posed with one on top of the other, messily dead, chained, backs broken open and lungs spread like dragonfly wings.
"We started finding those about the time the Eyes dropped off the face of Amestris; they'd always moved, but now they're ghosts, we can't get a line."
"What is this?" Roy demanded, horrified,
"Those are pairs of brothers- some went missing, we assume with the Eyes, others they had contact with, mainly through their drug trading, we found a pair in a stash house we raided, for instance; one was just two brothers who went missing from their apartments- but that's how they all ended up."
"How do you know it's the cult?"
Frank took one last item form the file- a dried dragon fly. Identical to the one Winry described when she'd called to warn Roy that the Elric brothers were in trouble.
"Why?"
"We don't know- we know they show up based on random natural criteria- the phases of the moon, the tide in Drachma, planting season for crops in Creta…"
Roy thought for a moment, and then his knees went weak and he had to sit down,
"The start of Spring is in less than two weeks. That's it, isn't it?"
"We think so. We hope so-that gives us time."
Roy grit his teeth. Time. Not much, but he'd use every second.
Saint of Arms City, The Sanctum of Eyes of Aurealum, At The Precise Moment of a Sadists Glee
The High Priestess, known a lifetime ago as Professor Clare Annehold, carefully secured the brown wig she'd had made after listening to Edward Elrics ramblings about his mother in the afterglow of her Dragonflies administrations; it hadn't been strictly necessary, of course, to put on the act to look like this Trisha woman…
But it had absolutely been fun to watch the hope and immediate shattering letdown on Edward's, and now Alphonse's, faces. She might have justified it by feeling that it bound them to the control she had over them even tighter, but she knew her own boundless talents for emotional deception and the Trixie Dust did that well enough that this was for her own indulgence, and she absolutely enjoyed it; after Ed had first fallen under sway a month ago, after she'd perfected her charade, she'd spent a day flitting in and out of Edwards vision, after she had allowed him to wonder out of his velvet cell and partake in the sprawling orgy that filled the sanctum's core, and when she was just certain he'd well into questioning his sanity, she'd approached him while he was fully engaged with a young blonde woman- left to his own devices, he always gravitated those, as if he was pathetically invested in reliving what she'd convinced him he'd lost -and greeted him happily, making the boy jump out of his skin and start crying and she'd nearly had to bite through her tongue to keep from laughing as he babbled apologies and pleas for help to his "mother".
It had nearly snapped him out of the dusts control, but it had been worth it for the thrill alone. But now, she had two of them, together, and there was a challenge she just couldn't resist indulging in, a game of suffering to be played out…the risk was it might push them just far enough to bring them crashing out of reality, like when she'd fist played this game with Edward.
Her dust was powerful, but not all powerful and if pushed to fast or to far, most- especially strong-willed people like these brothers, -would come to their senses. Which kept her from doing something as simple as spreading it over a crowd and saying hear me and obey!
She had tried, to see what would happen, blowing a dozen kilos of Trixie over a market and trying to organize the chaos afterwards; the results had been an intense but short-lived public orgy, but not the mass uprising she'd been trying for, though the disgust and distress caused by her experiment had been some consolation.
So, she was content with effects of the constant exposure maintained at her sanctum, the profits from selling the surplus, and she was currently experimenting with making the effects last longer and leave those exposed more open to direction, but that was hardly necessary for her master plan, which relied on a concrete show of power to be successful, and she knew it would be.
But, while she was waiting for that day, she still needed to keep entertained, which was why she was donning her little disguise again. She'd bathed, or rather had one of her Warders bathe her, in full view of her Dragonflies, smiling indulgently at those whose eyes lingered on her, laughing at the overly bold who approached and were swatted away by the guards and thoroughly enjoy the public display of power- taking a chaste sponge bath in the midst of an orgy, unapproachable and remote.
She swapped the filter on her glass and leather rebreather- it would not do to fall to her own drug, especially with what she was planning to indulge in with the Elrics. As the Warder who had assisted her in bathing set the bowl of water and the sponge he'd used, she recognized the Ishvalan from earlier.
She stood, donning a fresh gown of thin, gauzy red fabric that fell loosely across her body and clung to her in just the right ways, and motioned the Ishvalan over to tie it off for her.
She glanced into a polished bronze mirror, sizing up her appearance- the hair and make up was sufficiently matronly looking to pass herself off as this Trisha Elric the brothers still pined for, but the gown, the gown was her own; the fabric, thin and easily seen though, hung loose but clung to her hips, draped over breasts, framed her just so- a raised collar of gossamer dragon fly wings, gold frills at the hem and cuffs- she was the High Priestess of the faith that was about to sweep Amestris in cloud of righteous lust and red dusted liberation and a certain appearance has to be maintained.
She pointed at the Ishavalan to kneel in front of her.
When he'd done so, she lifted his head up by his hair and unclasped his rebreather.
"Breathe in, Warder."
He did as was ordered, inhaling a deep breath of the Trixie that infused the air, and she watched it grab ahold of him, as the pupils of his crimson eyes shrank and his breathing became a ragged, needy pant.
"Where you there, at Ishval?" she asked,
He looked confused, but than his face fell and he nodded slowly and she could practically feel the old half buried trauma take ahold of him- like the others of his kind who'd found their way to her, burying that pain was probably why he'd come, intent on losing himself in the pleasured nothingness she offered with a simple inhalation. Well, he'd done well enough with the sponge, not lingering where he shouldn't, so she decided to grant him an indulgence.
She looked around, spotting a woman with dark brown hair, shot through with gray, fat, her tits beginning to sag; by all appearances a simple middle-class grandmother, but here she was nude any eagerly looking down into one of the pleasure pits watching the debauchery there with a hungry expression.
"She'll do." Clare decided.
"You see that woman there?" she asked the Warder.
He nodded, expression blank but lustful,
"She was at Ishval, too. She was leading one of the Military's death squads,"
The man's face hardened; still tinged with need, but now mixed with rage; the expression drove to near ecstasy as she relished her control over his emotions, his needs, his very existence.
"Go show her your anger, my Warder." She groped his still half erect shaft and squeezed, "With this."
He went. She didn't watch, instead she began to make her way to the Elric's curtained holding pen, smiling as behind her came that sound of pained, ecstatic screams and the sound of flesh roughly impacting flesh.
"What a pleasant start…" she said aloud, as the woman's shrieks grew louder, and more of her Dragonflies went to join in.
Saint of Arms City, Federal Police Headquarters, 6:17 PM
Quardrich had needed some time to organize a briefing, and somehow through it all not asking Mustang why the Elrics were so important to him, merely taking it at face value that his old friend wanted to save them without bothering with a why- and Roy had the somewhat humbling feeling that the brutal man would have put the same all or nothing effort into saving two random men off the street as he would have to rescue the boys who'd saved the country, maybe he world, from an immortal demigod.
"Not that anyone knows what really happened on the Promised Day- and I pray they never do."
The veil of secrecy that had been pulled down had held, so far. Perversely, if what they had done had gotten out, the notoriety and fame that would have surely made the Elrics recognizable worldwide would probably have saved them from this nightmare
He'd tossed his bag into the small room he'd been provided; Quardrich had explained that most of his men lived in the old universities dormitories for their own protection from the spiraling violence outside- as if to prove the Colonel right, Roy's veteran ear picked up the distant *crump* of mortar fire in the distance and couldn't help but ask one of the officers he'd passed in the hallways,
"Is that common?"
"No- most of the gangs and syndicates stick to lighter stuff but they have enough vets to use heavy ordnance if it comes to it- right now demand for Trixie's surging from other cities and there's real money to made, so." She shrugged, and nodded to the impact's flashing on the city skyline outside a nearby window, "They'll wear themselves out, soon. We got back most of the mortar and rocket's that got looted form the depots awhile ago."
She continued on her way, leaving Roy to watch the distant flashes of urban battle alone.
He sighed and made his way down through the lobby of the dorm, passed a day care run by smiling, red headed woman who waved at him as he passed, parting the mass of laughing children that ran around her feet.
He waved back and guessed that Frank was shielding his officer's families as well, and that these children's parents must be out on night patrol.
He found himself praying that they all made it back.
Once outside, he watched a squad of Quardrich's "Breaching Specialists" in their black, custom uniforms and their heavily modified weapons were loading into one their armored trucks for a mission, and wished them luck. He'd quickly grasped why such specialized police were necessary here, and found himself no longer caring if the rumors of their...unnecessary lethality were true.
"General Mustang," a voice called and Roy turned to find Richter, the squad leader who'd escorted him earlier standing at casual attention nearby; he'd removed his helmet, but it still hung on his belt, and he otherwise still stood in his full arms and armor, still even wearing the black balaclava that covered his face; Roy had recognized him by his dark blue eyes.
"Yes, Sergeant?"
"The Colonel has briefed both Charlie and my squad, Delta, for the mission to get your guys back from the Dragonflies."
Mustang felt a sharp tug of anger that Frank had done that without including him, but he dismissed it as unimportant to the mission.
"Sir, if you come with me, I'd like to get you some armor and gear from the Quartermaster- Frank, I mean, Colonel Quardrich, said you were gonna want to be in the thick of it once we go in, and that fancy blue uniform isn't going to hack it when we're kicking down doors…Sir."
Roy lowered but nodded,
"Lead on Sergeant."
Mustang shortly found himself in possession of a set of black jumpsuits and armor and a helmet and gas mask from the Federal Police depot and a high-capacity pistol with a flashlight mounted under the barrel from the armory, complete with extra ammunition and magazines and a belt with an attached drop holster that hung on the thigh for easy access.
"You want some gloves?" Richter asked, when they were done.
Roy held up his white gloved hands, showing the inscribing transmutation circles on them.
"Gotcha, Sir. What's your specialty?"
"Fire."
Roy watched as the fabric of the Sergeant's balaclava contorted around his mouth, and he realized he was smiling under it.
"Very good, Sir."
Deciding not to dwell on the man’s obvious and most likely very useful eagerness for the fight, Roy asked,
"Did you have any questions from the briefing that I can answer?"
"Yeah- sorry, yes sir; the Colonel said that both the brother and the wife got letters with an invitation to be at that café Alphonse was taken from, and that Alphonse had talked the wife, Winry Elric, out of coming, right?'
Roy nodded and waited for the Sergeant to continue,
"From what I can tell, the Dragonfly's don't like taking no for answer- if they had a reason to want her here, they might have one to go get her; do you have people with her?"
Roy was silent, and then shrugged.
"I hope that was a yes…Sir."
Saint of Arms City, the Sanctum, A Time Just Before Events That Wouldn't Occur In A Just World
She'd watched them for a moment through the thin veneer of gossamer fabric, the shadowed darkness around her was enough to ensure they wouldn't see her; the brothers looked tired, but they were happily toweling each other off again, having refilled the bowl of water with steaming liquid; Annehold knew that one of them must have used their alchemy for that and she felt a jolt of excitement that moistened her quim at the thought- it was small act to create the water and warm it, but she knew their real capabilities, and having such powerful alchemists under her sway was exhilarating.
She noted that the sex-stained sheets she'd left Edward to wallow in a week ago were still there and she thought of a little game to play to make her entrance seem downright motherly. Chuckling darkly, she navigated the maze of red curtains that made up her Sanctums private rooms and collected fresh red linens from a chest before entering the Elric's cell, folding the sheets under her arms and plastering on a benign expression as she entered.
The brothers froze; she'd caught Ed midway in the act of licking splattered cum off of Alphonse's reddened ass- apparently the older Elric had been indulging in a little spanking diversion with his brother,
"Oh, boys…" Clare gasped, trying to walk the line between shock and painful understanding with her tone; Ed sat up in horror, covering his mouth while Alphonse turned to see her and went pure white as he scrambled under the filthy sheets, "Are you playing a bit rough?"
Ed's horror turned to confusion at her tone- she'd effortlessly shifted from shocked and understanding to coyly approving so quickly she was quite proud of her acting ability.
"Mom! Wha…oh." Ed quieted, and Anne savored the dejected look in his eyes, "Priestess."
Anne smiled, playing oblivious as she bustled into the room and draped the sheets she was carrying across the foot of the bed,
"How are you doing, Edward?"
"I'm…fine."
"Alphonse- don't think I don't see you hiding under there; how are you, young man?"
The younger Elric stuck his head out from his hiding place,
"I'm alright, Mom- I mean, ma'm!"
"That's good…now, tell me, have you too remembered just how close you were, before?"
Edward smirked and stretched, while Alphonse set up and let the sheet's fall away, smiling contentedly, "Good…they're completely under the illusion. If Alphonse wasn't so beautifully trusting of Edward, this wouldn't have worked…" but it had…and now any concept these two had that there was anything remotely wrong with fucking each other's brains out was completely gone. To
"Trust me, we've been catchin' up!" Edward bragged and Alphonse nodded, smiling up at his older brother.
Clare smiled indulgently in return,
"I'm glad to see you two are catching up…now, what were you two doing when I came in?"
"I…" Edwards stammered; his brash demeanor and Alphonse's smile faded, as if they were still having some difficulty accepting what she needed them to be for each other.
That wouldn't do.
"You were licking your own cum off you brother's ass, was what you were doing, Edward." Anne said, her tone seductive, approving and indulgent, her approval for Ed's actions was nearly dripping from her tone, "Isn't that right, Alphonse?"
Al's cheeks flushed red, but he nodded.
"That's good, Boys…now tell me, why was Al's ass so red, Edward?"
"I…was spankin' him." Edward muttered,
"Louder, Edward, I can't hear you," Clare prompted, before dragging her hand across a thin cloth sachet of Trixie she kept wrapped in her robes,
"I was spanking him!" Ed almost shouted, reddening to match his brother, and Clare gently reached out to stroke as few stray strands of hair out of his face, dragging the spicy dusting of Trixie across his nose as she did,
"That's good Edward- did he deserve it?"
Shame gone, Ed nodded,
"Mmhm…"
Clare gave Alphonse a dose to, as she reached out to tussle his hair, sprinkling the dust in the air in front of him, and his nostrils flared automatically as he unconsciously responded to the seductive, spicy aroma of the Trixie Dust.
"Were you being a naughty boy, Alphonse?"
"Yes, Mom…I mean ma'm."
"Oh, its fine, Alphonse. You can call me Mom if you want."
Without asking, Anne sat in the oversized wing chair that faced the wrought iron bed and leaned back in it, drawing her legs up on it and she crossed one over her chest to lean on the raised knee of the other as she observed Edward and Alphonse from behind steepled fingertips.
"Continue." she commanded, and the brothers obeyed, with Alphonse sliding out from under the sheets and Edward resuming his task, licking the scattered drops and smears of his semen off his brother. When he'd finished, leaving trails of warm saliva across Al's goose bumped flesh, he set a gentle kiss on his little brothers right nether cheek; the redness of the sharp smacks Edward had fetched there was already fading, but the cool touch of the little gesture of affection made Alphonse gasp in delight, as he moaned,
"Big…Brother…"
Edward ran a soothing hand over Alphonse's thighs, as he rested his head in the small of his little brothers back, turning his head to look at the High Priestess, who gazed steadily back at him.
Clare carefully let some of her breathless anticipation show on her face, parting her lips to trail her tongue across her front teeth, a subtle encouragement to hopefully show Edward just what she wanted him to do.
Ed shifted his body, spread Alphonse's cheeks wide, giving Clare a clear view of Alphonse's hole, and the trail of white jizz dripping from it.
"Do it, Son." Clare barked, and Edward plunged his tongue into his brothers stretched pucker, making the younger man cry out as his big brother swirled his tongue inside him, lapping up the thick loads of cum he'd deposited there.
He leaned his head back and swallowed noisily, making a show of it, and Anne found herself laughing in approval at the act of showmanship,
"Good, Edward, very good- now check and see if Alphonse could use some attention, would you, My Darling?"
"Yes, Priestess…" Edward breathed, licking his lips to clean the taste from them as he gently reached between Alphonse's thighs, "He's dripping." Ed said, folding up his fingers to show her the slick precum that coated them.
"Lay down, Dear Heart. Alphonse, why don't you get up and hold that stiff cock of yours up over your brother's chest, hmm?"
The Elric's did as the woman told them, with Edward rolling unto his back on the filthy sheets while Alphonse looming over him, one hand on the shaft of his cock, waiting breathlessly for his moth- the Priestess' next command.
She made them wait, as she slid out of the chair and joined them on the bed, ignoring the heat building between her thighs to stoke her own fires with the pleasure she enjoyed the most; with a hand signal, a Dragonfly with a lit brazier piled with red dusted herbs slid through the curtain and deposited the smoking pot on the top of the bookshelf, and another thick curtain of red velvet was drawn over the top of the already tight space, which was now dark save for the lamp covered in red gossamer and the crackling little fire in the brazier, which filled the tented space with cloying, spicy smoke.
Throughout the frenetic display, Edward and Alphonse had remained with their eyes locked with each other, anticipating the moment when they cold again seek their comfort with each other's bodies, for the sweet release of pleasure they'd been chasing and hitting, again and again so much that time had lost its meaning for them.
Clare eased unto the bed, scooting next to Alphonse, her shadow cast across the walls along with the brothers in the dim light and she gently rested her nearly nude body against him, guiding his hands to his erection, making sure it was at the right angle to catch Edwards chest with the spray when he popped,
"Now stroke it, Alphonse." She whispered in his ear, her voice muffled under the glass of her rebreather, but still sounding like a siren's call to Al as his head swam with lust and the burning smoke from the pot of burning, red-dust infused herbs.
Al did as he was told, eyes still meeting with Edwards, but glancing now behind him to gaze into the shadowed features of the priestess, framed as they were by that familiar brown, ponytailed hairstyle that brought a sharp pain of longing and misery to his chest, still, after all these years.
He closed his eyes, his hands moving faster, lubricated and slick with the precum that was freely oozing from the tip of his prick, chasing an end, either the pleasure of his orgasm or just to cum and have done and get this woman away and end the swirling chaos of emotions that was roiling through him.
Her hands roamed his body, gently, insistently, swirling around his nipples, tracing the outline of his muscles; she traced one hand down between his abs and around his groin and when she finally cupped his balls and squeezed, Alphonse tossed his head back and cried out, moving his hand up and down his shaft faster as his mind reeled.
Below the pair, Ed was staring up at him, watching the Priestess hold his brother; any anticipation Ed had felt to watch his brothers splatter his hot seed across his chest waned as he watched the Priestess' gentle embrace of Alphonse, the careful, slow way she was embracing him, touching him…she shifted behind Alphonse and caught the light and he realized in the dim haze of this red velvet cocoon that she really did look just like his mother.
Would it be so wrong to call her Mom?
"YES! YES, IT WOULD! STOP!" he thought, briefly but a crushing wave of pain and shame washed his mind clean and he could see only how wonderful it would be to have some comfort in his agony, even if it was a charade.
Behind Alphonse, Clare was growing impatient- Alphonse was taking far too long to blow and she was more than ready for these two to start ministering to her needs.
"I know you're ready, Alphonse." She whispered.
The younger sibling nodded, his eyes clamped shut, working his shaft in a blur with one hand while the other had reached back behind to rest on her thigh, seeking reassurance from what her presence was slowly starting to represent in his mind.
"Let me help you…"
Without further preamble, she shoved a finger up his cum slickened pucker and raked a manicured nail across his prostate and Alphonse cried out and his swollen member erupted with ropes of sticky, hot sperm.
Anticipating his loss of control, she seized his length with her fee hand and made sure it was pointed at Edward as it shot, covering the older brother's chest with as much of its load as she could.
Alphonse screamed in electric agony as Clare rapidly stroked her hand up and down his slowly flagging length rubbing her thumb over the tip, inflicting agony on it in its hypersensitive, post orgasm state.
She tore her fingers free of his clenching hole and Alphonse's body went limp- sagging back unto the woman disguised as his mother, feeling her firm, round breasts pressed into his back as she leaned forward to keep him propped up.
"Did that feel good, Little One?"
"Yes…"
"Mommy," Clare whispered,
"Yes, Mommy."
She Chuckled, reveling in the pet name that was so utterly replete with obscenity in their current state.
"Did you like how Mommy made you cum?"
"Yes…Mom."
Clare locked her eyes with Edwards again, as he lay watching them, his hands beginning to gently swirl through the gobs and spatters of jism that were splattered across his chest.
"Do you want to help clean Mommy and Brother up after the nasty mess you've just made?"
"Mmhmm…" Al's mind swam, he could no longer form words.
"Good boy, Alphonse." Clare whispered, nipping his earlobe as she brought the cum slickened fingers she'd fucked his ass with to Alphonse's mouth, and he obediently opened it and she slid the filthy digits in, rubbing them across his tongue, making sure his taste buds overloaded with the flavor of his violated hole and his brothers cum, all the while, her eyes remained locked with Edwards and the older brother whined in need at the debauched sight, reaching for his hardening prick.
"No!" Clare snapped and Ed froze.
"Sorry…"
Clare shoved her finger to the back of Alphonse's throat and lifted his chin, ignoring the gagging noise he made before demanding of his brother,
"Sorry, Mom."
She released Alphonse and slid back,
"Now, help your brother clean up, Lovey."
Alphonse nodded tiredly and sank down to drag his tongue over Edwards chest, dragging his tongue through the smeared remnants of his release, stopping to tease his brother's nipples, suckle his chest, or languidly bite down, tracing his marks over his older brother's flesh.
Clare slid off the bed, judged the shadows of the room, and selected what she thought was the best space to start her next game with the Elrics, and she soon stood at the foot of the bed, leaning her hands on it for support as she watched them.
Slowly, their attention fell from each other and to her, and she bit her lip in satisfaction at their blank expressions; to Edward and Alphonse, the figure standing in shadow at the end of the bed, with her long brown hair done up in just the right side braid, her perfectly curved body, almost ethereal in the thin crimson of the gown she wore as it blended in with the red light from the lamp and the sea of red curtains around them, and the wide, happy blue eyes they could just make out in the dark, set in the achingly familiar face, an illusion broken only by the elegant respirator the woman wore.
Clare reached out her right hand and slowly curled her fingers into a "come here" gesture.
The brothers, fully in the grip of the burning pot of drugged herbs, slowly came to their tormentor, moving across the massive, overstuffed bed on their hands and knees, stopping to kneel in front of their loving torturer when she held up her hand for them to stop.
They did- to their minds, they were not in the grips of a mad woman, but at last reunited with the mother they had worshipped after her death- they shared a look, not of confusion or ecstasy but of true, genuine happiness, as in heir haze they had found what they had once nearly sacrificed everything for, their mother, resurrected, happy, whole, guiding them again, loving them again.
The Priestess smiled warmly as she slide the top of her gown down off her already half-exposed breasts, and the Elric's eyes fixated on the pale flesh washed with red light, their eyes roving over the firm swell of Clare's breasts, the puffy tips of her nipples that swelled with excitement and the gentle trails Clare ran across them with her red painted finger nails- they did not want to see that she left of trail of red dust across them as she did so, so they ignored it.
"Come here," Clare whispered, and the brothers did, leaning forwards, bracing themselves on the head board, "Suck Mommy's tits, Darlings."
The Elrics lunged forward to do as ordered, licking, suckling, groping, chasing the spicy rush of the Trixie Dust and Clare's cries of ecstasy as she reveled in the perverse attentions of Edward and Alphonse, her finger's wrapping in their blonde hair as she laughed in pleasure, ecstasy and triumph.
"Good…mmm…boys." She whimpered, letting her control loosen just a bit as she lost herself in the desperate administration of the Elrics, "You missed your Mommy, didn't you?"
"Yes…" Edward whispered, "So much…" he wrapped his lips around Clare's left nipple and suckled like a baby and Clare nearly collapsed as her cunt was wracked with a wave of sadistic pleasure. Edward saw none of this- he remembered playing with his mother as a boy, of her falling over laughing as he tickled her, and now, as this false prophet writhed in ecstasy at his touch, those memories merged, driving him on in a red haze of memory turned to nightmare.
She let them linger for a few moments longer, before she pulled them roughly back by their hair.
She looked at Alphonse and pointed to the chair in the corner,
"Am…am I in time out?" he asked, old memories of disappointment flashing in his head, feelings of loneliness- would Edward rescue him again, like he used to when Mom got upset?
Clare let out a short sharp laugh- she was going to have to cut back on the younger Elrics exposure, it seemed. His mind was regressing at an alarming rate…
"Yes, Alphonse, you were naughty earlier, weren't you? When your big brother had to spank you?"
"Yes, Mommy. I guess I was…"
"So go sit there, and I'll call you when I'm ready."
Alphonse nodded, going to sit in the chair with such a sad look on his face that Clare was reminded of a scolded puppy and she had to laugh, this time.
"Help me out of this, Edward." She ordered the older brother when Alphonse was sitting down and facing the bed; Edward did a she was told, leaning forward to undo the belt that held the gown tight around Clare's waist, and he leaned forward to let it slowly drop to the floor, ending up leaning over the rail of the iron framed beds footboard, with his face nearly in Clare's crotch, so close his nostrils flared with the scent of her arousal and his eyes widened at the thin trail of slick her dripping snatch had left on her thighs.
"Look at the state you've gotten me in, Edward…" Clare scolded,
"I'm sorry, Mom…"
"Don't be sorry." Clare said, as she set a hand on Edward's shoulder and guided him to his knees, before shoving him back unto the bed and climbing over the foot board with a sinuous grace that made the older brothers eyes widen, "Just do something about it."
She straddled Edward's groin, without preamble or further words, and impaled herself on the throbbing length of his thick, stiffened cock, crying out immediately at this culmination of her games.
"M-Mom!" Ed shouted, reaching up to clasp the Priestess' thighs, hesitantly, until she jammed her hands on top of his, placing them right where she wanted them as she slowly rode the older Elric to her first orgasm, quietly crying out as she bit her lip, as if unwilling to yield but needing the release anyway.
She roughly rolled her hips, grinding up and down on Edward's shaft, desensitized after as day of fucking his brother but still stiff as a board, and Clare knew she could wring an ocean of pleasure from Edward long before he found his own release, and the thought made her smirk as she rode him faster, chasing another orgasm as her sex warmed to the hardened member it was throbbing around, and before long she felt warm rush of liquid gush forth as she looked down at Edward.
The older Elric grinned savagely as his partner rode him; as his drug mind roiled with confusion about just who he was with, it fixated on the hair, the false warmth of her words and he thrust hard upwards as she was gripped with the utter wrongness of being with exactly who the woman had convinced him he was with.
He rolled his hips off the bed, pushing her down unto him, in his mind, he knew he was better at this than Hohenheim, and he was going to show her how worthy he was. Clare closed her eyes as her pussy pulsed around her prisoner, her smile widening as her cheeks flushed,
“Good boy, Edward…you’re doing…mmm…so well.”
“Am I better than him?”
“Who, Darling?”
Ed thrust faster, lifting Clare off the bed and thrusting up, his hips starting to ring against hers,
“Dad! Am I better than him?”
He slammed into her cervix and Clare cried out,
“Just fuck me!”
From the corner, Alphonse's head swam with the smoke, exhaustion, and the sudden realization of just why this chair sat here facing the bed; he wondered what Ed had been using if form and more importantly, who…the fantasies that had him stroking his cock slowly as she waited for his mother- the Priestess -to let him out of his aching exile.
“Mom?” He called tentatively, loud enough to be heard over Clare and his brother’s cries, “Can I come out of time out now?”
“Not yet…ah! Not yet…”
The Priestess leaned forward on the bed as she rode Edward, giving Alphonse a perfect view of his brothers manhood as it slid in and out of her, wet with her juices as she rolled the tip around inside her, causing Edward to groan and curse as he held unto her, pressing her too him, and his lips would have sought hers if she hadn't wrapped her right hand on his long hair to hold his head in place as she leaned over him, pinning him to the bed.
Eventually, Clare looked back over her shoulder at Alphonse, as she and Edwards love making slowed,
"Come here, Little One."
Alphonse didn't need to be told twice, and he was out of the chair to the bed I moments, clambering on while asking, "Mommy, what can I do?" like an overexcited school boy.
"You can join your brother."
"W-what do you mean?"
"I mean, join your brother. Shove your cock inside me next to his, Alphonse."
"I-uh I…"
"It won't hurt. I need it, My Darling."
"Are…"
"Now!"
Alphonse scrambled forward, taking ahold of Clare's hips and Edward entwined his fingers with his brothers, comforting him as Al pressed forward into the wet heat between Clare's legs, his turgid length easily pushing in, and he gasped as his shaft glided past his brothers.
"Fuck," Al swore, "It's so tight…" and then the tip of his shaft met Edwards, and Clare began rolling her hips, taking both of them as deeply as she could as she let herself lose control, reveling in the brutal double penetration she was allowing these two lesser creatures to subject her too.
Alphonse and Edward began to move, finding a rhythm as their cocks slide past each other on the right confines of Clare's pussy, bottoming out on her cervix in a repeated battering that soon had the vile woman screaming in orgasm, riding one unto the other as the Elric's fucked her.
Fighting to find something to say to regain control, Clare came hard as she thought of just the thing,
"Cum in Mommy! Fill up where you were born with your disgusting cum, you little monsters!"
The harsh words, the incestuous roleplay, the sudden shame, self-loathing and confusion that filled Edward and Alphonse fried their senses, and their world went white for just a moment of clarity as they came nearly simultaneously, and then the red haze seized them, and they sagged in mindless ecstasy again.
Clare laughed in triumph as she slid down the bed, letting the brother's cocks slide out of the mess that they'd made in her, laughing again at the state of them as she reclined over the pillows at the head of the bed and watched them.
"Come here, My Darlings," she called cheerfully, and the Elric's slowly did so, minds blank with exhaustion, overstimulation and overexposure to the Trixie infused air.
Clare laughed at them from behind her respirator and set a foot on Alphonse's chest before using it to awkwardly guide him to her cum filled snatch, and he didn't hesitate to lean his head in and start licking, and Clare closed her eyes in satisfaction as she dragged Edward to her chest, letting the older brother lick and fondle her breasts as she played with his hair.
"Alphonse?"
"Yes, Mommy?"
"Do you know if Edward's wife got the invitation he sent her?"
"Hmm? Oh, you mean Winry?"
Edward inhaled sharply, stopping in his ministration to Clare's chest as he ground his teeth and his face flushed with anger.
Clare smirked,
"Yes, I think that's her name…"
"Yes, she did."
"And? Why wasn't she with you in the café where my dear Beatrice and Phillip found you?"
"I…I told her to stay away, that I was going to go alone." Alphonse barely hesitated to answer.
"Naughty, naughty boy." Clare scolded, and Al's face reddened even as he went back to licking her. She rolled her thigh to lift his face back up, "Did you know she didn't listen?"
"What?"
"Someone was watching you, at the café- a nasty little military man we had to kill to keep him from stopping us getting you to Edward. She must have told someone- she got that poor man killed! Can you believe that?"
"That sounds just like that vile little cunt…" Edward snarled,
"Language, Edward. Now, Alphonse, that was very, very wrong of you."
"I…I know that now. She needs to see Edward, to face up to what she's done…"
"That's right, Alphonse. Now, I have some of my Dragonflies on the way to pick her up and bring her here, when she does, will you show her how badly she hurt your brother?"
"Yes, Mommy."
"And Edward will you show her how a real man can fuck, just like you just did with me?"
"Yes, Mom."
"And will you both show Winry what it feels like to have the bastard child she tried to foist off as your own flesh and blood cut right out of her whore's womb?"
"Yes, Mommy." The Elric's said in unison, and Clare couldn't stop herself from cumming again, wracking and strong, making her tremble at the ecstasy of her power.
Chapter 4: ...13,14,15,16...
Notes:
Ok, sorry had to break the last into two parts, here's the first, the final should be later this month and than maybe a recovery arc for whumptober. Because everyone is gonna be in a pretty bad spot when this is over.
Chapter Text
Countryside Near, Resembool, March 7th, 2:10AM
A cargo truck and a sleek black touring car picked their way down rutted country roads, the thin light from their head lamps barely piercing the deep gloom of the country night- more light came from the half-moon above them and the scattering of stars over the night sky,
“It's too fucking dark to make our way through this shit.” complained the driver of the car; he was a man well into middle age, with a thick copper colored mustache and a thin, heavily lined face- the left side which was deeply scared with a stylized “L” that had been almost elegantly hewn into his flesh, and his tailored dark suit and overcoat, as well as the baggy newsboy hat he had jammed down low over his ears, set him apart from his companions, three men in rough work clothes whose spotlessly clean state showed that they’d never done a day’s work in them in their lives.
“It’s just around the next bend and up a straight away.” The man in the passenger seat next to him said; he was young, hollow eyed and almost emaciated, in the process of tying a red armband around his right arm.
The driver glared over at him, just for a moment, unwilling to tear his attention away from the road for very long,
“Are you sure? You from around here or something?”
“Yes. And, yes.”
There was a cold hunger in the man’s voice that made the driver shift over in his seat, grateful to feel the weight of the snub nose revolver in his waistband; the passenger simply stared out the windshield, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, as if anticipating what awaited him ahead.
The passenger’s name was Tam Shaker, and what was in the pocket of his jacket was a handful of glass vials of Trixie Dust; he had indeed grown up in Resembool, and his dark brown eyes had always held the automail mechanic form the edge town in high regard, admired her from afar, despite her only ever having eyes for that that little golden eyed orphan boy, while he had been too nervous to say more than “hello” to her until his family had packed up stakes to try their luck in Saint of Arms City.
He let his imagination run wild, how she looked now, how she’d feel, how much fun it would be to blow the blessed red dust into her face and watch the truckload of warders behind him have her after him- The Priestess had told him to bring her back, and but she smiled in that amazingly cruel way when she told him to make sure and clean her up before bringing he into the Sanctum, and he’d taken her meaning immediately.
He was letting his head loll back in the seat and indulging his fantasies when the driver called,
“Fires up on the right.”
Tam glanced up at the woods to their right, just as the turned the end for the final approach to the Rockbell house, a long straightaway across flat land to the hill the house sat on. He looked at them for a few moments.
“Just Ishvalans, still on the move after all this time.” He proclaimed; “They camp in the woods around here. Harmless.” He made a mental note to tell The Priestess about them- refugees made prime targets for recruitment.
The truck behind them suddenly slewed to a halt, and a distant boom sounded a few moments later,
“What the fu-,” the driver started to say, half turning in the seat to look behind them, just as the something slammed into their vehicle with enough force to rock it back and it came to an abrupt halt, engine dead.
From the distance, another thunderous crack echoed off into the night.
“Hit!” Breda called, observing through an outsized scope similar to the one Riza had mounted on the anti-tank rifle she’d used to disable the car’s engine as they lay flat on the balcony of the Rockbell house.
The scopes and the optic Breda had used to spot were both experimental tools, using what had been a theoretical process to filter ambient light to enhance the user’s ability to see at night, and they washed the world view through their bulky, buzzing optics in an eerie, bright red glow
Hawkeye carefully let her thoughts focus on the new equipment as she slid back the oiled bolt of the rifle and dropped in fresh fifty caliber round, mindful of jostling the mount any more than the shots already had- she’d noticed the zero had drifted by at least four inches between shots and she was already basically eyeballing the range due to the poor magnification.
She steadied the rifle between the railings of the balcony, pushed it tight against the sand bag she was using as a brace, and exhaled.
She let herself get lost in these technical details, because if she didn’t, if she thought of her friend Winry hiding, huddled in the basement of her own home, pregnant, afraid, with the people who had already kidnapped her husband coming for her in the middle of the night, then she wouldn’t stop shooting until there was nothing left of the monsters but splattered gore in the road.
And that wasn’t the plan.
Tam gaped in confusion, while the driver opened the door and threw himself to the ground, leaving the door open behind him.
“Wha-,” The Warder leader began, but trailed off into a scream of shrill terror as from behind them, the night erupted in gunfire; if he’d been able to do anything besides shriek, close his eyes and piss himself, he might have noticed that the gunfire was coming from the direction of the “refugee” camp, winking muzzle flashes in the night from at least two heavy automatic weapons and plethora of rifles, plunging straight down a slope and into the cargo truck full of cult soldiers behind him.
An exceptional ambush that was over in moments.
As silence rang, Tam regained enough of his sense to stumbled out of the vehicles, leaving his gun behind, and he straightened up and looked around dumbly, just in time to lock eyes with the Warder who had been riding behind him as her chest exploded outward in a shower of gore, splattering him with blood and bone in a short flash of alchemical energy.
Tam froze and as her body fell to the ground, he found himself staring at a tall, broad-shouldered man in a yellow jacket, white hair gleaming in the moonlight, the X shaped scar on his face just visible in the shadows.
“Normally, when I do this, I ask for the forgiveness of Ishvala.” He muttered; the other Warder in the back seat scrambled out, raising a pistol, and the big man ducked and leapt across the small trunk of the touring car, leaving Tam frozen in shock and dripping with gore and wrapped the armed Warder's forearm in a one-handed grip and then the Warder's arm simply exploded in a shower of gore and he fell to the ground, screaming.
That left the driver, who had drawn his pistol and had Scar dead to rights, just for a moment, and then the touring car was surrounded by Ishvalans; they were dressed in a mixture of their traditional garb and Amestrian clothing and were armed an equipped for war.
The driver looked around, not lowering his pistol,
“I’m dead either way, hey?”
“Most likely.” Scar answered.
“Guess you lot didn’t turn in all those weapons from the revolt. Handy move.”
“You are delaying. Make your decision- either fire and take me with you or lower the weapon and live a bit longer.”
“I might talk you out of it if I drop it…”
Scar shrugged.
“Fuck.” The driver cursed, and set his pistol on the ground.
The Ishvalans roughly bandaged the stump of the mutilated cultists arm and carried the three survivors from Eyes convoy towards the Rockbell house, with Scar falling behind, unwilling to approach but drawn forward by his self-imposed duty.
The cultists seemed in shock, as if they had not considered that their mission could fail and this would be their fate, but the driver in his tailored suit raged the entirety of the journey from the ambush site to the house, constantly trying to slip free, and by the time they’d made it to the porch to meet the Amestrians, the drivers neat suit was torn and his face bruised and bloodied.
“Are those the leaders?”
“As far as we can tell, yes ma’m.” the leader of the armed Ishvalans said, drawing himself up into a loose military stance of attention.
The driver cursed loudly, tried to pull away “I’m a fucking Lacerator! Hardest gang in Saint of Arms, if you…” a backhand slap silenced him for a moment.
“And him?”
“He’s unique. Not like the other ones, too well dressed.” Scar pointed out, as he reluctantly stepped forward,
“Let’s get them in the basement.” Breda said, motioning to an addition to the side of the Rockbell house with his chin, “We can get down there through the workshop so Ed’s wife doesn’t…”
“What’s happening? Is everyone ok?”
“…shit.”
Winry Elric stepped out on the porch and into the yellow light of the electric lamps Hawkeye had flipped on when Scar had signaled the all clear; she was thin, dark circles ran under her eyes, and the slight swell of her stomach pushed her coveralls forward around her pregnancy.
Tam’s eyes went wide and he studied her for just a moment too long, before they fell again and he unconsciously stroked the unbroken vials in his jacket pocket with his bound hands.
None but the driver saw it.
“Waitaminute, you little shit- is this who you were fucking coming out here for?”
Tam didn’t look up. His shoulders hunched around his neck like a scolded child.
“Oh, you fucking little cunt.”
“Are you really trying to act like you didn’t know?” Riza demanded,
“It don’t fucking matter, Girl. C’mon and let’s get this next bit over with.”
Winry paled,
“What does he mean?”
The driver stood straight, smiled a bloody smile with bruised lips,
“Don’t worry yourself love. Us and this lot are going to have to have a chat. (??)You just try and stay out of it. Ain’t worth troubling yourself or the little one over.”
Scar looked the man who was making excuses to cover his own oncoming interrogation up and down again, seeing him for the first time.
Winry tried to step forward, Riza held her hand up to stop her, but Winry still spoke,
“Sir, I don’t know how you’re involved in this, but…someone has my brother-in-law, Alphonse and my husband, Edward. He’s a good man, a caring person who just…has troubles. And doesn’t know how to share them with others, but he tries. They’ve both been through a lot, more than anyone ever should and I think they’re going through more right now. They don’t deserve it.”
“No one ever does, girl.”
“Like my child?”
There was no snide answer this time.
“Do they deserve it?”
The driver’s jaw worked savagely but his expression stayed stony.
“Go inside, please, ma’m” the driver said.
The two cultists looked up warily.
Winry went inside under Hawkeye’s glare.
The driver looked around, noting the cold glares he was faced with, and realized just which side he’d pick in this if he could.
And he did.
“I dunno where the Eye’s have their roost, I’m just here to pass ‘em through my lot’s turf in Saint of Arms- the East Side, our neighborhoods. But that one knows.” The driver jerked his head at Tam.
“You son of a bitch,” Tam croaked, but fell silent when Scar gently set his hand on his neck. The Driver focused in on Hawkeye, picking her out by her rank tabs and the cold look in her eyes as the one to talk to,
“That ‘uns got a load of vials of Trixie Dust in his pocket, you take those out, don’t breathe any in and make sure they suck it up their noses, strip ‘em, tie ‘em, leave ‘em in a room and in five minute’s they’ll be so keen on getting up each other they’ll tell you what day their Gran lost her virginity on.”
Tam seethed, the wounded cultist whimpered.
Breda shrugged,
“And if that doesn’t work?”
The driver looked at him steadily,
“It will. It always does.”
Breda pulled the vials of Trixie out of Tams pockets, and he and the former rebels dragged the three prisoners into the workshop, leaving Scar and Riza behind. They eyed each other silently, until the Ishvalan sighed,
“I don’t believe she even saw me.”
“She’s got a lot on her mind.”
“I was worried she still…for what I did.”
“She’s better than us.”
“Good. Will you save the Elrics?”
“The General’s in place. We just need to give him a location; he has men on the ground.”
“Can I help?”
Riza laughed, bitterly,
“Probably! But it’s going to be too late, one way or another by the time you get there.”
Riza turned to glance in the house, and when she looked back, Scar was gone back into the night.
Saint of Arms City, March 7th, 3AM, Federal Police Headquarters, Officers’ Quarters.
Roy opened his Eyes slowly- it felt like he’d only just managed to fall asleep, thought he’d turned in hours earlier; dread and guilt had tormented him, and he spent what felt like an eternity staring up at the plaster ceiling of the former dorm room he’d been living in while staying with Quardrich’s men.
He stared at the room for a moment, taking in the simple furniture, his small bag, open on a chair. The gear he’d been given by Richter, neatly folded and sitting on a desk across from the room, by a window that faced the city out behind the walls the police had built around their improvised fortress.
Something had woken him- but what? A look around the room showed no threats. No one was knocking on the door. What had it been? A noise?
He listened; from outside came the distant rattle of gunfire, a symphony of death so constant that he tuned it out after being in the city for a little over a week.
But something was off- and then he heard it; a constant light tap-tap-tap on the window.
Roy couldn’t quite make out what was there- he saw movement low in the left corner, but not what was making it.
He got up, picking up the bulky pistol he’d been given, and quietly padded across the floor; when he got close, he froze- it was spider.
A spider the size of his hand, slowly wondering across the window pane, it stocky, furred legs and long body reflecting the glow of the city and its legs beating an audible rhythm as it meandered across the glass- suddenly, it froze, and Roy caught a glimpse of reflected moonlight in a row of wide black eyes, and then the thing leapt forward across the window and was gone.
He was still trying to decide if this was a dream when he nearly jumped out of his skin as someone hammered on his door,
“General Mustang! Sir, wake up! We’ve got ‘em!”
Roy sat across from Quardrich after making his way into the fortress’s telephone exchange, hastily dressed in the black jumpsuit and equipment Richter had given him, unsurprised to find the pugnacious Federal Police Chief dressed the same, albeit with a submachine gun slung tight across his chest.
“Got a call from your sharpshooter.” Quardrich said, motioning to the phone resting in the middle of the table- when Roy picked it up, lowering at Quardrich as the man pulled on a set of headphones wired to a small switch box on the table- clearly listening in, and lowering right back at Roy as if to challenge him- Mustang didn’t. The last time he’d let his cloak and dagger experience guide him, he’d gotten one of his best friends killed. Frank was a psychopath, but he was right in that.
“Colonel Hawkeye?” Roy asked into receiver, “Have you had a visit from the Inspectors?”
“Yes, sir. All’s well.”
“Any issues?”
“Ah! Great news, and any insights into the land navigation course?” Roy asked, and Riza fell silent,
“Any issues getting the course completed?” Mustang pressed.
“No…sort of. We, ah…have an opportunity to speak with some of the aggressor forces but…are unsure how to proceed with mock interrogations. A civilian contractor working with the Red Team actually had a suggestion for us.”
In Resembool, Riza turned to look at Breda in the living room of the Rockbell House, sharing a haunted look.
So far, the only thing the non-aimed cultist had spoken of was a long, detailed and disturbing fantasy about what he was going to do to Winry- and Riza, now -after something called the “Great Rebirth” while the one with shattered arm simply whimpered and said nothing. The driver, clearly not much for loyalty among thieves, kept repeating the idea to use the dust in the glass vials…but even for the two veterans, that sort of coercion was too much, even for people like the cultists.
“The ah, contractor…suggested that a simulated questioning…using red marker dust…” the careful code was rapidly breaking down under stress, and in Saint of Arms Roy grit his teeth. He made the mistake of glancing at Quardrich.
The federal police colonel nodded like he’d been waiting for permission to act and set aside his headphones and take the receiver from Mustang, who didn’t resist,
“Colone Hawkeye, this is Colonel Quardrich- I’m here with General Mustang in Saint of Arms- do you remember me?”
“Yes…”
Quardrich didn’t wait for the sir.
“We’re dropping the spy games, Colonel, we need to move fast and not hesitate so I’m going to be blunt, and I don’t care if anyone’s listening in. The local contractor is a gang member from Saint?”
“Yes. Well dressed, L-shaped scare.”
“Lacerators. Their turf is on the East Side. Why was he there?”
“To guarantee safe passage through his gang’s turf to the cult’s home base, Sir.”
Quardrich leaned forward like a predator on a scent,
“But I’m guessing they didn’t tell him where.”
“No.”
“The two Eyes you have, they do?”
“He says one of them does. And recommended we use the red dust and restraint to…coerce them.”
“It’ll work.” The Federal Police Officer stated stated flatly,
“Colonel!” Hawkeye cut him off, “That’s…”
Roy had been listening in with the police man’s discarded headphones, but now he closed his eyes, opened them to glare at the wall, and then held out his hand to Quardrich.
“Colonel Hawkeye?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“You have how many vials of Trixie Dust from the cultists?”
“Six.”
“And the driver is suggesting you use it as an interrogation aid by dosing them and restraining them from acting on their impulses on each other, and through suggestion and psychological manipulation?” it was a very scientific way to describe drugged torture and Roy did his best to ignore the part of his mind that noted it was probably a very effective technique.
“Yes, sir.”
Roy closed his eyes, remembering what he owed to both Edward, Alphonse, Riza and Hymens. Better than this. Better than he could. But he wouldn’t let anyone else go because he flinched.
“Dose them with every last bit, make sure you don’t inhale a speck of it, and proceed with the interrogation, Colonel. It’s my call.”
Silence, for a long moment.
“Sir?”
Roy inhaled his disgust with a mix of self-loathing, and barked the order;
“Do it, Riza!”
“Yes, sir!”
The line went dead.
Roy looked at the wall.
Frank said nothing, then,
“Welcome to Saint of Arms, Sir.”
Riza stared at the phone, before glancing at Breda. He was soaking a bandana in the sink to use as a mask, and he looked back.
“I’ll take care of it, Hawkeye.”
She stood taller, grit her teeth- and nodded.
“Fine.”
“Watch the nest? Make sure no more assholes show up looking for Winry?”
“Fine,” She repeated. “See if any of the…”
“I’ll help him.” Scar said, from the doorway. With a deliberate, mournful gait, he entered the house.
“She’s upstairs with her grandmother.” Riza said.
“I’m... thank you. I do not want this to take overly long, I don’t wish to burden this home with my presence. Any longer than is necessary.”
“Yeah. Let’s…let’s get this over with.” Breda nodded,
“I’d rather not have any more of my brothers and sisters sully themselves with this, but we need a third.”
He didn’t press Riza.
He understood.
“The driver. We can keep an eye on him and he’s already volunteered to help the General and his people in exchange for his safety. I don’t think he’d mind.” Riza pointed out, and Breda nodded.
Twenty minutes later, Breda came back, tossing aside the wet handkerchief he’d used as makeshift mask.
“That was…that red shit is a nightmare. They just…went fucking at each other when we untied them, they went from mute to can’t shut up in seconds. Completely flipped.”
“Did you use all of it?”
“Like the General ordered.”
“Can we clean it up?”
“Yeah. Yeah one of the General’s Ishvalan militia is hosing it down, I think it’s the Rockbell's surgical room, so there’s a drain, we opened the windows and doors down there too.”
Riza watched through the front window as Scar and a trio of militia dragged the cultists off into the night.
“That creepy guy wasn’t going to leave Winry and Ed alone even if- when -the general gets him out and ends this cult.”
Riza nodded,
“I know.”
“You have the address?”
“Yes ma’m.”
“Good. Call the General.”
“Don’t you want to?”
“Not right now.”
When Scar came back, she met him on the porch. He set one hand on the railing, took it back as if it were burned, and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it almost immediately.
Riza turned to find Winry standing behind her.
“Thank you. For helping.”
Scar looked up at her form the shadows cast by the porch light, nodded once, and turned to leave.
He left a sooty palmprint behind on the railing.
Saint of Arms City, streets near Federal Police Headquarters, March 7th, 4:35 AM
Mustang shifted in the unfamiliar gear, trying to find a way for the heavy bullet proof armor to rest comfortably, but the bulky vest- an alchemic composite of fabric, composite metal and fiber, simply would not set comfortably.
“You’ll get used to it, sir.” One of the federal police officers sitting across from him called.
Roy shook his head,
“I sincerely hope I never do.”
The officer laughed and shot Roy a thumbs up in the noisy armored cabin, not understanding that Mustang wasn’t talking about the armor.
Roy set back in the cold armored interior and looked up at the officer standing in the open hatch to the turret; Frank had dropped all pretense for the raid on the Eye’s, and each one of the six trucks in the convoy had a belt fed machine gun mounted on them.
The part of Mustangs mind that worried about these being police vehicles armed with machine guns had far too much to agonize over to care. He just hoped they wouldn’t be needed, at this point.
Richter leaned back from the cab through the open hatch and looked up at Mustang,
“Sir!”
Roy looked down at him,
“Point of order, Sir- you said fire was your alchemical specialty?”
“That’s right, Sergeant.”
“I was on the inspection team for the abandoned buildings the Eyes have used- they have systems rigged up to blow Trixie dust and it looked like it hung pretty thick in the air, too…”
Mustang ground his teeth in frustration,
“So, the air is full of thin, dust like particles?”
“They sort of melt in the humidity, but yeah.”
The Flame Alchemist groaned and looked down at the crimson circles etched unto his white gloves.
“Is the Trixgul…Tyrx…fuck, the Trixie Dust, flammable?”
“Don’t think so.”
Roy shook his head- it didn’t matter all that much- one massive fireball into the dust filled air of their target was a natural explosive of immense proportion, waiting only for his flame alchemy to ignite it, but if it were flammable…he shook his head. Everyone would die.
He held up his hands, speculatively- in theory, he could work this to his advantage if he found out if the dust was flammable. If. If he wasn’t now just a liability in a rescue mission to save his own friends.
“Still gotta gun, hand, sir.” Richter said, looking up at Mustang from under his balaclava and helmet, “We have a spare shotgun, General. You’re still going in with us, just try not to blow the place to kindling until after we have your friends and we’re getting the hell out of there!” The sergeant awkwardly reached back and slapped Roy’s knee before heaving himself back into the truck cab.
“Hey, Sir!” another officer called,
Roy looked at him,
“Better mask up, Sir.”
Mustang nodded, pulled the fabric of the black balaclava up over his face and head and strapped on the borrowed helmet.
“Fucks Sake, Boot stop staring at the General.” One of the officers snapped, but Mustang ignored whatever the by play was about as he looked around the compartment- he looked the same as the others, now, except for his hands.
He looked down at the white gloves again, already marked with crimson- how much longer would they stay that clean?
Roy decided he didn’t care, as long as Ed and Al were safe, and this cult that had snared them turned to a dried husk.
The Sanctum, March 7th, 5:10 AM
Clare Annehold did not have an office- to her, shutting oneself away from others to show your power was pathetic- for her “others” were her power. But she did have a curtained off space deep in the heart her fortified temple to house the sole bit of outside intrusion she still allowed herself- a telephone, plain and setting on a simple wooden stand.
It was both a necessary and expensive item- acquiring an unlisted and unknown phone number was both time consuming and something that required quite a few bribes at the switchboard offices.
But this expensive and annoying necessity should also be ringing.
She growled as she dug a small timepiece out of her red robes- that idiot Tam should have called five minutes ago- even giving him extra time for travel and indulging his tastes with the mechanic bitch the older sacrifice was married too, he should have called by five in the morning, as she’d ordered.
She lowered down at the phone form where she stood. She should have picked a better warder to do this. She should have made sure he wouldn’t indulge himself.
A stray thought saying she should have not been needlessly indulging her tastes by attempting to drag Edwards wife back here in the first place was quickly dismissed. She was in control, and seeing the look on the faces of her last fraternal sacrifices when she let them awaken from their stupor covered in the blood of Edward's pregnant wife was something she needed to cherish; she was in control of the very pulse of this city and she would not be denied.
Except you have been, came a rebellious whisper in her mind. She closed her eyes.
It was time to move up the sacrifice. It was risky, disorienting both for the rutting dimwits she horded to trawl for useful members as well as her true believers, those few who either resisted the dust or wore masks to stay safe from its effects, who she had enthralled with prophecy rather than aphrodisiacs- the prophesy said the final sacrifice had to be on the first day of spring, which was certainly not today.
She sighed; she could hand wave it with some nonsense about ley lines or nature not following the calendars of man, but it would still throw off her game. But there was nothing for it. It was time to act, something was wrong, she could feel it.
Once committed to her course, she stood and marched out of her room as her normal escort of warders fell in around her, her bare feet slapping across the stone floor as she stalked among her flock, ignoring them as always, her mind racing- how to sell this? I should have cooked up some sort of deity when I put this nonsense together, something to say “Whatever commanded me to do this” when I needed.
Clare growled and tipped over a plinth with a small dragonfly statue on top of it as she passed by, ignoring it as it smashed across the floor, irked by her own invented symbolism. “Nature Cult” had seemed like the way to go, but it was proving to be a liability, especially with her ace-in-the-hole miracle maker currently sewn into Edward Elric's back.
What the hell went wrong with Tam? She knew intellectually that it was most likely just him taking too long defiling that Winry girl, but something was itching in her mind, some sense of wrongness, The soldier by the café. The one Tam had spotted and killed as he guarded the perimeter while Beatrice and Phillip collected the younger sacrifice. That’s what it was. Why had the little sneak been watching? The older one had babbled about being a state alchemist, and a brief check by one of her Dragonflies who worked in the local military records office had confirmed that he was- which was strange, as he couldn’t actually perform alchemy. He’d said something about giving it up for Alphonse? She hadn’t been interested.
But if Edward was a former State Alchemist, he was military, and maybe…maybe his bitch of a wife had pulled some strings, called someone and gotten the military involved? Involved enough to protect her? Not move her, or she’d either have known from her contact in Resembool or been dealing with a very frustrated Tam over the phone right now.
What if they waited? And ambushed Tam? How could one country bumpkin State Alchemist and his country bumpkin wife have that kind of pull? She was being paranoid- but being paranoid was what had kept her safe from the local gangs and that rabid dog running the Federal Police.
No, it was time to act.
She plastered on a genial smile as she took a microphone off of support pillar in the middle of her entwined, writhing flock,
“Hello, my little Dragonflies; I have the gladdest tidings! The energy of the world has shifted! We can begin the Great Rebirth, early! Come my little ones, meet me in the Atrium of Pleasures…”
She dropped the microphone and collared the nearest Warder by the jacket,
“Find those two little blonde bastards and bring them to me, now!” She hissed, hating having to rely on others as her mind darted to what she needed to do next to get this over quickly.
Edwards_Blade on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Jul 2025 02:42PM UTC
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IngramM10 on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Jul 2025 02:45PM UTC
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Edwards_Blade on Chapter 1 Sat 26 Jul 2025 03:46PM UTC
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Edwards_Blade on Chapter 3 Sat 23 Aug 2025 07:51AM UTC
Last Edited Sat 23 Aug 2025 10:42AM UTC
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