Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ The Forge Alchemist ❯ Prologue: The Last Hope ( Prologue )

Title: The Forged Alchemist

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Summary: The Homunculus have left Amestris in shambles, and the new Fuhrer is an incompetent who is leading the country to downfall. When all hope is lost, Edward puts to the test a theoretical array, and enter Edwin Auric, the son of Hohenheim of Light, and elder half brother to Edward and Alphonse Elric.

 

Prologue

 

“Over the top!”

 

In the heavy downpour, they surged forward, scrambling over the top of the muddy ditch and running, back bent, teeth gritted, squinting through the rain. Behind him, a shell tore apart the ground, and the momentum from the explosion sent him and a dozen others flying in a massive spray of shrapnel and mud. No matter - it happened all the time. Once he landed, awkwardly on his left foot and right hand, he clapped his hands together and slammed them to the earth.

 

He heard it, but didn't see it. Bloodcurdling screams, then nothing, as the ground rose in solid stone spikes and tore the enemy apart. His command continued on its charge across the no man's land, feet kicking up mud, some with guns, some only using alchemy, and some with a mixture of both. He was towards the back where the survivors always were, and it did occur to him that the men in front were being gunned down at a steady rate.

 

This was reality. Not every one of them could be expected to survive such a desperate charge, but the numbers involved ensured that enough made it. They literally poured into the enemy trenches, bayonets out and weapons unfurled, and the Drachmans - unsuspecting, and yet surged on by the adrenaline similar to that of cornered, wild animals - fought viciously, taking down an entire line of Amestrian soldiers before they were overwhelmed. He clapped his hands and surged in with the rest, transmuting his automail right arm into a wicked blade, and ripping his sidearm from its holster as he all but fell into the enemy trench, only vaguely aware of the soldiers falling all around him.

 

Before this war, he'd never wiped human blood off his automail, never actually used his sidearm, despite the military needing all its soldiers, Alchemists or no, to have some proficiency with a gun (It had nothing to do with the fact that Mustang never let him even hold a gun without supervision until he had turned sixteen.). Now he understood that killing Greed, and even being responsible for the deaths of others, was different than actually taking the life of another human. A homunculus was something born to die, an anomaly never intended for the world. Knowing others had died because of his actions was chilling, but nowhere near as chilling as actually thrusting his blade through the chest of a living, breathing human being, then turning and firing a gun into the face of the person trying to sneak up behind him.

 

The worst part was that it was easy. Frighteningly, mind numbingly easy. He ducked a bayonet and drew his blade diagonally across a man's torso. He fell and was trampled by the advancing soldiers. His booted foot swung upwards, catching a man in Drachman browns and grays in the chin, before the automail slid cleanly and evenly through his chest. Ed practically tossed him off the end of the blade, and even before then, he was dead. His other hand was pulling the trigger on his gun, firing, firing, and then it was empty, and he stuffed it back in its holster before clapping and slapping his hands to the muddy, bloody ground, liquefying the dirt and mud, and sucking the enemy down in a bloody parody of quicksand. The screaming came to an abrupt halt as Edward touched his hands together and pressed them to the ground again, and the ground solidified. The battlefield took on an eerie calm as the blonde alchemist suddenly realized that the battle was over. Had been from the moment he'd liquefied the ground under the Drachmans.

 

Edward Elric, stood up slowly, his insides numb as he surveyed the battlefield of weary Amestrian soldiers and the few prisoners of war being led away by the victors. Once, in the beginning, when all this had started, he had been glad that Mustang and his staff had helped in convincing the teen, newly restored to a body of flesh and blood, to return to Risembool instead of following his brother to the conflict every time he saw the aftermath of heated battle. Now, he could hardly care less. The atrocities of war was whittling away at his heart little by little, and he was too tired to care.

 

Ever since the homunculus had been dealt with, ever since Hakuro took over as Fuhrer, Amestris had been slipping into decline. Even as his successes in the battlefield led to his being promoted, and his own commanding officers rose up in the ranks as a result, they all knew the truth. Amestris was on the verge of downfall because of the actions of the homunculus, and the Fuhrer Hakuro's incompetence had not helped matters. Mustang and his staff and affiliated allies had raced against the clock to fix things, and little more than a month ago, Hakuro had been ousted and Olivia Armstrong had been inaugurated as Madame Fuhrer. But they knew, the ones involved in ousting Hakuro, they all knew that it was too little, too late. It would take nothing short of a miracle to get Amestris out of the trouble it was in now.

 

Because no matter how many battles Amestris won, Drachma had allies, and Amestris was alone. No matter how many battles Amestris won, even if they defeated Drachma, they would still have to face the other countries, and they wouldn't stop until Amestris was only so much dust.

 

Not for the first time in his life, as he turned away from the Drachman field and followed the Amestrian soldiers back to their own field, Edward Elric tasted in his mouth the bitterness of despair.

 

~*~

 

“With all due respect, Madame Fuhrer, Fullmetal will go insane if we leave him on the field!”

 

“I dislike leaving the Lieutenant-Colonel out there in his condition as much as you do, Brigadier-General Mustang,” the woman snapped, “however we have no choice! You know full well that we need to break down his reckless streak before we can go through with our plans. However young he may be, Lieutenant-Colonel Elric is important to our plans, and until he is sufficiently tempered, he stays in the field!”

 

“This will break him.”

 

“We all thought the same about you in Ishbal, but you survived,” Olivia Armstrong's voice was firm. “And Lieutenant-Colonel Elric knows what is at stake here. He will not crumble when we need him most. Dismissed.”

 

Brigadier-General Roy Mustang straightened his back and saluted and left. His face showed nothing of the doubts roiling in his mind. It had been almost two years since Amestris had entered a war with Drachma, and it had been a year since the Fuhrer had sent his staff into the battlefields, each one of them moving up in the ranks as their word of their successes went to the top. Especially the baby of their staff, the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric, now eighteen, and no longer simply a Major, but a Lieutenant-Colonel, on whose shoulders the fate of Amestris would rest if the Fuhrer had her way.

 

~*~

 

“Welcome back, boss,” Jean Havoc's smile was forced as the blonde alchemist climbed into the backseat of the military car. “We've missed you.”

 

Cool golden eyes surveyed the older blonde and nodded slowly, “I would say the same, Havoc,” Edward said carefully, “If I could bring myself to say it.”

 

“No problem, boss,” Havoc's voice was shaky, “We all know you missed us as much as we missed you. We're all in this together right?”

 

“To an extent, yes.”

 

“Think you're ready for what comes next, kid?”

 

“I would not be here if I was not,” his voice was as bland as his face.

 

“Got enough cash in your pockets to start over, kid?”

 

“More than enough.”

 

“How about ammo?”

 

“If I lack ammunition, I can transmute them. If worse comes to worse, I am a capable Combat Alchemist.”

 

“No watch?”

 

“Not allowed, and you know it,” Edward's voice was a mixture of annoyed and curious, “What is wrong with you Havoc?”

 

“Hey,” Havoc glanced at the alchemist's reflection in the rearview mirror, “None of us wanted this to happen. We'd all switch places with you in an instant.”

 

Golden eyes softened. “I know.”

 

“It's been what? Six years?” Havoc asked, “Time sure flies doesn't it? Feels like only yesterday that you were flying off the handle at Chief for teasing you and he was busy trying to protect you and Al from the military.”

 

“That was four years ago,” Edward's voice was tinged with amusement, “Yesterday, I was on a train on my way back from Drachma.”

 

Havoc snorted as he chewed restlessly on the end of his unlit cigarette. “Doesn't seem right anymore,” he mused, “I missed when you were a kid, boss. Least then, you didn't always have the eyes of a soldier. Damn Drachma, and damn that Hakuro…”

 

“We all do our part.” Edward lied through his teeth, and Havoc's eyes looking at him in the mirror told him that the older blonde knew it. “For my family, in the military and out of it,” he added, deciding to be at least a little truthful, “That's what kept me going in Drachma. It'll be what keeps me going later.”

 

“Won't be enough kid,” Havoc's voice was sad, “We won't know you. We won't know to support you. We'll all meet Edward Elric and know to support him, but we won't know you. Not unless….” Not unless you screw up somewhere and we find ourselves at war with the rest of the world as our opponents again…

 

Edward's eyes hardened and Havoc knew that the young Lieutenant-Colonel had picked up on the unspoken words. “Alchemist, be thou for the people,” Edward said quietly, “If Amestris has that much faith in me, I will not let it be in vain.”

 

Havoc fixed his eyes on the road in front of him, resolutely concentrating on his driving. It was chilling to see those cool, shuttered eyes on the face of a boy he'd watched grow up. The Fullmetal Alchemist's control was proof that the Fuhrer's plans had gone through though. It meant that the once reckless teen's passions had been cooled and his spirit had been tempered by the battlefield in Drachma. He was no longer a child, not even the Champion of the People that the common Amestrian people believed him to be, but a tool of the military, controlled, precise, and aware of his duty. Everything that Olivia Armstrong had hoped for in the weapon that was to be sent back into the past to prevent the fall of Amestris.

 

As they pulled up in front of Central Headquarters, and as Edward left the car, Havoc stopped him.

 

“Hey, we know you have to go immediately, so there's no time for proper goodbyes, but here,” Havoc held out a small book, the size of a pocket dictionary. “Al had the idea for it, and Chief helped us put it together for you. It contains some letters from all of us, for different times if you need us.” His lips quirked wryly, “We even got some letters and pictures from Gracia for you, and I think Armstrong put some “family stories” in there for you. Just so you know, even if we don't know you, we're still with you.”

 

Edward smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and took the book and tucked it into a pocket. “Thanks, Havoc. Tell the others that I appreciate it.”

 

Havoc nodded, and as he escorted Edward to the massive tent set up on the parade grounds, he tried not to think about the fact that this young man (young man because after the fiasco in the Underground City and after what he'd seen and done in Drachma, he could no longer be considered a child), who from the very start had outranked him even at the age of twelve, was about to be dropped into the nightmare of his past with only a few small trinkets and a few slips of paper as his only support. Hell, Edward couldn't even wear his uniform for some security because of what they were trying to pull.

 

“Don't think so much on it, Jean,” Edward said suddenly, his voice shaking, “Or you'll wear down my resolve.”

 

Havoc stiffened at the sound of the young man's voice, remembering times in the past when he'd sounded exactly like he was now, sounding so much younger than he actually was, and instantly spun around and threw his arms around Edward. “Dammit Boss,” he muttered, “Why'd it have to be you? You're just a kid!”

 

“Because Edward Elric should never have been anything more than that child prodigy that Roy Mustang and his staff always tried to protect,” Edward said quietly. “Thanks for everything, Havoc.”

 

“That and you were always in the middle of everything,” Havoc straightened, and gave the Edward a shaky smile. “We're rooting for you, boss, so don't screw this up.”

 

Edward snorted, “Gee, no pressure,” he muttered, and slapped aside the tent flap and stepped inside and saluted. “Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Elric, reporting for duty, Madam.”

 

The Fuhrer, surrounded by officers and State Alchemists turned and acknowledged the blonde calmly. “At ease, Lieutenant-Colonel. And welcome back. I trust you have a restful journey?”

 

“Yes, Madame Fuhrer,” Edward said, “The trip was fine thank you.”

 

“You are ready then.”

 

“Yes, Madam.”

 

She took a small, leather bound book from one of her aides and handed it to the blonde, who took the book and tucked it into a pocket inside his jacket.

 

“This is a record of events that you can be expected to see or be a part of and contains records of personnel who may be open minded enough to help you. It will provide you with proof if proof you need to convince them. We cannot give you anything more than what you already have, unfortunately. The array will not carry anything more than what is on your person at the moment. Good luck, Lieutenant-Colonel.”

 

He nodded and made his way toward the massive array that multiple State Alchemists had been pulled away from Drachma to create. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head slightly to meet a concerned dark eye.

 

“Brigadier-General Mustang.”

 

“Fullmetal,” Mustang surveyed his subordinate carefully. “Are you sure you're ready for this? I know we can talk the Fuhrer into giving you a few hours…”

 

“This has to be done sir,” Edward replied, “and if I wait, I'll probably somehow talk myself out of this.”

 

Mustang sighed. “Stubborn brat,” he said affectionately. “Here,” he pulled a small package wrapped in white fabric.

 

Edward blinked and took the package, sharp golden eyes noting wryly that the wrapping of the package was a pair of the older alchemist's ignition gloves and unwrapped it to reveal a gleaming silver pocket watch with the flamel engraved on it.

 

“So you don't lose track of time since you can't take your watch with you,” Mustang said lightly.

 

Edward smirked as he rewrapped the watch in the ignition gloves and slipped it into a pocket. “My pockets are becoming fuller by the minute,” he said. “I'll run out of space to put all of this pretty soon.”

 

Mustang snorted. “As if brat. I know you. You have at least a dozen pockets on that coat of yours, and at least two of them are empty.” His eyes softened. “Good luck Edward. We're counting on you.”

 

Edward nodded. “I won't fail.”

 

With a lot more confidence then he felt, Edward walked into the center of the massive array. He stood there, taking slow, deep breaths as dozens of State Alchemists took up their positions around the array, and clapped his hands. Immediately, the other Alchemists slammed their hands onto the outer perimeter, pouring their energy into the array. Edward swiftly slapped his hands onto the inner circle of the array as each alchemist broke off the connection, leaving him to control the flow of energy. The array flared, and Edward, only faintly aware of the eyes of the officers and alchemists on him, lifted his automail hand off the array, grabbed a knife from his belt, and slit his wrist, stuck the blade between his teeth, clapped again, and slapped his hands back onto the array.

 

The array flared once more, this time a blinding white, and the assembled officers and alchemists threw their hands over their eyes to keep from being blinded. The light from the array faded, and when they looked at the center of the array that had been burned into the parade ground, Edward Elric was gone.

 

“Did it work?” one of the generals asked.

 

“Yes,” the Fuhrer answered, “The rest is up to Lieutenant-Colonel Elric now.”

 

~*~

 

TBC…