He Who Searches for Himself - Chapter 40 (2nd half)

[yuuki]

... First Half ...

Mustang stood beneath the clear sky and 9am sun, arms folded, brow lowered, and gaze as cross as ever while trying to stare down a church in shambles at the heart of Old Central. He'd found a mess like he'd expected; the church steeple had fallen off, the windows had shattered leaving glass everywhere, and part of the west wall had crumbled down bringing half of the roof with it.

"It's busted," Mustang announced flatly.

"Maybe we should look inside before burning it down and burying it?" Havoc offered, like the idea of desecrating one of the oldest buildings in Central was a little beneath the three of them, "someone might have been inside."

Mustang sighed and relented to the suggestion, though he remained beyond unimpressed with why they'd bothered venturing out in the first place. If something in Russell Tlingum's words hadn't continued to tickle Mustang's curiosity all night long they wouldn't have shown up.

The trio entered through the collapsed side of the building, since the steeple blocked the front doorway, and the three officers stepped around broken glass, fallen chunks of stone and debris as they made their way carefully through the mess. The collapse had taken out half of the wooden seating, a good portion of the front stage, and had buried the centre alter.

"Yeah, this is busted," Havoc conceded.

Hawkeye's hands took hold of one of the pews and with all the strength she had to give, she shoved it aside to open a path down what had once been the centre aisle, "Mr Tlingum didn't give you any reason for this?"

Mustang walked along the aisle beyond the far reaches of undamaged pews, each step he took crunching down on broken glass, his voice as sharp as the shards he walked on, "He just said 'trust me'."

It was a shame that the Tlingum brothers hadn't really given them any reason not to trust them since being drawn into the fray, otherwise Mustang wouldn't have bothered with this journey.

The senior officer made his way up onto the front for the building as Riza pushed aside another pew, stepping around a mangled pile of debris that had once been the front podium.

"Guess we oughtta prep her for the cooker," Havoc gnawed lightly on the end of his unlit cigarette.

When Havoc turned to see if his superior officers had a response for him, he stopped to watch as Mustang crouched down to the floor and peered under the planks of fallen roof.

"Is someone one under there?" Havoc asked.

"No," Mustang grabbed hold of some debris and pulled it out from beneath the layers of roofing, "there's a draft coming out from here."

Both Havoc and Hawkeye exchanged a glance.

"A draft?" Hawkeye questioned - there was no wind today.

"Help me dig," Mustang ordered.

With what little they had to aid their bare hands, improvising with planks of wood to break other planks down, the trio worked diligently over the following half hour in a day that slowly grew hotter the higher the sun rose and the longer they worked. Shirts were loosened and un-tucked, jackets were discarded on the floor, and Havoc even went so far as to pluck his pants out from his boots and roll them up to his knees. With an emphatic grunt, Mustang stood on a stubborn collection of wooden planks, jumping up and snapping it in half beneath his body weight. A portion of the debris shifted, allowing Hawkeye and Havoc to throw it aside while Mustang came down to his hands and knees - finally finding the source of his draft.

There was a vent blowing cool air out from beneath the debris of the collapsed podium that had once been front and centre in the church. Grabbing one of the planks of wood that they'd discarded , the senior officer jammed it into the hole on the floor, jarring it around to widen the vent. Havoc and Hawkeye dusted their hands off and watched the hole crumble open until Mustang made it a good foot-size wide.

All three officers were soon on their hands and knees trying to peer in.

"Where the hell does this go?" Mustang frowned.

"Basement?" Havoc offered.

"I don't think it's normal to get a draft coming up from a basement like this," Hawkeye qualified.

"Okay," Mustang stood up abruptly, searching for the sturdiest plank of wood he could find, "let's force it open as wide as it'll go."

A wooden clatter escaped into the hot day as debris was taken into three sets of hands. The exercise of widening the hole was pretty much a display of how much brute force could be put into their poor digging materials - no one had shown up with anything close to a shovel. The wooden planks were rammed against the edges of the hole, weakening and breaking it down. What was more astonishing than the black hole they were opening was that it was not made of any type of construction material - the hole they opened was made of dirt. All three of them worked at the gaping hole for another twenty minutes, watching in astonishment as the hole continued to widen, exposing the top rung of shallow steps that appeared in the final five minutes of work. When Mustang finally called for an end to their efforts, the officers looked into a dark cavern that they'd opened up wide enough to fit a body through.

They all stood back and stared silently at it, glancing around occasionally to see if anyone had come to investigate their noise.

"I'm going down," Mustang announced - the bubble of excitement in his stomach told him this was what Russell Tlingum had sent them here for and he wanted to know the secret. Suddenly the trip had become worth the effort.

Crouching down on his hands and knees, Mustang slipped into the collapsed hole feet first, sliding along his stomach against the dirt and shallow run of stairs until his shoulders popped through. He shuffled back from the entrance on his hands and knees, feeling the evenly carved stairs in the dirt begin to offer a steeper decent. When the remnants of the collapse had stopped littering the steps, the officer rose to his feet. Mustang stood up straight, realizing there was enough clearance for not only his height, but his arm reach as well. He jumped, reaching above his head and feeling that the cold earth against his fingertips. Despite the uncertainty, Mustang had to admit the cool breeze coming up from below was nice on his sweaty back. The light from the entry way suddenly vanished and the senior officer looked back to see Hawkeye slip through the hole.

"Stay up there," he ordered, his voice echoing off the walls of the tunnel.

"You need back up in case there's trouble down here," Hawkeye answered, slipping her way down to a point in the tunnel where she could stand as well.

Both Mustang and Hawkeye watched as Havoc slid in last, the sounds of his rustling body echoing off the walls.

"You can't leave me behind while you go venturing off into a dark tunnel. Just who do you two spelunkers think you are?" the lieutenant stood up, dusting off his pants.

A pause came to the group while they stood in the breeze of the cavern, letting the cooling air dry the sweat from their brows and backs of their necks before shoulders finally stiffened and expressions tightened. Without a word, the sound of marching feet erupted as they made their decent. When the light of the entrance vanished, Mustang donned his glove and snapped his fingers to light what little moss graced the walls, each time re-igniting portions of the wall when the previous light had either been lost or had burnt away. The three walked for what felt like forever in silence, and the deeper they descended the stronger the wind became. Their journey downwards became engulfed in the dark when the wind wouldn't allow Mustang to light anything any longer. The wind in the pitch-black tunnel had noise, like the sound of a howling, crying, and dying animal; it was an unruly, inhumane cry that sent chills down their spines.

At the point where the descent into the earth had begun to feel endless a faint light began to fill the tunnel from up ahead. The winds terrorized their clothes and hair, blowing dust and sediment into their faces, forcing all advancing parties to shield their eyes. When the end of the tunnel was bright and clearly seen, weapons found their way into hands. Cautiously, carefully, and slowly the trio of officers emerged from the stairs and into a new light.

The blowing winds ended, like their exit shut an invisible door behind them.

Where the light source so far down into the earth came from was anybody's guess, but the massive cavern the three officers had walked into was brightly lit and exploded open for miles before their eyes. The massive cavern sent nerves into a frenzy, hearts racing, and stomachs churning. Weapons were lowered from their readied positions, shoulders collapsed, and mouths fell open as three officers stood on the dirt ledge looking out into the underground Empty City beneath Central.

"Good god…"

It was a magnificent, overwhelming, and terrifying sight to behold, more than enough to make the strongest knees weak. The three officers stood frozen by horror, standing at this terrifyingly high perch overlooking a kind of sin that had been so unimaginable none of them could have dreamed up the sight no matter how many times Roze's story was replayed.

This was the Empty City - the city Central had once been before it was re-established hundreds of years ago. It was intact and it was standing for all of them to see. Tens of thousands of people - possibly hundreds of thousands of people had once lived here… an entire civilization had once lived here and had vanished in a single night. Entire genealogies were wiped from existence in a selfish massacre caused by two people and their unfathomable mountain of sins.

Havoc's hand cut through his hair, "This… this is massive."

"This is a graveyard," the words tumbled out of Mustang's open mouth.

The empty underground city was the skeleton of their nation's worst catastrophe - sealed away in an underground closet and coveted by its keeper. It was a sight that was beyond overwhelming.

"Do you hear that?" Hawkeye forced her quieted voice out amidst the visual nightmare.

Voices were hushed, heartbeats were tamed, and the officers stood listening with ears as wide open as their eyes.

"There's music coming from somewhere," Mustang qualified Hawkeye's question, stating a fact of truth that felt like impossible fiction. He couldn't imagine why, or better yet, how the sound of music could be in this-

"Dante's down here," Hawkeye's sidearm was firmly gripped as she derailed her superior's thoughts.

That was the only answer and Mustang re-fitted the glove over his right hand. He hadn't shown up to Old Central with expectations of finding anything remotely close to this, so the matching glove for his other hand had remained at the hotel. Mustang's left hand carried a hand gun instead.

After the burns on her arm had been tended to in the days prior, Izumi had confirmed Dante's newest form was the tiny body of Nina - another flesh trophy for the woman to add to her collection of faces. Strangely, that left Aisa as their biggest mystery, though Dante would remain their biggest obstacle. Mustang was forced to look at his reflection in the mirror and ask himself: if he ever got the opportunity to take on the woman in the body of a child, would he be able to look beyond the physique? He told himself he'd have to. This body-snatching alchemist wasn't an immortal creature - she was a human woman who'd lived hundreds of years through the manipulation of her life and the destruction of countless others. Even as Mustang looked out into the cavern, he couldn't comprehend how one person, or even two people, could be responsible for so many deaths. And it wasn't just this city - there was Ishibal and Lior and who knows what other crimes they hadn't uncovered yet as well. Dante wasn't an alchemist, she was a mass murderer, and she could be shot and killed like any other flesh creature. Mustang glanced between the two best shots he had in the entire nation; if anyone could strike her down…

But this was her turf, not theirs - who knew what this world had in store for them. All of its secrets and mysteries were Dante's to do with as she pleased. A thought of returning to the surface and grabbing backup shot through Mustang's mind, but then who else would he bring? He wasn't going to bring a legion of supporters down into this catastrophe and expose what had been done to the entire world. This city needed to be forgotten and remain forgotten, otherwise the people of Central might never be able to move on. Brigadier General Roy Mustang reached back and snapped his firearm out from its holster.

"Let's find out where it's coming from."

Or at least, find out where in this catacomb Dante had set up her home; it might be their only chance to pin her down. Worst case scenario - they could always come back.

There were a number of things that unsettled the trio of officers about walking through this empty city, most predominantly was a lack of skeletal remains. Massacres on this scale left bodies behind - but this city had nothing. It was like a ghost town except ghost towns had run-down feelings because they become abandoned over time. This one was up-kept, but its colours had dulled and became buried beneath hundreds of year's worth of dust. Mustang found it very unsettling that his mind kept expecting to find a mountain of bones around 'the next corner' at some point. There weren't even a cob webs to be found.

The empty city beneath Central was nothing more than an underground, oversized, filthy, and forgotten dollhouse and everyone felt on edge as they ventured through it.

Then there were the remnants of a magnificent transmutation circle that looked as though it had once been carved into the cavern ceiling. At least that was something they could all avoid looking at, unlike everything else.

Their journey towards the music pulled them through the dusty city, luring them to somewhere near the centre of town, to a building Mustang could only refer to as 'magnificent' once they'd reached it. It was a gorgeous, ancient building with hand crafted pillars, heavy etched doors to each room, marble flooring everywhere, crystal candlelit chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, and draperies hanging from the walls. Hundreds of years ago, anyone who was anybody must have come here in their finest gowns. Portraits of people who'd been expunged from their history books hung in the halls amongst the fabric art. This monumental building was the only place they'd encountered that had been maintained, which caused heart rates and tensions to rise. Then there was the faint odour to the building that did not exist anywhere else in the city - it was like perfume, only it didn't seem all that pleasant.

Mustang wished for the dust to return, because it dampened the sounds of their feet on the floor and now every step they took had to be more cautious and carefully placed than the last. He also wished for the music to end - it was the same four-minute piece playing over and over and over…

Eyes spoke to each other without the need for words, heads motioned in directions when arms couldn't, and feet slid along the marble surface that waited desperately for one of the officers to miss a step and announce their presence. The entrance to the grand ballroom was obvious; it was etched in gold upon a plaque attached to the door. Rather than force the heavy doors open, the three officers slowly made their way up a wide, winding staircase, taking themselves up to the balcony level of the grand centrepiece. The hall was long, curving around the ballroom, each balcony jetting out over the dance floor from behind a heavy, purple velvet curtain. The officers walked to the end of the hall where the lighting was the dimmest, hoping they'd be able to duck under the curtain and not have anyone notice its movement. Mustang crouched down and made the cautious slip onto the corner balcony.

The music was coming from somewhere in the ballroom, but where exactly was unclear. Keeping himself as low to the floor as possible, the officer's good eye cautiously allowed more and more of the wide ballroom floor beyond the balcony rails into his sights. It became more than apparent to Mustang that there was nobody in this ballroom for them to see - no voices and no movement; just the endless music grinding on his nerves.

Mustang squinted, trying to examine a curious sight on the ballroom floor. There was a black transmutation circle that had been drawn, something Mustang had seen maybe once or twice before in Ishibal - he'd never bothered to take note of it. There was a red 'splat' mark at the centre of the room and it smeared along the floor unevenly and eventually vanished into an archway adjacent to the entryway doors and beneath an overhang. All of Mustang's experiences told him that it looked like a bloodied body had been dragged or thrown along the floor by a person not willing, not strong enough, or not big enough to actually pick up their victim. Mustang swallowed and slowly ducked back behind the curtain.

The officers came down from the balcony level without a sound, trying unsuccessfully to tune out the music that wore on them, and headed for the ballroom entrance doors. With gloves on and weapons poised, heartbeats flying and adrenaline pumping, Mustang carefully pushed down on the left door handle, opening up the expansive room to their eyes and flooding their ears with the sound of unwanted music. Without a sound each officer entered the ballroom, weapons readied and eyes flying about, seeing nothing and no one within the ancient hall. They did not emerge from the entrance area, choosing instead to admire the grand hall from a distance and allowing their eyes to follow the smear of dried blood into the archway, watching it vanish into the unlit hallway on their left. None of them knew where that hallway lead and the darkness dissuaded them from finding out.

Havoc caught his senior officers' attention and mouthed 'we should go' clearly, receiving nods in response. Both Havoc and Hawkeye began to back out before Mustang, the senior officer's head sharply looking left and right to let his good eye absorb all there was to see of the room, burning the image of a bloodstained trail into his mind. Surely Dante wouldn't drag her own victims and leave such a mess, would she? She must have numerous people to do that work for her.

It was a preposterous idea, but Mustang's next step did not go backwards, it went sideways, and the man inched himself towards the hall on his blindside, curiosity eating at him so badly from the crimson trail that vanished without answer into the darkness. He would only stray along the blood's path as far as the light would allow him to see and no farther; if there was nothing to be found, no further lit path to take, no pile of Dante's sacrificial bodies to examine, then he would retreat.

Mustang had to wave away Hawkeye, whose glare could have killed him under any other circumstance. The officer continued to inch himself along, his right fingers poised for a snap, his left hand poised to fire, and his nerves wishing he could ignite the machine causing all the music.

The point where the light from the hall became useless was meant to be the point where Mustang turned back, but it was also the point where the hallway opened up on his left and broke off into another unlit hall on his right. The officer figured this had been where the ballroom hosts poured their drinks, readied their food, and prepared themselves for their onslaught of guests. Mustang's attention veered curiously into the opening space at his left, taking a step into the darkened expanse.

A 'click' sounded at Mustang's left ear - he froze. The sound had been right at his ear and his stomach sank like a lead anchor had been dropped in, quickly feeling it heave into his throat. There was a gun pointed at his head on his blind side and Mustang didn't know what he was supposed to do next beyond curse himself for taking on this dark hall in the first place. He would have to terrorize the man who coined the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat' in his afterlife. The weapon holder was too tall to be Dante, which made his subjugator either Aisa or any one of the manipulated pawns Izumi had described Dante working with. Wouldn't it be ironic if he turned around and saw Prime Minister Mitchell, Mustang mused. The person holding him motionless gave no orders or commands for what he should do, did not give instructions for him to drop his weapon, remove his glove, or lower his arms… nothing was said to even validate someone's existence behind him beyond the cold tap Mustang felt of the weapon's tip behind his ear.

The man's mouth was too dry to swallow, "Are you going to shoot?" he asked harshly.

No answer was given.

"Or are you just going to fucking stand there like a zombie?"

Apparently that's what was going to happen, because all Mustang got for an answer was silence. It wasn't just any silence; it was endless, nervous silence. The officer stood frozen for minutes that lasted forever, locked motionless by the oppressive sensation of a weapon against his head. But the longer it went on, the more Mustang didn't understand why the situation did not progress. In a ballsy show of frustration and defiance, he allowed himself to move, completely lowering his arms, and Mustang turning around over his left shoulder, hearing the definitive sound of a single footstep adjust as his captor moved.

He was permitted to turn around far enough that his good right eye began to take in the scene.

A solid arm pointed a weapon at his head. Mustang blanched, feeling his blood chill at the sight; its wielder was pale and looked sleepless, had eyes that appeared sunken, bloodshot, and heavy - they couldn't hold their focus. Lips that were brittle, dry and dehydrated were licked, swallowing for nothing.

Roy's mouth fell open, finding it almost impossible to pull the air from his lungs that he needed to speak, "Ed…?"

The name had come from his mouth and Mustang couldn't believe he'd said it. Was this even possible? This person, standing taller than Mustang, didn't respond to the name; it was like he hadn't heard it. Was it even Ed?

Ed had been trapped beyond the Gate; Mustang had known that much about the older Elric brother's plight and Brigitte had all but confirmed it… so when had thishappened? How had this happened?

What in the world had gone on in this underground city that had brought Edward home?

"Edward…" Roy found his voice again, bringing up his right gloved hand and placing it atop the gun, putting his pinky finger between the hammer and the chamber so no bullet could be fired, "Ed, it's me."

This person was a tall boy sweating buckets with mangled golden hair falling everywhere, escaping wildly from the tie on the back of his head. His shirt was unbuttoned and Roy could see how heavily Ed breathed behind it. The rotation of Roy's world was suddenly spinning in the opposite direction and he began to add pressure to the rigid left arm that Ed was using to hold him back, soon forcing Ed to lower his guard. The gun in Roy's left hand was hastily holstered and once the revolver Ed held was peeled from Ed's grasp, one finger at a time, it was slipped into the Roy's belt as well.

The only way Roy could process what he saw, or didn't see, in Edward was to describe him as being overwhelmed - like everything and anything had tried to crush him and he'd managed to crawl out of the rubble.

"Ed, you need to sit down," Roy looked him over once more; there were a million questions to ask and even more answers to be had, but for this moment Roy more concerned about making sure Ed didn't pass out on him, "come on."

The older man's hands reached out and came down onto Ed's shoulders, an action that derailed all of Roy Mustang's impending actions. The officer's hands clenched the eldest Elric brother for a moment before Roy frantically had the open shirt thrown off of Ed's shoulders. The man's jaw teetered around wordlessly, the good eye devouring what little could be seen in the depths of the building, unable to come up with something to say at the sight of Ed wearing both flesh shoulders. Roy abruptly grabbed the soft right arm and hauled it out from the shirt sleeve. This was it, with flesh, blood, and bone; it was really here - Edward Elric's flesh right arm. He couldn't believe it. The man's dark eye narrowed at the sight of a nasty raw and open wound in the palm of the right hand. Throughout Roy's abrupt examination the golden blonde spoke no words, put up no fight or protest, and moved like a ragged doll. The right arm had been limp as it was admired. Before the part of Roy's mind kicked him for not picking up on any signs, Ed collapsed.

"Woah," Roy caught him, dropping down to one knee and snagging Ed under his arm before Ed hit the ground completely, "easy… easy." All of the alarm bells in the officer's head were going off telling him that something was seriously wrong and a million worst-case scenarios began playing out. Ed was warm to the touch and when Roy checked for a pulse, he found one that rocketed along. The officer had no idea what exactly it was that was wrong and didn't want to imagine what could be wrong with Ed inside Dante's stronghold.

"Come on, we need to get you out of here…"

"No," the refusal sounded like it had been strangled out of his lungs.

Looking around the darkened room, holding the fallen Elric gingerly against his shoulder, Roy's right arm flew out and he set a momentary flame alive in the palm of his hand. Movement erupted in the far corner of the room, and before the light vanished Roy heard a girl's voice squeak and saw a body curl away.

"Borrowing this," Roy relieved Ed of his shirt entirely, tossing it emphatically into the centre of the floor and setting it ablaze with the snap of his fingers.

In the flame-lit room, Mustang's eyes widened, the trail of blood ended in the corner of the room, and the officer watched - no, he heard - the panic in Winry's breaths, watching her arms wrap tightly around the unmoving, blood-soaked body of Alphonse Elric cradled in her lap. Her face, her complexion, everything gave off the same sickened, sunken, exhausted look that Edward had before he'd collapsed, but the sight of Al bloodied, limp, and cradled in Winry's care changed everything.

"What in the…" Roy gasped, releasing Ed as he tried to climb past the defensive elder brother. The man made it nowhere, falling to the floor when Ed's left hand flew out and grabbed hold of the front of Roy's shirt - the two of them hit the ground with a thud. Frantically Roy picked his head up, watching the Elric brother move like a fish out of water, trying to balance on the elbow of his right arm and finding no success in the task. The dark eyes of the officer shot to Ed's grip.

"Ed, you need to let go."

That just made it worse, and Ed's knuckles began to turn white.

"Let go, FullMetal," Roy deepened his voice, watching Ed's brow twitch as he tried to see if an authoritarian officer's command would do the trick, "I'm going to help, but you need to let me."

The subsequent few seconds caused Mustang to hold his breath. Amidst the devouring sound of the flame eating the sweat-soaked shirt Ed had worn and illuminated by the flickering light that was created from it, the older brother's fingers loosened and fell down from Roy's shirt, echoing with a light slap when it hit the ground.

"You t'take care of'm f'me."

The response locked Roy's existence down and left him seated stunned on the floor. It was an audible request that barely sounded human. Whatever was wrong, Edward was fighting through it, and Roy watched both the new and old flesh hands move, digging through the pale face while Ed growled at who knows what.

"I'll take care of them, trust me."

Roy Mustang had no idea what was wrong with these three that he needed to take care of, but he would find a way to do it.

To Be Continued…

A/N:

- So sorry this took so long. Constructive concrit made sure this wasn't a botch job. Give AmunRa lots of thanks for making sure I didn't give you a dud to read! I think this version of the chapter can be called version 2.5 lol! Any remaining errors are my fault (and you can PM me if you find them!)
- Ed will figure out why he got his arm and leg back later.
- I don't believe Ed has ever regretted what he did for Al. He may have wished for other things, but Ed has always taken the decisions he's made and lived with them, whether he liked it or not.
- The gun Hitler had left behind for Ed and Winry had came through the Gate with them - Ed had kept hold of it, rather than ditching it after he'd used the two bullets in case it came in handy. His plan had been to escape, so rather than ditching it so that Hitler could pick it up again, reload it, and use it, Ed held on to it.
- I've had a couple comments passed my way about the spelling of Russell and Fletcher's last name. So, in case anyone's wondering (because the info is really old now) the spelling I've used for Tlingum is the official English spelling Bones used way back when. You can find Russell's name plate (or Nash's) that Bones used if you google 'Tlingum'.