Truth
You want to know the worst thing about war? It's not the sight of it, as many people think. You get used to the images of mangled bodies piling in mass graves, of murdered children bleeding in the streets, of a mother holding her dead child in her dying arms. It's scary how fast one gets used to that.
It's not that feeling in your gut, either. You know the one; or maybe you don't, only those who have killed can truly describe it. It's like you've lost a piece of your soul, a part of your humanity that will never return. No number of so called "good deeds" can make one forget that feeling.
It's not even the endless cacophony of screaming voices, the sound of genocide. The air grows still enough after a while, and that silence makes one forget the noise in the first place.
You really want to know, huh? I guess I have no choice but to tell you. Just don't say I didn't warn you, Alchemist.
It's the smell. The foul stench of bombs and bullets and blood and bodies, of flesh and bone decaying in the endless heaps of rubble. You can't get it out of your clothes, no matter how many times you wash them and yourself. There's always that lingering smell, constantly festering about you like flies above a carcass. That stench brings back each individual memory as if in a nightmare, a never ending dream of death and decay.
That's the worst thing about war, Mustang. I pray that you'll never have to experience it for yourself.
A golden ray of sunlight flooded through the nearby open window, landing precisely on the sleeping human's hard shut eyes. The powerful rays of the dawn illuminated the entire hospital room, reflecting off various metal surfaces to create a dazzling array of sparkling stars. The warm light revealed a pair of white gloves with intricate red runes painted on the center placed haphazardly on a nearby dark oak desk. They were blackened and worn in sections, especially around the fingertips.
Resting next to these was a small book of simple design with a pen clipped to the inner cover. On the surface was the word "Notes" scrawled in hastily written black text. The book had a somewhat sinister aura about it, like it contained something forbidden, some knowledge that never should have been discovered.
In response to the break of day, dozens of song birds rang out in melodious sonnets from just outside the stone aperture. It was to this beautiful sound that the Colonel awoke, not the warm beam of yellow light across his eyes. To his disappointment, he found again that opening them failed to free him from his prison of darkness. For a moment, he counted the Elric brothers as lucky. It may have cost the short one an arm and a leg to know the Truth, but at least he still retained his ability to see the beauty in the world around him.
The Colonel sighed. Victimizing himself wasn't going to cure his blindness. The only thing to do was to move forward. Even without his sight, Roy Mustang was certain of his ability to rebuild the broken nation of Amestris as its new leader. More had been done by those with far less at their disposal in the past.
Tentatively, he sat up, various aches and pains groaning across his battered frame. As much as he hated to admit it, the Colonel knew his physical body had been through a lot in the past week. He had fractured numerous bones, broke two of his ribs, suffered internal bleeding, lost over three liters of fluid and had his sight stolen away. The painkillers could only help so much, and the Colonel generally avoided taking them at all due to their mind numbing side effects.
Nonetheless, Mustang refused to show his pain to anyone, not even his most trusted allies. With the fate of the nation teetering in the balance, the last thing the people needed was a leader who seemed weak and broken. Image matters much more than reality in the game of politics.
For a long moment, the Flame Alchemist sat silently, his eyes staring emptily into the white painted wall a couple of meters in front of his face. He gripped his thigh with his right hand, retrieving from his trouser pocket a large, silvery pocket watch with an ornate design of a roaring lion on the front cover. It shone brightly in the morning light, like the brightest star in the black night sky or the only candle in an empty room. He brushed his fingers across the face of the watch, feeling each individual scratch and etch in the metallic surface.
After a long sigh, the Colonel said aloud, "You used to be a symbol of hope. How easily deceived I was by your beauty and power. Never again."
"What, sir?"
The sudden voice shocked the Colonel out of his thoughts. He swiftly turned his head towards the source of the crystal clear voice, his face clearly portraying his surprise. He quickly identified the voice belonging to his trusted lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye. She stood in the now opened doorway in military blue service uniform complete with various accolades and awards. Her brown eyes were drawn in concern over Mustang's less than favorable physical condition.
"How long have you been standing there, lieutenant?"
"Long enough, sir. I hope I didn't wake you."
Mustang brushed the comment aside with a wave of his hand, "I was already up. What's the matter?"
"Doctor Marco is ready to see you now. He says that it's best to do it on an empty stomach, so we'll have to skip breakfast until after the procedure."
The Colonel chuckled slightly to himself, "Skip breakfast? I defeat an army of Homunculi and overthrow a corrupted regime and this is the thanks I get?"
Hawkeye grinned slightly, "That's the military for you, sir."
Mustang pulled his loose hospital gown tighter, tying the coarse strings clumsily around the chest. "Well then, let's get it over with. Bring him in."
Hawkeye quickly stepped out the room, motioning down the long hallway for a figure dressed in simple gray clothing forwards. Within a few moments, the figure entered the small, weakly furnished hospital room, his scarred and contorted face drawn together in determination and focus.
"Good morning, Colonel Mustang. I trust that you are doing well?"
"As well as I can be, Doctor Marco. How are you holding up?"
Marco placed a tender hand on his scarred face, "The skin on my face is starting to smooth out a little, but I doubt that it's ever going to get much better than it is. No matter. Down to business; Colonel, are you sure you want to go through with this procedure? I have little experience in the field of ocular medicine; any number of things could go terribly wrong."
Mustang tried his best to look into the deformed doctor's eyes, saying with an iron resolve, "My life in your hands, doctor. I won't be able to move forward effectively in my current state."
Marco sighed, his eyes glancing downwards towards the decrepit book on the desk. "You know, Mustang, the more I have to use my research, the more I wish that I had never discovered it in the first place. If you really want to do this, then lets make it fast."
The Colonel nodded, gripping the pocket watch firmly in his hand. After a moment, he placed it back into his small pocket and said to his lieutenant, "You don't have to watch if you don't want to, Hawkeye. If I've learned anything from my experience with the Philosopher's Stone, its that using it is often a painful and ugly experience for everyone involved."
Hawkeye's expression steeled, "That's not an option, sir. I'm seeing this through until the end."
Mustang closed his eyes and smiled to himself, "Thank you, lieutenant. No matter what happens, I just want you to know that-"
"Tell me about it on the other side."
The sudden interjection caught the Colonel off guard. For a moment, awkward silence filled the small room. Doctor Marco at last alleviated the quiet atmosphere as he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small, glowing crimson stone. All eyes instantly fell upon the jagged, crystalline object of immense, dark powers. Marco brought the stone to his eye level, analyzing it closely.
"I created this object out of the souls of human beings. Right now, they're suffering blindly, trapped within the stone. I cannot ask their forgiveness, but I can hope that their pain and sacrifice will return your sight, Colonel Mustang."
The Colonel didn't respond for a moment, gazing directly at the white wall with his eyes full of determination and passion. After a few seconds, Mustang's voice echoed within the cubicle, "Go ahead, doctor. Words won't alter whatever fate lies before us."
Marco nodded swiftly, beads of glistening sweat sliding down his grotesque cheek and dropping onto the hard stone floor below. His heart shook rapidly as he brought the incomplete Philosopher's Stone to Mustang's blank eyes. Lieutenant Hawkeye stood silently in the corner of the room, a concerned expression betraying her calm demeanor.
Forcing his own will upon the crimson stone, Marco focused the evil energies towards Mustang's blind eyes. Instantly, a deep red glow filled the room, emanating from the jagged stone itself. A foul and potent stench, like the smell of blood mingled with steel, filled the air as red sparks of light began shooting out of the crystal object in rapid bursts. A low and constant droning filled the ears of the room's occupants, reverberating into their very souls.
The light quickly grew fiercer, growing in strength and power until the entire room was painted in a crimson aura. With a flick of his finger, Doctor Marco redirected the Philosopher's Stone's alchemic energy into the Colonel's gray eyes. Red bolts of lightning concentrated around the severed nerves of his eyes, beginning to construct pathways that had long since been stolen.
The Colonel began to shake violently in response to the invading energy, the veins in his arms and hands dilating and contracting, his eyes glowing a bright crimson. Despite the overwhelming pain, Mustang controlled his physical being enough to stay mostly in place while Doctor Marco increased the power concentration.
"Stay with me, Colonel! We're almost through, just a little more and-"
Doctor Marco's encouraging words were cut short as he was blown backwards by an invisible force, gliding through the air and colliding against the hard stone wall. A chilling crack erupted from his backside as he slumped down the surface of the plastered wall, finally collapsing on the rough ground in a crumpled heap. Before the startled lieutenant was able to react, the same force knocked her feet backwards, causing her face to greet the floor with no large amount of grace.
Without someone to utilize its power, the Philosopher's Stone collided with the ground, shattering into millions of pieces and scattering the souls trapped within across the dark floor. A moment after, the remains of the stone evaporated into crimson smoke, diffusing into the stale air.
For a short few seconds, silence filled the void. The Colonel sat bolt upright, sweat beading down his heaving frame in streams, his eyes bloodshot, his expression clearly portraying his confusion and terror.
"Lieutenant, Doctor Marco, are you two alright?" The Colonel's concerned words fell upon unconscious ears. Instantly, he attempted to move, to do something beneficial for his allies, only to find his muscles restrained by a force he physically was unable to see.
"What the hell is going on? Did the procedure fail? Why can't I move" Mustang's last thought scared him in particular. The loss of his sight was one thing, but total body paralysis was far more than he knew he could handle. One of his most trusted allies, Jean Havoc, had the nerves to his lower body violently severed by the Homunclus Lust's Ultimate Spear. The condition rendered him physically useless to the military, preventing him from continuing his career, from moving on with his life as a normal human being. The thought of ending up like that brought chills to the Colonel as he blindly stared straight ahead, unable to do anything but sit perfectly upright and wait for whatever fate had in store for him.
His heart skipped a beat as he felt multiple cold, writhing hands slide down his body, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his torso, anywhere they could get a firm hold. The black arms then began pulling him upwards violently, towards the ceiling of that small room, where a familiar eye stared down at the incapacitated leader, the Flame Alchemist deprived of fire, of family, and of his world.
The Colonel opened his eyes, only to close them tightly in response to the blinding, ethereal white light. For a few moments, he simply lay on his back, allowing his senses to adjust to the new, strange surroundings. He stood on his own two feet somewhat clumsily, finding it difficult to stand without a nauseous feeling invading his gut. Finally, Mustang opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to an all consuming whiteness instead of the darkness he had been trapped in.
"Hello, Colonel Mustang. Fancy seeing you here again. You humans just don't learn, do you?"
The Colonel felt his breath arrive in short bursts, sweat tricking down his contorted face as he recognized the strange, almost childlike voice. At last, his eyes fully adjusted to his surroundings, allowing a faceless figure to appear in the distance, silhouetted against the pure whiteness of that place. It had the rough dimensions of a small child, with a row of inhuman teeth acting as the only defining feature on its blank, pale face. Those unsettling teeth were arranged in a unnerving smile, one that Colonel Mustang hoped he would never see again.
"You...I've seen you before, haven't I? In the portal of truth, when I lost my sight...Who are you?"
A painful memory flashed before the Colonel's now seeing eyes, one of desperation and despair. Glowing crimson eyes piercing his soul, the cold steel swords of Wrath himself pinning his hands to the ground as living shadows forced him to commit the ultimate taboo: human transmutation.
"Many have sought the answer to that question, Flame Alchemist, yet few have found it. You might know me as the World, or the Universe. Some call me God; perhaps you call me Truth. I am everything, and I am nothing. I am One, and One is All."
The Colonel's hands began trembling; in rage, in confusion, in despair, he didn't know. Glaring at the smiling Truth with darkened eyes, he asked, "So you're one who stole my sight, huh? Who gave you the right to do such a thing? I wasn't even the one who wanted to perform the human transmutation, I was forced by the devils you allowed to exist. Why do you take so much from us Alchemists? Answer me, Truth!"
Laughter filled the ears of the enraged Flame Alchemist. After a few moments, the Truth responded, its voice laced with scorn,
"You mock me, Mustang! It's all just equivalent exchange-isn't that the basis of all your alchemy? For that which is taken, something of equal value must be given. All must pay the toll to know the Truth. You're not as special as you think, Alchemist."
"If that's the case, then why am I here? We didn't perform human transmutation, by all the laws of alchemy I shouldn't be here. What kind of game are you playing, Truth?"
Truth's smile widened, "You catch on fast, don't you, human? Yet you still have one important lesson to learn. The creatures of the world I'm sending you to are quite adept in it. I recommend you catch on as fast as you can."
A heavy sound exploded from behind the Colonel, causing him to jump backwards in surprise. A hundred black hands reached out from the now open gate of truth, grabbing onto the startled human and pulling him rapidly towards the blackness behind the ornate stone structure hovering in the empty white space. Unable to gain any leverage against the impossible force, Mustang was swiftly consumed by the gate.
Surrounded by blackness again, the Colonel had only his thoughts to keep him company,
"I'm coming back, Hawkeye, Havoc, Fullmetal, just you wait. I don't know where I'm going, but I swear on my life that I'll find a way out of this nightmare."
"A pint of your strongest cider, bartender. Just got the promotion I've been lookin' for, I'm feeling as giddy as a hummingbird on Tuesday!"
The brown speckled stallion threw two golden bits on the wooden counter. The smile on his muzzle was genuine, his intentions sincere, his life one full of joy, at least for that moment. The nicely dressed bartender set down the glass he had been cleaning next to a stack of dirty dishes and quickly snatched the bits from the counter and into his pocket, responding with a throaty voice,
"I bet you are. One glass of cider, comin' right up."
The bartender turned to his various drink creating devices, pulling various levers and switches to pour a golden liquid into a glistening glass container. The speckled stallion readily drank his reward with fervor, licking the glass dry of any leftover drops.
"Thanks for that delicious pint, bartender. I've got to be on my way, my mare will be waiting for me."
The simple bartender nodded in reply, leaving the speckled stallion to his business as he served a nearby regular his usual. The stallion leaped from his stool with happy vigor, swiftly trotting into the cool air of a Manehatten night surrounded by the sounds and sights of the big city.
He turned into a nearby dimly lit alleyway, guided only by the far away lamps of the main streets. Avoiding the festering piles of trash and decay, he turned left onto a smaller, darker path, the heaps of trash and dirt growing larger. Dismissing the horrible feeling in his gut, he pressed on, quickly coming to a stone wall wet with polluted dew.
"I must've taken a wrong turn. This can't be-"
A rustling sound cut his statement short. The startled stallion looked about his surroundings, struggling to see anything but shadows and objects.
"You're not human, that's for sure. You look like an even lower life-form than those miserable apes. It disgusts me that such a creature can exist."
The speckled stallion began to shake in terror as he replied with a trembling voice, "W-where are you? What are you?"
A pale hand reached out from the shadows, grabbing the stallion by his brown mane, preventing the startled pony from fleeing.
"What am I? I'm an Homunculus, Envy's the name. I'm quite sure you have no idea what I'm talking about, so I'll keep our discussion short. I'm gonna need to take that soul of yours. No hard feelings, horse thing. I've got a score to settle with a certain alchemist, and I'll need all the energy I can gather to end his miserable life. I'll let Lust take it from here."
A crimson spear pierced the skull of the speckled stallion, killing the pony instantly. A beautiful woman dressed in a black dress stepped out of the shadows, retracting her Ultimate Spear back into the normal fashion of her finger.
"That's the last one, Envy. The circle is ready."
The Homunculus Envy stepped into the gray moonlight, an evil smile adorning his pale, inhuman face.
"Then let's do this, Lust. I'm going to kill that bastard Mustang as slowly and painfully as physically possible, and nothing is going to stop me!"
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Why is this in the Displaced group? I read the chapter, this guy's supposed to be the "real" Colonel Mustang, not just some random shmuck with his powers and appearance.
7950863
Just fixed it, thanks for the heads up!
Looks promising, keep it up
Been a couple years since I last seen FMA:B
Regardless, Mustang is a badass.
Like and Fav
Oh great the most useless character in all if FMA
7951267 Only when it rains.
Not enough Miniskirts. 10/10 ~IGN.
7951060 If I'm remembering correctly, this is FMA Mustang, not Brotherhood Mustang. He only loses an eye in Brotherhood, versus going blind in FMA.
7953108 Regardless of which incarnation he is...
He's badass.
That's all that matters.
7953108 That's good to hear. Like most of the characters, he had a lot more depth in the first anime series.
Quick technical aside for fans that didn't know: the first anime outpaced the manga during production. The plot points and major reveals all came from writers for the animated adaptation going entirely off-script because the script no longer existed. They also created a huge number of filler episodes that explored characters without advancing the primary story as a delaying tactic for the original mangaka to try to catch up. If you thought Brotherhood was rushed in comparison, this is partly why. Brotherhood was far more faithful to the Manga and more closely matched the slightly less serious style of the author. I feel the darker tone of FMA compared to Brotherhood made for a better story, but it also meandered a lot. </nerd>
All that aside, my interest in THIS story is now piqued and I look forwards to its completion!
So thanks for that.
Yah, best character in both series
. You have my interest.
7953108 You got them mixed up. He completely loses his eyesight towards the end of Brotherhood. The final scene with him is where he's in a hospital bed and Dr. Marco shows up offering to use the last Philosopher's stone to restore his vision, but Mustang says that he wants him to fix Havoc's spine first. This story presumably starts just after Marco gets back from doing that.
7968517 Really? It has been a few years since I've seen either of them. May have to rematch them now...