Fullmetal Alchemist Fan Fiction ❯ Eye to Eye ❯ Eye to Eye ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don’t own full metal alchemist which extends to it’s characters locations and what not so don’t sue because I have nothing to offer.

A. N. (authoress note) Hello, it’s been a long time since I last umm wrote something….But at last here’s my latest piece, I was contemplating on posting it since I’m not really sure if it was good enough, or even understandable for that matter since for some odd reason I have trouble judging my work.

VERY, VERY, IMPORTANT, I was hoping you full metal alchemist fans would like to join an rp forum, link is as follows http://statealchemy.proboards40.com/index.cgi

This site will help you hone your writing skills, interact with other fans in the guise of a full metal alchemist character, or your very own, join factions, and just have loads of fun posting. You will be greeted by a warm atmosphere, great admen’s that are there to help, and for most you have me if you really need help, although I'm not an admin, my character is Lance, by the way. Check it out and explore, I’ll guarantee it’s worth your time, I hope.

Now, for your reading pleasure, a Martel and Kimblee fic.

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The rusty shackles did their part in keeping him in place but Martel observed the damaged it caused to the captive, who rested awkwardly against the grim layered wall from one of Lab 5’s many basements. The joint that united his hand with wrist turned a darker tint of purple and yellow, a contrasting hue from his pastel skin, marked down by the metal that bit through his flesh. No signs of recognition filtered through those lackluster eyes, (Martel remembered how they used to shine like newly polished bronze), and he didn’t crane his neck to look at her approaching form, (may be it strained him to move most of his muscles), she didn’t hold it against him, however, she had every right to hold the world against his past actions.

Stationed only a few feet from the metal doors, was a table that carted oddly shaped equipment for dissect-ional use, the air around her was thick of an acidic scent, and above her the lights vibrated sharply against Martel’s enhanced sight. No matter how many years would go by she would always be tormented with image of what had happened, but despite her dislike of the place and the memories that came with it, she was dead set to avenge her fallen comrades, only now her intentions wavered at how pitiful the mad boomer looked, and the thought was heard.

“You look like shit,” she told him, snide tone reserved especially for him. His response was a subdued silence so uncharacteristically of the homicidal alchemist that it took her by surprise. Unclasping the small throwing blade from it’s compartment she stepped forward, her shadow swaggering behind her, the blade’s sharp end gleamed threateningly above her head.

A second careful, glance at the person, (all she could see was dark glistening hair slump on the dimness of an unclear visage), and she brought her blade to her side unused for the time being while she dropped to her knees at eye-level with him. Attentively, her hand, one bounded tightly by gauze around the palm, hovered in mid-air, fingertips ready to lift his chin to reassure herself that it was in fact the traitorous Crimson Alchemist, but instead of lifting his strong jaw line, her hand came around greasy black strands of hair that was vehemently pulled until she saw Kimblee’s depthless eyes peer back at her. Her eyes studied him hard, a whimper nor any other signs of pain seethed out from dry paper lips, but she could distinguish a gloom obscuring his vision, which was altered. The iris of his eyes dilated, leaving hardly any white to surface.

“You once told me Chimera’s had no souls,” Martel never would have thought of herself capable of mercy, especially when it came down to the mad boomer Kimblee, but as she looked closer in his eyes she knew a part of him was already lost. That dim look on his eyes reflected her own. “ I’m starting to believe your right,”

A ghost of a recent memory played in her head, unlocked by that day in which they met. Her goal back then was still the same, but why she reminisce of something so random. Perhaps she wanted to be reminded of the true Kimblee Zolf so guilt wouldn’t consume her when her blade would embrace him.

---------------------------’\ / --------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------Four Months Prior

Buried by the shadows of a broken down wall, Martel took in what was left of the small town. Ashen smoke unwounded in a strong vile smell of sulfur and charred flesh just above the debris of demolished houses. Scorched to an impressive layer of dark crust, and matted with blood, were the bodies that laid piled outside the narrow cobbled streets with only the tatters of clothes and flesh of another to cover the fallen Ishvalen people. The men that had assaulted the city so ruthlessly slithered towards a crimson horizon in a roar of rotating tires against the desert slopes. Their four military vehicles reflected an ominous sheen from the hovering sun above as if to wave around the fire that had enveloped the city, promising a painful release from this world. The lapping of fire, curled inside the empty houses or maiming the many corpses, every sound of destruction met the keen hearing of the only remaining member of the Devil’s Nest, Martel.

Not everyone had disappeared to the military tents outside the city, she observed after having silently come across, and (with all the inhuman stealth she contained) killed a man sporting around a rifle in his neatly, blue, pressed uniform. It would appear that a few low ranked personnel’s had lingered behind the shadows of the once great Ishbalan city to scout the place for any remaining rebels, or perhaps something else.

Although she may have been, at one point, apart of the military as a low ranking soldier, Martel wasn’t aware of the true intentions behind the recent destruction of the Ishbalan people. It was no different back then, than it was now. Knowledge had been limited to her when she was apart of the organization and her only source currently came from scraps of information being passed down from one soldier to the next in short, quietly, spoken voices. It was to her misfortune that the last time she encountered soldiers indulging to conversation was on the morning before the attack in which she soon after took refuge in the labyrinth of narrow channels from deserted alleys. Either ways not much had been said, pleasant talk amongst themselves had made the group of soldiers to reminisce their life outside the military. Martel knew those types of conversations, it carefully camouflaged the fear inside their pounding hearts with smiles, laughter, cheers accompanied by drinks. She was like that herself before her ultimate, life altering, experience through the experiments in Lab 5.

The ex-military member took a moment to close her eyes away from the painful memory, than, with a new bitter determination opened them to reveal vertically slighted pupils from her distorted D.N.A. She navigated her amber eyes away from the inhuman massacre while suppressing the contents that threatened to lurch out from her stomach. Her heightened senses, albeit helped her throughout her hardships of survival, did nothing to ease the nausea brought by the stench of death, but she forcefully direct her line of thinking to her true objective: to dispose of the Crimson Alchemist, Kimblee Zolf. With that in mind she did her best to ignore the gore around her, looking across the street, than slowly peering alongside both roads. Her calculating eyes doing the impossible of overlooking the roasted, mangled, bodies that were deliberately tossed aside on the dirt path. Once she was sure there was no signs of incoming soldiers she slightly hunched down, body momentarily pressed to the wall than in one quick move she dashed forward with no real destination in mind and only her instincts to guide her.

Through the deserted streets Martel was able to walk freely without having to unsheathe the short blade from her straps compartment, in any case she threw caution to the wind, the sun had still hovered above thin nimbus clouds so she hid behind anything that shed shadows, and only wondering in the open when no noise broke the still sounds.

She was unaware of her targets location but years of analyzing the mad boomer, Kimblee, led her to conclude that he was within the town exploring under his best interest and bloodlust (For he had a never ending thirst for the warm liquid and the ear piercing explosion of his alchemy against human beings, it couldn’t have been more rewarding to his ears) rather than staying put inside the tents. It was a sickening thought that weakened her guard down. Her steps were naturally light against the gravel, her breathing hushed, but her eyes were obscured by her shady past, he had contributed into making it much darker until the light of hope faded and the only thing left was vengeance, sweet, bitter pay back.

“Sir, What are you doing!” A shrilled voice asked.

Martel froze from her spot. On other occasions she would have leapt for cover instead of being planted in the middle of the sidewalk halfway towards an empty building, but the voice that responded almost tauntingly to the frightful question made her blood grow hot, muscles tense. It was Kimblee! She realized. The area around her didn’t change drastically and she could have deducted a mile of walking before coming upon the opening of an alley where she could see two blue clad men. Kimblee had leaned forward above an older man who attempted to distance himself but his effort were in vain, the Crimson Alchemist had pinned him between a wall.

“What does it look like? Your going to be my new Ginny pig.” The threat was evidently interwoven by his tightly, brisk, voice, “Just think of this as your contribution to my research.”

A surge of blue electricity flashed from Kimblee’s open palm, the one that had been pressed roughly on the other man’s forehead, spider cracks of energy lapped on the tip of the man’s graying hair and before Martel could step forward an explosive broke the sound barrier.

Like an echo, the sound pulsed inside her head while, eyes tightly shut, embraced the dust and flying particles that escaped the narrow gap. The force from the man-made-bomb had provoked flying debris of rocks, a slowly thinning cloud of dust, and the pungent scent of blood. Martel snapped her eyes open when the pressure filtered out of the small gap and glared through the veil of dust that remained. Without much thought she pulled out her blade and slowly inched forward, taking in every sound and expanding her scenes. The grip on her blade tightened to the still form of a tall silhouette.

“I got you now,” She cried triumphantly, and with a downward slash, metal made contact with a shoulder than bone. The blade sliced through flesh and organs as it ran vertically across the chest. Blood flushed from the deep wound staining the blond headed chimera. A full second standing upright and the body fell with a mild thud. Martel leaned down to inspect her work, only it wasn’t what she expected… In a blink of an eye she pushed herself up never allowing the gasp to stumble from her lips. Her vision devoured the man bellow her, his half torn face now easier to see. Kimblee’s work laid limp, dead even before her blade slashed tissue.

“Missed me.”

Martel sharply whirled to the bristle, Spartan clipped, voice that he used to openly mock her, but before she could react Kimblee’s boot had met her torso in a forced kick that left her momentarily deprived of air. She staggered back, than brought down to the dirt floor when her footing got caught by the corpse. Between the falling and landing Martel had lost her grip on the blade just when Kimblee’s form dangerously hovered above her. His lips stretched to a smirk revealing pearl cream teeth, and brow knitted above gleaming sallow orbs which narrowed in thought. It was the same facial expression that crossed his sharp visage when he marbled on the unique ways to display his form of art, roasted, cremated to dust, or perhaps done rare. Martel waved away the stun as she aimed for her blade that rested an inch away but when her fingers came around the handle, the same boot smashed down on her hand earning a muffled groan.

“What an unpleasant surprise finding you here?” His eyes roamed to the man, scrutinizing it the same way an artist would do over his paintings. “Did you hear it? That beautiful melody that comes after the cry, the sound so strong, buildings would tremble before it.”

It was a rhetorical question that leaned on intimidation rather than curiosity, and Martel felt the effects on her like a spell, rendering her frozen in fear. From the corner of her eye Martel saw the deceased man. Layers of his face had been enveloped by the explosion displaying now bone tucked between meat, only one eye hung from his socket were it peered at Martel pass dripping blood, his jaw had been lost and only a dark tunnel took its place. She knew that instant that she was next, knew all along, but the gruesome image served to motivate her survival.

Tightly she threw a punch, that wouldn’t have reached his face under normal circumstances, but her arm elongated and was shoved hard above Kimblee’s jaw, forcing the state alchemist to stumble back (more in surprise), than roughly pulled down by gravity when Martel jerked free her blade-wielding hand from under his boot.

“Damn you, beast,” the words traveled in a low hiss as Kimblee attempted to reign control of his breathing, an effort that failed him when a kick landed on his kneeling form, not only making him tumble, back planted first on hard floor, but it was Martel’s turn to make haste and attack her fallen opponent. She planted herself hard on his torso her knee dug deep between his ribcage, and her hand, how it clutched tightly around his neck until her nails withdrew a listless trail of blood, while the other raised the end of her blade above her head.

“Try and kill me, I wouldn’t expect no less from a chimera. Animals without souls.” She hesitated with seething anger, her eyes narrowed considerably and her silts glinted maliciously.

“I’m only the way I am because of you!” She grounded out. Only a little to late to realize her reaction gave him a chance to sink his hold on her hand, the one pulling him down, with a draining force that came near activating the array that was neatly engraved on his palm. Martel involuntarily flinched, pulling back without success and just when the same blue static engulfed his hand, she slashed down with her blade only grazing the back of his hand, but all the same the components that broke into an explosion, albeit a weak one, coated her hand in blood and the dark nips from a ghost of a fire.

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Four months and her hand wasn’t completely healed she realized, having released her hold on his hair long enough to look over her wound, but how can she think of her wounds as greater than his when his whole body was marred by scars from probing scalpels, and endless experiments. From the looks of it, he was still donned with the same blight, old, military pants. He must have been a recent recruit for lab 5, Martel suspected.

When she finally spoke, Martel couldn’t contain her strong, cut-edge tone not even for him, “You also accused me of being capable of killing.”

The words had wavered awkwardly against her lips, that too trembled. She couldn’t explain why her eyes had swollen in tears but her pride prevented the salty beads from rolling down her cheeks. “I hate to admit this, but your right.”

A rapid downward slash pierced deeply between his chest cavity, than another swipe at his throat, Martel was being lenient enough to make it a fast painless death for him.

From his part a gasp escaped the confines of his mouth which sounded more like a wheeze from a throat deprived of moist for a long time, his limbs twitched, and as Martel took in his wolf-like gaze she could see the gratitude locked with pain.

For the umpteenth time she was caked with more blood which matted her short blond hair down to her old military boots, but for the first time they were accompanied by tears that streamed freely down flushed cheeks. She couldn’t describe it but her heart stung to each pounding, throat contorted in sharp breaths, an alien feeling robbed her of the happiness she thought she would have acquired in killing him, however, revenged didn’t seem the same anymore, and she couldn’t find any other reason to live. He was her reason but now he was gone.

“You were better off this way,” She never did stow away the blade. All she could remember during her longest 6 minutes of darkness was a dull pain throbbing on her chest, and how, within her line of vision, arrays of dim growing dots disintegrated her sight, and all was lost, her senses, guilt, and that empty feeling.

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