#i cant believe i wrote fma fic in the year of our lord 2018

[bardiicinspiration]

in which the events of the promised day go a little differently. have mercy on me if everything isn’t perfect; i’m just an angst goblin with a lot of love for royai.

fandom: fullmetal alchemist (brotherhood)

word count: 731

ship: roy mustang/riza hawkeye

warnings: blood, death

When Roy watches her knees hit the ground, the world around him shifts, and for a moment, the chilled, damp air of the underground gives way to the familiar arid heat of flame and the smell of burning flesh. The form at his feet is far too flawless to be human, even with the marring of his continuous assault. On the brink of death, she finds it within herself to flash a final, spiteful grin as she peers up through disheveled locks of impossibly thick raven hair.

“I look forward to the day when those eyes will be wide with agony. It’s coming…It’s coming.”

She crumbles to dust, and the memory fades, leaving a harrowing reality in its wake. The figure before him does not lie among ashes; she is prone on the stone floor that is slick with her blood. It soaks the grey jacket she wears and stains blonde locks crimson. For a moment, he is still, unable to tear his eyes away from her. He waits with bated breath for her to show any sign of life, but the part of his consciousness that hasn’t given in to denial accepts the truth that every fiber of his being refuses.

“Lieutenant?” His voice is a barely-there whisper that manages to eke its way past the lump forming in his throat. She says nothing.

Time starts moving again. It is now he that falls to his knees, landing in the glistening scarlet that pools around her body. Trembling hands grasp at her, pulling her up to settle as dead weight in his lap. Pristine white gloves are saturated with red. He can’t bring himself to care.

“Lieutenant!” Roy can’t remember the last time he felt the genuine urge to cry. He always assumed Ishval took that from him. “Dammit. Riza!”

The empty seconds that follow are spent awaiting a sarcastic answering quip that never comes. When he finally allows himself to gaze into vacant brown eyes, he feels the ground fall out from under him, and he is certain then that this is no nightmare. He feels foolish now for ever having prodded her about her reaction to his supposed demise at the hands of Lust, for now he understands. Losing her feels like severing part of his soul, and it’s anything but a clean break.

“No!” he grits through his teeth, jaw tensed.

The eyes on him don’t matter anymore. He knows everyone present is watching, and despite their protests, he takes her into his arms and carries her to the haphazardly drawn chalk outline, laying her gently in the center of it. For all his talk of rationality, he cannot force himself to find clarity through the frantic haze that holds him hostage. He is playing into their hands, but he is prepared to face whatever atrocities his actions may reap so long as he is able to do so with her by his side.

His hands are pressed to the circle before he has any more time to dwell on it. There is a flash of light accompanied by a chorus of voices; words of malicious encouragement and shouts of objection meld together and then dissipate into nothing as his focus shifts to the myriad of hands appearing from an infinite darkness to grab at him. Tendrils of shadow unravel him, tearing him apart until he crumbles away into nothing.

He is put back together, and he sees the truth. It is the last thing he sees.

He is spit back out by the same void that swallowed him, but the dark never recedes. His entire world is engulfed in black, and he realizes then what has transpired. This kind of transmutation requires a toll, and he’s paid it with his eyesight.

Blindly, he reaches out toward the center of the circle. “Riza?”

The responding sound he receives is ungodly. It turns his blood to ice and raises gooseflesh on his skin. He inches forward only to rear back when the form he lays a hand upon feels anything but human. Without his sight, he is left only with his imagination and the Elric brothers’ recount of their failure to revive their lost mother to deduce the consequences of his recklessness. He very nearly retches onto the stone floor.

Another pitiful groan from the abomination prompts him to shed tears he hadn’t thought possible.

“I’m so sorry.”