One Man Army, Greed
Title: One Man Army
Author: Me. :D
Rating: PG-13, I guess. There are SWEAR WORDS and VIOLENT HAPPENINGS. SHIELD YOUR EYES.
Word Count: 1,596.
Characters: Greed and Wrath.
Warning: Spoilers for chapters 82-83.
Summary: Greed is missing something. Wrath is resposible.
Notes: This one first place in the 'Sibling Rivalry' prompt for
fma_fic_contest. :O I have no idea how. I wrote it in its entirity the day it was due because only two people had posted anything up that week. (There ended up being another eight people after me. :| ) Anyway! The title comes from an Our Lady Peace song that seemed to fit. I am unoriginal. Also, the translation I used is from mangafox because I just moved and I am too lazy to figure out where I packed my FMA manga. :D Enjoy!
By the very nature of his existence, Greed should not have been allowed to be this angry.
He didn't understand it, how it had even happened, why everything was mixing together in his head in a cacophony of pain and utter rage. He didn't know why the previous Greed's memories still stayed with him, haunting him and weighing him down. He didn't understand why he couldn't just shake the feelings off and move on.
There were only bits and pieces that had survived the transition from one Greed to the next, and it was driving this Greed crazy. There were only bits and pieces he could remember, but the feeling of his insides being squeezed together in an actual, physical pain over the idea of the previous Greed's possessions having been taken from him told him enough. The bratty prince was right about one thing, anyway. Friends this close can't be washed away that easily.
And so he stopped trying to fight it at some point in that stupid underground tunnel. The last Greed was dead. His possessions had been taken away, and the damnedest part about it was that Greed remembered this happening. He remembered a man, standing there in the sewers, his back to Greed, with swords. There were lots of swords, he remembered this, one in each of the man's hand, and two still sheathed on his back. The sewer waters ran red, thick with the blood of his prized possessions, and slowly, deliberately, the man turned around.
Why had Wrath taken Greed's possessions away?
Why had a man that was created the same way he was—his closest brother, in a way, both being born of human beings inside of the way the rest of his brothers were created—see fit to destroy everything Greed had worked so hard to accomplish?
The answer was as obvious as it was sickening: Father. That was the only logical conclusion, really. That Greed was dead, and this Greed had never asked why or how. What a fool he had been! Father didn't even allow him to come out of this shitty tunnel most of the time, because of that Greed! And that Greed must have seen it too: how was he to own the entire world if he couldn't leave?
How could he have anything down in this fucking hole?!
And so, like his former self, this Greed left.
His new body was lean and agile, and he could run very fast. Some sort of instinct that was ingrained from the prince still kept him in the shadows, like that was even necessary. It was that boiling rage that drove him as he raced down the alleyway toward the most prestigious house in all of Central City. It was pure wrath, and the thought made him even angrier.
But, why the hell not? The wrath was fucking his. No one—not even Father—could take that away from him. It was ironic, and he liked it that way.
The guards went down without a sound. He dragged one through the door with him when he entered the presidential estate. There was one of Wrath's possessions, cut down and destroyed. Wrath wouldn't care, of course, but that wasn't the point. He tossed the man aside. The gauntlet was thrown. And Greed wasn't waiting around for Wrath to draw his sword.
Greed knew Wrath's strengths all too well. He knew that speed, that ability to predict where he was about to hit. He knew it because this had defeated him before—no! not him, the other Greed!—and he knew his only chance was to take him by surprise. He leapt, using all of this body's speed and agility, swinging his claw in a downward arc even as he landed on top of the sofa.
But Wrath hadn't lived this long without dying a single time just to be taken so easily. Greed's claw met sword, the carbon on steel showering sparks everywhere.
"What is this, Wrath!?" Greed howled. The sword trembled in Wrath's grip as he held it in place with both hands. Flashes, bits and pieces of memories not belonging to him, burned through his mind. "What the hell is it?! They're not gone!! What the fuck is all of this!?"
Wrath, in his human household, with his human wife, and still clinging to his human appearance, didn't bother to answer right away, and it just enraged Greed all the more. Wrath couldn't move without an opening, and Greed wasn't going to give him one before he answered this question.
"Why are you in my memories, King Bradley?" Greed hissed, sneering at the idiotic human name the man had given himself. "What did you do to my possessions!?"
Wrath's single visible eye narrowed, and his eyebrows furrowed. "So this is the extent of your greed. You fool! You can't even discard the past!"
It was then that Wrath got his opening. A single, delicate teacup crashed to the ground, diverting Greed's attention for the millisecond Wrath needed to attack. And suddenly, Greed was on the defensive.
He leapt backwards as the sofa exploded underneath him, torn asunder by Wrath's deadly sword. Fine. Greed would have to disarm him first. Wrath thrust right, but Greed dodged, aiming his deadly claws toward Wrath's sword arm. He managed to knock the sword out of his grip, but then Wrath had him by the shirt. He was thrown across the room, slamming into a coffee table.
Using the momentum of the throw, Greed flipped himself backwards through the air, and not a moment too soon. Wrath had his sword again, and the coffee table was in pieces. Greed catapulted himself off of the arm of another sofa, to what he thought was out of Wrath's reach. He discovered his mistake as suddenly, the blur of silver was headed straight for his neck.
With no time to move out of the way, it was a race. Greed won by the skin of his neck—literally. Wrath's sword shattered on impact with the carbon shielding over Greed's throat.
Memories again—memories of different men fighting with this man. They surfaced in his mind unbidden: Wrath stabbing him in his unprotected throat; the feeling of being killed by this man, over and over; a dark haired girl falling; running as he tried to save them from him. These memories weren't even all from Greed, but from the body he was in. The prince, it seemed, had a vendetta with Wrath too.
It was a fight he knew he couldn't win. The anger inside of him was throwing him off; he was losing control of himself. But he didn't give a damn. He would do anything to quiet these memories inside of him, even if it meant killing Wrath. For Bido—for Martel—for Ran Fan—for Dorchette—
His fucking thoughts weren't even his own anymore—who the fuck were these people!?
—and then, he was moving, slamming out of the window and running like hell. It wasn't him, he realized dimly. It was the goddamn prince, pulling him out of that house and running as far away from it as he could. That brat was going to pay for that, soon enough, as soon as Greed could quiet down the voices. As soon as Greed could sort out who the hell he was and what he was going to do about it.
He'd let the brat play for the meantime. He was the industrious sort, probably wouldn't get them caught. Greed had some planning to do. After all, once he took Wrath out of the picture, who else was going to own the country?
With the rage in him slowly declining, though, Greed was painfully aware of the other emotion he had been pushing down up until this point. It was something he didn't recognize; a dim sort of ache that radiated from his very being. He was almost envious of that old Greed, he thought, always having his possessions around him. That was it, of course; he was Greed, and he had nothing. It was just longing, wasn't it? Just that empty feeling of needing more. Something he always felt.
But it wasn't even that. Not really. This was actually a tangible hurt, something he could feel boiling up inside of him, just as real as that rage had been. Was he grieving these people he didn't even know? Was he regretting killing that lizard guy who had come into his realm? How could he? He didn't even know them!
Or was that it? He sort of...wished he had, in a way.
There was something different about having actual humans for possessions. Humans were such fickle, fragile things. And he wanted them. He wanted them to want him back, too. That was it. He didn't have what the previous Greed had, and it was making him lonesome. How utterly ridiculous.
Lonesome! Lonesome for humans, no less! But he certainly wasn't lonesome for his own kind; of that he could be certain. There was something about a human, something about those supposed stains on his soul, that made him want more. Something that stuck with him, even through the process that should have scrubbed such things from his memory. Something that he could carry with him. Something none of his brothers had, he was sure.
But...he didn't have that, not anymore. Not after Wrath had taken that away.
How could a being such as himself, filled with multiple souls, all whispering into his ear at any given point, feel so damn alone?
Author: Me. :D
Rating: PG-13, I guess. There are SWEAR WORDS and VIOLENT HAPPENINGS. SHIELD YOUR EYES.
Word Count: 1,596.
Characters: Greed and Wrath.
Warning: Spoilers for chapters 82-83.
Summary: Greed is missing something. Wrath is resposible.
Notes: This one first place in the 'Sibling Rivalry' prompt for
fma_fic_contest. :O I have no idea how. I wrote it in its entirity the day it was due because only two people had posted anything up that week. (There ended up being another eight people after me. :| ) Anyway! The title comes from an Our Lady Peace song that seemed to fit. I am unoriginal. Also, the translation I used is from mangafox because I just moved and I am too lazy to figure out where I packed my FMA manga. :D Enjoy!By the very nature of his existence, Greed should not have been allowed to be this angry.
He didn't understand it, how it had even happened, why everything was mixing together in his head in a cacophony of pain and utter rage. He didn't know why the previous Greed's memories still stayed with him, haunting him and weighing him down. He didn't understand why he couldn't just shake the feelings off and move on.
There were only bits and pieces that had survived the transition from one Greed to the next, and it was driving this Greed crazy. There were only bits and pieces he could remember, but the feeling of his insides being squeezed together in an actual, physical pain over the idea of the previous Greed's possessions having been taken from him told him enough. The bratty prince was right about one thing, anyway. Friends this close can't be washed away that easily.
And so he stopped trying to fight it at some point in that stupid underground tunnel. The last Greed was dead. His possessions had been taken away, and the damnedest part about it was that Greed remembered this happening. He remembered a man, standing there in the sewers, his back to Greed, with swords. There were lots of swords, he remembered this, one in each of the man's hand, and two still sheathed on his back. The sewer waters ran red, thick with the blood of his prized possessions, and slowly, deliberately, the man turned around.
Why had Wrath taken Greed's possessions away?
Why had a man that was created the same way he was—his closest brother, in a way, both being born of human beings inside of the way the rest of his brothers were created—see fit to destroy everything Greed had worked so hard to accomplish?
The answer was as obvious as it was sickening: Father. That was the only logical conclusion, really. That Greed was dead, and this Greed had never asked why or how. What a fool he had been! Father didn't even allow him to come out of this shitty tunnel most of the time, because of that Greed! And that Greed must have seen it too: how was he to own the entire world if he couldn't leave?
How could he have anything down in this fucking hole?!
And so, like his former self, this Greed left.
His new body was lean and agile, and he could run very fast. Some sort of instinct that was ingrained from the prince still kept him in the shadows, like that was even necessary. It was that boiling rage that drove him as he raced down the alleyway toward the most prestigious house in all of Central City. It was pure wrath, and the thought made him even angrier.
But, why the hell not? The wrath was fucking his. No one—not even Father—could take that away from him. It was ironic, and he liked it that way.
The guards went down without a sound. He dragged one through the door with him when he entered the presidential estate. There was one of Wrath's possessions, cut down and destroyed. Wrath wouldn't care, of course, but that wasn't the point. He tossed the man aside. The gauntlet was thrown. And Greed wasn't waiting around for Wrath to draw his sword.
Greed knew Wrath's strengths all too well. He knew that speed, that ability to predict where he was about to hit. He knew it because this had defeated him before—no! not him, the other Greed!—and he knew his only chance was to take him by surprise. He leapt, using all of this body's speed and agility, swinging his claw in a downward arc even as he landed on top of the sofa.
But Wrath hadn't lived this long without dying a single time just to be taken so easily. Greed's claw met sword, the carbon on steel showering sparks everywhere.
"What is this, Wrath!?" Greed howled. The sword trembled in Wrath's grip as he held it in place with both hands. Flashes, bits and pieces of memories not belonging to him, burned through his mind. "What the hell is it?! They're not gone!! What the fuck is all of this!?"
Wrath, in his human household, with his human wife, and still clinging to his human appearance, didn't bother to answer right away, and it just enraged Greed all the more. Wrath couldn't move without an opening, and Greed wasn't going to give him one before he answered this question.
"Why are you in my memories, King Bradley?" Greed hissed, sneering at the idiotic human name the man had given himself. "What did you do to my possessions!?"
Wrath's single visible eye narrowed, and his eyebrows furrowed. "So this is the extent of your greed. You fool! You can't even discard the past!"
It was then that Wrath got his opening. A single, delicate teacup crashed to the ground, diverting Greed's attention for the millisecond Wrath needed to attack. And suddenly, Greed was on the defensive.
He leapt backwards as the sofa exploded underneath him, torn asunder by Wrath's deadly sword. Fine. Greed would have to disarm him first. Wrath thrust right, but Greed dodged, aiming his deadly claws toward Wrath's sword arm. He managed to knock the sword out of his grip, but then Wrath had him by the shirt. He was thrown across the room, slamming into a coffee table.
Using the momentum of the throw, Greed flipped himself backwards through the air, and not a moment too soon. Wrath had his sword again, and the coffee table was in pieces. Greed catapulted himself off of the arm of another sofa, to what he thought was out of Wrath's reach. He discovered his mistake as suddenly, the blur of silver was headed straight for his neck.
With no time to move out of the way, it was a race. Greed won by the skin of his neck—literally. Wrath's sword shattered on impact with the carbon shielding over Greed's throat.
Memories again—memories of different men fighting with this man. They surfaced in his mind unbidden: Wrath stabbing him in his unprotected throat; the feeling of being killed by this man, over and over; a dark haired girl falling; running as he tried to save them from him. These memories weren't even all from Greed, but from the body he was in. The prince, it seemed, had a vendetta with Wrath too.
It was a fight he knew he couldn't win. The anger inside of him was throwing him off; he was losing control of himself. But he didn't give a damn. He would do anything to quiet these memories inside of him, even if it meant killing Wrath. For Bido—for Martel—for Ran Fan—for Dorchette—
His fucking thoughts weren't even his own anymore—who the fuck were these people!?
—and then, he was moving, slamming out of the window and running like hell. It wasn't him, he realized dimly. It was the goddamn prince, pulling him out of that house and running as far away from it as he could. That brat was going to pay for that, soon enough, as soon as Greed could quiet down the voices. As soon as Greed could sort out who the hell he was and what he was going to do about it.
He'd let the brat play for the meantime. He was the industrious sort, probably wouldn't get them caught. Greed had some planning to do. After all, once he took Wrath out of the picture, who else was going to own the country?
With the rage in him slowly declining, though, Greed was painfully aware of the other emotion he had been pushing down up until this point. It was something he didn't recognize; a dim sort of ache that radiated from his very being. He was almost envious of that old Greed, he thought, always having his possessions around him. That was it, of course; he was Greed, and he had nothing. It was just longing, wasn't it? Just that empty feeling of needing more. Something he always felt.
But it wasn't even that. Not really. This was actually a tangible hurt, something he could feel boiling up inside of him, just as real as that rage had been. Was he grieving these people he didn't even know? Was he regretting killing that lizard guy who had come into his realm? How could he? He didn't even know them!
Or was that it? He sort of...wished he had, in a way.
There was something different about having actual humans for possessions. Humans were such fickle, fragile things. And he wanted them. He wanted them to want him back, too. That was it. He didn't have what the previous Greed had, and it was making him lonesome. How utterly ridiculous.
Lonesome! Lonesome for humans, no less! But he certainly wasn't lonesome for his own kind; of that he could be certain. There was something about a human, something about those supposed stains on his soul, that made him want more. Something that stuck with him, even through the process that should have scrubbed such things from his memory. Something that he could carry with him. Something none of his brothers had, he was sure.
But...he didn't have that, not anymore. Not after Wrath had taken that away.
How could a being such as himself, filled with multiple souls, all whispering into his ear at any given point, feel so damn alone?