Slave 23
by. Poisoned Scarlet

Summary: Hohenheim recounts the story of how he became the monster he is today. Edward doesn't know how to handle that.
Rating: K+, for minor language, minor violence/graphic descriptions.
Genre: Family/Tragedy.
Pairing(s): N/A.
A/N: I can only say that this story literally wrote itself. I began it with the intention of getting the layout of it over with but it ended up becoming this huge, emotional, and devastating piece that flowed from my fingertips like fine wine. I honestly have no words to describe it; I felt really, really bad for Hohenheim. That man went through so much...I was hoping to add his travels to Xerxes and Xing, and how he basically introduced alchemy to them (man with the 'gold hair, gold eyes' ring a bell?) but since I wanted it to be aligned with Brotherhood episode 47, that was not possible. I hope you all enjoy it, regardless!
Story Notes: This would be compliant with episode 47 of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. It would be a little like the written version of the episode, only I explain Hohenheim's youth up until he becomes the Philosopher's Stone he is today. I also tried to use my own dialogue so it isn't too exact with the episode and manga and such.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any other media mentioned in this work of fiction.

Dedication: Kryptonian250, he is the reason why I am writing this in the first place. He had requested it and I decided it wouldn't hurt to try it! I hope you like it!

"You try to live the best you can," his father smiled, pained. "Do your best, son."

"But—father—!"

A pair of shackles chained down on his wrists; sealing his fate. The little boy looked up at his father in fearful confusion, as the man gave him one last look before stepping back; ignoring his sons cries as meaty hands grabbed him by his wiry shoulders and shoved him into the line of people that were going to be sold as slaves.

"Father!" he cried. "FATHER!"

His father didn't look back at him.

"He is young, my lord," a man whispered to him, as the lord gazed at the child thrown upon the makeshift stage. His startling deep gold eyes stared at the young boy, who was crying as the vendor flaunted his worth – auctioning him for a few extra coins to help him feed his own. "He will make for a very favorable slave should you buy him."

"Is that so?" the older man murmured. He abruptly raised his hand, sound ceasing over the other frantic buyers that eyed the child speculatively. The vendor waited with baited breath, as he stated: "I will buy him."

The crowd exploded in noise again.

"Yes, of course, my lord! Of course!" the vendor gleefully responded, grabbing the boy by his shackles and pushing him toward the wealthy man who calmly parted the crowd with a single sweep of his eyes. The boy landed ungracefully by his feet, fearfully looking up at him.

He could not be any older than twelve.

"Here!" He tossed a bag of gold coins to the vendor, who greedily grabbed it and marveled the coins kept inside. "Follow me, child," the man ordered, turning back and allowing his adviser to make sure the boy didn't flee. "From now on, you will be referred to as Number 23," the lord snapped, making the boy look up.

"Huh?" he asked, dumbly.

"Twenty three, you ignorant dog!" the lord frowned.

"Hey! I'm not a-a whatever you called me!" the child scowled back, earning a harsh knot on his head by the hand of his adviser; who hissed the importance of respect for their master.

"You will begin work tomorrow at five in the morning sharp everyday," the lord continued, unabated. "You will sleep in the slaves quarters as all the others do. You will not speak out of place, you will not disobey me, and you are forbidden to wonder my house unless told to!" The lord stopped once they were out of the busy, dusty, streets and looked down at the boy, who was stubbornly scowling. "Your father sold you for money. He is no longer anything to you," he coldly reminded, ignoring the shocked pain in the boys eyes. "I am now your only family. I am now your master and you will refer to me as such!"

The boy was silent; eyes watering at the cruelty of his words.

The adviser smacked the boy on the head. "Speak your acquiescence!" he hissed.

The boys tearful eyes locked on his fathers backside; to the few coins that had been dumped into his hands by the greedy vendor. "Yes...master."

"Where should I start, I wonder?" Hohenheim thought aloud, brushing the ghost memory off as the party settled on the logs around a snuffed fire.

"Start whenever you see fit, pops," Greed smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as Edward sat down with a heavy scowl; not at all liking the idea of speaking to his father for such an extended period of time. However, Greed was adamant on discovering the "whole deal about this Promised Day stuff" so he had no choice but to abide.

"I suppose I should start by explaining how the Homunculus came to be," Hohenheim began, causing four sets of heads to snap to him. "I happened to be a part of the experiment my master conducted. You see, he was a very ingenious man who studied the science of alchemy and its uses. He was a wealthy man and he was well-respected by the king due to his breakthroughs..."

"Slave, king?" Greed spoke up, intrigued. "Just how old are you, big guy?"

Hohenheim smiled wryly. "Far older than you'd believe."

"Tch," Greed frowned but complied.

Edward ignored the talk of his age. He was old and that was all there was to it! He had more pressing thoughts, such as: "Wait a sec, what do you mean by 'master'?"

A smile ghosted his face. "I was a slave back when I was about your age, centuries ago." The shock that registered on their faces amused him, but he continued: "The name I bear now was given to me by that very experiment, actually: Van Hohenheim. My original name, you could say, was slave number 23."

"WHO IS THERE? IS THAT YOU TWENTY THREE?"

"YIKES!" a thirteen year old Hohenheim scrambled out of the laboratory he had been secretly perusing; his broom in his hand as he tried to get away from his masters assistants. He would be in a grand deal of trouble if he didn't escape them!

He hid under an alcove, sighing in relief when the men ran right passed him. It would not be the first time he had been caught wondering rooms he was forbidden to enter. The other slaves had explained the rules quite carefully when he had first arrived and said he needed to be careful if he wanted to live longer than a month.

The last slave before him to succumbed to hunger when his master caught him stealing books and selling them on the market stands.

"Out looking for trouble again, number 23?" a voice spoke from beside him and he tensed, eyes rounding in horror.

"M-master!" he stuttered, turning and bowing his head in respect. "I apologize, master, I didn't mean to—!"

"Relax, number 23," the older man chuckled, wryly watching as the boy looked up and sighed in relief at not being handed a good scolding or worse – getting beaten. He shuddered at the thought of being beaten again for being troublesome. "Might you tell me what you were doing wandering the laboratory again?"

"It's just..there's a lotta' interestin' stuff inside, is all," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I sometimes..uh...watch you mix those weird waters inside cups."

"Chemicals, you mean?" his master supplied. "Inside beakers?"

"Yeah...whatever those are."

He felt someone pat his head once and he looked up in surprise to see his master chuckling down at him. The man had come off as cold and heartless in the beginning. He had been enraged at first, to be kept under such a tight-ass, but eventually, with time, he had discovered that his master held a small soft spot for him. It was obvious to the other slaves, whom had begun to harbor a resentment for him, but he didn't really give two coins for their thoughts!

If his life would be made easier by kissing up the head-man, he would take all he could.

"I will have a few...chores... for you to complete in due time. Be ready," he walked away, leaving the boy holding his broom tightly in confusion as his master continued down to the laboratory, no doubt; in his arms an assortment of scrolls and parchment he had once looked over to find strange symbols, words he could not understand, and circles...lots of circles...

"Be ready?" Hohenheim blinked. "You all just shove the work up my ass when you feel like it! How can I be ready for that?" he scoffed, walking down the stone hall and to the front; where he was initially suppose to be cleaning.

"Slave, huh?' Greed mused, unable to see this huge and knowledgeable man as a slave. "Rough childhood?" he cheekily said.

"You could say that," Hohenheim replied, wearily.

"Alright, so you were a slave. Big whoop," Ed grumbled, impatiently tapping his foot on the soil. "Can we get on with this? I'm starving!"

"Hey, Ed, ain't he your dad or something?" Darius spoke up, causing Edward to flash dangerous eyes to him. The chimera stiffed under the burning look.

"Your point?" he hissed, a threat in his words.

"No point," Darius sighed, standing down. Heinkel closed his eyes, shaking his head at his companions tactless question.

"Okay! All of you just shut up!" Greed snapped, scowling. "Let the guy tell his story or go have a damn grooming session!" he pointedly said to the two chimera.

"Hey! I resent that!" Darius growled.

"Shut up, D.K.!" Edward shouted, irately. "You're practically a monkey so I don't know what the hell you're—OUCH! What was that for?" Edward held his throbbing head, glaring daggers at the man who huffed and sat back down, shaking his fist at him warningly.

Heinkel pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"I think I know where to start my end of the bargain," Hohenheim interrupted their bickering quietly. Greed turned to him, nodding, and Edward frowned, not sure where this was going anymore. "I have to say, I was just like Edward when I was younger," he sighed. "Although, now that I think about it, he probably has a shorter temper than I did when I was his age."

"GRR!" Ed scowled, spitting: "Don't call me short, old man!"

"He never said that," Greed deadpanned.

"You! Shut up!"

"Who're you telling to shut up, henchman? Might I remind you who's your daddy right now?" Greed smirked snidely, relishing the power and reign he held over the younger man who locked incensed eyes with his. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let your old man talk."

Ed sneered but complied, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest and not meeting anyone's eyes.

Hohenheim sighed through his nose. His son was stubborn alright. He played with the notion of his son in his own shoes for a moment before smashing the thought. He wouldn't like to envision his son in a slave-master situation if he could help himself; that type of lifestyle was unbearable and harsh, no matter how kind his master had been the older he grew.

"I suppose it started when I was a child," Hohenheim began. "My mother died a few hours after childbirth due to child bed fever," he saw Ed's eyes grow wide in surprise. "Our family was very poor in those days. My father worked two jobs and my mother had worked one in order to scrape enough food for us to survive. It was a hard life, but it was a life nonetheless."

He remembered that life vaguely. He had never met his mother but he had faint recalls of his father sobbing over her tombstone when he was ten and he had come back from working in the streets.

"My father sold me to slavery," he revealed. Ed's breath hitched.

"Damn," Greed whistled.

"He needed the money and he no longer cared to look after me. It was more of a chore for him so he decided to get rid of me once I was old enough to look after myself," Hohenheim shrugged, although he felt that strong spurt of resentment for his fathers abandonment. "I hated him for better part of my life," he tried not to look at Edward as he said this. "But I understand now that he had no choice in the matter: it was to sell me and assure I had food and shelter or keep me and most likely subject me to a life of misery and famine."

Hohenheim tightened his hands into fists for a second. He released the hold, returning to his apathetic state. "As I said before, I was bought by a wealthy scientist who was the first of many to perfect the art of alchemy; when the science was just barely being born...my master said he needed me for a chore," Hohenheim sighed, melancholic. "I would have never imagined – nor understood, to be honest – what he had in store for me..."

"Hey, that servant over there has had her eye on you since she came in, pal!" a fellow slave whispered to him, causing him to turn to the pretty girl who was being handed her chores for the day ahead. Hohenheim gripped his rag when she looked and smiled a little in his direction. "You're so lucky! She would make a fit wife!" his friend excitedly whispered.

"Tch, like I could even have a wife," the fifteen year old groused. "Master forbids it."

"It's not like he has to know, right?" his friend said, suggestively. "He never said anything about laying with her!"

Hohenheim's face grew cherry red. "Wh-what're you talkin' about, you damn idiot!" He tore his gaze away from the pretty servant girl, glaring into his friends amused eyes. "I-I wouldn't do that!"

"Why not?" his friend laughed, slyly. "I've done it!"

"What the hell – are you crazy?" Hohenheim hissed, alarmed. "If master catches you screwing around with the girls around here he's gonna' have you whipped!"

"No, he won't!" he snorted, waving the idea off. "He's too busy with his own things to notice it!'

"But—!"

"Twenty three," a deep voice boomed. The hall they were standing in silenced. Hohenheim could feel sweat start to drip down his temple, his masters deep and intimidating voice enough to make the hairs on the back of his head stand. Had he heard their conversation? It wouldn't surprise him if he had – his master had ears on every wall! "Come here now."

"Now you've done it!" Hohenheim hissed at his friend, who had paled. He walked forward to his master, past the pretty servant girl who worriedly watched him walk to the man. "Yes, my master?"

"Come with me, I have a chore for you to do," he ordered. He gazed at the rag in his hand. "You will not be needing that. Leave it."

"But if it's a chore, I'm gonna' need something, right?" he asked, confused. His master sighed in response.

"Twenty three, just leave the rag and follow me. Do not get left behind." He began walking, ignoring the gold-haired boys grumbles at his command. He tossed the rag to his friend and ran after his master, catching up with him in no time.

They walked down a number of halls, each one paved with cold stone slabs that prevented the oppressing heat from outside to enter. There was a cool breeze drafting from somewhere ahead, blowing the twin strands of hair out of his face as he continued to follow his master.

He had never been to this part of the castle, as he curiously gazed at the wooden doors that no doubt kept wonders he would never be able to comprehend inside. His eyes strayed over to the door ahead, bolted in with steel and looming high, and felt trepidation sink into his steps.

"Enter," his master demanded, leaving the door open enough for him to walk inside. The interior of the room was similar to the inside of the laboratory he loved to break into and mess with. The only difference was the assortment of books and urns that stood by the far west wall; all bearing weird names he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

"Sit down on the chair," his master instructed, "and outstretch your arm."

"Like this?" Hohenheim asked, letting his arm drape over the wooden desk as he sat down.

"Yes, like that." His master approached him with one of those glass cups in his hand. He remembered the word: beaker. But this time he held a knife in his other hand, sharp and glinting under the suns early rays. "Don't move no matter what."

"Y...yes master," he replied, hesitantly, not trusting the man with a knife. The knife cut into his skin, allowing a few drops of blood to leak into the edge of the glass he pressed against his skin. He had the reflex to retract his arm but his master kept it firmly in place, cutting more skin to allow more blood to flow into the cup.

He only accumulated a little and he bandaged the shallow wound quickly right after.

"Go back to work," was all he said, as Hohenheim stared at the beaker in his hand in puzzlement.

"But, why'd you take my blood?" he asked, curiously. "What's it for?"

His master parted his lips. Then he shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. Go back to work, you lazy dog!"

Hohenheim had the urge to shout he wasn't stupid and he could understand if he took the time to explain himself but he swallowed the urge and nodded, exiting the room and glancing back only once; continuing to the large entertainment room he needed to clean before the day was over.

"So he took your blood?" Ed asked, immersed in his fathers story. "Did you ever figure out what it was used for?"

"Yes," Hohenheim said. "I understood years too late, however. He used my blood...to create the very thing we will be fighting against tomorrow."

"He keeps on taking your blood?" a fellow friend of his asked, as they scrubbed the floor by hand. The tiles were beautiful marble and needed to be properly polished for the fiesta their master was going to be hosting that day, due to the recent kings victory over a battle out in the eastern dessert against a village who wanted to overthrow him. "That's a real trick..."

"Yeah, you're telling me," a sixteen year old Hohenheim whispered back. "He's been doing it for a long time now...but this time he took more than before. It's strange..."

"Yeah. Wonder why..."

"I wouldn't know," Hohenheim shrugged. "He keeps me outta' his business. Damn old man," he ignored his friends worried eyes; queasy his friend had insulted their master as it was forbidden to talk ill of him. "Whatever he's doing better be good 'cause everytime he takes my blood I get all woozy and stupid."

"You're already stupid!" his friend pointed out with a grin.

"SHUT UP I AM NOT STUPID!" he shouted, glaring at him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!"

"He took a lot of blood that day," Hohenheim explained. "I didn't make much of it but it was that batch of blood that created that creature."

"Father?" Greed offered, earning a nod.

"Yes. However, he had been created by pure accident...my master had been tampering with other theories so it came to a surprise to him when he created the first Homunculus. It was even stranger because my master told me to clean the study a few days after his creation...and I suppose that is day I exiled myself into being a monster."

Ed's brows creased in confusion.

Hohenheim continued his tale..

He scrubbed the floor with the mop. There was a mess of parchment and other scholar things thrown about in the room. His master had ran into him in the hall and breathlessly told him to hurry and clean the room because he had to tell the king of something he had discovered; something big, by the way his eyes glistened with excitement and glee.

It was the happiest he had seen his master.

"Don't speak to it!" his master warned. "I forbid you from speaking!"

He didn't care – as long as he didn't go outside to broom the dusty stone he was fine.

He entered the study by kicking a bucket of water inside. He shoved the mop into the soapy water, letting it splash over the dusty tile with a wet slop and beginning his daily routine.

"Hey!"

Hohenheim ignored the voice, following his orders moodily.

"You there! Hey!"

Hohenheim glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on the desk which contained a small flask. He went back to work without another word, keen in finishing so he could get some grub earlier. He had skipped out on dinner last night in order to sleep more as he had been deprived of it.

"Oh, I see, you're ignoring me..."

Hohenheim frowned, giving the flash another look. He stopped mopping as the weird blob of blank continued to call him. He wasn't suppose to speak to it but it wouldn't shut up!

"Com here! Yes, closer! That's it..."

He eyed the freaky fuzz thing in the glass. He gave the door one look. No one was there; it wouldn't hurt to tell the thing to shut up so he could finish. "Talk to me later. I'm busy!" He moved away from it, going back to his task.

"What? Doesn't my appearance shock you?" the blob spoke, sounding intrigued.

He turned back to it, giving the door one glance. "You want me to act shocked? What's it worth to you if I do?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Hmm..." the experiment hummed in thought. "How very brash of you. What's your name?"

He leaned against the mop. "Number twenty three."

"No! Don't give me your number! Give me your name."

"Don't have one," the boy spit on the ground, wiping it away with the mop right after. "I'm a slave."

"Slave...?" the experiment repeated, curiously. "You mean 'one who has been denied their freedom and rights; who's ownership is transferred and sold to others as a commodity'?"

Hohenheim gave it a blank stare. "Transferred what?"

"'One who is abjectly subservient to a specific person or influence'?"

"...Huh?"

"You're not very smart, are you?"

"SHUT UP!" he shouted defensively, cheeks tinting pink.

"Hah," the experiment scoffed. "How could I have been born from someone like you?"

"What..?"

"It was you, wasn't it?" it said, confidently. "The one who gave me his blood?"

"Now that you mention it..." Hohenheim murmured, holding his bandaged arm. "Master did take out a lot of blood last time..."

"Yes, you are the reason for my existence in this world," it said, sounding grateful. "Thank you, ah...number twenty three is too impersonal. Oh, I know! How about I give you a name?"

Hohenheim scowled deeply. "Just who the hell do you think you are?" To grant him a name? Ha! His master had once told him a name was a very sacred thing. He was not born into a lineage where his name would be respected; he was a slave and as a slave, he need not a name.

He was only used for the most menial of things.

He did not deserve a name, his master had said once. So what gave this freaky thing a right to give him a name? Regardless, the boy let him continue.

"Hmm..something big should fit you; something grand...hmm...let's see...how about Paracelsus—"

"Para-what?" Hohenheim frowned. "No thanks!"

"Fine...how about Theophrastus Bombastus—"

"Too long!" he flatly denied, not even being able to wrap his tongue around the first damn word.

"Oh, right," the experiment said, tone sarcastic. "You're not smart enough to remember a long name, I forgot."

"Hey! Stop saying I'm not smart, damn it!" he growled, glaring at it.

"How about just...Van Hohenheim?"

"You mean to tell me that that bearded guy was the one that gave you your name?" Ed interrupted his tale, sounding incredulous. Greed and the rest seemed just as immersed in the story as he was and shot him a look for interrupting. "No wonder your name sucks!"

"Edward!" Heinkel warned.

"What? It's true! It's all tacky and long..." he grumbled.

"You're tacky," Greed shot back flatly. "Now shut up and let him continue!"

"Do you even know how to read or write?" it asked, curiously.

"Nope!" he replied. "Don't need to know all of that to do my work."

A strange type of mischief took over the blobs words. He didn't know what it was, but the talk they had begun to delve into was dangerous; it was something that could get him beaten or worse but he allowed it to speak – allowed it to freely shake the thoughts his master had firmly ingrained into his brain.

"Don't you wish to be free?" the experiment asked. "Do you want to spend the rest of your life as a simple slave? Do you want to die in a cage, without any rights and being denied all that is to be experienced out in the world? If so then you are no different than me, being stuck in this flask."

Hohenheim felt his hand shake and he tightened it around the handle of his mop. His words were tempting – they were things he only allowed himself to think of during the darkest hours of the night, when no one could beat him submissive once more. They were dangerous words, enticing words, and he swallowed down the rock of anxiety as it continued:

"Knowledge is a great and powerful thing," it purred. "It is the very thing that will grant you your freedom. It is something that must be cherished...something that will never weigh you down and only help you along this life...do you wish to learn, Van Hohenheim...?" Its words became even more persuasive if that was possible: "I could teach you..."

"J-just...what are you?" Hohenheim dared himself to ask, voice strained. "What should I call you?" He knew he was getting himself into something big but the talk of freedom...of being able to choose his own wife, to raise his own family, to create his own lineage was too tempting not to take.

"You can just call me...Homunculus, the Dwarf inside the Flask," it grinned, allowing him view of a single eye that pierced through his own deeper than he could have ever imagined.

"So, my old man was the one who taught you your stuff, huh?" Greed said, once Hohenheim had quieted for a moment; collecting his thoughts again. "Sounds just like him. But there's always a catch..."

"There was a catch," Hohenheim affirmed softly. "I was ignorant to this catch for better part of my life. I taught most of the other slaves how to count and how to read the most briefest of words. I taught some of them how to write, too, and I suppose that is how I began to climb my way up from a slave to my masters assistant."

"HEY!" A voice roared from behind. "What are you filth doing here?" The slaves gathered around Hohenheim scrambled away, as the man cringed when he felt his master grab him by the collar roughly. "You again!" he scowled. "I'll see to it that you do not eat today, twenty three!"

"Sorry! I'm sorry master!" a seventeen year old Hohenheim apologized with a sheepish grin. His master flashed his eyes to the spot he had been kneeled in, to the words and numbers scribbled in the sand with surprising clarity; handwriting rather well.

"You can write...?" he trailed off, surprised.

"Yes...and I can read, too. I also know some arithmetic," he told him, an idea suddenly blossoming in his head as his master said, still sounding astounded: "So that is why all of the slaves have become increasingly rowdy. You have been teaching them?"

"I can do much more than just that, you know," he reeled him in with a small grin. "I'm also able to do a bit of alchemy." At his masters shocked expression, he bargained: "Would you like to hire me as your assistant, master?"

"How very brash of you," his master replied, with a risen brow.

Hohenheim smirked. "You cannot attain anything without taking a risk here and there."

His master let him go, crossing his arms over his chest. "Assistant, hmm?" he repeated, impressed by the slaves knowledgeable words. "Are you sure you would be able to even keep up?"

"More than able to, actually," he replied, confidently. "I assure you you would not be disappointed if you do!"

His master gave him one long stare. "Alright. I shall test you. If you can pass the test, you shall be my new assistant from therein."

Hohenheim grinned. "Deal!"

"So you became his assistant and he taught you alchemy?" Edward surmised.

"Yes, he was my first teacher in the art of alchemy," Hohenheim nodded. "He taught me most of what I know today however it had been Homunculus, the Dwarf inside the Flask who had taught me the majority of it."

"Something doesn't make sense," Heinkel spoke up, after being immersed in deep thought. "You said that your master went to the king to inform him of the Homunculus, correct?"

"Yes."

"How come he didn't do anything?"

"Yeah, Lion King raises a good point!" Edward backed up, expectantly looking at his father. "How come he didn't do anything about it? It sounds like a huge alchemical breakthrough to me..."

"Simple: he did not care," Hohenheim replied. "He wasn't one who was very interested in the developments of early alchemy. He was more concerned with securing his bloodline or heeding to the problems of the community than pay attention to a bunch of scientists with too much time on their hands," he shrugged. "That all changed when he grew ill, however..."

"The king is ill?" an eighteen year old Hohenheim said, concerned. "Will he be alright?"

"Yes, of course," his master replied briskly. "He has been looked over by the royal doctors and they said he will be fine if he rests."

"I hope so," Hohenheim continued to read his book. "It would be devastating to lose our king."

"Yes," his master murmured, stacking up some papers. "It would be...very devastating indeed."

Hohenheim noticed his eyes stray to the flask, who was abnormally quiet. He flashed his gold eyes to the Homunculus, who spun inside the flask idly as his master continued to stare a hole through it.

"Twen—Hohenheim?" his master called, still unused to calling him by his new name. It had been rather rash of him to ask him to call him Hohenheim but if he was ever going to break free from the lower ranks he needed to pave his way now! "I shall return late today. I want you to make sure all of the slaves return to their quarters and they all finish their chores. I also want you punish slaves fifteen and seventeen – no exceptions," he gave the young man a look.

"Yes, master," Hohenheim nodded, going back to his book. The man walked out of the study, leaving him in silence.

"I wonder what had him so troubled?" the Homunculus thought a loud.

"He's probably just worried about the crops this season," Hohenheim shrugged, not interested. "We've been having bad weather recently."

"Perhaps."

Hohenheim paused, shadows casting around him. His eyes flashed to the edge of the forest, to the darkness that stifled the air within as he thought about that day. He supposed that had been the day his master had gone out to speak to the King, to tell him that perhaps he might be able to cure him or more...

It wasn't strange that his master spoke with the Homunculus about controversial and even bewildering topics. Like...curing the ill with one single spoonful of medication.

Or immortality.

"What makes you happy?" A nineteen year old Hohenheim asked, as he gazed out at the grand expanse of land. He could see his people working hard and conversing, laughter floating up from below as a gentle breeze blew in.

He was eternally grateful for the Homunculus, the Dwarf inside the Flask for giving him the knowledge that he now knew he had craved since he had been a little boy. Now his days as slave number twenty three were distant and unimportant in contrast to the new life he now led; the new things he knew how to do as well as the new knowledge he learned every single day.

He liked to converse with the black blob. He arose many questions of life he wanted to answer. His lectures were also intriguing and helpful in the development of his formidable alchemical skills. They had gotten into the topic of happiness...of life and humanity that day.

The Homunculus always spoke poorly of humanity, he had noticed this when he began to first teach him. He didn't seem to understand the necessity of family and bonds; the need for friends and community. Which arose the question he had asked it: what made it happy if such 'superfluous' things were below him?

"Well, I don't ask for much as it is," it began, voice longing. "But I would like to be able to live out of this flask. As of now, if I leave this container...I would surely die."

"Hohenheim!" his masters voice rang from behind. "You have taken it out of the laboratory again, have you? Anyway, I need the Homunculus immediately."

"Er, my apologies, master!" Hohenheim stuttered, handing over the flask to his previous owner. The title had stuck, even if he was technically free.

Once the flask was safely in his masters hands, the man stated to it, severely: "The king wishes to speak to you..."

"Oh, really?" was all it said, sounding much too arrogant for its own good.

Hohenheim stood by the window, frowning as his master disappeared out of the door. I wonder what the king wants with him, he wondered, his gaze straying back to the beautiful land before him. The king has been calling him to the palace more and more now...

"I would have never imagined those to be the last days of Xerxes," Hohenheim closed his eyes, able to only faintly remember gazing out into those stretches of plains, bustling with life and his people, which he now housed within him; trapped and unable to return to their original bodies.

His heart gave a grieving clutch and he let his eyes drop to the floor. The last days of Xerxes. They were such wonderful days, such vibrant and gorgeous days he should have appreciated more. He should have gone out more with his friends, enjoyed his time living as a free man as now he was bound by chains no one would be able to free him from.

Trisha, he absently thought, clenching his hand.

"So I assume this is where it gets interesting, huh?" Greed spoke up, after a few extra moments of silence. "I wonder what my pops did to get you so down in the slums..." he trailed off, having caught the flash of pain that crossed the mans face.

Edward said nothing.

"I should have known why the king wanted the Homunculus so badly," Hohenheim began again, heaving a sigh of remorse. "There is only one reason for a man of his power, his status, would want to converse with a thing created out of science. He was sick, he had grown ill with disease and his body had been weakened by it. He was also very old...he was near his time and he knew it. But he wanted to continue his reign, he wanted to continue living..."

Ed's eyes rounded in realization. "Wait..."

Heads turned to him, to his shocked and pale face.

"Wait a second," he swallowed. "You mean to say the king of Xerxes wanted...?"

"Yes, Edward. He wanted immortality."

"Did you hear?" a woman whispered to to her friends. "Last night the entire village of Bodath was wiped out! They attacked everyone – even the children!"

His eyes widened, clutching the scrolls and books under his arm tightly. He leaned in a bit, to properly listen to the conversation.

"I heard a group of bandits did it," another woman injected, sounding terrified. "I also heard that we're going to be next if we do not flee now!"

"Nonsense!" the first woman shook her head, although she was trembling at the thought of being attacked by ruthless criminals. "The king would never allow such a tragedy to befall us like this! He would never!"

"You are right, Meiyo," the woman nodded, biting her lip. "I should never doubt my king! He will save us all, surely!"

Hohenheim gave the group of women on last troubling glance before he hurried back to his home. He climbed up the stone steps quickly, making haste to reach the study where he knew the Homunculus was at, waiting for him to return with the parchments and books.

"You're back," the Homunculus greeted, as he let the things drop on the table.

"Yes and do I have news for you," Hohenheim sighed. "The entire village of Bodath was raided by bandits yesterday. They killed everyone...what a tragedy."

"Oh, really?" the creature said, nonplussed. "How tragic, indeed..."

"That should have been my first warning," Hohenheim said, with a frown. "The rest of the villages around that area were also ravage soon after. It didn't take long for the workers to help dig so-called 'irrigation systems' for the crops," he looked at Ed, who he could see had the gears inside his head turning with every word.

"Dug?" Ed repeated, word sticking out from the rest. "Dug how?"

Hohenheim smiled a bit. "Why, in a circle, of course."

Whatever curiosity had been on his sons face fell off. He could see his wide eyes, his mouth fall open in pure shock. The truth in his eyes was something he wished his son did not have.

Greed, Heinkel and Darius remained oblivious.

Sometimes that was the best type of ignorance.

He briefly wished his son wasn't as smart as he was so that perhaps he wouldn't figure out the ending of the story so soon.

However smart he was wouldn't prepare him for what was to come,though, he thought to himself, as he continued his tragic tale...

It had taken years to complete.

Hohenheim was now reaching his twenty sixth birth date and he was excited to see his king become immortal. His master had explained to him what they were doing a few weeks beforehand and he was pleased to see that all the arrangements had finally been made.

He had also been cordially invited to witness their kings blossom into eternal life and the honor was much appreciated by the man.

He watched as they prepared for the ritual, their hoods over their heads and the cloak dragging behind as they let the oppressive incense they were holding out to the side float through the area reserved for their alchemical masterpiece.

"Hohenheim?" the Homunculus said, abruptly. "Could you perhaps move a little more to the right? I cannot see very well from where you are standing."

The man moved, asking: "Here?"

"A little more." They were nearing one of the many pillars that shot into the sky when he said to stop. Hohenheim's attention was dragged back to the men who were going to preform the alchemy, his master one of the ones staring in awe as the king sacrificed some blood into the middle of the small gold pot filled with all the ingredients needed to successfully make him immortal...

"Amazing," Hohenheim whispered to the Homunculus. "Our king is about to become immortal! This will be the start of a new era! It's unbelievable.."

The circle activated.

There was silence for a moment.

He did not notice the sinister grin of the Homunculus, as black hands shot out from the ground. Hohenheim felt his stomach plummet to his ankles when he saw them grab his teacher, his one master.

"MASTER!" he screamed in alarm when he saw him hit the floor, gag as he held his chest and threw his head back in pain.

"So this is...immortality?" he vaguely heard his king say in disbelief; he was too busy calling for his fallen master.

Hohenheim froze as everyone but him fell; as he heard the shrieks of terror come from his people outside...as the sky turned an ominous purple-black and more hands grew out from the earth; a sight so wild and outrageous he would have never believed it had he not seen it with his own eyes.

"What's happening!" Hohenheim shouted, the dread becoming impossible to contain. "What is all this? Homun—!" His eyes landed on the grin on its face, the mischievous snicker he allowed to voice. "What have you done!" he demanded, face contorting in rage.

"This is the real center of the transmutation circle you are standing on," the Homunculus laughed joyously. "I used your blood to open the portal! And now, my blood brother, as we both stand here...we stand at the center of the world! We are the ones who will no longer be stomped down by these imbeciles! We will rise above all else!" it shouted, its laughter only becoming more delighted as an eye opened from below him and gazed at him coldly.

Hohenheim screamed, as the hands shot out towards him and rebuked the glass in his hand; the flask which contained the very being who had made this happen. He felt pain start to explode in every part of his body, as he saw, with wide, frightened, eyes, his own limbs start to be broken down, deconstructed, and the Homunculus only laughed harder as he himself was torn to pieces before his vision faded to black...

"I awoke to no one," Hohenheim said, the entire camping site deathly silent. "I roamed the halls littered with bodies. They were all dead. No one responded, no one even twitched. I remember checking the pulse of several of my friends, hoping for one of them to be alive...but...no one was."

His fist clenched.

A resentment, a hatred, like no other consumed his thoughts; his heart. He felt the pain grow back; the utter grief at the loss of his people and how he had been the one at fault choke him up.

It was his fault for not realizing it sooner.

For relying on an experimental creature who longed to be out of a puny flask; who longed for freedom and had the monopolizing powers to attain it, the knowledge and strength in the form of heeding, insignificant, humans...

He felt a pain like no other begin to unfurl inside of him as he leaned over the ornate rock railing. His blunt nails dug into the stone, as his eyes shakily ran over the hundreds of other bodies he saw lying around below; motionless.

"Where...is..everyone?" he whispered, unable to cope with the sudden loss of everyone important to him. "Someone..." he remembered his friends dead eyes. "...please..." that girl he liked, the one with the long blonde hair and sweet smile – now dead. "...answer me..."

An amused voice sounded behind him. "I'm afraid that won't be possible. You see, their souls have been sucked out of their bodies."

Hohenheim whirled around and he caught sight of robes, the robes, he remembered, that had belonged to his king. He fell on his knee respectfully and shouting, in relief: "Your majesty! You survived! That's—!"

"Do you like the clothes?" he said, sounding even more amused than before. "I just took whatever I found lying around. I think they're quite nice, don't you? Very smooth..."

Hohenheim knew that voice. That slithering, mischievous, voice that had persuaded him into becoming what he was now. His rose his head slowly, disbelievingly, and locked his eyes on the man that was sprawled over the ornate stone; a grin in his words. "How do you like your new body?" he asked, repositioning himself so he could rest a hand over his knee, his human knee.

"You...you're..." his voice shook. He stared—he stared into the eyes of— "me."

"Yes, I took the liberty of creating myself a new vessel," he explained. "Its such a relief to be able to walk on my own two feet!" he exhaled a sigh, grateful.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Hohenheim asked, desperately. "What do you mean a new body? What are you talking—!"

"Focus inside of yourself and you will see," the Homunculus suggested, with a leery grin. "First...you gave me your blood, which granted me life...then I gave you knowledge, which granted you freedom...now I have given you immortality, in exchange for the souls of all the people in this country. Well, technically I took half of them for myself...but it was for a good cause: I finally made it out of that stuffy flask of mine," he grinned.

"Wh...no.." Hohenheim choked, his hands shaking as he heard the voices of his people; of his friends and family cry out to him. He felt the tempest of souls he now harbored inside of him; the shrieks of despair and cries of anguish. He heard them. He heard them all. "Nhng...n-n—!"

"I am eternally grateful for your help," came his mocking, grinning, voice.

"NOOOO!" he cried in anguish. He dug his hands into his eyes as an uncomprehending sludge of despair and anguish overcame his soul at the realization that this had been his fault – he had KILLED them all! He heard them – the heard them: crying and begging for release, scorning him and screaming at him and crying for him and screeching for freedom from this new cage they were now sentenced to sustaining for the rest of their afterlife...

"Thank you, Van Hohenheim..."

He didn't stop screaming.

The campsite was still.

Greed was speechless, as he stared at the sullen downcast look on the mans face. Heinkel and Darius swallowed thickly, gazing at the man who had become immortal against his own will; had to suffer with the cries and shouts of his own people locked inside of him for the rest of his life...

Edward shook his head, digging his fingers into his scalp as he tried to understand what his father had just confided him with; what he just confessed to. This had been a product of Father, the reason why his father had left making sense in his head now; the reason why he vaguely remembered the man callously calling himself a monster and an abomination.

It all made sense now.

His automail hand trembled as he clenched it.

I would want to kill myself, too, Edward thought, pale and shaking. If I had to stand listening to the screams of this nation inside of my body.. Losing everyone dear to him: Alphonse, Mustang, Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Fuery, Falman...Pinako and—Winry. His heart gave a pained jolt. Having to listen to their mournful wails day in and day out... I'd go insane... and having to listen to their snarling and their sneers of injustice...I'd call myself a monster, too...

Hohenheim gazed at his eldest son as he battled with his thoughts. Now he knew the truth and he could only hope that his son wouldn't shun him for the monster he called himself to be. He could only hope he could understand where he was coming from now: "You can't accept it like Alphonse did, can you?"

Edward gasped, snapping his head up at him. "A-Alphonse? You talked to Al?"

"Yeah...he has his own view on the events that I said but I told him," he said, gazing into the flickering tendrils of the fire. He had started it somewhere during his tale, ignited it as he remembered the way his people had became nothing but empty shells in a blink of an eye...

"I'm the Philosopher's Stone you two have been searching for all of these years," he pointed to himself. Ed's eyes widened with shock. "Will you use me?"

Rage flashed on his face. He stood up, outraged his father had even suggested such an atrocious thought. "Don't be ridiculous!" he shouted, eyes flickering with the dancing flames. "All of those lives have nothing to do with this! There's absolutely no way we'd be able to use you when it was our fault we lost our bodies in the first place!" he spat. "So don't even think about that!"

Hohenheim allowed a small smile. Whatever time Trisha had been with the boys, she had done good. She had raised them well. He was proud. "I'm glad my son would say so," he closed his eyes, grateful for his sons logic. "Tomorrow there will be an eclipse. He's planning on using it," he explained, opening dark eyes.

"Use the eclipse?" Ed frowned,

"Yes...Edward," Hohenheim locked eyes with the boy. "Will you help me put a stop to his reign?"

"H-help you?" Ed spluttered, caught off guard: "Hey! Don't get the wrong idea, old man! I can knock that old geezer off his pedestal without teaming up with you! The only reason we're going along with you is because it looks like if we do, we can assure our victory, so that's the only damn reason I'm listening to you in the first place, alright!" he scowled, tearing his gaze from the silently grieving eyes of his father.

He clenched his automail hand. He did not meet any others eyes as he turned away from him; from them. He could hear the rest rise with every step he took, no doubt to go off by themselves to digest the load of information that had taken nearly the entire day to say.

How had he not noticed how pained he appeared in his childhood? How had he not noticed his callous and rough talk of himself? How his mother would scold him for speaking about himself in such a degrading manner?

He had grown up with it, that was why. He had grown up with listening to him put himself down, scorn himself, and his mother sooth him back to life, help him along the paved road of eternal life...

His mother.

He stopped in his tracks. Pinako's voice rang back in his head, "pass it along to him if you see him!" and her words came back like a recording; clear and perfect yet holding implications that made his chest hurt.

He dropped his gaze to the ground, a conflict of emotions making his head hurt. The deeply imbeded wound for his fathers abandonment still raged on; it had not been magically cured just because his father had told him his own sob story. But it had become unsteady, raked with doubt and shame for even harboring such intense hatred for the man who had breathed life into him.

"Granny Pinako asked me to give you mom's last words," he began, shutting his eyes against a slew of tears. He steeled his voice: "'I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise'," he swallowed. "And 'I'm dying first'." There was no response from the man. Edward set his jaw, shouting brashly over his shoulder, "Well? What're you gonna say—!" His eyes widened.

Tears streamed down Hohenheim's cheeks.

An expression of pure grief fleeted his face.

He stared at his father, the man he had always considered brave and impregnable when he was young, and was stunned by the free tears that trailed down his face thickly. He clenched his metal hand, ignored the guilty twinge in his stomach that told him he had only made that anguished man's life harder with his spitting words.

He turned away, leaving him to drown in his own pain.

He had not been what he was expecting.

He was not the arrogant, snide, and vile person he had made him out to be in his head. He was something different altogether; someone who fit more into Al's description of their father than his ever did.

He could still hear his fathers silent sobs as he walked away, closing his eyes to keep in his own regretful tears.