Fma-naruto chapter eight

A/N: O.O
Lot's o watchers for this here fic. Veeeeery intimidating:) ahem.. This is as much I got done tonight. I know. I write far too slow. I do want to get to a battle, but Ed has to know himself a bit first.
--oo--

Having chucked the stupid sticks away as useless, Ed hunches his shoulders and sloops in another great mouthful of the wonderfully strange long thin noodles. The salty tang of the thin broth tickles his throat in an oddly dreadful way.

Why? Why is such a flavor so very very familiar? He keeps his eyes fixated on the relative bore of the sagging wagon's side, managing to block out all distractions found on the lively street in his utter focus of his pursuit.

At first, just past the hazy confusion, all he sees is white. He remembers turning his head, gaping at the endless nothing of the place. He wondered what he was doing to get there, and startled at the thought that he nearly forgot his own name. Then came the echoing boom of something ancient and so very final, filling him with the foreboding sense of doom that resonates throughout his very being.

Somewhere between the last bite and swallowing, he widens his eyes in breathless horror. That thing. How could he EVER forget that thing: the dark monument of all knowledge in the world and the cruel heart of alchemy itself?
He feels a stabbing throb in his thigh and. He sees the blood. Endless torrents of blood flowing across an elegant design scrawled in chalk upon a dark basement floor. The lifting fog revealed a bloody horror he alone visited upon his innocent mother, and he watched as it gasped its last wet gasp, at the same time mourning his childhood as it came to an abrupt end.

All his fault. It's all wrong, and it's all his fault, because it was his idea to in the first place. He shivers, and clutches at the dirty tunic he wears, throat tightening as he recalls his desperate, futile cries for his missing brother.

He slides his eyes slightly when a body slouches down into a nearby stool on his left, but shifts away as his right shoulder begins to ache as badly as his left thigh. He rubs at the throbbing juncture with the hearty meat of his left hand, and his brows meet as he sees just how much paler, and thinner, his right hand seems.

The wrist is bonier, too, he thinks as he flexes his fingers, as though I haven't used it in years.

Sent via a stray supercharged nano particle of unobtainium....