The Devil's Trill

[Shula Brighton]

Day 1

Observe and report. Not a complicated field mission by any means, and certainly not one that should have taken more than a few days, especially since the orders specifically were to only report and not act alone. There had been some rumors floating around before they'd left for Drachma that were still going on now that they were back that were rather disconcerting to many people; in a small village in the southwest, off in the mountains and thick, black forests, people were vanishing. The villagers that resided there weren't, but alchemists from that area, other villages and the military were. But that was only a rumor, and when asked, nobody actually in that village said anything about the disappearances. Those people that were missing had been there, yes, but they had also left. Where they were now was between them and God. It was a quiet rumor, barely trickling down from the mountains and lost in all the commotion of the war in Drachma, rebuilding everywhere, electing a new Chancellor... It had been quite almost entirely forgotten about. Almost.

James Weibe had been given the case file after South had settled down again from the Chancellor's grand shindig. There wasn't really a lot to the file, honestly, and it could have just been small town rumors. After all, in Drachma they had lost a lot of people whose bodies weren't able to be recovered. But still... Something about it bothered Shula. All the people who were recently added to missing persons was an alchemist of some sort, and they had reportedly all been to that tiny village tucked into the side of the mountains. She had looked over the file herself, and that rumor had only been brought to her attention because a message had been passed on by a family member of a missing alchemist. This village fell in South's jurisdiction. But she had made the mistake of passing the file down to have one of the soldiers from the Defense Department look in on the issue. The notes had stated so clearly that it was alchemists going missing. What part of that didn't they understand?

Todtnauberg was only a little over three hours' drive from South, and the area hadn't been affected at all by the destruction of the main cities or Creta's invasion. Phone and internet should have worked just fine. But Major Weibe left in the morning and that night had said he had a lead that he'd follow up on. And the next morning, nothing. One day's field mission became two. Calls and texts from his superior went unanswered. Two days became three, and by the time he was missing for nearly a week was when Shula had heard about it. The little General was rather pissed about the fact that such a rather important detail would be overlooked and now the Major was missing, possibly for the same reasons, and that now that he was missing that it was indirectly her fault. The epic downside about being in charge was that every decision, whether you made it or not, was a reflection of your own decisions.

She decided, then, that if the decisions of those who worked under her counted as her own and that Major Weibe was missing because of that decision, then she would go look into the matter herself. And just in case they got spooked by more “official” military visitors, Shu planned on going in her civvies. Shula called home, even though she knew Fenris wouldn't answer; leaving a message on her machine should be fine since he'd hear her explain herself. ”Hey guys, it's me. Something's come up at work that needs my attention, so you three will have to fend for yourselves tonight. I should be home tomorrow or so.” Shula paused for a moment, knowing she needed to tell Spade she was leaving but not wanting him to worry without having to lie to him. Hmm... She changed modes on her phone, texting him.

Checking on an AWOL alchemist. If I need help I will call but should be back tomorrow night. Promise I'll be careful.

Shula changed out of her uniform into her spare clothes and just a plain oversized black hoodie with a soft plaid lining, no hint outwardly of who she was. Just some Ishvallan girl with an old blue punch bug, driving to a rural mountain town. The hiking was great there this time of year. Her secretary hadn't been given enough information to be of use to anyone and the case file was locked in her drawer. Ready to go, Shula knew there was just one last thing she needed to do as she wrote down a short note and sealed it in an envelope before hiding it in the courtyard, up in the robin's nest by her office window. That nest was where Raistlin's ninja took and left messages for Shula and set up times to meet and deliver research. She'd been very good about delivering her findings lately and communicating with them regularly about what she was up to, and leaving to check this out, she felt, needed a mention.

Going to Todtnauberg and will return tomorrow night. I can meet to deliver anytime day after tomorrow.

And with that, Shula left, the faded vintage car speeding off into the afternoon sun toward the mountains.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been dark by the time she'd arrived at the sleepy village, and the whole place had an innocent charm to it that belonged painted on greeting cards, as though it had been untouched by time for the last hundred or more years. It had also been late enough that Shula couldn't look in on too much as most places had rolled up by sundown, leaving her enough time to get a tiny room at the only hotel in the area. She couldn't argue that the view was breathtaking, and the people were certainly very friendly. So THIS is where alchemists have been going missing after visiting? Unless it's the witch from Hansel and Gretel, this place doesn't exactly seem that intimidating.

The next day, however, had been nothing but searching, quietly and subtly, asking various people how the working market was around there, and if they had any need of an alchemist who was an ace at gardening. Shula had even given a demonstration of she could make the plants grow and produce summer tomatoes in the middle of winter within minutes. Shula never let on that she was also a fire alchemist, or that her name was Shula, choosing to introduce herself as Faizah. Her fire bracelets were in her pockets, and her watch was in her back pocket, and her gun under her jacket, just in case. After the fourth person asking about the Major, Shula could tell something was up; those nice people were lying when they said they hadn't seen him. The way they got uneasy and shifted around and tried to change the subject, or started asking where she was from again. Finally, come evening, something she'd been waiting for.

A nice old man approached her, wanting her to come to his home to have a look at his garden and maybe talk about a job. He had a little mother-in-law apartment out back, and he could use the help with the gardening. But something about the way he said it. He smiled, but his eyes seemed.... repentant. Shula looked around from the corners of her eyes, but couldn't see anyone watching them, but wasn't convinced he wasn't being put up to it. The house he'd sent her to was old, and looked unoccupied, left to moan out in a field surrounded by what might have been an amazing garden years ago. But everything was in a state of disrepair. Something was very off, and Shula slipped on her bracelets, slowly approaching the house. She was about to slip around the back, peek in through the windows and see about going in through the cellar to check it out when the front door opened wide, the same old man standing there and waving at her. Expecting her and smiling. Offering to take her jacket and make her a nice cup of tea. Shula almost didn't have a choice to go into the house as the door shut behind her.

The inside of the house looked and felt as decayed as the outside had, wallpaper peeling in places and pictures on the wall yellowed with age. And that's when she felt it and cried out, on the way to the kitchen as she passed a door in the hall. The sharp stab of a needle plunging into the side of her neck, cold liquid forcing itself into her veins and burning inside of her body as the array activated to fight off the toxin, making her dizzy. Shula's arms reached out, grasping for something to hold onto as she felt a sensation of falling backwards and crying out again as her back hit the stairs. Her recovered shoulder. Her head. Tumbling down into the cellar on its narrow stairs until Shula finally came to a stop at the bottom and was still.

It was a long moment before Shula let out a low moan, her head and back aching from the fall. She could feel pressure on her arms, but it was hard to tell where she was feeling it from combined with the sensation of being moved even though her body wasn't moving. As the low sound passed her lips, the moving feeling stopped.

”Holy shit, she's still alive!” Shula didn't dare open her eyes; right now she felt like her brain was throbbing and every beat of her heart just echoed with ow ow ow ow. A man was speadking, and he was holding onto her arms. He'd been dragging her.

”Of course she's not alive,” said another voice, also young and male. He huffed, coming down the stairs. Shula could hear the old man upstairs saying something and then the front door shutting again as heavy footsteps came all the way down into the cellar. ”Moron. There was enough in that syringe to take out a man twice her size. That was just the air escaping her lungs.” Shula remained as still as possible, trying to not visibly breathe while the men talking seemed occupied. Now would be a bad time to reach for her gun. The dragging resumed for a few feet and stopped, the first man sighing.

”Damn, she's just a kid, too. Why don't parents teach them to stay away from this shit?” There was something in his voice, remorse? ”Maybe we shouldn't toss this one in the pit, Frederich. She's the youngest alchemist we've caught... Maybe we should check her ID, and leave her body where her family can find it instead? Her parents-”

”-Don't matter. She goes in, same as everyone else. Pad her down and take the body out back.” The man let go of her and moved around, but didn't move to where he was going to unzip her jacket to find the gun. Instead, he stood up, his voice raising. He was against killing kids, which was what he saw Shula as. Figures. The other didn't care as much seeing as how it was too late now, and her parents should have taught her to not use alchemy and that maybe when they moved on from this area and had more members she could be an example of what alchemy led to. She'd be dead for a greater cause and have been stopped before she could do any harm to the world. They were distracted and not paying attention. If she could just move her arm to the inside of her jacket and get her-

FUCKNUGGETS, he was kneeling back down fast and his hand was on her stomach. She held her breath, trying to keep her heart from racing. Oh crap. Shit shit shit shit shit! His hand hit her gun through her jacket. ”What the hell... Fred, she's got a gun on her.” Thick hands reached for her jacket's zipper and pulled down. Dizzy and in pain from the fall, adrenaline won out, Shula's hand shooting into her coat to reach for the gun and beat the man. ”Jesus Christ, she's a zombie!” Shula scrambled away from them both, gun raised and aiming alternately at the one who had been on the floor with her.

”Both of you, on the ground, NOW!” Shula winced as she stood up, her head feeling like it was swimming and her body hurting all over. She tried to keep her mind focused though her body felt ready to just slump back down as she looked between the man who was in front of her and complying, and the other, Frederich, who was still on the stairs. Red eyes narrowed, the little Ishvallan pissed. ”I said get on the ground, and put your hands behind your heads! Now either of you care to tell me what the hell gives?!”

Slowly Fred began to comply, his eyes trained on her gun and then looking past her, Shula not noticing the tic to the left his head made as she stood on unsteady feet, a buzzy, static noise starting to roar up in her ears. By the time she'd heard the footsteps come down through the storm door, the heel of another pistol's grip striking down hard against the back of her head. The gun dropped from Shula's hands and her body limply fell forward onto the cold slab foundation. The man who had just come in picked up her gun and examined it.

”Hey guys, this is a military gun.” He knelt down, padding the unconscious woman's body down and then suddenly stopped when he found what he'd been looking for and pulled it out. Her State Watch. It clicked open, the man examining the name engraved on the inside. Brighton, Shula F. He mulled that over a moment before nearly dropping the watch. ”Ah shit, guys! Fred, you wanted their attention and you got it- fucking General of South in person!” The room went quiet before two of the three men started to panic slightly at the idea of having captured and planning to kill one of Amestris' own figureheads. The panic died down when Fred began to laugh again.

”Let the Military sweat, this is EXACTLY what we wanted! They'll come looking for her and won't find her here. We'll go elsewhere and broadcast an example online soon as Mark can set it up. Jeremy, get the rest of her gear off her and keep her put down here. Paul... Decorate for the General, won't you? Let her know her friends are here for her.”

[Raistlin Ambros]

Going to Todtnauberg and will return tomorrow night. I can meet to deliver anytime day after tomorrow.

Reports indicated that General Shula Brighton had traveled southwest to the town to Todtnauberg, an Amestrian town situated near the border, just as she said. However, sources indicate that she did not return to her residence, nor to South HQ for the allotted time. A tracking device had been planted on her vehicle sometime before, and was still active. The beacon indicated that she her vehicle was still in the vicinity of Todtnauberg. No contact has been established with her since the day of departure. Sources suggest that her motive for departing to the town was to investigate the disappearances of alchemists, both state and civilian, in the area. It is possible that the investigation took longer than expected, or that Shula Brighton had been captured or killed by an unknown group. The Aerugese-Amestrian border is sparsely populated, so information surrounding happenings and residents around the area is limited, outside of basic military surveillance of suspicious movements made by the Amestrian military. Other possibilities include a transaction with another party. It is also entirely possible that she changed vehicles in Todtnauberg and acquired a different mode of transportation to throw off my surveillance. I will depart tonight for the town of of Todtnauberg. Estimated time of arrival: 3rd of January, 2012, 3:00pm, Central time. Investigation into the whereabouts of Shula Brighton will be conducted by myself alone, as Akiha still has not returned from her trip to Amestris. End report.

Several hours later

In a quaint little town, nestled in the mountains of the south western border, on a quaint little steet running through the town centre, far from bustling, there was a cozy looking hotel, the Todtnauberg Inn. Outside of this handsome two floor building, stooped over a blue Volkswagen beetle, was a long, black haired man, with a face as pale as an undead, and eyes as red as blood. Clad in a plain black sweater and dark blue jeans, he didn't seem to be of any noticeable importance based on his appearance, yet, he seemed to carry himself with obscure purpose.

Raistlin ran his fingers underneath the undercarriage of the compact little car, feeling the smooth metal carefully. He felt an anomally, an expected bumb. The tracking device. So that confirmed this was indeed the car of Shula Brighton. The question was: Where was she now, and what was her purpose here? Wiping the grease of the car off on his jet black sweater, Raistlin stood up and made his way to the hotel's entrance. The door swung open with a soft ring from the bell overhead, causing the clerk at the desk to look up from his book. He was a fair skinned man, well into his forties, short, neat brown hair, a crooked nose. A pair of spectacles set upon his face and a less than jubilant expression accompanied it. He looked quite irritated to see a customer, oddly enough. Or perhaps it was Raistlin's purposeful apathy that made him uneasy.

"May I help you?" said he, as Raistlin approached the counter. There was a tinge of forced hospitality in his voice. The sort most customer service workers had when they weren't sickeningly cheery.

"I'm looking for someone, a friend of mind. We were supposed to meet outside this hotel an hour ago, and she hasn't shown up" lied Raistlin in his perfect Amestrian, with a face of uncracked stone. Not a single crease, not a single tic to give him away. "That's her car outside. The blue one. She's not hard to miss, short Ishvallan girl. Is she here now?"

The man did not speak at first. Instead he looked down at the papers on his desk, as if they would tell him what he needed to know, or if he was just biding time, deciding whether or not he ought to even speak to the customer.

"Ah yes," said he, finally looking back up at Raistlin with sunken grey eyes. "Miss Faizah is not here at the moment. She went on a group hiking tour. They should return in a few days. She left a note here for you, but I am afraid I misplaced it. Err, might I have your phone number? I can contact you if I find it."

"No need." Raistlin pulled a small leather wallet from his jean pockets and withdrew a few thousand Cenz, placing the bills neatly on the polished counter between the two. "I'd like to rent a room for a few nights. That should cover for the first couple of nights. Keep the rest in case I choose to stay longer"

"Very well, sir" replied the man, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "We shall have your room ready momentarily." He turned from Raistlin and began to address an assortment of papers on the shelves behind him with little to no purpose in his movements. "Might I recommend touring the town for the time being?"

On a tourist's hike? Shallow lies and frail cover stories. Thought Raistlin, as he walked out of the inn and into the brisk winter air of the mountains. Shula had used her middle name, Faizah, meaning she wanted to keep her identity secret and maintain a low profile. Here were two likely possibilities. On the one hand, she could have been here for an exchange of sorts, of military information, or even pertaining to himself and his orders. The innkeeper could have been a federal agent, relaying false information to anyone that may be following Miss Brighton, such as himself. Someone else could have taken her car to this town to create a false trail, whilst she went elsewhere. If this was indeed the case, he would have to either inquire or interrogate an acting agent. However, the alternative was that she had actually led an investigation into the areas disappearances, though, that could be discredited by the fact that she was a commander now, and personal missions would not be assigned to her as such. The fact that the innkeeper claimed that she would be gone for several days on a trip that she would not have taken so casually considering the time she stated she would return and the fact she used a false identity, meant that either he was covering for her absence on her behalf, though the reason could vary, or she had lied to him in order to hide her whereabouts, which would render interrogating him as useless. The third possibility was that he was covering for her absence, not on her behalf, but for another party, one that would not want her whereabouts known. The variables were too great here. More investigation was needed.

**************************************************************

A small little town, in a small little area, filled with small minded people trapped in their small little world. This place reminded him of Takayama. The mountains and the forests, so serene and unperturbed. The people whom averted their eyes as he passed them by, or those that glared at him from afar. Small communities were sensitive to outsiders, especially those with murky appearances. Feeble minded fools. The think they might protect themselves from the world outside through sheer ignorance and distrust. The alchemists vanishing in the area, it was likely the work of an anti-alchemy extremist collective, they were currently commonplace in Amestris, after the recent incidents, such as the war with Creta, the bombings of the major cities, and the massacre at Drachma. A few extremists run about removing alchemists while the rest of them turn a blind eye? How pathetic. Destroying the scapegoat you created for you problems led to nothing.

Something had caught his eye, from the corner. A patch of flowers were growing verdantly by a building, with a child crouching down over them. Now what drew his attention to this particular patch of flora was the vibrant colour, and the particular sort of flower. It was unseasonable to see such summertime flowers bloom now, even in this region. The man approached the building with the patch of flowers on the side, though remaining a distance away as the child looked over them. Within seconds, another, a young girl, came running up to the first.

"Watcha doin' here, Sieg?" she chirped, as she too stooped over to look at the verdurous blooming flowers.

"Oh, nothin', I was just lookin' at these flowers that Ishvallan girl made"
"She made them? Whaddya mean?"
"She used alchemy and made them grow, it was like magic"
"Really? Did she leave yet? They all show up and show off, then they leave"
"I guess, I haven't seen her around"
"Oh well, lets go back to my house, I got a new game for Christmas"
"Ok"

Raistlin tuned out once the subject ran astray and the children ran off. An Ishvallan woman who vanished.... they had to have been talking about Shula. However, what intrigued him was the mention of her used of alchemy to make the flowers bloom, then her anticipated disappearance. It would appear that this was a reoccurring pattern, though the children probably did not know anything outside of its surface appearance. So if she had made a public display of her alchemy, she would become a target like the others who vanished. If he possessed alchemy or alkahestry of a different nature, he could use it to draw attention to himself and lure out the assailants...however, his alkahestry would cause to much of a disturbance....Human based transmutation was taboo. So the next course of option....be obvious.

For the next ten minutes, Raistlin stood around the flower patch, sometimes leaning against the wall, looking around, giving off the appearance he was searching for something or someone, and then sometimes crouching over the flowers, pretending to study them carefully. It wasn't long, after enough people had passed, after enough eyes had glanced over at him, after enough murmurs had been uttered, that someone finally approached him. A man, perhaps in his 50's. White hair, a thick moustache, though a friend smile, unlike the hotel clerk. He was dressed in a navy blue uniform, adorned with patches and pockets, with a matching distinct multi-pointed cap. The uniform read 'Polizei'. A police officer, a local one. Raistlin looked up at the man, who smiled at him. He did not return the gesture.

"Are you lost, sir?" asked he, in a smooth, but aged baritone.
"No, I am just looking for someone"
"Oh?"
"Yes, a short Ishvallan girl named Faizah. I was supposed to meet her here today. We're both alchemists, she was supposed to find us some work here"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't seen your little friend around today, I'm not sure where she is. She might have left town. Don't know if she'll be back."
"Ah, I see..."
"Well then, sorry to bother you lad, I'll let her know you were looking for her if I see her"

The officer ambled off, leaving Raistlin alone by the flowers once more. It was peculiar for law enforcement to go out of their way to approach someone whom was simply loitering, especially considering there were plenty of others whom were waiting around here and there, or just passing time. Whats more is that this particular officer seemed to know whom he was speaking of, and it was unlikely that he acquainted himself with every visitor to the town, let alone kept track of their whereabouts. The fact that he mentioned she likely left town meant that he knew something.....
In the end, it was obvious that someone had alerted him that Raistlin, an unknown outsider, was investigating traces of 'Faizah'. Considering this officer was an informant or relay of information for those targeting alchemists, the information Raistlin shared, knowing 'Faizah', being an alchemist, was all he needed. The seeds had been planted. He would reap them soon.

With his pale white hand, he brushed strands of ebon hair from his face and turned away from the miniature floral garden. For the next few hours he would amble about town, ask around a bit more, even if he already knew what he needed to know. His was the role of a lost alchemist looking for his friend and partner, best fit the role until daylight burned away. Then he would return to the hotel. If he had alarmed the culprits at all, they would likely target him at night. The inn was the only place visitors would stay, including alchemists. In one's sleep, one was vulnerable, and the inn keeper seemed to be involved, considering his story...... Set the trap and let them come.

[Shula Brighton]

Day 2

The world washed in and out in waves of gray, the attempt to open dilated, bleary red eyes making Shula feel sick and squeeze them shut tighter. The world was spinning one way and her head spinning the other, and all she could smell was damp stone and the coppery smell of dried blood. Opting to keep her eyes closed for the moment, Shula tried to make a few assessments, slowly attempting to move one part of her body after another. Attempting, but finding the actions were brief and brought tiny gasps and hisses of pain as her brain tried to sort what parts specifically hurt as opposed to what just ached in the area in general. So far, the only part of Shula that didn't seem to hurt was the end of her nose. She was bruised to hell; she could tell that much, and though her left shoulder had been healed for some time now, falling down the stairs and landing on it reminded her that that was probably an area that was going to ache for a while. The throbbing and aching made it hard to tell if anything was actually broken or not, and as her eyes braved the vertigo once more she tried to pull her arms around to feel, only for her arms to do no such motion.

Something was holding them in place behind her back while she was laying on her chest. Fingers wriggled around and felt cold steel. Hand cuffs. If I can roll over, I can loop my legs through and pull my arms around... I just need to get a look around... Her eyes opened all the way to the dimly lit cellar she'd been pushed into before. She moved a little, quietly, to try and look around. She was alone down here and... light... glinting off the ceiling? Shula turned her head upward as best she could and suddenly wished she hadn't. Watches. State Watches. All hanging from the ceiling and reflecting the light from the dim bulb in the center like tiny fallen stars, the Amestrian dragon on each watch no longer roaring in undefeated and tireless pride, but clawing out to escape death and silently screaming from this room. Twelve of them. Twelve State Alchemists had all gone missing, been lured and trapped here and there murdered, their watches kept as trophies. I have to get out of here. I have to call Spade and get help.

Fighting nausea and her swimming head, Shula moved onto her side with a stifled whimper and tried to swallow the pain in her throbbing shoulders as she curled her knees tightly to her chest. Shoulders dipped backward and down hard; hands pulled apart to make a hoop; her lip was bitten harder to keep from making noise as she squeezed her legs through and pulled her arms around. She panted paintly to stave the pain, not wasting any time to reach her fingers up into her hair. Her bun had come loose, but there were still a few bobby pins left. A pin was pulled out and the plastic ends pulled off with her teeth as she bent them straight. It was strange. They were just holding her with standard handcuffs and had left her fire bracelets on her hands. If they hunted alchemists surely they'd know what the hell arrays looked like, especially fire. Nevermind that now. Just pick the lock and RUN.

The pin pushed halfway into the lock and bent, then in again to bend it the other way to make her handcuff hook. Shula glanced nervously at the door at the top of the stairs as she worked the hook around, trying to find the catch of the double lock. She pressed down a bit harder and wiggled it as though any moment the door would burst open. Click. Finally! Her hand slipped free of one of the cuffs and Shula took that as a mark of good enough and ran for the short rack of stairs in the back that led to the storm door. She pushed up, but the metal doors weren't budging; of all the things in the rotten house, those had to be new. If I can't open the door, I'll just have to melt it. Shula took a step back and moved the backs of her hands together quickly. Arrays touched, caused friction and... nothing. No spark. She looked at her bracelets; the saltpeter on them hadn't rubbed off and they weren't damaged. She tried again frantically, and still to her horror, nothing. No spark. FUCK! Even in Drachma in the fucking snow she'd managed to get a spark going and make a pretty big FWOOSH! What the hell?! Why doesn't my fire work?! Come on, come onn... WOOOOORK! Shula tried again as she looked around for any possibility of there being an abandoned lighter she could use to try and make the spark catch when the door opened at the top of the main stairwell, and Shula froze. Should she rush up the stairs and try to get out? But who would help her in the town?

”How the hell did you get loose?!” The man ran down the stairs and toward her, and Shula looked past him; the stairwell was clear. If she could just get past him she could run out and maybe-- Thick hands reached to grab her. The tiny woman dropped to the floor, her leg extending and arcing around in a sweep kick, bringing the older man quickly down. It wasn't two steps before his hand grappled her ankle, Shula hitting the floor hard with a sharp cry. Limbs were pulled. Faces were kicked repeatedly. People were called down for help as Shula continued to struggle with the man. His thick elbow moved around her neck as his other went around her waist, the man forcing her to stand with him. Sharp white teeth sank down into his flesh and didn't stop even afire she drew blood. Shula did stop, however, when a thick fist lodged itself into her stomach.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Day 3

Three days and four escape attempts later had made Todtnauberg lose all of its small town charm and appeal to where even those lovely mountains couldn't make Shula change her mind. Yup. This place sucked. Shula was tired, hungry, thirsty and sore all over, her constant struggle resulting in several bruises and she was pretty one of the bones in her wrist was broken. At this point it was hard to tell where bruises and soreness stopped and deeper injuries started. She sat quietly on the floor now, each wrist separately cuffed tightly to a steel eye in the wall; they'd tried binding her to the pipes but changed their minds when she started to causing too much damage. She'd struggled against this for some time, her hands writhing until they started bleeding from the metal biting in and forced her to stop and sit alone in the dank basement with only the watches of the dead to keep her company.
The light came one, steps coming down the stairs. Shula looked up to see Frederich, looking rather smug as he walked to her and pulled up a chair, sat down and got comfy. ”It's so much more pleasant down here when you're not causing problems, isn't it?” The patronizing tones in his voice were sickening, making Shula wish he were dumb enough to come closer again just to see how fast she'd bite his face. Frederich paused, noting that Shula had remained quiet, her snark seemingly depleted with her energy. ”Aw... The little General too tired to be mouthy anymore? That's a first.”

”What do you want,” Shula asked hoarsely, her voice coming out rather softly despite how pissed she was. ”What are you trying to prove by killing alchemists?” She'd asked these questions before, several times, to the various men that had to come and restrain her. But never before to Frederich, who seemed to be their young leader. Frederich was in his late 20's and very Amestrian, with fair skin, hair and eyes, and was a complete contrast to the woman in front of him in every way. He sat there, watching the tired woman and grinned.

”I would say for sport, but that would be a lie. It's too easy with your alchemy disabled, like killing blind, helpless kittens.” Wait... Did he just say disabled? Shula looked up to him finally, meeting his eyes.

”What do you mean, “disabled”?”

”Surely by now a smart girl like you noticed that your alchemy doesn't work. Your fire that your so famous for making, and not even the teensiest little spark.”

”But... but it worked in town. How-”

”Oh, your pretty flower alchemy worked in town in the public parts just fine. But a lot of the individual homes here, like the lovely old farmhouse you're in now, has a special array that works like a big alchemical off switch.” Fred laughed, much too giddy at his success. ”You're all SO dependent on alchemy that you're totally helpless without it! But that's okay.. Eventually everyone will have these arrays in their homes, and then no more alchemists!” He cackled. Shula frowned.

”Pot calling Kettle, come in Kettle... If you're so against alchemy, isn't it sending mixed messages that you're using it yourselves? Are you with RIOTE?” Frederich simply laughed.

”I realize there's a certain hypocrisy in using alchemy to kill alchemy because alchemy is what's led this country so far astray.. War after war, we're a nation built on blood with nothing but the dead left in our own wake. RIOTE had a good point, but they went too far killing so many innocent people when only alchemists are the guilty ones. So... We're refining their goals.” He grinned brightly, pulling Shula's watch from his pocket and holding it up high to dangle like the watches above them as he laughed. Shula's stomach knotted painfully, her body jerking against the cuffs whether she wanted to or not. Not everyone was bad! So many of the alchemists she knew were working to find solutions! Shula growled faintly.

”General Aeries knows I'm missing by now and he WILL come looking and-” Her cellphone was pulled from Fred's pocket as he dropped her watch back into his lap. He raised an eyebrow, casually flipping it open and poking through the messages.

”-Yeah, about that, kid. We saw your last message about when you said you'd be home and sent another to him to say that things were fine and you'd be here a few more days but that you'd see him at the end of the week. So, yeah. You're totally missing and not being looked for.” Her stomach sank, blood running cold. It was a long moment before Shula found her words again.

”But... but what about when he doesn't see me at the end of the week?” She didn't bother asking “if;” she knew they had no intention of releasing her alive, though she wasn't sure why she wasn't dead yet. Fred's icy grin did nothing to ease her mind.

”Oh, he'll see you! Don't you worry about that. Aeries will see you, and the Chancellor, and all of Amestris with a decent connection speed. Everyone will get to watch. Now how's that for a showstopping introduction to the world! Show the people the array that can nullify alchemy and let you be a prime example of how helpless our military is without it.” His laughter went shrill as Shula's eyes dropped back to the floor. He'd used her phone to text home and throw people off the trail, and then they'd kill her for the world to see, never giving her a chance to send a message of her own.

Frederich's moment of glee was interrupted as Paul ran down the stairs, cheeks rud as he puffed to get a whole breath of air as though he'd ran the whole way there. ”Boss! We got problems! There's another alchemist here in town, and he's looking for her!” The laughter stopped and there was a slight moment of panic.

”Who?!”

Dunno. Tall man with dark hair. Aerugese, Xingese... Something-ese. But he's been asking all over town for her, says she's his partner. No uniform, but she didn't come with one either.” Shula's heart stopped. Tall, dark hair and either Xingese or Aerugese... Spade? Had he ignored her text and come looking anyway? Who else would have come for her? ”He's staying at the hotel, Boss. What do you want us to do?”

”Wait until he's asleep, and take care of him. Send Halstaed and Eisner.” Oh god. Shula started fighting against the handcuffs again, ignoring where the skin pinched and bit, and where the raw and closing wounds reopened. Fred turned and saw the look in Shu's eyes as she resumed trying to get free.
A thought came to mind. ”You know, it's funny that you survived coming in the door, Miss Brighton. That needle had enough potassium chloride to kill a horse. Yet here you are, still alive for now... Paul, tell the boys to take a gun and a silencer, just in case. Being that they're partners whatever didn't work for her might not work for him, either.” Paul nodded and ran back up the stairs, leaving Shula and Fred alone once more, the little Ishvallan growling, determined to try and get free. There was a chance it wasn't Spade and was someone else from her office come to find her. But no matter who it was, they needed to be warned, and told to get out of here and go get help.

Shula tried rising past her knees to her feet, hoping if she put enough force in the movements she would be able to get one of the screws loose so she could do... something. Anything. Fred merely raised an eyebrow, watching her and pulled something out of his own back pocket, leaning forward. ”I don't know where you think you're going or what you're trying to do. But they're going to go do their job, and that's that. If we have to, we'll just video you and upload it later... But in the mean time..” Red eyes went wide, Shula gasping before screaming as a short pocket knife sprung to life and slid forward into the meat of her rather body upper chest, the blade jamming under the clavicle and stabbing into her shoulder. Fred seemed unphased, instead smirking. ”I do find it fascinating that you survived that much poison.”

[Raistlin Ambros]

Daylight faded from the dimming sky early, as it so often does in winter months. Dusk set in and 'Velten Rothstein' checked into his hotel just as the sun sunk beyond the horizon. Stars were blotted out, by dark-lined clouds, and darkness set into the quiet single-person hotel room at the Todtnauberg Inn. Its solitary inhabitant thoroughly inspected the room minutes after he moved in. No camera, visible or hidden, were to be found. He did not have the proper equipment or time to search for bugs, but even if the room was bugged, there was nothing they could overhear to compromise his efforts. It was nearly midnight.

In the darkness, a still figure lied in bed, draped in sheets and burgundy blankets. Everything was quiet, everything was still. The room was suspended in shadow. And from the corner of the room, enshrouded in umbra, Raistlin Ambros waited in complete quiescence, silently biding his time. Lighting flashed in the distance, illuminating the room with an evanescent flash of brilliance. The shadows receded, momentarily revealing his motionless figure crouched in the edge of the room, before the gloom engulfed him once more. A crack of thunder roared in the distance, and the heavy sound of falling foot steps, however heedful, could be heard ascending the stairs. Raistlin focused carefully on the muffled thumps upon the wooden floor of the Inn, on how they alternated, on their volume, on their iteration.......There were two people approaching the direction of his room. They were moving at a rate that would suggest that they did not want to be detected, or wake anyone, as it was slower than a normal inside pace. The weight of their footfalls made the floor boards creek ever so softly, suggesting they were grown men, of a fit build. As they crept closer, a faint murmur could be heard, if only by the keenest of ears.

"............ist? What if he uses alchemy?"
"Don't worry, the Inn has a cancelling array too. All we have to do is shoot him and confirm he's dead. Now hush down"

An array with alchemical cancellation properties? Was that the faint energy he had been detecting since he had entered the town? Raistlin thought quickly and carefully about his next room, as the intruders moved closer and closer to being just outside his door. The unknown...did alkahestry still work under the influence of the array? He lifted his left hand with his right, holding it front of his face so that he was staring upon his palm. Normally he wore his golden gauntlet over his left hand, but to remain inconspicuous, he left that in Aerugo. Raistlin concentrated in continued silence, envisioning the correct pattern of lines he had memorized for a long time. Light sparks of energy, though minute in magnitude, danced across the palm of his hand and as expected, like ink staining paper, a five pointed star transmutation circle was etched into his skin. Destruction. They had overlooked the existence of alkahestry, much to his favour.

The footsteps outside halted, and the doors room creaked open slowly, until it was ajar. One whispered under his breath, and the door swung open more widely. Two grown men, one tall and brawny, the other of an average girth for a grown Amestrian man. The larger of the two had come in first and taken point. Despite the dimness of the room, Raistlin could clearly see the handgun he held. A flash illuminated the room once again, a bane of shadows. The intruder fired a shot, a muffled pop penetrated the silence, followed by several more in rapid succession. Feathers erupted from the mound on the bed, spraying over the blankets and the floor below. A crash of thunder, closer and louder this time, resonated throughout the air. Now! Raistlin descended upon them with and absence of absolution, the nimble tapping of footsteps covered by the thunderous roar of the sky. He reached out, his open left hand making contact with the closest man's face, cold fingers digging into his skin in an inescapable death grip. A vestige of brilliant energy erupted around between the man's face and the hand that pressed forcibly against it, so quickly that he had only managed a terrified yelped, suppressed by the palm blocking his mouth and the lingering rumble of thunder in the distance. Raistlin let go as quickly as he had made contact, and the man began to slump forward, his face blackened and lifeless, succumbed to the effects of perfect necrosis. The first had died instantly and not a second had passed before the dismal shadow reached out with it's opposite hand and clenched the larger man's throat as he spun around. Sparks erupted once again, engulfing his neck. With concise dexterity, Raistlin reached for the hand holding the gun with his own free seal of necrosis, squeezing his wrist and letting loose another vestige of energy, blackening his hand with death. The man screamed in utter horror, but such wails came as nothing more than silent shriek, a whisper of air fleeing the lungs in his terror, as his vocal cords were twisted and weakened to prevent everything but the most quiet of sounds to escape his throat.

The man's eyes flashed around frantically, only to meet the callous red glare of the unmerciful master of his life.

"P-please. Please d-don't!". The terrified man's voice was only a hissing whisper, barely audible in even the stillness of the room.

"The Ishvallan alchemist. Where is she? Who sent you here?" queried Raistlin, his voice cold and austere. His fingers still gripped the convulsing flesh of the man's neck, barely letting his lungs gasp for air.

"I-I c-can't..." he stuttered in trembling whispers. His terror, his emotions, his loyalties, they were all mixing in this kaleidescope of fear. Whether it was impulsive lack or regard for his own life, or true loyalty for whomever he worked for, Raistlin would soon set that straight. For the fourth time the sparks of alkahestry set forth and became known, but this time, it was not over so quickly. Living flesh, organic matter, his tissue and bone, it was his to control. It all happened as he envisioned it, ever so meticulously. The bones of his ribs creaked slowly to life, writhing and contorting, into unimaginable shapes, tearing, digging into soft, pliant flesh, penetrating his gut in a myriad of internal bleeding, weaving its way in like a flesh eating worm, his flesh was feasted upon. Incomprehensible agony beset the miserable soul, his face twisting and wreathing into ghastly, inhuman expressions, all while letting forth a silent howl of misery. His body crumpled and threatened to fall to the floor, but by the grip of his neck, Raistlin held him upright, pushing him back unto the wall, all while holding onto the to writhing man. Suffer and squeal, pray for mercy, damned soul, lest Judas the betrayer find none in the maw of Satan. Cease, and upon the command of their new tyrant, the bones and flesh of the man did obey, and the nerves ceased to screech and burn in pain. He was dying still, but Raistlin stopped the pain and halted the bleeding...for now. The man breathed frantically, heavily, staring at his assailant in horror, for he was certain he had met the devil that night.

"I shall release you from your agony if you simply submit..."
"Okay, okay!" hissed the broken man, his voice still only a barely audible whisper. "Y-your friend, the General girl, they have her at an old house down on the other side of town, 15 Martin-Luther-Straße! She's in the basement! P-please, I told you what you wanted to hear! D-don't kill me, please!" His eyes began to water liberally, perhaps from terror, or pain....or "I have a family, a wife and daughter, I was just protecting them, just protecting, honestly! I have their picture in my coat pocket! Here I'll show you, I'm not-"

KSSHK. The revolting sound of rupturing flesh cut his voice short, as a single bone of his rib cage bored into his heart, effectively ending his miserable whimpering. He couldn't leave him alive, it was too much of a liability. Without another word, Raistlin let go of the corpse and let it fall to the ground with a soft thud on the carpeted floor of the cozy little room. He reached down for the gun and tore it from the cold, blackened grip of the victim of his alkahestry, breaking off the brittle fingers as he did. A Walther P38 Amestrian 9mm semi-automatic with a silence attached. That would suffice. Raistlin smirked to himself as he tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans and began to climb out the window of the hotel room. He couldn't be seen leaving through the main lobby.

It began to rain.

***************************************************************

A miserable homestead on the outskirts of town, decaying with age. It looked even more morose under the influence of the chill downpour from the skies. The clouds, the rain, the thunder, the impenetrable darkness of the night, it was all excellent cover. Though of course, Raistlin made no attempt to approach the house from the front, and rather, from the flank, through the sparse woods, he arrived. With the versant trade of stealth, inherent to Aerugese special forces, he lept over the fence and unto the soft, spongy mud-caked ground. All around him there were withered plants and flooded patches of soil. It looked to be an abandoned garden, wrought with decay. No...it smelt of decay, but of flesh, not vegetation. Raistlin turned his attention unto a nearby shack. A small carriage house, it too, ripe with age and rot, peeling pain and softening wood. Poor condition, but the stench of decay came from within, the reek of rotting flesh. Sloshing through the rain, the man clad in darkness approached the foreboding building, stopping at the large sliding door that barred it off from the outside. Red eyes peered about the thick darkness, but not a soul was to be seen on that stormy night. Raistlin turned back to the door. It was shut with a padlock, and a fairly new one at that. Withdrawing the Walther from his waist, Raistlin aimed at the lock and shot twice, leaving the broken lock to fall to the ground. Checking behind him again, just to make sure nobody heard the muffled shots, even in the downpour of rain, Raistlin then slowly slid the door open. A flash of lightning flooded the yard with light and illuminated the inside of the decaying old shack.

Bodies. Dozens of mutilated bodies. Old, decaying, rotten corpses, festering in a giant ditch where the building's floor should have been. Someone had been busy. Raistlin crept closer, inspecting the grizzly scene closely. So.....this must have been where this group was stashing the remains of the missing alchemists. Thunder cracked in the sky loudly, as red eyes scrutinized each body, checking the figure and faces, if they weren't too badly decayed, until he was satisfied that none of them were Shula. Well then...that left the main house. In the basement, the man at the inn said.....Raistlin scanned the yard attentively until his gaze finally rested upon a pair of metal storm doors. There.... he would enter from there.

BANG BANG BANG. He stomped on pair of metal doors, facing upwardly at him, taking his punishment with out giving way in the slightest. BANG BANG BANG. Raistlin kicked the doors again.

"The hell was that?!" a muffle voice shouted from below. Ah, so it was occupied, was it? "Go check it out"

Satisfied with the effect, Raistlin ambled over to the wall adjacent to the door, to the side, and waited. There were likely to be at least half a dozen of these serial murderers here. As the doors swung open, Raistlin placed his right hand over his chest and concentrated his alkahestry into the familiar sparks of energy, increasing the amount of adrenaline in his system. His heart began to race, his breathing quickened. One quick stroke to end it all, one fluid move....The doors swung open and a head emerged from the confines of the cellar. Now! Raistlin gripped the edge of the open door and lept over, landing adroitly next to the man, quickly grabbing his arm with his free right hand, putting his alkahestry to immediate use, twisting and changing his insides, much to the shrieking chagrin of the unwilling victim. With adrenalized strength, Raistlin swung the man in front of him and descended the short set of stairs. Four other people were down here in the dank cellar. One man, armed, and one female, restrained and cuffed to the wall. Shula. Thinking quickly, Raistlin determined it would be best to disable the remaining man quickly. His alkahestry still activated, the man in his grasps began to scream and writhe uncontrollably, until his chest burst open. A single transmuted sharp-ended bone ejected from the gaping chest cavity, leaving a spray of blood in its wake, before finally finding itself embedded in the chest of the other man.

"Huuuurggh" He grunted as he doubled over in pain. The sound of heavy feet scrambling upstairs indicated the presence of more men upstairs. Ah, all was well. Making final use of the still living cells of the otherwise dead man in his grip, running his right hand along his back until a shaft of white began to protrude from the skin. He gripped the protruding spine and tore it out abruptly, blood spilling from the long, gaping gash in flesh of the man's back. The form it came out in, however, was the shape of a crude blade, not a human spine, for he had transmuted that as well. Slowly, he walked towards the man on the floor. Reaching down to grab him by his wrists with one hand, Raistlin lifted him off the ground and shoved him against the wall.

"Stay there" he commanded, rather unnecessarily, as the spine-blade driven through his hands and into the concrete behind him, too which he screamed once again. Ignoring this, Raistlin turned away from the man and quickly walked to the back of the basement, vanishing behind the staircase. The door at the top swung violently open, and several pairs of feet scrambled down the decrepit wooden stairs.

"Frederich? My god..... what the hell happened?" a voice shouted, half panic, half concern. Several were on the stairs now...perfect. CRASH. Raistlin punched through the wooden stairs, the consistency and durability of his arm altered, paired with adrenaline, allowing him to so with ease. He gripped someone's ankle, squeezing it tightly, immediately activating the contortion array and letting the alkahestrical sparks dance across the poor victim's body.

"Gahh! WHAT THE- UUUUUAAAAAAGGHHHH-"

Though he couldn't see it happening, it was happening just as he painted it in mental image, detail by detail. The body shook and convulsed, rapidly oscillating until the man's figure twisted and contorted. The others panicked, they tried to assist him, but he continued to writhe and scream and then, "heh" Raistlin grinned to himself. He could feel it, his hand had fused to the man's ankle, he had integrated the body into his system, he had severed the spinal cord from the brain. It was his to control....and it was expendable......SPWIISH! A cord, a vector of flesh shot out from his torso, tipped with a fragment of angular bone, it pierced the man in front of him, straight through the skulls, splattering brain matter over the wall, painting Shula and Frederich with red.......

Transcending human limitation. The third man on the stairs, the one closest to the top withdrew his gun and fired into the body of his former friend, filling him with lead, but to no avail, as the twisted human form did not react. His grin grew.

"Oh god, Otto....no..no..d-demon! NO NO! AAAAAHHH" he began to flee for the door. Raistlin's grin grew. He was shooting an appendage. Futile. 'Otto's hand flung out akwardly, clumsily, inhumanly, reaching for and grabbing the fleeing man with inhuman strength, no longer limited by the restraints imposed by his brain. It deteriorated his muscles but....what did it matter? The bones of Otto's fingers pierced through skin and into the wailing man's leg like sharp claws, raking his flesh. The man who had attempted to flee screamed in terror and pain as he was dragged down the stairs, closer to the ghastly fiend, closer and closer, locked into his cold grip until it reached out and clung on to him. Death's embrace. KRSSHK. The bones of the puppet's ribs burst forth, impaling his friend several times over, like a flesh external iron maiden. All was silent now, save for the sounds coming from the two chained to the wall. Flesh seperated from flesh, and Raistlin hand became his own once more, withdrawing from the ankle of Otto, leaving only a mutilated, inhuman corpse. He looked down at his hand, pale and smooth. Perfect assimilation, perfect detachment, no different than attaching a new limb. Awkward movements though, difficult to control, completely immobile as it was, much like a normal hand. He would have to test this again later....

The black haired man emerged from behind the stair case, stepping into the dim light of the single bulb hanging from the ceiling. He turned his attention to Shula, whom was still chained to the wall. She was injured, bruised, starved, covered with blood, her own, and now that of others.....such poor condition. She must have been chained her for days. With the Walther still in hand, he pressed the muzzle against the chains of her cuffs, squeezing the trigger and shattering the chain links, then doing the same for the other. The Ishvallan girl slumped to the ground. "Dying isn't part of our contract, Shula Brighton"

A agonized groan escaped from Frederich's maw. A red glare shot towards the pathetic pan crucified to the wall. "Still alive?"

[Shula Brighton]

Thunder ripped across the skies outside, and every crash reverberated against the rotting building and the metal storm doors and pipes. Every lightning crash Shula could feel humming against her body from the handcuffs, the heavy hardware keeping her confined on her knees and pinned to the wall. Somewhere along the line, Shula's mind had faded out from this world and into something hazy as her brain tried to cope with the amounts of pain she was in and hadn't been given any relief from. Her arms behind her kept her neatly in place, and gave her only the options of sitting on her rear or on her knees. She'd finally stopped struggling against the wall. Her shoulders hurt immensely and she was certain she'd re-injured the shoulder she'd dislocated a few months ago in Drachma, though that seemed to be the least pressing of what she could feel.

Every time she fought against the cuffs, they bit and pinched and tore, leaving her hands and wrists caked with blood, some dried and flaking off but much of it sticky from oozing out and reapplying a layer of life against her flesh when she moved. One hand couldn't move anymore, too swollen around the metal and the nerves screaming too much. Something in that area was broken, if not a few somethings. Shula's body had slumped forward as far as it would go given her wrists holding her firmly in place, exhaustion demanding her body rest though outside forces weren't allowing for it. Adrenaline had surged as many times as possible, with each attempt to flee, each attempt to attack her captors, and with each painful stab and prod of her body. Adrenaline had surged to enhance her chances of escape as that was what the body was designed to do, but once spent and Shula still in the same place she'd been and no better for it, her body was left empty and spent, fatigued beyond words. Frederich had been enjoying his new toy. Each stab had been in some place not too vital, pushing the blade in deeply then leaving it there only to come back later and smack the handle of the knife, just to elicit a fresh cry of pain.

He'd heard so many fun things, so many names and cries for help from people that Frederich had crooned into her ear that she'd never see again. He'd laughed as he picked her her face while she cried. Frederich grinned as the knife slid into her thigh, her hip, her shoulder, her arm and leaned close to purr into her ear, telling Shula of all the innocent lives destroyed by alchemy like hers. How many children suffered because of it. How the world would be a better place without her in it to make children of her own to teach the vile craft to. The man had been downright giddy as he whispered to her and painted a picture of a life with a warm lover and a family that would care and miss her, only to stab the knife into her flesh again and remind her that nobody was coming to save her. Whoever had tried was dead now.

Somewhere along the line, Shula had stopped crying out in pain every time the knife slid into her body as though her flesh had always been its sheath. Through the sleepless hours of exhaustion, her voice had given up, the screams and snarls and threats giving way to pained whimpers and groans. She wondered when it would just stop hurting, and found it a little funny; as many times as she asked to be released, she had never offered them any sanctuary for their crimes. There was no salvation to offer the Damned that haunted this dank and rotting pit in a dank and rotting village, far away from everywhere. They didn't care for her tears, and only enjoyed her suffering more as they fell from her dirtied face or the haunted whispers calling for her angels to save her. The Damned didn't care.
The rumbles of thunder and the voices of those in Hell with her seemed to blur and fade, not mattering anymore. BANG BANG BANG That sound was of metal banging hard; it wasn't lightning striking the metal or thunder cracking the sky to scream with fury. BANG BANG BANG That was someone outside in this weather, someone banging on the storm doors! Shu's gaze moved that way, not looking up to see what it was, her body in too much pain. ”What the hell was that,” Paul asked, dropping what he was doing.

”Go check it out,” said David. Frederich remained in place, his attention leaving his toy and holding on the knife, ready to fight. There was a crash and a surprised cry, followed by a tortured shriek that pierced Shula's spine and into her soul. In an instant, Frederich was on his feet as the body burst open, bones protruding viciously and stabbing into Paul. More screaming over the thunder. Blood spattering and painting the floor a bright vermillion, wet and shining with life as it puddled at Raistlin's feet. Their screams meant nothing. What were the pleas of the Damned to the Devil? The sounds of flesh and bone ripping filled Shula's ears, her eyes shutting tightly as she began to shake, not wanting to see what was going on or who it was. In life, no matter how big you were, there was something out there bigger and nastier than you. Frederich stepped backward in horror.

”Your alchemy shouldn't be working! That's not possi- AUGH!” The man tripped as he moved backwards, now on the floor and cowering as the grisly man before him moved, a white blade that dripped with blood and made from his own minions in hand. Shula looked up, and immediately wished she hadn't as lightning illuminated the cellar brighter than before. Their faces were twisted in silent cries of agony, bodies just as twisted and mutilated, no longer even looking human. Her tiny body began to shake, seeing the effortless potential of what her dark master was capable of, red eyes looking up to Raistlin's wet and blood-spattered form. His eyes that were so like hers were so opposite, cold and merciless, and completely unmoved by cries for pity or loss of human life. The Military would have taken these men into custody, put them on trial, and then put them to death. Polite justice would have been served. Raistlin was now judge, jury, executioner and the devil that would haunt their afterlife. Her captor and torturer screamed out in pain, his hands pinned above his head to the stone wall behind him, and was now unable to move/

”Stay there.” Raistlin's voice was calm and cold as death itself as he moved to behind the stairs, out of sight from the heavy foot traffic that tromped through the house to get to the cellar. A terrified flurry of thoughts ran through the Ishvallan's mind. It was nobody from the Military there to save her, and nobody she had expected would have come just for her. She wanted to ask how he knew how to find her, but this was Raistlin; the man knew where she was and where she wasn't. She'd missed her meeting to deliver her information that she'd promised... Of course he'd go looking for his investment. But... she'd been here days. And Rai wasn't going to leave anyone in this house alive... He wasn't the type to go for Have mercy or Spare me please, I beg of you. They just weren't him. But if that was the case and she'd been with them so long... was she next after he'd gone through them all?

”Frederich? My god.... What the hell happened?” Men crowded the stairs that led to their own personal hells before death, their eyes fixed on the depravities that littered the floor below them. It all happened much too fast, and Shula couldn't look away from the things that happened. The hand that went through the floor to join the ankle above it, the body mutilating and twisting, becoming a screaming weapon as it lashed out and murdered its own friends. The man ceased to be and simply became an object of Raistlin's will, a weapon and tool to be discarded. Shula could only watch in silent, abject horror as blood spattered her face and body, staining and mingling with her own and patterning against the snowy white of her hair. Screams and spatters, and the sounds of blood dripping as bodies hit the floor.

Shula Brighton was dead.

The Demons and Damned around her that had tormented and teased were now screaming and suffering as the Devil rained his wrath upon them, merciless and enjoying every minute. Blood dripped down the side of Shula's face as the last man exhaled his final breath, his life forces spattered against the walls as bones jutted out everywhere like a porcupine from Hell. And then? Apart from the pained whimpers coming from the terrified captives. Red eyes looked up to the blood-drenched alkahestrist only briefly, shaking and causing the links of her handcuffs to rattle against the hooks in the wall. He knelt down, pulling his gun from the waistband of his pants. Wait... why would he bother...? Two quiet shots fired directly from the mouth of the silencer to where the cuffs linked to the short chains, freeing her from the wall and allowing her body to rumple against the floor.

”Dying isn't part of our contract, Shula Brighton.”

There was no mirth in his voice, and she'd just watched him tear through people and do unspeakable things to them with their own bodies and yet.... What? Shula's mind blurred in confusion. Did Raistlin... just... make a joke? Dear sweet Ishvalla help her, she really WAS dead, wasn't she?! Shula whimpered, tying to push herself up to a sitting state, but her body refused to cooperate. ”...Raistlin..” Part of Shula was still stunned that Raistlin had come for her, but she was even more shocked that she wasn't dead yet, but maybe that was still coming. A pain-filled groan moved Raistlin's attention and her own, Frederich still alive and seething, pinned to the wall with the sword of bone. Shula tried again to sit up, but her numb, bruised, broken and bleeding arms refused to roll forward in the socket to push against the cold stone. Another faint, pained cry as one arm finally moved around and forced her body upward.

”There are others, Frederich spat. ”The whole town is in on it, and we all agreed to it! The array is everywhere and our work will spread!” Red eyes narrowed. This man was scum. He was their leader, but the fact that everyone in town was in on it, everyone agreed... Everyone knew when they'd talked to Shula that they were planning to send her to her death. Her death. Major Weibe's death. A dozen other State Alchemists before her. And so many more that weren't. No mercy. No questioning. No chance to show that they weren't a threat to society and were working to build a better tomorrow. She glared at Frederich, the look of hate plastered over fear in his eyes. It would be so easy... so easy to ask for Raistlin's gun and kill him herself. Justice for all those people who were lured to their deaths. Vengeance for herself. So easy....

”Raistlin... we need... he needs to stay alive. Brought to justice in court. He needs.. to be held accountable...” Her dry, whispering voice, though dripping with a vehement pain and anger that she herself was shocked at, held onto the duty and morals that made up the fiber of her being. Shula's shaking form looked up to Raistlin as she slumped forward again, leaning on her elbow.

[Raistlin Ambros]

Writhe and suffer, did the two remain souls trapped within the confines of their own blood drenched hell, having witnessed the extent of the torment Raistlin had wrought. Both his personal possession, and the man who meant nothing more to him than an obstacle to be disposed of. Neither of them received so much as a glance of sympathy from the blood red gaze of the master of their ebbing life. The man, however, the pitiful bleeding corpse who clung to his life like a drowning man clings to the wreckage of his ship, he still squirmed and hissed, as if it had not entirely dawned on him that he was already dead to this world.

”There are others," Hissed he, the pain that tortured his flesh evident in his voice. ”The whole town is in on it, and we all agreed to it! The array is everywhere and our work will spread!”

Raistlin focused his attention to the Amestrian man with dark intent held sharply in his gaze. This man did not understand the situation at all. He had lost everything, and Raistlin had won. There was nothing more to it. He was weaker, he was worthless, he would perish for that and for his stubborn ignorance. Raistlin would assure him that his demise was ever more absolute. By no means did it matter to him whether their work was successful or carried on. But if he would insist his victory over his unfortunate mistake, then he merely begged for his own demise.
"I will see to it that every array is eradicated by my agents. Or perhaps I'll study it and add it to Aerugo's archives, so that your work can play into the downfall of your country." slighted the morose general. A faint, mocking grin played at his lips. "As for the people of your little town-" He paused to muse unspoken thoughts, choosing his poison to plant into the mind of this man sentenced to grim execution. "The people of this town will succumb to toxic plague, a tragic end that will be attributed to your doing. Your legacy in this wretched existence you now leave will forever be the end of all that you hold dear". Everything said was said with venomous absolution. Not a single shade of Raistlin's tone even hinted at the possibility of empty words. Grim poetic absolution. Such was the making of death.

Feeble cries of pain escaped from the other, the Ishvallan girl, as she struggled to steady herself and her broken body.
”Raistlin... we need... he needs to stay alive. Brought to justice in court. He needs.. to be held accountable...”.
Crimson eyes hovered over her trembling countenance in half amusement, half annoyance. She had forgotten her place in a situation that she held no power over. She had forgotten her place, and the fingers that clutched at the fragile thread of her life. Yet, her insistence on trial for this man -on letting such a liability come to the attention of the Amestrian authorities, something that she should have not even have suggested, all for her own naive sense of justice- was something that the deathly Aerugese man found somewhat amusing.
A single pistol was raised to Frederich's temple, the barrel pressed lightly against his skull. A deep red glare bore into his eyes. Fear....resentment....shock....resistance.....grief.... a myriad of emotions could be read in his slowly dulling gaze. They could be read, but they held no sway over the inevitable.
"All are held accountable in death"
The crack of the pistol illuminated the lurid cellar. And then....silence. The end had passed. A flaccid corpse, a blood-brindled executioner, and a marred victim of both evils were all that remained.

Silence persisted. Time stood still in the darkness of the blood drenched basement. And then with a tug of the sword of severed bone, Frederich's body crumpled to the floor. Raistlin turned from his wretched corpse as if it had never been an object of importance and refocused his attention on the reason he had come to this miserable little hamlet.
"Hold still" he commanded, in his morose tone of voice. Without so much as waiting for any form of permission, he knelt to the ground, and with able hands he set to brushing over the bruised and scarred flesh of the Ishvallan girl. Garments were stripped away as he exposed her wounds and the results of the abuse at her captors' hands. Alkahestry's light danced over her skin and lit up the darkness that engulfed the two, and immediately, all pain had ceased in her body as nerve endings were dulled and wounds were closed and sealed away from outside air. That was not enough to heal her, however. No...there was too much blood loss for her to return to fully functioning capacity...
The faint squeak of creaking wooden boards seeped in from the dank basement ceiling. There were still more upstairs? Perhaps they had been petrified with fear until now. Without word, the grim man rose to his feet and ascended the creaking stairs- vanishing through the doorway at the top. Silence lingered over the house once more, until interrupted by the shout of a man, followed by the sound of a short struggle. After a few passing seconds, Raistlin reappeared in the cellar doorway once more, this time with a man at his feet, held by the shirt collar with a clenched fist. He descended the stairs, body in tow, limp feet falling on each step with a heavy thud. The man made no sound of his own, made no attempt to struggle, much like a fresh corpse. Oh, but he was very much alive, as anyone could tell by his horror-filled eyes, which darted around the room, taking in all the horrors and atrocities. Raistlin dropped the paralyzed man to the ground and knelt down over Shula once again. Without pause, he set to his grim task. Hands placed over the man's chest, with tell tale sparks of alkahestry; flesh ripped and twisted to the whims of their new master. The man's eyes flashed with unfathomable pain, as no effort was made by the alkahestrist in question to numb it. Slowly, a grotesque fleshy tube emerged from the confines of his torso, snaking up and extending in length; snaking across the floor like some ghastly creature; making its way to the other patient. It slithered up her body unto her shoulder, where it planted itself and made its connection, dancing sparks of alkahestry shotting across the fleshy rope and extending to Shula's body. There, the two bodies mended together, sewn shut in a most unnatural manner, yet in a perfectly executed fashion. Beneath the soft, exposed flesh, as conducted by alkahestric forces, streams of blood pumped by the beating heart of the helpless man flowed through the twisted artery and into the frail body of Shula. For a few seconds, this gruesome donation of life persisted, replenishing the blood lost to several days of torture in a matter of seconds. Finally, the artery severed itself from Shula's soft brown flesh, falling lifelessly to the ground, spurts of blood still pumping from its opening by the still functioning heart.

Raistlin stood up again, looking down on his patient, hardly admiring his handiwork. "You should be fine now. No pain nor feebleness. No lack of blood...... Now, Search the house for gasoline. Siphon it from the tanks of any cars if you have to. We're burning this building now." He stopped to observe the collection of corpses that lied strewn about, including the one that still drew breath. Satisfied with the resources at hand, he grinned to himself and drew a small notepad and pen from his pocket and started to scribble a series of notes and equations, making plans and preparations for a plague of his own design.

[Shula Brighton]

If it is true that time is measured by the rate of its decay, then in what way is life measured? By the time that rots at the start of that life to its meaningless end? Is it measured only during its expungement and that moment when all the world goes still for an eternity as your life is reviewed in your mind's eye and then suddenly snuffed into nothingnes? Surely it couldn't have only been by deeds and actions that led to the inevitable, and certainly not those last moments before your pupils began to dilate. As often as Shula had been seeing things die, she still didn't know the answer. There were many who did very little in their lives, but who was to say it was more meaningless or worthless than someone who had lived following great ambitions and acting on them for good or bad?

The frigid resolution of Raistlin's voice drove iceicles through Shula's soul as what he'd said began to sink in. In the cellar littered with blood and mutilated bodies, at the bottom of a rotting farmhouse in a sleepy village that rested in the shadow of the mountain, the air seemed heavy and cold. Shula stopped struggling with her own body and pain so much, the anger that had been holding in her heart dissipating almost instantly. Yes, she still wanted some form of justice, but for herself and the people murdered. But this.. this wasn't justice. "The people of this town will succumb to toxic plague, a tragic end that will be attributed to your doing. In order to cover his own tracks, all the people in the village would be murdered. All 600 of them. She knew better than to ask for mercy on their behalf, even though not everyone could be guilty. There were children in that village, and the decisions made by the people in charge of the village were beyond what they had a say in. This... this was wrong. The village would be murdered, and Frederich's work would go only to making Aerugo stronger in the end. The deaths of those alchemists had amounted to the near-death of Shula. The attack on her had resulted in the deaths of her captors, and now the deaths of all the people of Todtnauberg. The array used to make her and all the other alchemists helpless would be taken by Raistlin to make Aerugo stronger, and would only serve to kill even more innocent people. Blood on blood spilling.

"All are held accountable in death."

Shula looked down, her heart screaming in anguish over the cries of pain made by her body. The crack of the pistol could have split the world apart as it illuminated the dark room, the silence that followed suffocating the air. She didn't notice that she'd slid to the floor, or that sluggish tears were making their way down her cheeks and swirling with the resh blood that painted her face. Shula didn't even know she still had the physical energy left in her to cry, even lightly. The silence lingered as though Raistlin were observing his own handiwork, time dripping by like black oil paint sludging through the narrow opening of an hourglass. How long had they beent here like this? How long since Raistlin burst in and killed them all? A few hours? A few minutes? Shula felt so apart from the world, like none of it was real anymore, or that it was real but she could only watch. Was this how the butterfly felt when it was trapped in the jar? "Those people," Shula murmured weakly, her breath shaking.

Not even looking up, she could feel Raistlin's gaze on her, cold and hard as his voice as he knelt down beside her. "Hold still." Raistlin was the ultimate doctor who could make or mend any wound, and had the bedside manner of a masoleum. She was turned over, Shula holding her breath and biting back the pained whimper as Raistlin began to strip away the blood-drenched, ripped and ruined clothing. It was almost funny in that before, she had wanted to preserve her modesty. Now, what did it matter? Her dignity was pretty much shot at this point, and a paramedic with an ambulance would have undressed her, too. The key difference was that Raistlin could fix her, if he so chose. Pain dulled as sparks danced across her skin, only a few patches remaining that weren't filthy. Bones kntted and tissue began to sew itself back together, all the Raistlin's will. A tool being repaired... That's all she was. Broken and falling apart, now being repaired in order to be 100% useful again until she was too broken to repair anymore or no longer needed.

The outer shell of Raistlin's tool was repaired, but still too weak to be useful, her body unable to immediately create the almost four pints of blood she'd been made to lose over the last week. Raistlin was silent, seeming displeased with this little setback until a squeak caught his attention. There was someone else in the house? Hazy eyes cast upward as Raistlin left the basement with all the stealth afforded to a ninja, Shula healed but too weak to run away and knowing better than to try. Run, she thought as Raistlin vanished from her sight. Whoever you are, RUN! Get out of here, please... There was shouting and the sounds of a struggle, and then silence; he'd been no match for the dark alkahestrist. Raistlin came back downstairs, dragging the man behind him as though it were only a deer carcass to be cleaned, and perhaps to Raistlin, that's all any of them were. His eyes, though. Horror, pain and terror as he silently screamed for mercy without respite. The scene of the carnage was too much for most anyone, and as his flesh twisted to Raistlin's will, he, too, was now just another meat puppet to serve a purpose.

The fleshy tube joined Shula and the poor man silently, precious life force flowing into her body. She could feel the array activating within her, burning slightly as it purified the invading blood and coverted it to her own blood type. It was funny... Raistlin's power was so great, and this array could do so much good if it were only applied to it. But those were the secrets of her dark master, and she knew he would not divulge them to her. Within moments, her body was sate and the tube dropped from her body on its own. Slowly she sat up, rotating her arm and wrists to check them herself. Everything really was back in place, and part of her even wondered what he even needed her for if he could do so much already. "You should be fine now. No pain nor feebleness. No lack of blood...... Now, Search the house for gasoline. Siphon it from the tanks of any cars if you have to. We're burning this building now."

Shula rose to her knees and then stood. She was beyond tired, very hungry, and still just wanted to go find a hole and curl up in it, but Raistlin was right; physically she was fine, now. Fine enough to do what she was told. She looked down at her body, clothed only in her undergarments, most of her face, body and hair matted and sticky with fresh and drying layers of blood. "I can't.. be seen like this. If I bathe anywhere else in town, someone might find my blood." Her mind was whirring, but rational. Though it wasn't immediately carrying out orders, she was making a valid point. Swallowing everything down, she looked back up to Raistlin. "I'll find a bottle and siphon out the gas, but then I need to get clean here and leave my clothes in here to burn."

The devil had given her his orders, and Shula would obey, even as the blood seeped deeper through her soul. Shula went out through the stormdoor Raistlin had entered from and went out into the rain that felt too pure against her skin. Through the tall, dead grasses around the property looking for a gas can or a hose to siphon from their cars with. Nothing nothing nothi- the shed. That seemed logical. The lock on the door was broken, and through a gap in the wood she could see the red and yellow plastic, and Oh God something STANK! Even in this weather the smell was unmistakable as she opened the door to- "AHH!" Her hand immediately went to her mouth to stifle the scream that nobody would have heard anyway, the storm overpowering all. Bodies. So many rotting bodies, some fresher than others, some so old the putrid flesh had slid from the bones and their insides turned to maggoty rot. Major Weibe and so many others. Amestrian uniforms, civilian clothes. They were all in here. I'm so sorry, my brothers, Shula thought as she grabbed the can, happy that it was full. Those who did this to you are dead now, and I know the truth... But knowing and being able to act on it were different things entirely.

She ran back to the farm house, dripping and trying to show a firm face as she put the can down on the cellar floor. Her task done, she wordlessly ran upstairs to find the shower and any of the bedrooms of this old house, hoping there was something she could use for clothing. Shu poked through the room that seemed most lived in, raiding an oversized hoodie from one of the larger men and a pair of drawstring shorts that were in the dresser. She'd find clothes that she could wear back home later, right now the only thoughts on her mind a shower and getting the blood off of her. It wasn't as short as a standard military shower, but she scrubbed until her scalp and skin were almost raw to get clean, only thinking of getting clean to do what she had to do to be allowed to go home. Her psyche began to slip into numbness, but at last she was clean with no noticeable traces of blood on her body, and changed into the clothes she'd helped herself to. All of her original ones would stay to burn with that part of her soul. Making her way back down, she stood at the doorway of the cellar. "Ready," she said quietlym ready to obediently help cover up all that had happened.

[Raistlin Ambros]

Raistlin nodded silently in response to Shula's reply, apparently content with her plans and reasoning. At least she had sufficiently regained her senses as to be able to think with partial clarity. He did not turn to give her a second glance as the cellar doors swung open, letting in the sound of falling rain and distant thunder, nor when it shut loudly behind her. Instead, the morose agent of shade set to his own task: tying the loose ends of this little operation. From what the ringleader had so haughtily divulged with him, there were several circles located about the premise of the town, and likely several in the house he stood in now. Presumably, it only affected alchemy, seeing as his alkahestry as unaffected entirely. Cleansing the town of all traces of the array would be a tedious task. The circle itself had nothing to do with his involvement, but Aerugo could easily benefit from it, especially if Amestris was left with no remaining information to devise a counter array. He had planted the seed of despair in the man's mind before his execution, certainly that would have been enough to claim utter victory and dominance. Yet, to pass such an opportunity handed to him would be a waste, especially after all the trouble Shula had forced him through with her blunder.
With methodical assiduity, red eyes scanned the basement for anything of immediate use. The leader of these men, who was still rather intact compared to other corpses, was searched first. Confiscated from his corpse were two things of any immediate relative importance; An state alchemist's pocket watch and a cell phone. Both presumably belonged to Shula, and a quick check proved such assumptions to be true. Pocketing the watch, Raistlin set his attention upon the contents of the phone, looking through its messages, its call history, its pictures, any recorded notes. From what he could discern, it would appear that a few messages were sent after the supposed time of her capture, meaning that her phone was confiscated and fallacious messages were sent to quell any alarm among those who might worry about her. That seemed to apply to a single person, however. Spade Aeries; Commander of Central's forces and the former CO of Shula Brighton. It seemed that messages and calls exchanged between them were common, and a quick glance through the phone's pictures revealed an obvious level of intimacy. Seeing as there was nothing worth erasing, Raistlin quickly memorized a contact information of value and with a quick use of alkahestry, literally engraved it onto his skin, beneath his sleeve.
Further searching of the cellar proved to yield very little, other than a collection of state issued alchemists watches and tidbits of trivial information relating to this cult's operation. Intent on combing the premise with utmost thoroughness, Raistlin relocated upstairs, keeping an eye out for any clue to the whereabouts of the anti-alchemy transmutation circles. It was not long before he found it -rather conspicuously engraved into the floor of the kitchen. Looking over it quickly, Raistlin noted the design: from the octogramic base to the main geometric designs and symbols of the sun and the moon. Around the circles, there were words inscribed in the Xerxian language. The effort and research put into this array was rather astounding considering its origin in this wretched little town. It's designer must have been an accomplished alchemist with some knowledge of Xerxian alchemy. It wasn't simple enough to dissect and analyze thoroughly; instead, he would have to look into it back at his lab. Crimson eyes traced the lines of the array with meticulous care, paying heed to every detail that it contained within its borders. When he was finally satisfied with the visual analyzation, Raistlin's skin responded in kind- lines slowly carving into the flesh of his hand until every detail was engraved into his tissue. This was the easiest way to keep an example with him for later study. And if its functions were similar to what he expected, it was possible that it had use in his current form. He theorized that the array activated when another source of alchemy was activated in its proximity, feeding off its energies to activated and negate the energies of the other. If this array was, similar to his Purification, in essence, then it would activate automatically given that it was triggered by sufficient energies within its manner of function, meaning that in its current state upon his hand, given that he had taken care into copying the most minute of details, it should have some alchemy negating effects.

With the cancellation array successfully transcribed onto his skin, Raistlin continued to patrol the house, noting the presence of more, identical circles on various walls and surfaces in the house. When Shula came back with the supplies, he would take special care to liberally douse the arrays. With that taken care of, all that was left was to devise the means to the end of this miserable hamlet. He lacked the time and supplies to create a virus or toxin to efficiently wipe out the entire population, even with the gracious quantities of organic matter just lying about the dank and putrid blood-splattered cellar. He concluded that his next course of action would be to utilize that which was available to the Commander of Aerugo's forces......

Minutes later, Shula had appeared in the doorway, an increasingly unsteady and disturbed looked apparent in her eyes, despite all she seemed to be doing to retain her composure. He couldn't say he was surprised, or even angry with her for this. No normal person would have handled such trauma very well. If anything, he was mildly surprised that she hadn't gone into a fit of panic by now. Perhaps she was qualified leader after all, and not just one to have attained her position through favour rather than merit.
"Ready," said she, her voice quiet and defeated to near muteness. Raistlin's unyielding apathetic visage remained unchanged as he nodded in response and spoke-- "I've called in Aerugese special forces. They're to administer a chemical gas to wipe the town in only a few minutes-" Lies. It was a neurotoxin of his own design. Nothing that was mass produced, nothing that was traceable to any source. Aerugo's duplicity would be completely unknown, even if Shula did decide to divulge this information. "-They will then scour the town and destroy any evidence of the counter-transmutation circle in any of the buildings. I've located all the circles within this house. We are going to go through extra measures to make sure no trace of them remains. Start dousing the structure of the house, make sure that you get rid of the circles entirely. When we are finished, we will join with the special forces unit and search the rest of the town. When all is finished, I will return your belongings and allow you to depart from the town at daybreak. You will be monitored up to a certain point. You are to head straight towards South City and check in where needed. I will leave it to you to fabricate a story to explain your absence, but under no circumstances should you cite your involvement in Todtnauberg. Understood?"

[Shula Brighton]

At the moment, the world was sloshing back and forth like turning carnival ride Shula hadn't gotten to try, making her grip the door's frame to the cellar stairs to keep from falling down the stairs she'd been pushed down a few days ago. The smell of soap clung to her damp hair, matting together in clumps and soaking the hoodie a darker shade. The stench of fresh blood was still so liquid and heavy in the stunted air of the old farmhouse, filling every room almost, making her dizzy. Shula's form seemed so small and defeated, swallowed by the massive sweater meant for a man that had been much, much larger than she. The soft brown of her features had moved into an unnatural shade of pale, the look in her eyes growing more and more distant. She hadn't fallen into a heap to scream by some miracle, but the tiny woman was fighting with her body's natural urges to do just that. Everything was a blurry struggle right now, her own thoughts seeming to tkae ages to make complete circuits and register.

Bleary, distant red eyes looked up to Raistlin, seeing him without focusing on him. "I've called in Aerugese special forces. They're to administer a chemical gas to wipe the town in only a few minutes-" His words were coming in waves, and at first Shula wasn't sure if he was speaking Aerugese, Amestrian or Ishallan to her, or even if he was talking at all and she wasn't imagining it. Aerugese forces... gas... She was drowning in that wave in Drachma again, struggling and kicking to find the surface to regain her senses and break out of the trance, but all she was doing was tumbling in the dark water over and over. "-...destroy any evidence of the counter-transmutation circle in any of the buildings...no trace of them remains. Start dousing the structure of the house, make sure that you get rid of the circles entirely. ...join with the special forces unit and search the rest of the town." Raistlin's words were just as sharp as the golden claw she knew held the thread of her life. They pierced through the foggy slosh, Shula struggling to be alert enough to comprehend his instructions to her, instinct demanding she function if only for self-preservation. "When all is finished, I will return your belongings and allow you to depart from the town at daybreak. You will be monitored up to a certain point. You are to head straight towards South City and check in where needed. I will leave it to you to fabricate a story to explain your absence, but under no circumstances should you cite your involvement in Todtnauberg. Understood?"

Shula felt herself nod quietly, but wondered what there was to understand. This town was a mass grave, and she would have no choice but to watch as 600 lives were snuffed out in the night, the fingers of Death spreading out his robe to blanket the mountainside. Like an outdated computer, her mind was only running on simple tasks and blinking cursors, tryint o sort and process things. The gas. She needed to get the gas can and start to douse the house. Stepping down slowly and carefully, she tried to avert her eyes from the horror that surrounded her every step, focusing just on the can of gas. Ignore the bodies. Ignore the sightless eyes that stared at her. Ignore the pocket watches hanging from the ceiling. Push it all down and ignore it. Fingers wrapped around cool plastic, Shula's mind moving further into autopilot as her other shaking hand gripped the railing on the way back up the stairs.

Foul--smelling liquid sloshed out of the plastic bottle onto the beds and the clothes, trailed down the halls and and into te kitchen. Shula saw the array, so pretty in its own way, simply marked into the floor. Pretty and geometric with strange letters she didn't know. How was it something so pretty what what had left so many alchemists defenseless? But then again, your own arrays are all pretty, too. Lots are... and they are just as destructive, aren't they? Even dead, Frederich's words still echoed through Shula's mind, all of his stinging cuts burning that much more now that she could see the contradiction of the beauty of the beast. The array was splashed liberally and a lighter was pilfered from the drawer before she moved to continue with the rest of the house, splashing similar arrays marked into the walls and hall floor. Those bastards... The array was woven all through the house. No wonder she'd been unable to shift even the tiniest bits of energy. It was still wet outside, and until all the arrays had been partially ruined her alchemy would still be useless, the village taking its final stab at her to rub her nose in it before Todtnauberg went quiet forever.

Gasoline and blood mingled in the cellar as the jug and its last drips were tossed in there, Shula scratching the wheel against the flint of the lighter to catch the gas in several places as she moved to the front door. The old farmhouse groaned, wallpaper and lathework and ancient floor varnish smoking and bubbling in protest to the sudden heat. The rain was slowing to a drizzle as the heavy storm passed, and Shula only had to wait for the arrays to warp and surrender just a bit, and then she could use her fire to take out the house hotter than the gasoline would. She felt ill. Her fire had, at most, been aimed near people to deter them, but never to hurt them. Everyone in the building was dead, but now she was using that fire to help burn the dead, the damned and the house into ash and cover up the truth. Greedily the flames ran through the fuel as the fire began to move and connect at every hall and floor, Shula standing numbly at the threshold of the rotting porch she'd walked up blindly before. She could smell the fire eating through the empty shell, the heaviness of the wet air pushing it down close to the earth, even though the smoke rose and mingled with the mist that Shula knew wasn't fog.

Shaking, she turned to glance down the road as dark, unmarked cars hurried down the streets, dark, masked faces of death extinguishing life anywhere they turned. Shula choked out a sob, stepping further back on the porch to give herself more room, even as she stayed out of the rain. This was wrong. This was so wrong, and as much as she wanted to go home, Shula knew that the woman who had texted Spade on New Year's Day was dead already and her soul was burning down in the cellar, her body already dead and rotting with the other murdered soldiers in the shed. Fire rose higher and Shula heard as part of the building inside collapsed. Now. Cold, trembling hands moved together. Friction, spark, fire, creation. The light of life danced out above her hands as Shula merged her fire with that of the house, pulling the oxygen in and burning it hotter, brightening the darkened sky. Slowly, Shula stepped away from the farmhouse as fire ripped through every inch, blazing and spreaad to the mass grave of the shed.

Bare feet padded down the street, avoiding looking at any of the houses as she walked through the haze. Two breaths of the toxin would have killed anyone, and the only reason she still breathed was because Raistlin willed it. Things began to feel surreal, Shula's steps almsot zombie-like as she walked through the set of a horror movie that she couldn't turn off. Innocent, sleeping people died in their beds. People driving home died in their cars. Birds dropped from their roosts into the streets and yards. Everywhere she walked, there was deathHer instructions had been to help find the arrays people had been using to block alchemy and remove them, and forcing herself to look as operatives worked, she saw them all doing the same thing. A wooden disk nailed above the door. Her steps quickened as she walked up to one of the villages small shops and looked up; just as with the homes, the businesses had them, too, the array etched into the wood and pinned to the house like a Mennonite hex. That... oddly made too much sense. She hadn't noticed them before; in small villages like this that clung to traditions it wasn't uncommon to see various hexes painted on wood and nailed to a home or building, so it wasn't anything to struck her as odd. It had been hiding in plain sight.

The door gave into to Shula's gentle forcing easily, the village being one where everyone knew each other with little need for inside security. Clothes. Shula couldn't go home wearing some strange man's clothes. An unpicky, hurried hand skimmed the racks to find clothes that would fit her, clothes that she could easily say she bought while she was out. Out... Out where? Where had she been for a week suddenly without telling Spade anything? Family emergency in Meissan? Meissan wasn't far from here, and Shula did like shopping on out of town visits... The gears in her mind clashed together, struggling to work and not work, curl up and scream while insisting she push through it. Fighting to tell herself not to do the right thing instead of go home. Home. She had to get home. Just one more time. Even if only just for a kiss goodbye with her prayer for the dying before she took her turn. Clothes changed and thrown into the donation bin, Shula moved a bucket and stood on it, prying the array hex off the door's frame and shoved the small wooden disk into the leg pocket of the carpenter jeans. The other businesses were checked and arrays removed, stacking up in her hands to give to Raistlin. He would have all of them but one for her to study. One small token to remind her that she would still know the truth.

Finally she was finished, following the Aerugese specialists as the moved to the village's center near the inn where her car was still parked. Pale, shaking, and her face blotchy from crying, Shula stood silently with the pile of arrays to give to Raistlin in exchange for her personal effects and permission to go home. The tomb surrounding them was silent, holding nothing but the emptied bodies as the sky lightened to shades of a dark day.

{EXIT TOPIC}

[Raistlin Ambros]

Flames of malice lick hungrily at the souls of six-hundred lives
Choking on silent screams, withering into forgotten ash
Defiling the earth, their home; Already stained with crimson tides
The frail succumb to their brittle weakness
The wretched are condemned to the suffering they themselves have wrought

This pestilence is my own, permeating my soul, feeding upon my ebbing life
A spectre of death, forever bound to my shadow, hungrily devouring all in its reach.
We are the frail, we are the wretched, and I am your sin, as I am my own.
Six hundred lives, resting upon my hand, six hundred lives cast into the chasm of the void.
Pale January moon, shed your ghostly light upon me, for Erishkgal has come to the mortal world to reap the lives of the damned.
Wretched quintessence of life, of death. I alone shall command you, I alone shall transcend your ordinance.
With cold fingers tearing into your essence, I shall not be consumed by your gaping maw. I, who have plunged into the shade of the abyss an endured, shall sever the cords of life, and of death, and take them into my own grasp.


Crimson eyes cast upon smoldering embers, inhaling bitter fumes of necrosis, the ashen man stood in silence. Not a word more was uttered, the night Todtnauberg vanished into oblivion.

[End Thread]

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