Before Leo could really even process through his drink-addled mind what was happening, the thug decked him with a blow of immense physical strength, directed precisely into his schnoz. Barefoot tumbled back, knocking tables, chairs, and the odd patron or two out of the way before crashing into the wall with a thud. He looked to his left and right, startled, only seeing a bald and very confused man staring at him from under his thick cloak. A little trigger sparked in Leo's mind. One that didn't quite make sense to his conscious thought, but on the inside read approximately "Waste this bastard!"
Leo stomped his foot into the ground, cracking the stone tiling and sending it into overdrive motion with alchemical sparks pouring into it. A pillar of stone, shaped roughly into a fist, smacked straight into the thug's stomach, keeling him over. Leo leaped into the air and with a bit of difficulty wobbled up a foot to do the same to the ceiling. It crackled a bit before a second fast came down and smacked him across the back of his head. The bouncer screamed and cried in confusion and pain before Leo began to spin. Slowly at first, before building more and more momentum. Whores and patrons shot off in every direction, cowering as the glorified human tornado wound himself into a dervish of remarkable speed. Unsure of what, precisely, he was trying to accomplish, the Drunken Alchemist stuck out his leg as he spun and let it wildly smack straight into the face of the hunched over thug. A silly face wobbled as the fat jiggled and spit escaped his mouth before the bouncer went careening into a nearby wall.
All was silent as eyes fell on Leo. The dust had yet to settle, and he was breathing heavily. His last bits of clarity were addled by the adrenaline now augmenting the alcohol in his body. He looked around, almost nervous looking before throwing up a fist and shouting "Everybody in the house gets a free round, my treat!"
Where before the patrons had been terrified, they now cheered in excitement. Having forgotten he wasn't still in the bar, Leo didn't really understand yet just what he had paid for, but it was something to endear himself to them at lea--
"RRRRRRAGH!" shouted the bouncer, now charging out of the hole his body had made in the wall as fast as he could. With a devastating right hook, his fist crashed into Leo's body and bent him down and to the right, as if his spine had been snapped from the blow. But rather than falling or, really, reacting at all, Leo's just rolled with the punch and stopped with his feet still on the ground. With force, he pushed his face back to stare at the bouncer. "You done yet?"
Leo tapped his foot on the ground, and a final stone pillar pushed the bouncer up head-first through the ceiling and up to the second floor. Leo threw up his fists in victory to scattered applause and boasted "There's no competing with the almighty, immortal Barefoot Alchemist!"
Everyone had entirely forgotten the brown-cloaked little bald man in the corner, now watching with intense curiosity. "Immortal, eh?" he whispered to himself.
[hr]
"Do you submit to the authority of Amestris?"
"urghrrrrrblbluh..."
The mustached brother's head lolled to the side, and his mouth hung open long enough to let a little blood and drool dribble out. Kallu had gone just a tiny bit overboard, he suspected, as the brother was entirely unconscious. On the bright side, the fight was over, and he could relax a bit. On the other, there was now a chance that without a fight to distract him, he would have to interact with the Strongarm Alchemist...
[hr]
Engels was a strong man, but a slow man. His power was in his long reach and his powerful muscles, not to mention his digging alchemy. Against a man who he had lost the element of surprise against, he needed brute strength to carry the day. But this time, that was not enough. Amon's spear cracked against Engels' own, his massive wooden piece of a insanity called a weapon twirling in an oddly graceful path to snap it off in another direction. But he was surprised to see Spice shooting up from below his waistline. His spear was too long to properly block, and the non-pointed end only managed to keep away a single arm. The other buried itself into his stomach, blood pouring out like a fountain as he stepped back. The jagged weapon only drew more blood from that, cutting his insides to ribbons as it exited him.
Engels looked shocked, horrified even. As his life drained out of his abdomen, he dropped his spear and tried to clutch it shut with his hands. Amon took that moment to retrieve his spear, and drive it through the Mole Alchemist's chest. Engels stood in the air for a moment, stiff as a board, before falling back and crumbling into a lifeless heap.
The rain continued to fall, already starting to wash away the blood.
[hr]
Frieda's face was not cold. But it was expressionless. There was no serenity in her eyes, but no passion or anger tugged at her lips. She only watched, still, as Isaac shifted through his own mindsets and violent outbursts, his rage as he came to realize what she had known all along. He made threats; he tried to strike her, but he couldn't. She knew it, and so did he to his own disappointment. He told her to leave, to never come back, to prove her hatred. But she did not step back an inch, or turn away. There was only so much that he could do to make her go, and let her haunting gaze fade from memory. That was why she would not go.
Finally, he gave up. Steel Web threw himself to the street, cursing everything as a few bitter tears escaped the torrent of hatred. At this moment, Frieda walked forward and kneeled down next to him. She didn't touch him, keeping a distance of about a foot. She only waited for him to finish expressing his torment, and look up at her for a moment. She couldn't give him a reassuring look, or any kind words. Her own personal hatred controlled her too much for that. But she remembered what her commander, her friend, practically her father had told her. She could still see his beaming face as he said it, too.
"We're not the military, Frieda. Never forget that. We can't look at a man's face, or a paper, and know about him. We have to keep moving forward, and let the past be the past. If you see a friend in need, help him. Even if he's not your friend yet. If we're going to improve this nation then we can't do it through hatred."
Miss Montierre sighed. He was right. If this man might see the truth as they had, she couldn't afford to let his actions get in the way of that.
"Loyalty... does not always mean following orders." she told him. She took out her bandages, and began to treat the wounds of the assassin. She asked herself why, and couldn't find an answer she liked; but any information that he could give might be useful.
"Sometimes," she continued. "loyalty is about following the spirit of what you love, and not the letter of it. That's why Amaud left. Amestris isn't about genocide, assassination squads, or war with everyone in sight, is it?"
[hr]
"So," Elias loaded a shell into the magazine, "I'm going to ask you some questions," a second shell, "and you're going to answer them," a third, "or the rest of your life will be very," a fourth shell, "very miserable." Elias loaded a fifth shell. "So, why attack the kid?" As he waited for an answer, he loaded a sixth shell into the magazine before resuming his approach, shotgun at port arms.
"I'd answer him buddy," Tasha chimed in as Elias finished his threat. "You've seen what he can do when on the defense, and look where that got you."
The masked assassin chuckled, wheezing a bit as his wounds overtook him. "Lady, you don't need to tell me twice. I've seen what ol' Brandon can do up close. Hehehe--huHUAGH" The man leaned forward and puked out a glob of blood onto the roof. His wounds would bring him down soon. He wiped a bit of spit from his revealed mouth, and grinned. "Doesn't matter who sent me. Just following orders."
[hr]
"Ehehehehehe..." the snake man chortled as he watched Marlin prepare. He held a hand out as if to try and stop him. "You think that you are exempt from the horrorssss of your military? You are a sssstate alchemisssst, yessss? Tell me, what do you know about... chimerassss?"
In the corners of Marlin's eyes, he saw movement. For the first time he looked up, and saw that the room was taller than he'd given it credit for. MUCH taller. And all around it were circling balconies and walkways, where he swore shadows danced about. Foreboding, to say the least.
[hr]
"What's this about?!" Jeanne shouted back at Anton. "What's this about?! This is about you, you son of a *****!" she leveled a gun at him. "You're just another one of Bradley's hounds, Anton! Another lackey to suppress the innocent and the downtrodden, while the elite just sit in their plush thrones like none of our problems matter! This country is foul, and I've found people who are ready to cleanse it. The first step, of course, is getting rid of that smug bastard Bradley. But to do that, we'll have to eliminate his defenses. I.E., YOU."
She walked over to the hooded man. "As for this..." she pulled back the hood to reveal Demitri, of all people. His mouth was gagged, and he appeared to be desperately trying to shout something to the Lieutenant.
"It took a LOT of work to get this far, soldier. This country's going to change, and unless you surrender it's going to be done over your dead body, and his!"
[hr]
Armstrong's eyes twinkled in a manner that James honestly wasn't prepared for. "Certainly, sir!"
A few swift punches to the ground later, and a series of manacles and shackled covered the clean-shaven brother Kren. The odd part of this situation was that every single piece of alchemized equipment was emblazoned with the image of Major Armstrong, flexing and revealing his impressive yet horrifying shirtless body to the world.
A swift and well-rehearsed salute from Armstrong revealed that yes, he had seen absolutely nothing wrong with his creations. James felt a grimace growing as Armstrong's gears suddenly shifted. He crouched down beside the man and examined him closely. "Hmph..." he grunted.
"They don't seem to bear any markings that I recognize. No symbols, no uniform. But from what I understand there are similar attacks happening around the city. They must be connected, but, who could they be working for?"
[hr]
The gunman's wound burned from the fire that Roland sent their way, searing the revealed patch of skin, with the small consolation of closing the wound. They were immediate in their response, firing a shot into a small metal bar hanging next to Lightning's head. The ricochet sent the loose bar spinning and smacking Roland in the back of the head. He didn't have time to so much bend over and rub his head before a second shot ripped through his shirt. He tried to take cover a moment too late, as the thief smacked him in the bridge of the nose with their gun, bashing it open and letting the blood pour out.
A moment later, the thief retracted and immediately re-entered the fray with a side kick, burying their stiletto heel into his side.
Wait.
Stiletto heel?
