Title: Ende der Welt (End of the World)

Story by: Uchiha Natsuko and Ninee Kisuragi

Written by: Ninee Kisuragi

Disclaimer: We obviously don't own FMA, nor do we claim to. We do own Zuka, however, unless by some strange twist of fate he is just something we've subconsciously pulled from some episode of FMA we watched a long time ago. And, though this does a little bit seem like The DaVinci Code, with all of the evil circle thing on the back of the painting and whatnot, it's a lot different and therefore should be considered original.

“Brother, there’s nobody here,” said the large suit of armor pleadingly. “Just go to sleep, you’ll stop hallucinating if you sleep.”

“Not yet, Al,” replied Ed, looking around the gallery like a hawk. “There is somebody here. I know it.” Al sighed.

The criminal they were sent after to catch was an alchemist by the name of Zuka, also a renowned thief. He was one of those people who, if in the event someone was standing in his way, would kill without holding back, regardless of who it was. Needless to say he was dangerous.

The thief had targeted his latest victim: a museum where a priceless painting was held. The painting, according to legend, was painted by a 13th-century forefather of modern alchemy, and was said to contain hidden in it somewhere an alchemic circle that would bring about the apocalypse. The artwork was titled “Ende der Welt,” despite the fact that it only depicted a piper with a feathered hat leaning against a tree and playing some random ditty. It most certainly did not look like what the end of the world would look like. Even the weather in the painting wasn’t ominous: sunset, or sunrise. Of course, the painter may have had a loathing for bards and minstrels, but surely they wouldn’t bring about the end of the world?

Well, as any government would have done, the State sent out as many alchemists as were available at the time to track down Zuka and prevent him from stealing his next target, the identity of which he liked to announce to large crowds of people after he was done stealing something.

“Cocky little bastard,” said Roy Mustang as he read about the incident in the newspaper the day after “Ende der Welt” was announced.

He assigned the Elric brothers to guard the painting, twenty hour hours a day, seven days a week. Something Zuka didn’t include in his announcements was neither the dates nor the times of his burglaries. He left everyone hanging in that respect. This was rather annoying for those who were sent to protect whatever loot had been targeted. The brothers remained at their station for a week before anything happened.

Ed had been staring at the painting, memorizing its every brush stroke, when a noise had been heard near the door. He glanced over toward it, but figured it was just his brother shifting his armor around.

“Hush, Al,” he muttered.

“What?” the armor replied.

“Stop moving around, you’re distracting me.”

“I wasn’t moving around, Brother.”

At this point, Ed wheeled around and clapped his hands together. He felt an odd but familiar sensation as his right arm morphed from its arm form and into a sword that he held ready. “Al, block the door,” he said aloud.

Al moved over to stand in front of the only way in or out of the gallery.

They stood there for a few minutes, ready and listening. It was Al who broke the silence.

“Brother, there’s nobody here,” he said. “Just go to sleep, you’ll stop hallucinating if you sleep.”

“Not yet, Al,” replied Ed, looking around the gallery like a hawk. “There is somebody here. I know it.”

Al sighed, giving up. “You haven’t slept in nearly two days. Go to sleep, Brother.”

“Al, there’s somebody in here!” Ed shouted. At that moment, his ears picked up the rattle of a metal post on the far end of the small gallery. The post was holding up a velvet blockade to keep visitors from getting too close to the paintings. If this was caused by who the boy thought it was, he didn’t care how close he got to the other paintings.

The blonde dashed over to the wall, pulling back his arm to slash the figure there, but he found nothing except for air there.

“Brother, for the last time, go to sleep,” Al pleaded, moving away from the door.

“Don’t leave your post, Al!” cried Ed, dashing over to the door. From there he had a clear view of the “Ende der Welt,” as well as an out-of-place shadow on the wall above it. Ed gasped, and then charged at the wall, arm ready.

The shadow’s head popped up from the wall in surprise, looking at the advancing enemy. Just before Ed reached the wall, he leapt off and landed gracefully on the floor in a sort of runner’s stretch pose. Ed couldn’t stop in time and hit the stone wall with his automail sword, but leaped back and advanced on his foe once more. Al moved over to block the door again.

At this advance, the shadow stayed put until the last minute once more, just before Ed thrust the blade in his general direction. At the last possible moment, he leapt up onto the wall again. Ed turned once more to face him, panting.

He must have some sort of circle on his hands to keep him on the wall, he thought to himself. Ed changed his arm back into its original form then clapped for a second time. One of the posts with the velvet barriers transformed into a long spear-like weapon that he picked up and threw at the shadow. Once more the shadow dodged the blow and the spear bounced noisily off of the wall and landed on the floor.

The shadowed figure leapt onto the floor and waited for Ed’s next move, in the same pose and, Al noticed, the same place as before. His fingers seemed to be moving quickly. The armor’s eyes darted up to the wall. Small white dots covered it in groups of five.

“Brother, watch out!” he cried. “He’s got chalk on his fingers and is drawing a circle on the floor!”

Ed backed up slightly, then transformed his arm into a shield. The shadow shoved his hand flat onto the ground and a bright light filled the room as the circle activated. The light cleared, but the complex circle remained glowing in red on the floor. A stream of red light moved quickly toward Ed, who moved backward more. A little too far, as he soon found out when he tripped backward over a velvet barrier and fell onto his back. The wind knocked out of him, he struggled to stand up before the light got to him.

It was too late though. The light found its way to him. It crawled over his body, burning him. He cried out in pain. The light gathered at his arm and his leg, eating away mainly at them.

Al moved over to the shadow, but was too slow. The shadow leapt up onto the wall again, removed the painting from the wall, and leapt onto the floor. Al tried to stop him, but an alarm went off and a pillory dropped from the ceiling and onto the suit of armor. Try as he might, the pillory was large enough to fit him in, but too small for him to move in. As he struggled to break free of his bindings, Al watched his brother writhe in pain as the light still shone on his automail body parts.

The shadow, the painting tucked under his arm, bowed gracefully and said, “Good day, dear adversaries. It’s been nice dueling with you, but, alas, I must take my leave. Ciao.” And with that, he leapt up onto the wall again and crawled out of a window mounted on the wall toward the ceiling.

Al struggled some more against his bindings, then heard many footsteps in the hallway. Armed guards entered the gallery and stood in formation, blocking the door. Through them shoved Roy Mustang, who surveyed Al with a resigned sort of displeasure. He dashed over to Ed, then pricked his forefinger and drew an alchemic circle on the floor next to the boy and activated it. The red light looked as if it were sucked into the new circle and sealed there.

At the sudden absence of the light, they all saw what the light had done. Scorch marks had formed on Ed’s clothes and in some areas he was burned. His automail arm and leg were all but gone. Ed made strange gurgling noises that conveyed the message of “Help me now because I am in a lot of pain” to the people in the room. Roy looked over his shoulder at the confused guards.

“Go get a stretcher!” he barked, and they headed out of the gallery.

If you don't want to praise the story, give it constructive critisism, not flames. Yes, I realize some bits and pieces of it are illogical and somewhat silly, but just bear with it. If you haven't got something nice or constructive to say, don't say anything at all.