I'm not worth it.

You tell me I'm worth nothing, as you thrust yourself onto me. Slamming over and over into this abused vessel, I wonder, does it make you proud? You conquered me, finally, but you broke me harshly. Men have wanted me for my spirit- to make me theirs and keep me the same, submissive only to their wills, the famous daring man-child who danced with death and came away grinning. Oh! What a prize! But you, you took me and you broke me, the strength I held and coveted stripped from me as unceremoniously as my signature clothing. My very nature rebels, and I can feel the fabric of my identity being stained and ripped my your evil, skillful hands.

You're whispering in my ear, leaning over a desk, the dark mahogany edges are tearing into the delicate flesh of my hips. I can't hear you. I'm in my own head, looking at circles. I hear your voice floating over me like so much hot oil; searing the words you speak into the private, safe part of my own head.

You tell me I deserve nothing. You whisper this into my ear with each thrust, each groan, and every satisfied moan. Your words echo in my head... nothing nothing nothing...

The cock-ring you have on me cuts into the end of my sex, bleeding it, and it's on far too tight. Blood drips from my head, and shoulders, and mouth, and stomach, and hands, and legs, and anus... it excites you. You lick my neck, and I shiver in distaste, sweat and blood mingling and falling onto the table. You leer, and leaning back, you thrust harder and cum again. I don't even flinch this time. The dull stinging in the lacerations on my legs is something I've blocked out, cum dried and peeling, now it itches. This is the... fifth time you've done this, in what I can only work out to be in this timeless place, the past seven hours. I guess being nearly - immortal means you can just go and go and go, hm?

You reach down, and slowly remove the ring from me. My body is possessed. It writhes and shakes uncontrollably, I scream- fear in my eyes. You put it there. You slap me for looking at your face, my body contorting and slamming into the corner of the desk awkwardly with the force of the punishment. I hear a crack, but it doesn't register. Hacking dark blood, I close my eyes. The black is more welcoming than your smirking face, and your words resound in my head.

Nothing nothing nothing... and I surrender to the darkness.


I'm naked again. Not that I take much notice anymore. I don't know how long I've been here now. I'm blindfolded, the dark providing no safety this time. There are... ropes? Or is it wire? Either way, its slicing into my wrists and ankles, and in the ungainly way I am now forced to stand requires my legs to be straight, hands on feet, head down and rear held high. There's those old broken chair legs strapped to my legs, forcing them straight, and I count myself lucky that I'm more flexible than most. I can't look around. I must stink of fear, among other things.

I hear a whimper. Knowing my Masters' nature, I ignore the urge to scrape the blindfold off with my shoulder and see. Again, the soft whimper followed by a quiet sob, which doesn't sound like a child or a woman. I dare not move. I feel my own skin gently ripping apart again, and blood oozes onto the floor. From previous experience, I know this will mean another beating, resulting in more blood.

I'm never permitted to heal myself. He likes the way I squirm when he digs His fingers into... well, anywhere now. Glad of the temporary reprieve, I rest. Master will have what he wants of me, and I must submit to his wants. I always do.


He comes in. The Master. I stay silent as he touches hard fingers to the shredded skin on my back- I learned the hard way to stay silent and do as He said. The whimpering, which has been going on all the time while I was silent, increases in volume, and muffled words may be hidden among the pathetic sounds. I am made of Stone. I bury myself in my head again, and He draws abstract patterns across my rump and lower back in my own blood. I am stone. I cannot feel it anymore.

Finally, He brings out the whip. I wait, and ease the tension in my muscles at the last minute. It stings less, but the whimpering voice keens on my behalf. I stay silent. I am nothing.

Nothing nothing nothing...

The blindfold is removed, and I see... I see someone. He is manacled to the wall, but this is a different room to where I am usually housed. It's cleaner, for one thing, and doesn't smell of sex and blood. The prisoner is dressed in singed blue rags, the style of which, if pieced together correctly, reminded me of something. My head hurts from trying to remember, so I give up.

He looks familiar, but I cannot place the dark hair and darker eyes, slightly slanted and filled with hurt, hate and pleading... I didn't understand those eyes, but whoever he is, he is gagged, and I dryly comment in my head that if he spoke as much as he whined, Master would be right to. Not that my opinion should be voiced.

I don't think I can speak anymore anyway. It's been so long since I dare tried.

The whip whistles down again, and curls around my side, licking my side and mercilessly slapping the stomach wound I gained from Master. He strokes a finger up the curve of my back, and inserts it into me. I throw my head back, long blonde hair flipping back, and I gasp as the hair makes contact with the newly opened wounds on my back, tinting the dark red tips an even deeper crimson. I wondered if I always had my hair stained with my own blood. It matters not. He grasps the hair and yanks it, a light punishment for gasping without his permission. I bow my head in submission when he lets go, and he laughs softly. I look up again.

The familiar strangers' eyes bore into mine, and he stares in shock at me. I don't know what he expected me to do, but whatever it was, I didn't do it. A second, third and fourth finger is added. He begins the plaintive keening again, a soul-wrenching cacophony of agony, but I have no soul. I am nothing nothing nothing...

Master grins in smug amusement, and I wonder what I have done to please him so. The stranger looks into my eyes again, staring deeply and long, and instead of starting the mewling, he gasps.

"So you see the difference? Do you see what I have made it? Is it not exquisite? I fixed it and broke it anew..." Master says. I don't understand, but stay silent; His fingers are still probing me harshly. The man looks haunted, and his gaunt face more pale and drawn than before Master spoke. I stay still. I stay silent. I am stone. Master removes his hand from me.

Slowly, Master enters me. He whispers so tight. The stranger looks ill. I wonder why, but turn back to pleasing Master. Maybe He will not beat me so much this time? I make a single, short moan. He likes it when I do that. He feels His power over me. The raggedly dressed stranger yelps and struggles like a wild beast. I don't comprehend what he is trying to do, what he is screaming. My legs are shaking, partly of fear for the new person, partly because I have been hunched over for... hours. So many hours.

I feel muscle rend again, barely repaired from the previous days excursions, and hot blood cascades down my dirty legs. The man ceases his struggling when I take my cue to moan again, louder and louder until He's broken the chair legs and He is the only thing holding me up, with me screaming my false rapture. I am a finely tuned machine to His needs, and He needs me to scream for Him. Finally, I am allowed use of my lungs and throat...! He judders, and I know this is the time I have to cum, or else He beats me again.

When He has finished and pulled out, he throws me to the ground. But it's a gentle throw, barely enough to make me cough blood, and I am puzzled by this kindness. I crawl to Him and lick His member clean of my blood and his semen. His hand reaches down, and shoves me to deep throat Him. My gag reflex is long gone, and I take it in without a sound. He's speaking again to the captive, but I am too busy trying to please my Master. I take no notice of His words. I can't breathe, but I keep going. I hope I don't pass out again... and then He tightens and spills His hot fluid. He likes me to drink it all, and messily, so I have to lick my fingers clean, and my chin.

The stranger gapes at me, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable, but I cannot move, because Master hasn't told me to yet. I wait where I kneel- before my Master, when He suddenly shoves me and lifts me by my arms. I go with his movements, refusing to struggle. He has me held up to the captive, like he needs to examine me. I'm dropped unexpectedly, and I land badly, one ankle crunching and the other twisting. I deny the urge to make a sound. Master unties the gag, but the captive is now silent, staring at me. I cannot squirm under his intense gaze, because He has not said I may move. I stare vacantly at a damp brick to the left of his head, and try to keep my thought blank; my eyes still and remember my mantra. I am nothing nothing nothing...

Eventually, the man turns to Master and does the unthinkable- he speaks to Him! As if they were equals! I do not hear the words, but Master does nothing. I wait, body tensed, for him to lift his left hands' little finger. Just give me a signal, Master! Finally, after a pause that seems forever, he motions, and I leap at the tall dark-haired savage. The arrogant stranger seems surprised at the attack, and manoeuvres in the split second it takes for me to reach him. I strike his arm, not his chest. Oh dear... this means... this means Master will be angry... I return to my place, and crouch miserably in the position He likes best. Hands and knees, like a dog, but I am nothing nothing nothing. And He tells me so too. Master always knows.

But... Master motions with the right hand, middle finger half lifted... he wants me to stand up? But... I failed him... I am so confused. But I don't dally and I do as he bids. The stranger looks curiously sick again, and asks Master the same thing as before... I listen this time, and startle when he rasps just two words-

"How long?"

Masters' eyes glimmer wickedly, and he struts to the other end of the room, speaking all the way. I half listen. It doesn't affect me unless he signals, so I watch his body language instead. I hear... phrases... they mean nothing to me. Things like "transmutation" wash over me, and I note the prisoner perks up when Master mentions the amount of time He has held the man captive for- "as long as this one." Which one? I think "Nearly six months. Surprising how quick I broke it, isn't it?"

At this, then man lunges, but his movement is arrested by the heavy chains around his wrists. Master laughs again. I am silent.

Two more words, nearly inaudible- "How much?"

I lower my head, blood down my back itching again, and my hair is getting caught in the clots still oozing. I feel dizzy... how much blood have I lost? Darkness begins to envelope me as I strive to maintain my still position. Weakly, I attempt to stay upright, but it's a loosing battle as I keel over into a sticky puddle. A small, sarcastic part of me speculates that it could very well be my own blood. Squinting at Master, his hands close to the mysterious tattoo on his thigh, his left wrist jerks twice... I relax, and give in to the darkness with ease. Master has permitted it. The rest of the captives' conversation is lost on me, and I float...


I wake abruptly, so quickly that air sticks in my throat. Panic and fear settle heavy in my stomach, deeper than the acute hunger I feel, as I recall how I lazily drifted off when Master may have needed me. Suddenly aware of my position, I note I am clothed, white fabric stiff and scratchy against my skin, wounds bound and bandaged, my hair is... where is my hair? I stay silent, convinced that this strange situation is what Master wants, and Master usually wants me mute too. I mourn the loss of my hair in peace. The room is bright, too white and not like the neutral stone of my own room. I'm lying on... a bed? Why am I on a bed!? I look at the floor, panicking in earnest now. Where should I sleep? The floor is cold, and I sigh in relief. A constant in this scary place. I resist the clothes, struggling from the confines of the bandages, and discarding everything touching my body. Nakedness feels so much more comfortable, unused as I am to clothing. Curling up, I take a corner, which, strangely, isn't the same as the stone floor in my room.

I wait for Master.

And wait.

Eventually, the cold of the floor soothes me into a dreamy haze. I still watch the door for Him through it though. I try to think of nothing, my mantra looping over and over in my head. I am nothing nothing nothing...


I jolt back to alterness, my arms aching with the cold. There's a presence in the room... Turning to the door, I see... a girl, though she's nearly a woman. She has blonde hair, and my stomach twists as I think of my own crimson-dyed locks, lost. She too looks familiar, but there's a look of vacant horror on her face. I see a package on the ground at her feet- the sound of it dropping onto the tile must have woken me.

She isn't my Master. Her body language is wrong. And Master hates the form of women- they make Him hormonal. I stare steadily at the intruder. It's safe to, because it isn't Master. I ignore her after a minute, and settle back onto the cold tile. She's transfixed, it seems, and she slowly walks over towards me, her shoes squeaking loudly on the white floor. I keep ignoring her, waiting for Master, saying my mantra over and over in my head.

She speaks, but I pay her no heed. Why is she speaking to me? I am nothing nothing nothing... She doesn't get it though, and she goes on and on. She reaches out, to touch me, to stroke my left arm, a look of wonder and fear on her face... I squirm and move away, skittering to the other side of the room. Only He may touch me. I am His. Bought, Branded and Broken by Him alone! How dare she!

She looks at me, shocked, and her eye catches on the door behind me. I swivel so fast my neck cracks- the only sound, and it echoes in this achingly white place.

The man is there. Black eyes searching, and he is missing his right arm and left leg... I look at him, puzzled. His rags are gone, replaced by the same itchy gown I awoke the first time to, and he wheels a peculiar structure with him. A drip, a small voice replies in my head- it does this often when I become confused, and sometimes I wondered why. He barks out an order to the blonde girl, and she looks offended, but marches off anyway.

He turns to me, and presents me with a piece of paper... a scrap of a letter. Who would write to me? I am nothing nothing nothing... I make no movement, no sound. I just stare. He places it on the floor, precariously balanced with his limbs missing, and scoots it across to me. I lift it, and it smells of Master. Glancing at the unbroken wax seal, it is Masters' symbol, and I know it is genuine. I crack it open, the black wax crumbling to the floor. He watches me. I read.

Master has written to me. Just two, brief sentences are marked upon the page. Final Orders. I nearly weep.

Your new Master is a Mr Roy Mustang.
Remember- you are worth nothing.

I peer up from the crinkled paper, and the new Master opens His mouth to speak. I listen intently, for the Orders of a Master are always important.

"Get on the bed," - a strange request, but I do so, on hands and knees in His predecessors favoured position. The action stretches the healing wounds, and a few begin to seep red. The stomach wound is worst, and it dribbles ichor steadily. Master looks ill again, but I maintain the position. Waiting. Bleeding.

"Lie on the bed," again, a peculiar request, but I forbid my brow to furrow. The last Master liked my face to be emotionless. He liked me silent too, except for the screams. New wounds are opened, and Master makes a small chocking noise. I can't look- He hasn't told me to yet. I lay there, breathing and keeping my head pressed to the bed, gazing steadily at the wall. Waiting. The belly- lesion is staining the bedclothes.

"Do not move,"

I am a stone.

He walks away, hobbling on his remaining foot, and I hear him down the corridor. He calls a nurse to him, and I hear the whispery conversation. He has my full attention. A woman comes in, and she begins to touch me. I shiver at the contact, unable to suppress it. He is there again, standing by the bed. He curled His left hand over mine, and my involuntary shuddering stops. She is poking me, prodding me, pulling white linen across my skin. She glances at me, then Him, and coughs politely.

I am confused, but I do not move. He clears his throat and looks nervous.

"Turn over"

I do, and they both gasp. All across my stomach is red. Red red red. That is all. She is there, poking and prodding and yanking linen over me. I do not move, but I see Master backing up against the wall from the corner of my eyes. His face is white, and I wonder what ails him so.

Finally the woman leaves, and Master sits in the single seat. He's still looking at me, though I stare straight ahead.

"Go to sleep"

I close my eyes immediately, and will myself into blissful unconsciousness.


Roy Mustang glanced woefully at the broken young man, so pale against the white hospital bedclothes, but shortly after began his scrutiny of an empty wall . The blonde was irreparably damaged. Both of them were. He didn't have the heart to wake the man now- he had not regained consciousness for five years, ever since his final order to the hopelessly insane teenager. With the sanity of their worst enemy in ruins, and the body of their second-worst enemy destroyed, the Homuloci had vanished from the area. The reprieve had lead to tense peace at first, and then acceptance. They were truly gone, but at the cost of a child-genius' life.

Looking sourly at His automail hand, Roy pondered the short but brilliant existence of, quite possibly, the greatest alchemy achievement ever. Leaning over to the closest ear of the near-cationic male, He whispered a final order to the man-child he had adored.

"Stop breathing."

Silence roared around Him, and when the flickering eyes of the shell of Edward Elric ceased, Roy let out a deep sigh, lay his head on the still-warm left hand of the only man he loved, and silently and carefully slipped away from reality...


My god, I was sad when I wrote that...

ok, its a little obscure, but the basic plotline is:

Ed is kidnapped by Envy, who uses some spare philosophers stone to fix him and make him whole (because, obviously, Envy keeps a small stash of Ph.Stones hanging around, duh!). Roy is either kidnapped at the same time, or is captured when he goes to rescue the little blondie. I wasn't too clear on that, even as I wrote it...

Envy pretty much chains Mustang up and leaves him alone while he plays with Elric. Envy plays his sick games with Ed and breaks him mentally... just because he can. When the 6th month is done, he shows off his hobby to Roy, who barters back Ed for the price of... an arm and a leg. Specifically the arm and leg that Envy replaced for Ed. Twisted much?

Envy passes off ownership of the broken genius, but Roy, overcome with grief because his lover is... a few little bit lost in the head, "orders" Ed to sleep. Ed does, but slips into a coma because of the trauma. Because Envy's control was absolute, and that absolute power was given to Roy, Ed subconsciously obeys orders even in the coma, leading Roy to give him a merciful death.

The fact of what he has done sinks in a few seconds later, and Roy is driven insane because of the guilt caused by killing his lover.

Yeah, I was happiness and sunshine when I wrote it. can you tell?

Review if you want. I'm not gunna beg. if you like it enough, you'd review anyways.

have a nice day! (or at least have a better one than Ed or Roy...)