The Empath Alchemist {Edward Elric X Reader}

38

 "Envy. Wrath."

Father's greeting was cold, almost uninterested, but the two aforementioned Homunculi expected nothing less from the detached being.

The Fuhrer held the collar of the man he'd dragged along firmly before him, his blue, medal adorned jacket concealing the tear in his dark shirt. He'd found it where he left it in that alleyway where he'd encountered Scar earlier that day, and the guest he'd brought along was not too far from that very spot.

Envy lingered by the large, stone double doors, spread out from each individual within the dark space. He'd just come home from a long, long journey spent tracking down the beast that he could now carry around within his index finger and thumb. It almost made the easily aggravated creature want to toss the small vile holding Pride's original form onto the ground at his feet and stomp on it as many times as he could, as payment for all the damage he'd caused him.

The perpetrator of General Hughes' death dragged his plum eyes across the room to land on Wrath, then on the pitiful old man that kneeled at his feet with his head hung low. His silvery, damp strands of hair fell forward into his face, blocking out his deformed features and hiding his expression. But telling by the way his back was hunched over and his hands were clasping each other's tightly, Envy saw that his mind was swarming with fear. The corners of the spiky haired Homunculus' mouth quirked up ever so slightly. Fear was undoubtedly the best look on a human, especially the kind inspired by him.

Wrath looked to no one, he only kept his gaze forward as he awaited further speech from the four hundred year old being. He was not in a particularly good mood, but luckily for him, the decision to pursue Winry had been a decision made solely by himself. Therefore, he did not have to face questioning from Father about something regarding why the blonde was not dead. No, he only had himself to disappoint.

Wrath knew that he could have easily run after Winry once more after he'd parted from Greed- or Ling, but he soon found that chasing her was no longer a priority. At least, not while Ling would continue to pursue him, not while Greed refused to face him and chose to hide behind the mask of a toddler, and not while Tim Marcoh still roamed the streets of Central City, carrying bags that later proved to be a great impediment in his attempt to remain out of the Homunculi's path. Engaging in combat with Ling hadn't been a struggle for Wrath per say, but he had grown rather bored of the entire ordeal after he'd concluded that the boy would not relent his nagging as long as his sights were set on Winry Rockbell.

Instead, Wrath decided to follow the rather obvious traces that Marcoh left behind after he'd abandoned his "fight" with the Xingese boy. Locating the old man was not necessarily hard for him to do, for nothing truly seemed to be complicated for the being that possessed the strength of two full grown oxen and the power of a creature unknown to the majority of humanity. The Fuhrer had found Tim Marcoh rather close to the alleyway in which he and Scar had commenced their brawl. He had appeared to be hiding, as Wrath expected, but unfortunately, his hiding skills weren't particularly beneficial to the old man in the long run. He was crouched by a dumpster, two duffle bags sitting inches away from his feet. Wrath had been sure to leave them there when he forced Marcoh with him.

Now here Marcoh was, ashamed, frightened, shivering with an eerie sense of familiarity that he had dreaded the possibility of experiencing for a second time. He'd gone to such lengths to prevent himself from falling back into the hands of the Homunculi. He'd abandoned his home, his people, allowed Scar to mangle the features of his face into something unrecognizable, yet somehow, he was still recognized. Still chased down when he tried to run.

Marcoh would have had better luck if any other Homunculus had crossed paths with him. Considering the fact that the Homunculi had not seen Tim since the Ishvalan War, prior to his relations with Scar, they would have proceeded past him without any further interrogation. Perhaps they would have left with a lingering sense of deja vu, questioning themselves as to why the strange man with the odd face had reminded them of someone they once worked with, but nothing more would have come of it. Marcoh was sure of it.