The chamber cracked.
Not just the stone, but the space itself. Fissures splintered outward from the central ritual ring, glowing with unstable light. Glyphs once carved with precision now bled raw energy — energy Father could no longer contain.
Aeon had vanished into the beam, and with him, the world's balance.
Now it bent.
Twisted.
And broke.
Edward staggered as the first echo burst from the cracked sigils — a humanoid figure, skeletal but wrapped in layers of grief given flesh. Its face was blank, save for a jagged mouth that whispered regrets in voices Edward recognized as his own.
Alphonse raised his arms instinctively as a second figure lunged — this one formed of molten armor and warped innocence, screaming as it swung a sword made of transmuted sorrow.
"Corrupted souls!" Al shouted. "They're from the ritual—"
"No," Edward gritted out. "They're from us."
Greed spun into a feral crouch as a third beast formed — teeth like broken promises, claws that glinted like gold. "That one's mine," he growled.
The chamber had become a warzone.
And at the center, Father stood still.
But something was wrong.
His eyes flickered — not with golden light, but with something darker. The lines on his face trembled, distorted.
He raised a hand to command the chaos—
And staggered.
A pulse shivered through him.
"W-what…" he gasped.
Then came the voice.
"You built the altar."
It echoed through his mind, deeper than his thoughts.
"I simply arrived."
The Shadow had rooted itself inside the circle. And now it climbed. Like smoke rising through a crack in the floorboards, it entered the one being closest to the heart of the array.
Father.
The control he prized so highly began to slip.
Edward ducked under a strike, rolled, and clapped his hands — slamming them into the stone to raise a jagged wall between them and the nearest soul-echo. "We need to stop the array!"
Alphonse deflected another blow, wincing. "If we do, we risk trapping Aeon!"
"We don't," Greed muttered, turning as another ripple of power surged through the floor. "Because something's already coming through."
From the circle's edge, five pillars of energy rose — where the Homunculi had once stood in silence.
Their sigils ignited.
Their essence burned.
They screamed.
But it wasn't the sound of pain.
It was rebirth.
Wrath's form erupted in black flame, his swords fused to his arms, eyes blind but burning.
Gluttony burst from within a cocoon of gore and metal, his mouth a tunnel of swirling void.
Envy, Lust, Sloth, and Pride appeared last — their bodies not whole, but fragmented, pieces twisted by the Shadow's touch.
They were no longer sins.
They were sins made eternal.
Edward stepped back. "No—no, we beat them!"
"They're not them anymore," Greed growled. "They're what's left."
Pride's form hovered slightly off the ground, his silhouette flickering between a boy and a void of screaming mouths.
"Father sacrificed us," he said, voice cold and hollow.
"And we were glad to be offered," Lust added with a grin made of fire.
They turned — not toward Father.
But toward Edward.
Toward Alphonse.
Toward Greed.
Then, from the far side of the chamber, a familiar voice rang out.
"Step back."
A wave of golden alchemy surged between the trio and the oncoming Homunculi.
Hohenheim stood in the breach, arms outstretched, coat flaring with the wind of raw power.
"You don't get to touch them," he said, voice steady.
His eyes found Edward's.
"I'm sorry I waited so long."
Edward stared. "What are you doing here?"
"Finishing what I began," Hohenheim replied. "I still have some life left."
And then he stepped forward — toward Wrath and Pride.
Toward his sins.
In the fractured dimension above, Aeon collided with the Shadow again — their blades clashing through ruined temples and memories of fire. With every strike, he felt the world quake.
And with every breath, something unlocked.
Not rage.
Not power.
But understanding.
"You're not just me," Aeon whispered.
The Shadow smiled.
"I'm what you feared to carry."
And the void shivered again.