Fear was not a word Edward often associated with, yet here he was.

Dread tugged at each fiber within his muscles. The sound of blood rushing was all that he could hear, his heart pounding along to the uneven rhythm of the distant whirring.

He clawed at the ground, stumbling away; the lacerated flesh of his left shoulder stung, the muscles torn and blood seeping. His right arm burned, his nerves on fire from the automail connected to his body.

Slashes sliced through his skin, hitting against the metal of his right arm. The blade extending from the automail scraped against the blood-stained floor when something knocked the killer over, Edward stumbling to the ground along with him.

Terror appeared in the form of a strangled sound as he pushed the serial killer off him, kicking the sharpened cleaver out of the man's grasp.

It was as if ice washed over him, and he swung at the man—

A hand grasped his arm, the shoulder screaming in agony. He jerked away, stumbling around to slash at the attacker, to defend himself—

His eyes widened when they met yours.