Disclaimer: I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist, Arakawa Hiromu does
I.
She was Valkyrie, if they lived among the myth.
She was the Goddess of Death, she determined who would live and who would leave in the world of battlefield. She could kill with a tow of trigger, she could kill without a must to feel the life slipped away through her fingers, sticky and glutinous, and bright red-colored ….
She used to assume that red was the color of hero. But in that bite of sun and those stings of hot sands, red showed its fearful side.
Red was the color of war.
Red was the color of death.
Red was her. She was red.
II.
He was Astaroth, if he had to group himself with Demons.
He was a Master, and fire was his slave. He burned down the world, creating another living and torturing Hell. Everything he touched dissolved into ash, crusted into charcoal. He could smell it in the air, the scent of fading life when his fire roared.
From time to time, men always feared fire, yet they worshiped them as the core of life.
From time to time, men always desired to conquer fire, as they dreamed of flying and touching sun.
He could do that easily—almost silly—with just decoding fire alchemy arrays, he didn't need to become God or Devil, without fiery and shining trishula.
But he was not human either. His humanity was long gone, eaten by the heat of battlefield.
Some called him a hero, the other named him a murderer.
He addressed himself as a fire.
III.
She was Valkyrie, then she was a lover of hero.
She had chosen her man, she loved him with all of her life.
They were a lover in battlefield, embracing one and another when night fell and desert froze, whispering solace to each other ears when aching souls inside their heart screamed, healing each other pain when their consciences were wounded badly.
Hearing each other constant heartbeats, a bitter reminder that they were alive.
Caressing each other cheeks when dawn came and one of them said, "Wake up, the war isn't over yet."
END
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