This story is long, a little dramatic, and very OC heavy. If that's not your thing, you should probably move on now. If you want to tive this a shot, thank you and I hope you enjoy it.

#~#~#

I was just a kid. Twelve years old, youngest State Alchemist anyone has seen, and the order was given. Order 3066: all State Alchemists are called to duty as human weapons. I was just a kid, but I had to see atrocities most are blessed they can't imagine.

I stood among my fellow soldiers, wearing a white trenchcoat like the other alchemists. Seems stupid to single us out like this. We're the biggest threat to the Ishvalans, which means they'll aim for us first. Not like I have a choice. The only real benefit of this job is access to a shitload of alchemic knowledge and a little weight to throw around. But you also have to follow orders, and wear uniforms, two things which I hate.

Hughes and Grand passed through, everyone snapping to attention. In their stead was an Ishvalan. What are they up to? We all began to subconsciously follow the two superior officers and their prisoner. They were headed to the general's tent. Stepping in, they started talking. Talking soon escalated. Grand stormed out, ripping a rifle from a soldier's hands and throwing the tent's curtain open again. He raised it to his shoulder and fired.

We stood in stunned silence for a minute. He turned to us, lowering the rifle.

"General Fessler has been killed by a stray bullet. I will be taking over command. Any objections!?" He yelled out to the masses. No one spoke up. Hughes came out with the hostage. "Captain Hughes and I will now escort the prisoner to Führer Bradley."

They left, headed for the Führer. I breathed a sigh of relief. Fessler was an asshole. Got more of his men killed than all the other generals combined. He was a sadistic son of a bitch too; he loved berating his subordinates. Armstrong had a breakdown because he made him murder civilians. All he did was chew him out for it. Couldn't continue his tour of duty, had to be sent back to Central. And Fessler still viewed his actions as legendary. There was actually a coup of sorts being planned to kill him. At least he's dead now.

A shot rang out. Then more. The area exploded into a firefight, soldiers rushing to the cause. I grabbed my pistol and headed through the alleyways. My feet pounded the dusty ground, the thuds drowned out by blasts from guns and alchemy. I was blindsided by an unseen figure. They tackled me to the ground, struggling to point a gun at my head. My hands reached for the weapon, barely keeping it from getting a clear shot. The circle tattooed to the back of my hand glowed bright blue as lightning blasted the weapon apart. He reeled in shock, his red eyes wide.

They're terrified of our power. I might have died if it wasn't for that.

Before he could recover, I gripped his head with both hands, pumping electricity into his skull and frying his brain. He slumped over, the smell of charred flesh and bone filling my nose. It would have been enough to make me vomit at one time, but Fessler made sure I saw too much war to be affected by something so tame.

I got to my feet, continuing to the real battle. Dozens of soldiers from both sides were already killed. Blood repainted the walls and ground, chunks of flesh and organs adorned buildings and the various spots of cover. Things had gone to hell quickly. Red electricity arced, explosions soon following, ripping through a platoon of Ishvalans. It's Kimblee and he's going way too far. You can't even identify the body when Kimblee kills them.

Rebel soldiers ran my way. I stamped my foot down, the circle emblazoned on my boot's sole glowing. Blue sparks arced across the field, erecting a wall as I ran to it for cover. They opened fire, chipping away at the stone. I spun out, aiming my hand at the first soldier I saw and unleashing a powerful blast of lightning. The stream of energy cut through several of the rebels before they started firing again. I fell behind the wall but took a shot in my shoulder. Hot blood trickled from the flesh wound, the shallow groove in my red muscle burning like fire. I ignored the pain, listening for the rebels. They think I'm really hurt. They're closing in. One at 10 o'clock, another three at 12 and two more at 3. The circle on my boot lit up and electricity trailed off in three paths. A second later, the sound of the earth erupting and blood spilling as the rebels screamed in pain filled the air. Peeking out from cover, I saw most were dead. Two were still alive, torn and tangled together in a mess of conical spikes. I approached them, raising my hands before them.

"I am sorry. May you find peace in whatever lies beyond this world," I said, the tattoos on my hands glowing again. Branches of lightning arced out and quickly fried them, putting an end to their suffering.

"You like to act like I'm some kind of monster, but you're just as bad," Kimblee accused from atop a nearby building. "Getting shocked to death is a pretty bad way to go. Maybe even worse than burning 'em the way Mustang does."

"Pour enough power into it and they die nearly instantly. Besides, I take no pleasure in killing these people," I said, defending myself.

"Bullshit. I've seen that look in your eye. You love this!"

"I just look at it as every kill bringing this war closer to its end. If you saw anything in my eyes, that was it."

"Say whatever you want, you can't hide from the truth."

A bolt of lightning flew past him, the residual heat enough to redden his skin.

"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled, losing my temper. "Don't you dare act like you know anything about me!"

He smiled in his wickled way, licking his lips like a wolf sizing up its prey. "So you wanna play, huh?" He clapped his hands together, slamming them onto the rooftop and sending red light arcing toward me, creating craters from tiny explosions. I ducked to the side, throwing up barriers as I went, knowing he'd redirect the flow of energy. "Let's play!"

I ran as fast as I could, blasts following hot on my heels. God I hate Kimblee, he pulls this shit every other day. As long as he can kill it, he doesn't care if their friend or foe. Wall ahead. No time to go around. I blasted a hole through it, covering my mouh as I ran through the dust. Turning on my heel, I headed through the buildings connected, avoiding the open. I heard the explosions growing quieter. I was actually getting away. Good.

I smashed through another wall, finding myself in a room filled with alchemical notes. Books stood in tall stacks, desks were covered in runes and giant circles were carved into the walls. An Ishvalan alchemist? Are they ready to forsake their religion for their lives? Cowards. Wait, this stuff looks weird. It's alchemy, but it's not. I opened one of the books. Alkahestry, the hell is that?

"...The 'Dragon's Pulse' flows down from the mountains and to the lands, nourishing all it touches. One can manipulate this power to affect the world around them, or provide medical assistance... just what is this? The chi of the world? Drawing strength from the lifeforce of the planet to perform alchemy? Just where the hell did this stuff come from?" I thought aloud.

Flipping through more books, it started making a little sense, but it still was a mystery. But this stuff has to be useful in some way. I began stuffing pages into my pockets along with a few books and enscribing several circles on my arms with ink and a quil. Giving the ink a minute to dry, I tried focusing on the "Dragon's Pulse", feeling some inkling of power other than the source I was used to. Maybe it wasn't a madman's ramblings. This could be really real. I wonder what these circles do. I hardly even recognize most of the runes and formations in them. Still, it would be smarter to commit them to memory now; pretty easy to sweat away ink when your running and fighting in a godforsaken desert. I have a near-photographic memory, so it was easy. It's a pretty useful tool in an alchemist's arsenal.

Yelling, and soon gunfire, rang out from just beyond the walls. Then everything exploded. A dozen shockwaves ran through the room, throwing me to the floor. The windows shattered and the walls cracked, dust flying from them. Maniac laughter echoed as the piercing ring in my ears subsided. Damn him.

I got to my feet, gritting my teeth in tremendous pain and nearly falling again. I checked my side, a large shard of wood stabbed straight through my kidney. Pulling it out without a medic to patch me up is stupid, it'll be like taking the plug out of a tub. Except the water is my blood.

I shocked the area, numbing the nerves enough to continue. I kicked the door open, the brittle wood shattering. Kimblee noticed me from the rooftops.

"Come to finish our game, huh?" He grinned again, a Philosopher's Stone held in his teeth.

He clapped his hands, more explosions headed for me. I transmuted the ground, launching myself at him. I charged my fist with lightning, aiming for his smug face. He sidestepped, barely avoiding the hit. He thrust his hands at me, an attack sure to kill me. I jumped back, tripping and cracking my head on the rooftop. My vision blurred as he closed in, red electricity crackling around him. I threw my hands behind my head and shifted my weight onto them, bringing my legs into the air and driving both feet hard into his chest. The air left his lungs as he fell backward. I followed through on the momentum, propelling myself to my feet.

Before he could get up, I jumped over the edge, a trail of alchemical light traveling down to the ground and bringing up a pillar. I landed on it, taking a breath before jumping the rest of the way to the adjacent building. Dashing across the rooftops, I heard Kimblee blasting his way to me again. Alley up ahead. I sent another stream of energy ahead, forming a plank halfway down. I jumped, sliding down the vertical wall to the plank, then jumping to the ground below.

The battle still raged, claiming even more lives. I came out in the crossfire, bullets and alchemy flying across the field. I headed toward my allies, red light arcing ahead of me. The area exploded, blasting everything apart. The buildings crumbled, the soldiers of both sides laid dead. Kimblee stood above us, laughing like a mad demon. I tried getting up, but couldn't. What the hell? I lifted my head, seeing only bloody stumps where my legs once were. Terror began to grip my chest; Kimblee's laughter seemed to get louder.

I tried to move my arms, but couldn't. The fear grew stronger as I knew what was going to come. I looked to my shoulder, seeing blood and shredded cloth, but no arm. Kimblee's laughter drowned out the world; a wild, maniacal cackle, mocking me. I checked my other shoulder, the arm barely still attached. I screamed, lifting the tattered limb one last time. Focusing all the power I could, the circle on my hand burned itself into an angry red scar as the energy flowed through it and coalesced in my palm. I unleashed the lightning, turned black with rage and hatred. The massive stream of energy smashed into Kimblee, scorching his left half and propelling him out of the beam's range. My hand dropped, the bare bone of my arm shattering as it hit the ground. I screamed in pain again, feeling death coming for me.

I was just a kid. Twelve years old, sent off to war. I had to witness atrocities most are blessed they can't imagine. I had to endure hell unlike anything ever spoken of.

I had to die.

#~#~#

Pain. Pain worst than anything, even worse than the blast. Every nerve I had was on fire. But I couldn't scream, couldn't move. I wasn't even conscious. But I still felt the pain.

#~#~#

I finally awoke. God knows how long it's been. I closed my eyes, shaking my head, unconsciously trying to raise a hand to my aching skull. But I felt something touch it. What the hell?

I opened my eyes, seeing a hand in front of me. But it wasn't normal. White, made from plastic. Rudimentary design, only enough for basic function. I gasped and the hand moved away. Then I realized it was mine. This was my hand. I tried moving the other, seeing an identical limb rise. I pushed myself into a seated position, seeing similar limbs attached to where my legs once were. Cylindrical, with boot-like feet, they were barely human in appearance.

I got up, feeling my weight in the artificial feet, but it was different than what it once was. Even my sense of touch was made artificial in these limbs. The false knees buckled as I tried to move forward. I fell onto the wall, digging fingers into it to stay up. I tried to right myself, failing the first couple attempts. Finally, I was stabke enough to take a step. I was shaky, hardly able to move. I still leaned on the wall for support, headed for the mirror over the sink at the other side of the room. If I'm alive, I need to see the extent of the blasts' damage.

I stumbled to it, gripping the sink. Staring down at the porcelain I hesitated to lift my head. Taking a deep breath, I looked into the mirror. I was shocked by what I saw. I was nearly the same.

My black hair, pale skin, electric blue eyes; they were all the same. My hair was singed nearly to the scalp on one side, with a bandage and gauze covering a burn on my neck and part of my jaw on that same side. I looked down, seeing many new scars on my surprisingly mature body; the most noticeable being one down the center of my chest. But that scar was practically the only flesh left on my chest. The two housing frames built into each shoulder extended across most of the area, replacing the skin and muscle. I checked my legs, inspecting them closer. My left leg was only prosthetic to about midway up my thigh, but the right was totally gone. A housing system had to be built into my hip/waist area.

"What are you doing up!?" Someone yelled. Hands firmly grasped me, easily pulling me back to bed. "You shouldn't be up yet! Your automail was only just finished! Your body hasn't had a chance to heal; if you exert yourself like this, you'll make your body reject the new limbs!"

Barely strong enough to speak, let alone fight against it, I laid back down on the bed. The one that forced me there was a girl, maybe sixteen. She had hair and eyes of gold and a beautiful figure. In my bitter rage I hardly noticed.

"What happened?" I asked, referring more to the automail than the blast.

"The Crimson Alchemist blew a battlefield, you were on it. Three of your limbs were gone, and we couldn't save the arm. Whatever life you would have had wouldn't have been worth calling a life if we didn't operate. You nearly died, and the automail put a great strain on your body, but you'll live."

"I never asked for this," I bitterly said.

"Like I said, if we didn't operate, you're life would have been hell."

I accepted this, but was still pissed about it. Not the limbs themselves, but the need for them. If I was a little more careful, if I had ended Kimblee when I had the chance, I wouldn't be in this situation. Instead I ran like a coward! FUCK!

I slammed my prosthetic hand against the stone wall, making a small dent while crushing the weak plastic. I gritted my teeth, seething as a burst of pain shot through my nerves.

"That's what you get for doing something stupid. Your housings will be sore for about a week, but it'll hurt far worse during the attachment of your permanent limbs and the physical therapy that'll follow," she said.

"Dammit. I'm getting the feeling that what I see isn't all I get. Am I right?"

"Your body is now roughly 60-70% automail. We had to remove most of your ribcage and collarbones and replace them with carbon fiber replicas, which will need to be replaced as you grow with further surgery, and a solid steel bar was implanted, connecting your shouders to better support the new limbs. Your spine was reinforced and we also had to replace your pelvis with a carbon fiber replicate. All of this was done so your limbs would be supported and not tear themselves out of your body, as well as keeping the automail from grinding against, and possibly breaking, your bones."

"So I'm hardly human anymore."

"It's not all bad; you'll be way more powerful than any normal human. And you won't feel pain-"

"Or my friend's handshake. Or even just the chill of an ice cream cone in my hand."

"Well when you say it like that..."

I sighed loudly and rubbed my tired eyes.

"Sorry, I guess I'm being pretty pessimistic. I just really want to wring the life out of Kimblee," I said, fists clenching at my sides.

"That's understandable. But that's not even an option for at least three years."

"Like hell! I'm doing this in a year! Maybe faste; I'm not losing my State Certification. I'll need it to hunt down Kimblee."

"Do you even realize what you're saying? You'll tear yourself apart!"

"I'm not stupid! I know the risks! I don't care, I want to walk out of this damn country with my brothers-in-arms the way I deserve. I've saved their lives, and they've saved mine more times than any of us can count. If this war ends tomorrow, I'm walking out of here myself."

She sighed, giving up. "Alright. It'll be dangerous, but we'll begin an accelerated therapy program next week, when your body has accepted the prosthetics."

I slumped back on the bed, already planning how I'll kill Kimblee.