"Is that a soldier?"
"No. It is a state alchemist!"
Solf J. Kimblee grinned, relishing the terror in those words.
He stood on top of a building overlooking the main plaza in the convent district of Ishval. Like a vengeful god getting ready to strike down puny mortals, Kimblee stood above his victims looking down and trying to decide who to aim the main force of his alchemy at. Who among the Ishvalans below was worthy to be the leading instrument in the divine chorus he intended to make with the last breathes of their lives.
Kimblee's eyes fell on a man wearing the pale tunic and red sash of an Ishvalan monk.
Perfect
Kimblee always felt a macabre sense of pleasure in sending religious leader to meet their maker. In death, they would be closer to their god then they ever had in life. After all, Kimblee was granting their greatest desire. Wasn't the point of religion to be as close to God as possible?
Grinning, Kimblee clapped his hands together. The markings on his palms crossed, forming a transmutation circle, allowing him to call on his alchemy. Crimson power ripped from his hands, tearing hexagonal chunks out of the wall of the building beneath him as it tore towards the Ishvalans below him and headed straight for the monk.
Kimblee closed his eyes and listened to the dying screams of his victims.
While most people couldn't get past the death rattle in a scream, Kimblee heard the sweetness behind it. The notes that flew from a body as part of its final breath were the purest Kimblee had ever heard.
The symphony Kimblee now heard was only surpassed by the one coming from the souls trapped in the philosper's stone in his stomach. Their death screams stretched on forever frozen just like the souls they belonged to in the blood red crystal. Without their power, the music Kimblee made would not be quite as sweet.
Kimblee opened his eyes as the screaming ended the stillness of death took its place.
A cloud of smoke from the explosion Kimblee had caused covered the courtyard below in a fluffy dark gray cloak.
Kimblee waited for it to clear with baited breath. He felt like an artist waiting to unveil his masterpiece for the first time.
Blue light flashed in the courtyard and Kimblee heard a voice saying something, but he couldn't make out the words.
That marred Kimblee's enjoyment and he frowned.
A survivor. How annoying
The smoke cleared and Kimblee spotted the survivor.
A man with glasses stood over the Ishvalan monk Kimblee had aimed at. The man's left arm was missing, a pool of blood dripping from the empty sleeve where it had been a moment before. Blood soaked his tunic, both from his own missing arm and the monk he tended to.
Kimblee noted that the man had black alchemic tattoos swirling around his remaining arm in black ink. The monk possessed an arm with the same tattoos. That meant the man with the glasses was some kind of alchemist and that he had transmuted his own arm onto the monk's body in a desperate bid to save him.
How pathetic.
"I didn't expect to find an Ishvalan alchemist. Isn't alchemy heresy in the eyes of Ishvala," Kimblee called down to the man with the glasses.
The alchemist turned towards Kimblee then back towards the monk on the ground. The monk was bleeding badly from a wound on his face. The alchemist couldn't save the monk and still fight Kimblee and he knew it.
The alchemist's dilemma was solved, however, by the appearance of two blond haired heads, which peaked out from behind the building nearby.
Amsterians. Kimblee realized.
As the man and woman stepped out of the alley and approached the pair of Ishvalans, Kimblee recognized them.
They were the doctors Rockbell. A troublesome pair of Amestrian doctors who would heal any combatant be they Ishvalan or Amestrian.
Kimblee toyed with the idea of killing them along with the two Ishvalans, but decided against it. He called down to them, "You can have the monk, but the Alchemist is mine. Attempt to assist him and you will share his fate."
The woman looked up, anger flashing in her eyes, but her husband had moved to the head of the monk and was grabbing him under his arms.
"He is unconscious and very heavy. I need you to help me carry him," Mr. Rockbell said.
Mrs. Rockbell tore her angry gaze from Kimblee and took monks legs. Together, she and her husband lifted the Ishvalan monk and bore him down the street and out of sight.
"You know the monk saved isn't going to thank you for that. You used alchemy to save him. Now he is permanently marked with what he considers to heretical tattoos," Kimblee commented.
The Ishvalan alchemist said nothing. He slammed his remaining fist on the ground. Blue light flashed and a diminutive catapult formed from the paving stones of the courtyard.
Kimblee ducked as it started hurling chunks of stone the size of his fist at him.
The crimson alchemist pressed his palms together and a bolt of crimson lightening lashed out at the catapult, pulverizing it.
"You appear to have some skill. I am Solf J. Kimblee, the Crimson Alchemist," Kimblee said.
The Ishvalan alchemist punched the wall of the building next to him and a stone spike shot out of the wall, toward Kimblee.
Kimblee swayed slightly and the spike missed him by inches.
"Enough of this," Kimblee said, clapping his hands.
A blast from the ground in front of the Ishvalan knocked him flat. The next clap caused earth to flow over his legs and remaining arm. He was now pinned to the ground, unable to move.
"Manners. You should at least introduce yourself before you try to kill someone," Kimblee said.
"Names are sacred. You are already taking my life. You don't get to take anything else," The Ishvalan alchemist snapped.
"Don't you want to be remembered instead of being just another faceless Ishvalan killed in this war?" Kimblee asked.
Sweat poured down the Ishvalan's face and into his eyes. His glasses had been knocked off by the blast that had sent him to the ground and he was now squinting. He strained against the earth, but Kimblee's bond held fast.
"Names are sacred," he repeated. "A monster like you would profane both my name and my memory. I don't want to be remembered by you."
Kimblee arched an eyebrow. "Monster. Isn't that going just a bit too far? There is a war on, in case you haven't noticed and your people have killed as well as mine."
"Not innocents," The alchemist protested.
Kimblee shrugged. "When it comes to war, there are no innocents. Only soldiers and those who assist them. Now. Your name?"
The alchemist said nothing, he merely glared at Kimblee.
The Crimson Alchemist sighed. "Fine then. Be selfish."
He touched his palms together a final time and a line of crimson power exploded towards the helpless alchemist, causing another smoke cloud.
When it cleared the Ishvalan alchemist was gone, his body, most likely, scattered around the courtyard in microscopic pieces.
A/N: That is the first chapter! I will try to make sure another follows soon.