Edward Elric couldn't stop crying. He was clinging to Roy's unconscious form, his shaking hands grasping uselessly at the front of his uniform jacket, rubbing the silver rank insignia on Roy's collar between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a magic charm that would somehow awaken him.

"Damn it, you bastard, wake up! What the hell am I supposed to do? TELL ME WHAT I'M SUPPOSED TO DO!"

He could hear Ritsuka wailing and sobbing behind him, and he knew he should go over there to make sure he was okay, make sure the danger had passed; he could detect no sign of the man in black, but that didn't mean anything. Roy's admonitions echoed in his head - combat triage, Fullmetal! – but he couldn't move. All he could do was cling to his erstwhile Fighter, weeping.

The effects of all of his actions were suddenly piling on top of his head like bombshells during wartime, and it was all Ed could do to keep from losing it altogether. He'd killed someone. Pushed him right through the Gate. Had it really been he, himself, Edward Elric, who had done such a thing? It had all happened so fast; all he knew was that he had to save Al, he had to, it wasn't even a question, anything, everything, for Alphonse. Something had taken over, something he was only beginning to be aware of inside himself, and it had frightened him mightily.

He had accomplished his task: Al was here, in this world, embodied. Yet, with Roy lying in his arms half dead, covered with frightful burns that he, Edward, had forced him to endure, it seemed a Pyrrhic victory at best. Maybe you should think a little harder about where not listening to me has gotten you so far today. Maybe he should have thought a little harder about this whole thing. Damn it, Roy, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please be okay, please, please be okay…

Something was happening; the air around Edward was suddenly humming with alchemy. He sat up, pulling Roy closer to him somewhat protectively, wincing as he remembered his own wounded left arm and the still-blistering sores around his automail port. Looking around, he tried to sense what was happening, where this energy was coming from and whether or not it was some sort of attack, but he could perceive nothing through the ashes.

A strange mist was gathering, and the acrid, burning smell hanging in the air was becoming stronger as the haziness increased. Ed felt his reality beginning to shift and a quiver of concern for Al rippled through him; he didn't like the idea of leaving his brother lying unconscious on the floor in the other room, unprotected, while he flitted off into some alchemical non-reality, but it didn't seem as though he were being offered a choice.

Instead, he found himself trudging up a jagged hill, carrying Roy in his arms, the cacophonous sounds of a fierce battle swirling around them. Glancing down, he noticed that Roy was not the only one in uniform. Ed found himself also clothed in a blue jacket with silver buttons, though there was something about the outfit that was different from the modern Amestrian style uniform, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it…

Ed didn't have time to worry about his clothes, however: an explosion knocked them both sideways, and Ed threw himself to the ground on top of Roy, trying in vain to protect his Colonel's larger body with his smaller one. Half a second later, with a clap of Ed's hands, the rock underneath them rose up in a great wave at his command and half-curled over them like the hand of some unruly earth giant.

Something was compelling him to make it to the top of the hill, so he shifted the rocks forward, keeping them both shielded while moving ahead at the same time. It was a bit of a tricky operation, but this particular sort of alchemy had always come instinctively to him, almost as if the natural world were simply an extension of himself, so that bending it to his will seemed as effortless as waving his hand or taking a step. When he reached the summit, he lowered the rocky barrier enough so that he could get a view of what was happening below.

Clouds of smoke were obscuring his view, and he was just thinking about how he might try some kind of alchemy to clear the sky (something he had admittedly never attempted before), when his hopes manifested: the smog began to clear. As soon as it did so, however, Ed wished it hadn't, because the scene that spread out before him was a grim sight indeed.

All across the valley, strewn helter-skelter over the blood-soaked sand, were thousands upon thousands of slain corpses, their limbs twisted by pitiless death into most unnatural positions. Whatever battle had just taken place here must have been truly epic in scale, because the sheer number of dead was absolutely staggering. The carcasses seemed to be gathered in heaps around the hillsides. Edward just stood there, his limbs frozen in place, his eyes wide with horror. He nearly dropped Roy in his shock, and he was about to set him down on the ground, when Roy woke suddenly and clung to Ed in absolute terror.

"NO! Don't leave me to them! Please don't leave me to them, I'm begging you!"

"Roy! Roy, it's all right, I've got you, I'm not letting go."

Glancing quickly around, Ed tried to understand the reason for his Colonel's sudden fear, but he could detect nothing. The sounds of battle had retreated and all he could see for miles were dead bodies and golden sand. Roy continued to cling to him like a frightened child, his whole body shaking. Ed was struggling not to panic: he'd never seen Roy like this, and he had no idea what to do or how to help him. All he could do was hold tightly to him and hope that he would come back to himself.

Then he heard it. It was imperceptible at first, but there was definitely a faint sound coming from all around them, a very odd noise, almost a shuffling, or a scraping… Ed froze. Dread flooded his veins like bitter poison. The corpses were moving. He swallowed furiously, fighting the bile rising in his throat. No. This is not happening. This is not real. It's just an illusion…!

Ed began backing up, slowly, but he realized there was absolutely nowhere for him to go. They were on a hill surrounded on all sides by miles and miles of the living dead, who were becoming more and more animate by the minute. He staggered, falling to his knees, causing Roy's longer limbs to touch the ground. Roy jumped back as if scalded, screaming like a man possessed. At his touch, the sand seemed to seethe with alchemical energy, and the dead became more restless still.

If he could have managed it, Edward would have put his hands over his ears; Roy's screaming was that terrible. Instead, clutching his Colonel even closer, he clapped his hands once more and raised the rocks around them into a makeshift stone cage. Right. If I'm gonna fight a thousand fucking zombies, at least let me take 'em a couple at a time…!

Ed was desperately trying to convince himself that the sight and sound of thousands of dead men getting to their feet and moving towards him was an illusion - it was alchemy, it was not real, it was a hallucination – but it wasn't working. Fear for his life suddenly overrode every other instinct. He shook Roy furiously, which did absolutely no good, as he'd once again slipped into unconsciousness. "Damn it, you bastard, will you fucking snap out of it? I could really use some of your flame action right about now!"

As soon as those words left his lips, Ed realized two things. One was concerning the approaching corpses, something he'd missed from afar: every single one of them was burned. Some of their limbs has been severely scorched, leaving only hideous charred stubs; others had been incinerated almost completely and were merely living skeletons. This fact lead him to his second conclusion: this wasn't his illusion at all. It was Roy's. He had gotten inside his Colonel's head, somehow. Ed shuddered. Tell me he has not been carrying this burden, this horror, every day, every hour of his life, ever since Ishbal?

Something awoke in Edward then, something he had tasted briefly when he had risen up in Ritsuka's defense and had driven his spear through Ritsu's heart. It burned in him like fire, searing his insides, bringing his blood to a roiling boil, but it would be simplistic to call it anger, or even rage. This was something else. This was someone else, and when he leaned back, he felt a reassuring presence behind him, a firm hand on his shoulder.

The Red King. King of All Warriors. Lord of the Battlefield.

Ed could feel the Red King's strength flowing into him like water in the desert, and he drank it in desperately. His heart was pounding so quickly that he thought it might burst. The Red King placed a metal-gauntleted hand over Edward's chest, and he felt the courage of a thousand wild horses rush into him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His whole body was pulsing with energy, power, and vitality.

He turned to face the Red King, whose features he could not quite make out due to the blinding light that seemed to come from inside of him, glinting off his golden armor. Edward knelt in front of the King, still holding Roy's unconscious form in his arms. Summoning his best look of Elric-determination, he looked up into his shining visage, silently pleading for the strength to help his Colonel.

The Red King seemed to smile, though Ed still wasn't able to see his face. You are very brave, little one. Do you know why you are here?

A bit of the old Ed came rushing back in reaction to the little one epithet, but he bit his tongue and let it go. "No, Sir." His voice sounded strangely out of place; the Red King had not spoken in words, but Ed had understood him nevertheless.

The King threw back his head and laughed. It was a kindhearted laughter. I see. Edward Elric, you have a very strong Warrior Spirit, as does your Fighter.

Ed blushed to his roots. "N-no, well, actually, he's not my Fighter anymore, I kinda… screwed that up. I mean… er… Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't really mean to, I mean…"

The Red King's merry laughter rang out once more. As I am not of this world, Edward Elric, I do not abide by its rules. Roy Mustang is your Fighter, your Warrior, your Protector, not only in this world, but everywhere you go. Do you not know this?

Ed was astounded. Roy was his Fighter… everywhere? He thought about it for a moment. It was true that Roy had shown up in his life when he was 11 years old, in fact, just when he needed him most. But did that mean...?

Your Fighter needs you. Are you willing to go to battle for him?

"Y-yes. Yes, sir. I-I just… I'm not sure what to do."

What does your heart tell you?

"My… heart?" Ed thought about it. What was he feeling, right now? Just now, when he saw all those burnt zombies and thought of Roy and Ishbal and… That burning conviction returned to him, the feeling of righteous anger and rage and passion and desire to make things right…

"I – I feel like… I want to tear them all apart, all those zombies, all those demons; it wasn't Roy's fault, what happened at Ishbal, it's not fair! He doesn't deserve this. And I… I want to do something to make up for my… for the things I've done. For all my rash decisions and… my selfishness. I don't feel like I really ever could, but at least… I'm willing to try."

Your Fighter's Warrior Spirit burns very brightly, and as such, he is able to suffer very deep wounds that would break another Spirit. In this, you and he are similar.

Ed reddened once again. He didn't think he was at all like Roy: after all, everything he'd ever done was his own damned fault. What had Roy ever done but obey orders? And yet, if Ed had been ordered to kill the Rockbells, would he have done it? He would like to think he'd have refused, but when it came down to it, he didn't know. He recalled very vividly being tormented by the choice of whether to kill a room full of prisoners in order to create the Philosopher's Stone or see his brother erased from the world… He realized that he really didn't know what his choice would have been at all, had he been in Roy's situation.

"I… don't know if I can do this. All this is happening so fast and… I don't feel like I'm… worthy."

Few warriors are so haughty as to be assured of victory before battle. Those who are generally do not return victorious.

"I-I'm not really a warrior. I'm just a kid who made a… a mistake, a mistake that I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life making up for. The fact that I've had to learn to fight to do that is just secondary."

Are you sure about that? Look around you.

Edward examined his surroundings, which had shifted again since the Red King had touched him. He found himself in what seemed to be a museum or a palace, walking down a long shimmering hallway with large decorated paintings on either side. Upon further examination, the colossal paintings seemed to come to life before him. Ed watched as mighty kings led great armies into battle, their banners fluttering in the wind, their heads held high. Gilded warriors, their armor shining brightly in the sun, swung terrible swords and rode magnificent horses. Young boys, old men, and seasoned soldiers alike surged into battle, all thrumming with life, passion, and tremendous force of will. Female warriors with crescent shields and flashing grey eyes stormed into view, riding swift chariots and firing arrows at incredible speed.

On the other side of the hallway were paintings terrible to behold. Vast armies laid waste to countrysides, ravaged homes and set fire to villages in search of spoils of war. Men lay sprawled and dying, green in hue, drowning in rivers which ran red with blood. Corpses similar to the ones Edward had just seen littered the ground in even greater numbers, their faces disfigured and bloated. Everywhere he turned there was death, destruction, and violence: a mangled body being ruthlessly dragged behind a chariot; a youth struck down having dropped his weapons and run away in terror; innocent civilians screaming in vain as they were cut down mercilessly.

"What… is all this?"

This is the Hall of Warriors, my son. Look well on it. Your journey will one day be reflected on these walls.

"What? What do you mean?"

The Red King gestured to a panel further down the hall, and Edward stared. There on the wide canvas was the Amestrian army, dressed in the older style uniforms like the one Ed had just been wearing, fighting horrible battles with the Ishbalans. Or rather, Amestrians were slaughtering Ishbalans wholesale. The efficiency with which this was done shocked Edward, and each battle scene was more terrible than the next, but nothing, nothing could prepare him for the scene depicted in the last panel.

Groups of Ishbalans were being led toward a hill on top of which a single soldier stood, and as they approached, they died in droves. From the top of that frightful hill came fiery death, which rained upon them again and again, pitilessly. Dead bodies piled higher and higher, so high, in fact, that the lone soldier was soon trapped at the top and had to force his way down by means of incinerating the corpses in his path. After he made his way down, he was lead up another jagged hill and forced to repeated the same gruesome procedure. Again. And again. And again.

Edward pressed his face closer to the painting, and he found that he could view the scene close up in this way. Yet as soon as he did so, he jumped back almost as quickly, white-faced, fighting the urge to be sick.

Roy in the painting looked so different from his Colonel, he was almost unrecognizable. His face was twisted into a grimace that Edward had never seen on him, ever, not even in his worst moods, not even after Hughes had died. To say that he looked haggard would be an extreme understatement: he looked barely alive, his pale skin hanging over his bones like a starvation victim. But his hollow eyes were the most unnerving thing of all. They were very simply the eyes of a madman. It was as if he were long past terrified, long past shellshocked, long past the end of his rope, and into a whole new territory that Edward had neither the years nor the life experience to even begin to understand. Next to his mother's mangled corpse, it was the most frightening thing Edward had ever seen.

"Roy… ROY!"

He stumbled backward, and the Red King caught him and gently guided him back to where his Fighter lay. Edward threw himself on top of him and wailed. He pulled Roy into his arms, crying and screaming at the same time, railing against life, death, fate, cruelty, all of it. He stared up at the Red King with the most pitiful look on his face.

"Can't… can't you DO something? Can't you help him?"

I am helping him. I am sending you. Do not be afraid. Trust in your Warrior Spirit.

At that, the Red King began to fade, and the jagged hill full of corpses came back into view. Ed was back in his stone cage, with Roy in his arms, and the walking dead had nearly reached the top of the hill.

Panic started to set in; Edward took a deep breath. Trust in your Warrior Spirit. He looked down at Roy's unconscious form in his arms. Well, here goes nothing!

Ed clapped his hands and created a stone table of sorts on which to lay his Fighter. Afraid that Roy might start screaming again if he touched the ground directly, he took off his coat and transmuted it into a thick mat, then gently placed Roy down on top of it. Roy did not stir, and the walking corpses did not seem to change their pace.

The courage that the Red King had awoken in Edward was still flowing strong as he glared at the approaching zombies. Concentrating hard, he sent his alchemy down into the rocky ground and tried to sense the presence of iron ore there. He found that he could pull it up out of the earth fairly easily, and when he was finished, he had a shining spear in both hands. Both spears sparked with crimson light, indicating the power of the Red King within. A ridiculously huge grin spread across Ed's face.

"All right, you zombie bastards, listen up! The time allotted for you to be pissed off about this is over. You're no longer welcome here, you got it? Stay the hell away from Roy, or eat my steel!"

At that, he rose up on a huge wave of sand and rock and launched his two spears forward. Two zombies fell instantly and disappeared; the others began tripping over each other to move back. Feeling a tingling in his hands, Ed brought them together, and to his surprise, his two magic spears reappeared in his hands.

"YES! Bring it, you fuckers! I'll take you all down! I'll take all of you at once! I could do this all goddamned day!"

Fullmetal.

"I'll pulverize you, I'll annihilate you...!"

Fullmetal!

"Huh?"

"Quit pulling my hair. It hurts."

Edward looked down. Roy was lying in his lap, alive, conscious, smirking, and miraculously zombie-free. Ed had somehow gotten his metal fist entwined in his Colonel's dark hair. They were back in the hallway with Soubi and Ritsuka, who was coming over to see Ed.

"Edward, I think I can help your Fighter; I seem to have developed some kind of healing power when we did that ritual. Are you all right? You look like you just came back from somewhere far away, too."

Ed blinked. "Yeah, you could say that…" He looked at Roy. "Are you…?"

"Fullmetal, what about getting your goddamned metal limbs out of my hair don't you understand?"

Edward smiled, and relief flooded his veins like the cool, clear waters of the sea.