Demon in My Head
Roy Mustang had never believed in demons. They were creatures in tales told to keep children in order, or to titillate adults. He'd never considered there might be such things, even if they were only in his mind.
He saw them regularly after Ishval, after the massacres, after the infernoes he'd set with a snap of one or both of his fingers burned down, leaving behind scorched bodies amidst buildings destroyed by the heat. After he'd left behind the desert with its alternating horribly heated days and freezing nights, and always the threat hanging overhead that the Hawk's Eye couldn't even keep them safe, he couldn't sleep. It seemed as far away as the parents he'd lost in childhood; and what sleep he managed to get was fitful and filled with nightmares.
It was there he saw the demons - the bodies of those he'd burnt to the ground, rising back up, staggering toward him, their red eyes somehow still focused on him.
Someday, the demons might catch up to him. Until then, he'd do what he'd promised Hughes, slowly build his men, and his powers, all with an eye toward eventually reaching the top of the heap. And then, maybe he could do something to silence the screams in his head from the war.