Author's Note:

And so...we arrive at the endgame. (Please ignore the unintended reference and how cliche that sounded)

Full disclosure, I'm not the best at writing action scenes, which I probably should have thought of before I started writing a very long fic for a shounen anime/manga. Thus, your feedback and critique is very much appreciated!

The second part of this chapter will probably be released in two weeks, due to me starting college again. Hopefully that wouldn't feel like too long!

As always, a big thank you to those of you who have stuck with me till the end! I couldn't have done this without all your support and kind reviews. On that note, please favourite, follow or drop a review if you found my work even marginally entertaining! :) I'm gearing up for the final stretch, and I won't pretend that every last review is a lovely source of motivation.

Again, thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own FMA (haven't written this in a while!).


Chapter 20 – Flame (Part One)

Combustion is a high-temperature exothermic chemical reaction between a fuel and an oxidant (atmospheric oxygen), which releases heat.

Combustion is often hot enough that incandescent light in the form of either a glow or a flame is produced.


All he had to do was murder the Fuhrer.

Simple enough.

Evan Blake stumbled down the long corridor, ears still ringing from the explosion he'd used to cover his escape.

His chimeras had disappeared to who-knows-where – he had much less control over his soul-powered beasts than he would like to admit, but he'd at least managed to biologically program them to never turn on their creator.

Raising his eyes from the narrow cut in his sleeve inflicted by the sword-carrying general, the Ishvalan alchemist jerked to a stop at the sight before him.

A uniformed figure was slumped against the wall further down the corridor, blood pooling around their limp body.

He swallowed once.

The fallen soldier turned out to be a fresh-faced captain, his throat torn open by raking claws. He was very young – Evan observed subconsciously – young enough that he most likely wasn't enlisted during the Civil War. Frozen fingers were clenched around a handgun in his lap – the weapon that had failed to save his life.

Evan closed his eyes, inhaled, and leaned down to pick up the bloody gun. He checked its ammo, his movements deft and cold. He'd lost Hawkeye's gun in the fight below, and his chimeras were frankly not completely reliable.

Besides, it wasn't like the soldier was going to need it anymore.

Even though his plans to take out Central's highest ranking officers had been unfortunately derailed by the flaxen-haired lieutenant with the steel gaze, the situation was not unsalvageable.

If he could get to the Fuhrer's office before someone fully raised the alarm…he could still finish the job.

And then what? asked that little voice of scientific reasoning which haunted every alchemist's mind.

Evan Blake squashed that traitorous thought before the uncertainty could fully take hold. He'd come too far, done too much, to fail now.

"Going somewhere?"

The familiar voice echoed down the mostly deserted corridor. Evan turned around slowly.

"Edward Elric," he greeted casually. "You're like some little insect I just can't get rid of."

The diminutive teenager bristled. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING –" he stopped himself, shaking his head with grim humour as he stalked towards Evan. "You know what? You crossed that line a very long time ago."

"Again with the arbitrary lines of morality," Evan reached into his pocket to pull out a vial of red liquid. It contained a potent genetic cocktail he'd mixed himself – the Stone's power would allow him to create full-sized creatures using nothing but this. "Who's to say what I'm doing is truly wrong?"

Edward's golden eyes flicked towards the bloodied body of the unknown soldier. He tightened his grip on his spear, remembering the last time he'd failed to save someone. "After everything… You have some nerve asking that."

With a burst of speed that Evan didn't expect, Edward covered the final few metres between them, twirling his makeshift weapon in an attempt to sweep his opponent off his feet.

Evan dodged effortlessly, popping the cork sealing his vial with one hand. He scattered the droplets, watching as each one grew into a new chimera with a crackle of scarlet energy.

His half-formed creatures converged on the boy, forcing Edward to leap back and put some distance in between them. "So you do have a Philosopher's Stone."

Evan smirked. "What do you think, Edward Elric? This Stone is the final frontier of alchemy, its holy grail. And I have obtained it."

Ed scowled in disgust. "We both know what that thing is really made of!"

He lunged forward, dodging claws and smacking chimeras out of the way, but was unable to get close enough to land a hit on the Ishvalan alchemist.

"You're not even trying to kill my creatures," observed Evan, genuinely amused. "They're just empty shells housing long-dead souls. How'd you expect to stop me when you can't even stop them?"

Edward merely grinned, brandishing his spear. "You'll see."

Evan's guard went straight up. Hold on –

A vent in the ceiling a few metres further down the hallway fell through, its steel cover clanging loudly against the floor.

Evan whirled around.

Alphonse Elric dropped down from the new gap in the ceiling, landing lightly on his feet behind Evan with his hands clapped together.

"Surprise."

He slapped his hands to the ground. A wall rose out of the marble tiles with a familiar sizzle of alchemy, blocking off the entire corridor.

Evan Blake glanced warily between the Elric brothers.

The grin on Edward's face widened, but the look in his eyes was merciless. "It's a good thing you're finally small enough to fit through that air vent, Al."

Alphonse rolled his eyes. "Thank god for that."

At some unspoken signal, the brothers charged.

Evan's chimeras scattered, pausing to choose between two potential targets to tear apart. Alphonse took advantage of their temporary confusion, transmuting multiple cages which trapped most of them within.

Edward took care of the few which had evaded Al's alchemy, roundhouse kicking a chimera in its snout so hard that it smashed into the wall and stayed there.

He smacked another one aside with the butt of his spear, spinning his weapon around and pointing its business end at Evan. "Al!"

"Got it!"

Edward rushed at Evan from the front while Alphonse attempted to swing a punch at him from behind.

Evan sidestepped both of them, but the brothers had quick reflexes and better coordination. Alphonse touched the ground, fingers sparking with energy. The floor around Evan's shoes instantly dissolved into wet mushy cement.

Evan cursed, stepping away before the trap could fully suck him in. But Edward was waiting for that.

Metal flashed, quick as a serpent. A sudden, biting pain.

Evan jumped back instinctively, clutching his left arm. Blood splattered onto the white tiles.

The Ishvalan alchemist raised his eyes, meeting the sun-gold gaze of the boy who had just wounded him. He was almost surprised by what he saw in those shimmering depths – a sharp, terrible anger, burning unchecked. It was the kind of deep rage reserved especially for people who had hurt someone important to him.

Evan should know. He'd seen that exact same look in the mirror every morning.

"We could stop here," said Edward, voice low. "No one else has to become a casualty in this conflict."

Was that what he thought they were? Casualties? Those soldiers, both injured and dead? Roy Mustang?

Evan smiled mirthlessly. "I do this for my people."

"This isn't for anyone," said Alphonse. "This is only for yourself and your own twisted sense of justice."

"Twisted?" asked Evan coldly. "Your military decimated everything I've ever known and I am being judged?"

Edward clenched his jaw at those words, glancing away. "I won't make excuses for the military, or the State Alchemists. There is no excuse for what they – we – did in Ishval," he looked back, locking eyes with Evan. The anger had faded, replaced by grim determination. "But I can't let you do this. I won't let you hurt anyone else."

Evan snorted. "How noble. I expected no less from you, Fullmetal Alchemist."

Edward readied his spear; Alphonse raised his fists. Evan moved into a more balanced stance, eyes flicking between the tightly coiled forms of the brothers.

The two sides watched each other in tense silence, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Edward caught his brother's eye.

Like a dam bursting, they rushed Evan in perfect synchrony, putting everything they had into a frontal attack.

Evan was no slouch at martial arts himself, but he could barely defend himself against the ruthless onslaught. Alphonse clipped his shoulder with a well-placed swing. Edward's spear lashed out a second later, scoring a bloody mark on his cheek.

The brothers were slowly driving him back towards the transmuted wall blocking the corridor, not giving him a moment's opening to use his alchemy or the Stone.

Evan grunted as he narrowly avoided a barrage of stone fists transmuted by Alphonse, focusing on the fight, biding his time.

He saw the exact moment Alphonse Elric's guard went down just a little, rushing ahead to attack without his brother to cover him.

Sloppy.

Evan dodged the kick aimed at his ribs, pivoting around and using Alphonse's own momentum to throw him to the ground.

"Al!"

The Ishvalan returned his attention to Edward. The older Elric recklessly charged to his brother's defense, thrusting his spear forward in a powerful counterattack.

Evan smoothly stepped to the side, grabbing the shaft of the spear in one hand and Edward's exposed arm in the other.

The bio-alchemy circle on the underside of his palm crackled to life.

Edward's eyes widened and he staggered back, no doubt feeling the dizzying effects of Evan messing with his nervous system.

Taking advantage of that split moment of weakness, Evan wrenched the spear from Edward's slackened grasp, sending it clattering across the floor. He raised his right hand, the Stone glowing eerily in his left.

This is nothing personal, Edward Elric.

The room flooded with red light.

"Brother!"


Everything was moving too fast.

They'd almost had him, and now –

Edward stared at the hand stretched out towards his face, so close that he could make out every last detail of the intricate circle inked into its skin. His head spun, his vision blurring. His limbs felt like they'd been turned to lead.

Whatever alchemy Evan Blake had used on him, it was wrecking hell on his ability to freaking get out of the way.

Despite that, as crimson lightning flickered around them, electrifying the very air, Ed's brain automatically deciphered the workings of that circle.

Source. Energy. Release. Very simple. The Stone –

"Brother!"

Al's raw-throated cry dragged his stupored mind back to reality.

A flash of gold and his younger brother was there, in front of him, protecting him.

Alphonse clapped his hands. The sound echoed sharply against the walls. A hastily constructed barrier started to rise from the ground.

Ed opened his mouth to scream: No –

Before Al's transmutation could fully solidify, that red light he was so familiar with pulsed and flared, so bright it seemed to burn through everything and everyone.

Edward felt Al's back slam into his chest as they were both hurled away from the blast of pure energy.

The world faded out of focus. Red red red.

For a moment, nothing.

What… Al...

Ed forced his eyes open.

The corridor was dark, the ceiling lights blown out. Rain continued to crash down on the outside world, some of the droplets trickling in through the broken windows.

Edward tried to stand, spitting out the taste of blood from his mouth. Dizziness nearly brought him back to his knees – a remnant of Evan's bio-alchemy or a concussion from that explosion he didn't know.

His perspective tilted nauseatingly. Ed clutched his head, groaning.

Footsteps, wet splatters in the puddles forming on the ground. A soft, pained moan.

When Edward's vision refocused, he saw that tall and cruel figure standing over the prone form of his little brother.

Edward watched as Blake raised the gun in his hand.

His every instinct kicked into overdrive. The weakness and the nausea were instantly overridden by the sharp sensation of adrenaline flooding his veins.

Edward lunged for his brother, shielding Al's vulnerable body with his own.

For a split second, Ed registered the surprise in Evan Blake's eyes as they stared at each other, before that gaze turned icy again.

Edward didn't look away. There was so much he could have said right here, in this moment. Something badass and callous. Something heroic or reckless like 'You won't get away with this'.

But when he opened his mouth, the only words which came out were a strangled plea:

"Please...don't hurt my brother."

Those ruby eyes widened ever so slightly.

The hand gripping the gun shook, finger grasping for the trigger.

Edward stood his ground resolutely, not flinching, not wavering, knowing that no matter what happened – he would protect Al.

No matter what.


Alphonse Elric lay unconscious and unmoving, clothes dusted white with debris from his partially-transmuted wall, a slow trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

And half-sprawled in front of him…was Edward Elric, one arm wrapped around his brother's body while the other was stretched out towards the weapon pointing down at them – as if he could stop the bullet with sheer willpower alone.

Their gazes met – garnet and gold. Evan instantly knew that making eye contact was a mistake.

He hesitated. Goddamn it he hesitated.

Edward inhaled shakily.

"Please...don't hurt my brother."

Evan's eyes widened and he staggered back, that simple sentence slamming into him like a hurricane.

Don't hurt us! Please…don't hurt my sister…

Something – some mental barrier, some invisible wall – shattered within him. Without so much as a whispered warning, he was unceremoniously wrenched into a memory he thought he'd forgotten.

Himself. Just a boy then, trembling over his little sister as he held her in his arms.

A basement underneath his house. Hiding.

The trapdoor creaking open. Light filtering through. Heart thundering in his chest.

The soldier who'd found them, night-black eyes filled with silent horror. He carried no visible weapons, save for a pair of white gloves which covered his hands. Strange, as no one in their right mind would wear gloves in this heat.

The soldier raised his hand. Like some dark divine being delivering judgement upon the world.

Evan blinked, finding himself back in the corridor.

He'd forgotten, hadn't he? No, his mind had simply blocked that moment – like it had blocked so many others from the war.

But this mirror image from the present had brought it back. He remembered.

Evan looked down at the Elric brothers, his breathing ragged.

Their figures morphed, overlaying against that frozen memory. For an instant he saw that scared Ishvalan boy cradling his baby sister desperately to his chest.

Except this time he was the one standing over them.

Who's the monster now?

He let his arm drop, feeling the gun hang limply at his side.

The look in Edward's eyes shifted from shock, to puzzlement, to wariness. Evan shook his head to clear it, still reeling.

He was only vaguely aware of his chimeras gradually breaking free from their cages, the alchemised structures having been weakened by the eruption of energy from the Stone.

The chimeras converged, intent on their prey.

As Edward shakily rose to his feet and readied himself for their attack, Evan turned around and continued down the hallway in a daze, pausing only to use the Stone to blast a hole through the alchemised wall blocking his path.

In his mind's eye, he saw the soldier in his memories again.

The soldier had dropped his hand, turning away without a single word uttered.

Evan the boy watched numbly as he'd silently left, closing the trapdoor behind him. The boy had waited for someone to come back he'd expected an entire group of uniformed men to return and drag them away from their final sanctuary.

But no one did.

He'd left them that day. He could've killed them, but he didn't.

Evan and his sister had survived.

Dark hair and darker eyes. He was younger then but –

It was him.


Outskirts of Central City, Amestris

After an hour of standing in the rain waiting for additional supplies, Major Alex Louis Armstrong was thoroughly drenched to the bone.

Standing under an umbrella which didn't even cover his shoulders, the major knelt in the muddy gravel to examine the damaged railway track.

Central City was the main transportation hub of Amestris – in other words, the country would collapse in on itself without the steady outflow of goods and military supplies which passed through Central City Station day and night.

Having a major track ruined so close to the city was the only reason (save for a full-scale enemy assault) that the well-built State Alchemist would have been called out here on his day off.

But the damage had been so severe that it wasn't simply a case of drawing a transmutation circle and reconnecting the broken sections end-to-end. No, about a three metre stretch of high-quality steel had been left in literal pieces. Armstrong couldn't do much until his men returned with more steel alloy; it wasn't like he could circumvent the Law of Equivalent Exchange.

Armstrong rubbed his thumb over the jagged edge of where the still-intact section of the track had come to an abrupt end, frowning thoughtfully.

Something about this was uncanny.

He was almost certain that this was the work of alchemy, except that this destruction could only have been wrought by a very small number of people – most of them were either dead or were State Alchemists themselves.

The only way to trigger a reaction like this...

Armstrong glanced up as a shadow fell over him. Sergeant Denny Brosh was crouching next to him, watching the major with keen interest.

"Something you would like to report, Sergeant Brosh?"

Brosh jolted upright guiltily and saluted. "Uh, yes sir! I've been in touch with the station master at Central City, and it appears that several other main tracks have also been mysteriously destroyed in the past couple of hours. The Northern tracks were cut off more than an hour ago, and the Eastern tracks are also currently out of commission."

Armstrong's frown deepened. He rose, brushing dirt off his uniform. "Why wasn't I made aware of this earlier?"

"Well, at first, a couple of random rails getting damaged seemed like pure coincidence; the next thing you know, nearly every line out of the city has been compromised." Brosh scratched his head. "All remaining on-duty State Alchemists in Central have been dispatched to address the situation."

Armstrong stroked his chin. Every State Alchemist? "Seems convenient, don't you think?"

Brosh leaned over conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "You're not suspecting foul play, are you sir?"

Major Armstrong shifted his eyes to gaze back in the direction of the city. Over the treetops and the foliage, he could just make out the daunting form of Central Command, easily the largest building in Amestris, its unforgiving edges blurred by the falling rain.

"Whatever I suspect, I think it's about time we headed back to Central, with or without repairing these tracks."

Just as Sergeant Brosh opened his mouth, about to object to the outlandish proposition of disobeying their orders, a voice rang out over the dull drone of the storm.

"Major Armstrong!"

The two men looked up as a fuzzy figure emerged from the grey background, waving a hand in the air. Lieutenant Maria Ross was out of breath by the time she'd reached her commanding officer, struggling to get her next words out. "Just...came back from…"

Brosh immediately interrupted. "Did you manage to radio Central Command? What happened to those supplies we're waiting on?"

Ross stopped Brosh's incessant questioning with a sharp gesture of her hand. She inhaled a few long gulps of air before straightening. "I couldn't get in touch with Central Command, but someone else got in touch with me."

At Armstrong's enquiring look, Ross elaborated. "Sergeant Kain Fuery somehow got hold of my communications channel and told me to pass on an urgent message from Colonel Mustang."

The familiar name caused Brosh to perk up with interest. "The colonel? What could possibly have happened this time?"

His tone was joking, but when Ross raised her head, expression completely serious, the sergeant's attempts at lightening the mood fell completely flat.

"Something bad," she said.

"Something very very bad."


On the fifth floor of Central Command, a shadowy figure in a stolen uniform trudged unsteadily onwards, passing a row of deserted offices.

Blood trickled down his arm, soaking his sleeve and coiling around his fingertips. With each new step he left an ominous red trail behind him, but by this point he was too stunned to deal with the bleeding.

He stopped, holding out a hand to brace himself, and barked out a single dry laugh.

The sound bounced back from the pristine white walls, too out of place in the tomb-like stillness.

Life really was ironic.

Did the Flame Alchemist still remember the two children he'd left behind in the destruction of his own making? Would he recognise Evan if he saw his face?

It was almost poetic.

Had he anticipated this? That the little boy from all those years ago would end up here one day, stalking these corridors, a threat to all that he stood for?

The bio-alchemist lifted his hand, staring down at the Stone. Its crimson depths pulsed rhythmically – all that power and life contained in an object the size of a pebble.

Perhaps it would have been better if he'd killed them that day.

Evan curled his fingers into a fist and pushed himself off the wall, pocketing the Stone and drawing the gun that wasn't his.

What Roy Mustang did seven years ago didn't change what he'd done to Evan's home and family. It didn't change what Amestris had done to Ishval.

It changed nothing.

Evan straightened, footsteps quickening into a brisk stride. He smoothly slid his brown contact lens out and tossed them aside – the bio-alchemy he'd used to disguise his skin and hair colour had already faded; there was no point in keeping his eyes hidden anymore.

Besides, he wanted the Fuhrer to know exactly who he was.

A pair of double doors, polished wood and gilded handles, was set into the wall at the end of a long hallway. Its presence felt lonely, a stain of mahogany in an endless stretch of white.

Evan paused in front of it, listening.

Silence. Nothing but rain.

He rested a hand on the handle and cautiously pushed one of the doors open.

The room within was opulent and spacious, yet sported merely a sparse array of homely comforts as was the habit of its previous occupant. The current Fuhrer, it seemed, hadn't been around long enough to give the office his own personal touch.

The ceiling lights were dimmed in favour of a reading lamp perched on the large desk, its yellow glow illuminating a messy spread of paperwork, and a man sitting in a high-backed chair.

Evan let the door swing shut behind him. It clicked quietly into place.

"Fuhrer Grumman," he said softly.

The Fuhrer had his chair turned towards the tall windows, his face mostly concealed by the deepening darkness. Only the top of his silver head of hair was clearly visible.

"I know what you are here for," answered Grumman, tone light and sagely. He didn't move from his seat, still transfixed by the watery world outside his window. "Breathtaking, isn't it? The rain."

Evan took one step forward, fingers tightening around his gun. The dull roar in his ears intensified; he steadied his trembling hands.

Interesting – he'd played this exact moment so many times in his head, imagining every scenario, everything he would say when he was finally standing with a weapon trained on the highest authority in Amestris.

But now that he was actually here, he realised there wasn't anything he wanted to say after all.

At the end, words didn't matter anymore.


Edward couldn't believe that he was losing.

One of the chimeras sprung into action, forcing Ed to skip back milliseconds before its jaws could snap around his arm.

He gritted his teeth as the four chimeras continued to advance towards him and Al. He'd managed to drag his brother's limp form to the side of the hallway, positioning himself so that the wall was at their backs and Edward was in front of Al.

It meant that he didn't have to worry about an ambush from behind, but even that spur of strategic thinking wouldn't be able to save them now.

He really missed his alchemy.

Edward smashed his fist into a chimera which was getting too close, causing it to wail and back off.

"Stay. Away!" he huffed, panting with exertion.

Another chimera lunged at him, shrieking. The eerily human sound froze Edward in place – it was the sound of a soul in deep pain; it was their agony which fed the chimeras' deepest compulsions to attack and kill indiscriminately.

Ed unfroze at the last second, kicking out with his automail leg. The chimera clamped its teeth around the metal limb.

Edward winced as he drove his elbow into its snout, forcefully shaking it off. A few mechanical parts – bitten loose – clanged to the floor.

Winry was going to kill him when he got back.

The chimeras circled the brothers like sharks in the water, wary of the small angry teenager but growing bolder as they realised he wasn't doing them much harm.

Edward swallowed, raising his fists. He glanced at his spear – tossed to the opposite end of the hallway by Evan Blake. But no, even if he had a weapon, even if he had his alchemy...would he really be able to put an end to these creatures?

The chimeras bared their teeth, but their glinting eyes stared at him without malice. Edward saw his own exhausted self reflected in those human depths.

Trapped souls, imprisoned in the physical shells of beasts during the transfer of energy from the Philosopher's Stone. He tried to tell himself that the only thing he could do for them now was to set them free. It was the most logical course of action.

He suppressed a shiver at the thought.

Yet –

The circling chimeras darted towards him, catching Edward off guard.

They clawed at each other to get to him, jaws snapping dangerously close as Ed fended them off – smacking one aside with the back of his hand; tripping up another by dropping into a crouch.

His vision wavered. Edward cursed as his surroundings spun out of focus – perhaps he had hit his head harder than he'd thought.

A chimera pounced on him, Ed moving to block its lashing claws, but everything was suddenly so slow; he felt like he was wrestling through warm, suffocating mush.

The beast tackled him to the ground. Edward fell onto his back, struggling to hold the chimera on top of him at bay before it could tear his throat out.

The fourth and final chimera prowled closer, but it wasn't interested in Edward.

Edward's stomach dropped as the chimera's gaze zeroed in on Al.

"Al!" he screamed, fighting desperately to get free. He barely registered the pain of those claws digging deeper into his side.

"Al! RUN!"

Alphonse stirred at the sound of his brother's voice but did not wake. The chimera moved even closer, sniffing, cautious after witnessing the boy's alchemy.

It stopped right in front of Al and snarled, teeth flashing in its gaping maw.

Edward reached out his hand, but all he could grasp was thin air.

"ALPHONSE!"

SNAP!

A loud crack split the air. Edward watched, stunned, as the creature looming over his brother was thrown off its feet by a small, concentrated explosion which left Alphonse unscathed.

Wha –

"Fullmetal, take cover!"

Ed acted instinctively, letting go of the chimera on top of him to shield his face with his arms.

Another sharp crack, and Edward felt a wave of hot air rush over him. A bright glare burned red into his closed eyelids.

The pressure on his torso vanished as the chimera was blasted off him.

Edward sat up, coughing singed chimera fur into his sleeve. Footsteps approached, crisp and steady, causing him to swivel around.

There, at the end of the hallway, a black coat billowed around a familiar figure. Despite the severity of the situation, Ed found himself grinning uncontrollably.

That bastard. Always with the dramatic entrances.

The remaining chimeras turned as well, attention drawn by this new, seemingly more dangerous foe. Even the two which had been blasted away were slowly getting back on their feet, slightly scorched but not yet defeated.

Edward felt some of the panic return when he realised that there was no one else with Colonel Mustang.

What's he doing here alone? Where's Ling?

The chimeras started approaching their newest opponent, growling low in their throats.

Mustang didn't seem particularly concerned – perhaps even oblivious – striding towards them at a leisurely gait, tugging on his other ignition glove as he walked.

Edward's eyes flashed to his fallen spear. Now that the chimeras were no longer fixated on him, perhaps he could reach it.

One of the chimeras wailed, sending all of them into a mad charge.

Mustang stopped in the middle of the hallway, standing his ground.

What the hell is he thinking?

"Colonel!" Ed dashed forward, fingers closing around the metallic shaft of his spear. "Watch out!"

The teenager was about to rush in to intercept the chimeras, but Mustang glanced up, meeting Ed's gaze for just a moment.

Edward inhaled in astonishment.

Because the colonel looked back. He looked back, and for the first time since the Elrics returned to Central, he saw Ed.

Then Mustang raised one hand, pressed his fingers together, and snapped.

Fire blossomed from his fingertips, vivid and dazzling, snaking through the air in a deadly dance. Edward reflexively turned away to protect himself from the eruption of heat.

The chimeras screamed. The flames roared.


As quickly as it began, it was over, the coolness of the night descending once more as the final splutter of flames died out.

Edward Elric looked up slowly, breath catching at the charred remains littering the ground. Rain continued to pour in through the damaged windows, soaking the ashes and turning everything black.

The Flame Alchemist stepped around one of the chimera corpses, drawing closer to Edward. He stepped in a puddle by accident, the water splattering his pants, and he swore sharply.

Mustang's lowly muttered expletive snapped Ed out of his daze. The golden-haired boy sank to the floor, laughing in exhaustion, in delirium, in relief.

Relief that his brother was alright. Relief that he was alright.

Relief that the colonel, against everything Edward had told him, had come back for them.

Colonel Mustang looked up, frowning. "What?"

"Nothing," Ed shook his head, stifling a final hiccup of laughter. "You sure took your time there, eh? Colonel."

"It seems that I'm always bailing you out of these situations, Fullmetal," Mustang's searching gaze alighted on Alphonse's still form, and his expression instantly sobered. "Let's get your brother somewhere less exposed."

With a grunt, Mustang leaned down and hefted Al into his arms. Edward didn't miss the wince as he straightened, putting weight on his supposedly still-injured ankle.

Ed hurried after the colonel, back on high alert, eyes scanning the shadows. Mustang kicked open the closest door he could find, which fortunately led to an empty office.

The younger once-alchemist flicked on the lights and shut the door behind them as Mustang gently laid Alphonse down on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much.

Ed collapsed into an armchair opposite them, groaning as he clutched at his ribs. He could feel blood soaking slowly through his shirt from the deep gouges that last chimera had left him.

Mustang's hands fluttered over Alphonse with the precision of a soldier familiar with tending to fallen comrades in the field, measuring his pulse, checking for serious injuries. Ed observed the dark-haired man, silently counting limbs and body parts, but nothing obvious was missing.

Equivalent Exchange. He knew that the toll involved wouldn't necessarily be visible – like what was taken from the colonel and from Teacher. So what did Mustang trade for his sight?

The colonel sat back, pulling off one glove with his teeth. "Nothing seems to be broken or fractured, so Alphonse should be fine after I stop the bleeding. Well, other than his hell of a concussion, that is."

Mustang brushed back Al's blood-matted hair, revealing a cut in the side of his scalp most likely inflicted by a piece of flying debris.

He then slipped one hand into his pocket, pulling out something which glowed a deep scarlet.

Ed's eyes widened in understanding.

A bottle half-filled with red liquid. Ling's Stone.

Mustang clapped his hands together, a gesture both strangely foreign and familiar at the same time. Still holding the Philosopher's Stone with one hand, he pressed the other lightly against the open wound.

There was a crackle of electricity; the Stone pulsed just a bit brighter.

When he withdrew his hand, the skin around the cut had knitted back together, leaving behind nothing but a faint pink mark and dried blood. Al moaned softly, eyelids flickering.

Mustang smiled at his handiwork before flicking his eyes to Edward, having felt the boy's gaze on him.

Ed stared into those obsidian depths – glimmering black and flickering with life and no longer blank like a doll's – and felt a profound sense of surrealism. He almost couldn't believe it. After all this time...he got it back.

He really got it back.

But there was something different about those eyes as well. A weariness; a faint echo of pain, barely concealed.

Before Edward could discern more, Mustang stood from his seat, moving over to crouch down next to him.

"Let me take a look."

Ed blinked at him before realising that the colonel was referring to the nasty gash down his side.

"What?" he scoffed, waving Mustang off. "I'm absolutely fine –"

Mustang rolled his eyes and grabbed Edward's hand, all but subduing the Fullmetal Alchemist by force as the teenager yelled insults and the colonel inspected the injury.

"You're losing a lot of blood – that definitely needs to be dealt with," Mustang leaned back, thinking. "Probably starting with antiseptic."

Ed could only sit still, too tired to do anything but protest loudly as the colonel threw open a few cupboards, finally returning with a first aid kit.

He hesitated, before showing Edward the Stone in his palm. Ed frowned questioningly.

"Medical alchemy isn't my expertise, but using the Stone to amplify my abilities… I'm familiar enough with human anatomy to fix injuries like this," said Mustang slowly by way of an answer. "I needed to heal Alphonse, but will you let me use it on you?"

Edward swallowed. Using a Philosopher's Stone brought back uncomfortable feelings, but rationally, closing up his wound wouldn't require that much alchemic energy.

Besides – Ed clenched his fists – he knew what Mustang was going to do after this. And if that were to happen, he needed to be ready for another fight.

Edward nodded stiffly.

Mustang's movements were crisp and efficient – antiseptic, clap, alchemy. Edward was left to clean up the leftover blood from his mended skin as the colonel returned to Alphonse's side.

"Did you use that to fix your leg as well?" asked Edward, curious.

Mustang shrugged, standing protectively over the younger Elric. "I won't be running any marathons today, but I needed to ditch that crutch if I was going to move fast enough."

Edward watched the colonel fuss over his brother before snorting to himself.

"Something funny, Fullmetal?"

"No, it's just…" Ed chuckled. "If I'd known that all it would take for you to get your sight back was to launch myself into deep trouble… I could have saved myself a lot of headache."

Mustang raised an eyebrow, but his lips curved into a small smile. "I wouldn't bet on it. Or did you forget that you thought I was the 'worst superior ever'?"

Edward laughed harder. His laughter came to an abrupt halt as a sudden thought occurred to him.

Ohhhhh shit.

He'd been so caught up in everything – first with protecting his brother, then with the colonel's return, then with fixing themselves up – that he'd completely overlooked the fact that there was another person still in dire danger.

"The Fuhrer!" Edward jolted upright, startling Mustang. "I couldn't stop Blake and he's probably already at his office right now! You have to –"

Ed cut himself off as he realised that the colonel was simply watching him in mild amusement.

"Colonel!" shouted Edward in frustration. "We may already be too late! We have to go now!"

"Oh, you mean Grumman?" Mustang waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

Ed gaped at him in disbelief before it dawned on him.

"WHAT THE HELL, COLONEL BASTARD!?" bellowed the golden-haired alchemist. "I cannot believe this! Is now really the time to be thinking about your career!?"

"How hurtful," Mustang winced at the sudden increase in volume. "Is that truly what you think of me, Fullmetal?"

Edward stopped mid-rant, staring. Mustang looked innocently back at him, a smirk on his face.

Damn it. He knew that self-satisfied smirk.

"What did you do, Colonel Bastard?"

The smirk morphed into a grin. Colonel Mustang reclined against the cushions, seemingly unconcerned about the current Fuhrer's wellbeing.

"As I said, Fullmetal. There's nothing to worry about."


Evan Blake lifted his gun and pulled the trigger.

A heavy thwack! resounded as the bullet found its target.

Impossible to miss.

Then a cloud of dust exploded from the point of impact, scattering broken pieces all over the carpet. Evan stepped back in surprise.

He leaned down to pick up one of the mysterious pieces. It crumbled in his hand.

Stone. Traces of alchemy.

Evan swung his gun up again just as the Fuhrer's chair swivelled around, and the black shape crouching behind it leapt at him in a blur of red and silver.

A blade flashed, too swift to follow. Evan's eyes went wide as the gun in his hand was sliced neatly in half before he could even think about firing a second time.

He spun around as his unknown assailant landed gracefully behind him – a foreign warrior wearing an elaborate mask and an automail arm. A curved blade was attached to the metal limb, glinting wickedly in the dim light.

"Do it!" said the warrior.

Strangely shaped knives sailed towards him from a shadowy corner of the office. Evan swore and raised one hand to defend himself, the other instinctively clasping the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket.

However, the blades missed him entirely, thudding into the ground to form a neat circle around his feet.

The circle fizzed with alchemic energy. Before he could step out of the way, long strips of liquid rock sprung up from the floor, enveloping him in a vice-like embrace.

It was unlike any alchemy he'd ever seen or studied.

"Excellent work, May!" Evan strained to turn around, trying to identify the source of the stranger's voice.

A dark-haired youth with a sword perched casually on his shoulder swung down from the ceiling, grinning widely. "The colonel is going to owe me big timefor this."

"Owe us, you mean," retorted a female voice. A light was flicked on, revealing a surprisingly young girl with braided hair, an unfamiliar transmutation circle drawn at her feet. "You barely did anything at all, Ling!"

Evan's eyes flickered to the Fuhrer's plush swivel chair, on which a stone dummy now lay in pieces. Of course it was him. This was absolutely something that State Alchemist would come up with. "How did – "

Anticipating his question, the masked warrior held up a small device and clicked a button. Fuhrer Grumman's voice filtered into the air from the tape recorder:

"I know what you are here for. Breathtaking, isn't it – " They clicked it off, ending the recording.

"Clever, right?" commented the youth with the blade – Ling, the girl had called him – smiling amicably. "Admittedly, it wasn't exactly my idea… But I think we deserve some credit for the implementation."

"Young Lord, there's a Philosopher's Stone on him," cautioned the warrior, still crouched in a defensive stance.

Evan stiffened. How did they –

"I know, Lan Fan," said Ling, brandishing his blade at Evan. "I can sense it."

"Who are you?" asked Evan, stalling for time as he tried to wriggle an arm free of his bonds. They obviously weren't Amestrians – Xingese, perhaps?

"No one you need to know about," replied Ling coolly. Though his smile never dropped, his cheerful tone took on a harder edge at his next sentence. "Now hand the Stone over."

"And if I don't?" challenged Evan.

"Well, you can't exactly get out of that without hurting yourself," stated the young foreigner a-matter-of-factly. "So I suppose you're staying there until the military arrives to arrest you."

Evan narrowed his eyes. The Fuhrer was long gone by now, and judging by the presence of these foreigners, the alarm had definitely been raised. He wouldn't be surprised if Central Command had already been thoroughly surrounded by soldiers.

There was nothing left for him here.

And yet – he wasn't planning on getting caught.

He twisted his hand, grabbing a section of his restraints so that the transmutation circle on his palm was pressed against it. In his pocket, he felt the Stone grow hotter.

Ling instantly realised what the alchemist was about to do. He lunged at him. "Lan Fan!"

The warrior called Lan Fan started forward, but it was too late. A brilliant flash of light flooded the office, forcing all three Xingese fighters to shield their eyes.

The cage holding him shattered. Evan dropped, pressing his hand to the floor.

Power thrummed through him like molten lava. The ground beneath his feet disintegrated just as he felt the whisper of a blade carve through the air above him.

He fell.

Down down down.


Two Xingese nobles and one exasperated bodyguard stared at the crumbling gap in the floor of the Fuhrer's office.

The dust settled, revealing that their quarry had already disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a single footprint and several drops of blood.

"Uh oh," whistled Ling, peering down at the floor below. Lan Fan stood at his shoulder, not at all impressed.

May Chang rubbed her face. "Now what?"

Ling shrugged. "We regroup...and hope that someone else has a better idea."

He glanced back at the gaping hole. With any luck, he planned to be out of Amestris before someone could make him pay for that.


Fifty meters underneath Central Command, the most powerful man in Amestris leisurely made his way down a plain concrete staircase, flanked on both sides by two soldiers in uniform.

A muffled explosion sounded far above them, shaking the walls and dislodging dust from the ceiling.

His escorts – Lieutenants Havoc and Breda – immediately drew their weapons, tensing in anticipation.

Grumman brushed off the fine white powder which had settled on his shoulders. "Sounds like they're having a hell of a party up there."

Havoc sniffed, reholstering his gun to light another cigarette despite Breda's disapproving glare. "That's one way of putting it."

"The colonel…" muttered Breda as they continued their descent. "He wasn't supposed to be in Central today. Didn't he say anything to you, Havoc?"

Havoc snorted indignantly. "Since when does he ever tell me anything?"

"Boys," said the Fuhrer, his tone humorous rather than reprimanding. "Perhaps we should continue this argument after we get out of Bradley's creepy secret tunnel?"

Both lieutenants went completely quiet.

Grumman glanced back at them. "You know I was only teasing, yes?" he paused. "Besides, I'm sure they have it all handled."

Breda and Havoc exchanged uneasy glances. How simple the day had first seemed – heading down to Central City to assume their posts as the Fuhrer's extra security detail during the Drachman talks, then escorting him back to Central Command for his 'very important meeting'.

"Fuhrer Grumman, if we don't go now you'll be late for your own meeting," reminded Breda stoically.

Even though Havoc was all the way across the room, Breda could clearly discern the small eye-roll the blonde second lieutenant afforded himself as he stood guard at the door.

Grumman was still painstakingly polishing his prized chess set. A neat line of chess pieces stood like ranks of soldiers along his desk, bright and shiny. "Hold that thought, Lieutenant Breda. I'm nearly done."

Breda anxiously checked his wristwatch. "Fuhrer, sir…"

"Alright, alright," the Fuhrer set down his final polished piece – the black king. "Give me a moment."

Breda wasn't usually a fidgety person, but the Fuhrer's meticulous (and ridiculously slow) process of returning the pieces to their foldable board was beginning to make him twitch.

Havoc and Breda breathed simultaneous sighs of relief as Grumman finally rose from his chair, tucking the chess board under one arm as he strode towards his large display cupboard.

The phone on his desk rang.

Breda glanced uncertainly at Fuhrer Grumman, who was carefully returning his chess set to its esteemed position on the top shelf. "Lieutenant Breda, if you wouldn't mind answering that for me?"

Breda sighed and strode around the table, picking up the receiver and holding it to his ear. "Hello? Fuhrer Grumman's office."

"Breda!? Thank god I caught you!"

Breda jerked upright. "Fuery?"

The sergeant's name caused Havoc to cock his head inquisitively. "Fuery? Shouldn't he and Falman still be in East City?"

Breda shushed him.

"Breda, is the Fuhrer with you?" asked Fuery's voice on the other end of the line.

Breda looked back at Grumman, who seemed perfectly content with letting him do all the talking. "Yes. Why?"

"Listen. I just got off the phone with the colonel. He and the Elrics are in Central and –"

Breda's eyes went wide. "But why would the colonel and the Elrics –"

"Stop interrupting me!"

Breda zipped his mouth shut as Fuery inhaled a long, tremulous breath. "Okay. Something terrible has happened – is happening – at Central Command, and here's what he wants you to do."

Breda listened silently, Havoc edging in to catch the words, as Fuery rattled off a series of instructions typical of Colonel Mustang. Without even pausing to say goodbye, Fuery promptly wished them luck and ended the call.

Breda replaced the receiver, still overwhelmed from this sudden turn of events.

"I assume things aren't exactly as peachy as they seem?" enquired the Fuhrer. He looked completely at ease despite the tension in the air.

Breda looked at Havoc, who simply blinked owlishly at him and mouthed: What. The. Hell.

"Fuhrer Grumman…" Breda spun around briskly. "The birthday gift Colonel Mustang gave you this year – do you still have it?"

"Ah, you mean this?" Grumman strode towards him, leaning down to pull open a drawer in his desk. He retrieved a small, hand-held device – a tape recorder. "I always wondered how he meant for me to use this."

"I think we are about to find out," said Havoc dryly.

Breda shot Havoc a look before continuing: "Your Excellency, there is a very dangerous alchemist who is in this building right now. I would like you to record exactly what you would say to such a person."

Fuhrer Grumman smiled broadly, his passion for the dramatic arts shining through. "Now that does sound like the perfect use for it."

Breda then turned to Havoc. "Havoc, change of plans. Let's get that secret door open."

It was a good thing Grumman and Mustang had agreed to keep Bradley's personal hidden entrance to the Homunculi lair intact and under wraps.

Amazing how those two seemed to think of everything.

"Using Falman and Fuery in East City to coordinate people and communicate orders," Havoc shook his head, slightly impressed despite himself. "Awfully efficient of the colonel."

"And you expected any less?" asked Breda, arching an eyebrow.

Havoc glanced up at the ceiling as they finally reached the end of the long staircase. Breda didn't miss the flash of worry in that motion. "You think his trap worked?"

Breda followed Havoc's gaze, but he saw only darkness. Even the light from their powerful torches wasn't nearly strong enough to disperse it.

"Knowing that man," chuckled Grumman, smiling meaningfully at his temporary bodyguards. "I'm sure he has plenty of other tricks up his sleeve."

Breda couldn't help but smile back.

He couldn't have put it better himself.


A/N:

The complete version of Evan's flashback scene (written in Roy's POV), is at the very end of Chapter 10 - Lex Talionis in case anyone was curious.