Sorry as usual for the delayed update. I did this last week as a study break.

Disclaimer: usual.

14 The Right Hand of Destruction

The once sparkling streets of Lior were stained with blood, dirt and ruin. Bodies littered the streets alongside debris and broken glass. Plaster crumbled from houses and store fronts. Those homes that hadn't been completely reduced to rumble had been ransacked and trashed. The holy city of Lior had fallen from grace. Hell was marching through the streets leaving despair and broken hopes in its wake.

"If the head priest can bring about miracles with the Philosopher's Stone, why did it turn out like this?" A man in his thirties brandished a makeshift pipe spear with one hand and shook the collar of the nearly unconscious man with the other. Other Lior citizens gathered around, blood and dirt long worked into the fabric of their torn clothes.

"Please stop the fighting. Please stop the fighting." The broadcast repeated over and over.

More Lior citizens gathered in the main courtyard where Cornello had once demonstrated his miracles. With rope and sheer determination, they tugged at the huge statue of Leto at the front of the mansion church. Another crowd fought wildly with the church officials, demanding the head priest come out.

Along the circumference of the courtyard, blue military officials lined up with rifles and cannons. A middle-aged officer, with still a full head of brown hair, raised his palm in the air. His light brown eyes registered no emotion as he looked at the rebellious crowd. With a simple jerk of his hand, he let loose the fire.

Other soldiers trotted obediently through the town, rifles at ready. In a small deserted house, ten children huddled behind a pitiful fortress of overturned tables. A teenage girl with long brown hair and pink bangs drew them close to her. Her simple beige dress was discolored with tears and dirt.

"Rose, we don't to have to fight, right?" a seven-year old olive-skinned boy asked.

Rose looked down into the wide, frightened eyes and shook her head with a small, reassuring smile. "With whom?" It was an adult's battle being waged in their small town. Not a battle for those too young to understand the meaning of religion let alone death.

The courtyard was stained red. The statute of Leto still stood on the platform as the blood of the peasants seeped into the sandy ground. The stone was unmovable, unyielding, untouchable and unforgiving.

Up above, a voluptuous woman leaned one black clad hip against the railing and raked disinterested violet eyes over the carnage below. She remained far removed from the scene from her vantage point high up in the castle. "Foolish, aren't they? Humans are so foolish."

"Foolish, foolish." Her short, round companion echoed her, his beady eyes peering through the iron railing bars.

"When things proceed this smoothly, their foolishness is rather refreshing."

Lust lazily turned her attention to the newcomer, her long curls curling at her full breasts. "Why, hello there, Head priest, sir."

The head priest emerged from the stairwell and strolled into the drafty room. "I just urged the believers on a little," he said, referring to the mass panic and bloody massacre that played out beneath them. "The believers started killing each other and the military has made the situation worse in an attempt to stop them."

"No matter how many times they repeat it, they never learn from their mistakes." Lust idly noted the cannons protruding out of the stands in the court area and the bloody corpses lying across them. "Humans are sad, foolish creatures."

"We're doing all this to create the Philosopher's Stone. Now I can finally" – a sizzle of light ran its way down the priest's form – "return to my cute form." Where Cornello once stood, a lithe young man clad in a black, cropped tank top and shorts now negligently struck a pose. With a grin, he flicked back long, black hair held away from his face with a green headband.

Lust arched an eyebrow. "That again? You sure like to look young."

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Envy shrugged. "I forget what my original form looked like."

The Sins turned at a sound coming up the stairway. A bewildered Cray stood at the top. "What's going on here?" he demanded, his eyes frantically scanning the three strangers. He had just seen Head Priest Cornello come up here. "Where's the head priest? Where's the real head priest?"

"What shall we do?" Lust languidly straightened from the railing, her long dress rippling with the slight movement.

"Tell him the truth. The head priest is already…"

Gluttony interrupted Envy's careless explanation. "Can I eat him?" He toddled a few steps towards the panic-stricken accountant.

The last thing Cray saw was a giant tongue tattooed with an intricate circle.

Envy leaned over the railing next to Lust. "Now that you mention it, I just received information about that guy. He left Central and is headed for East City."

"That State Alchemist killer?" The woman frowned, but the expression left no creases on her flawless skin. "In East City there's the Flame Colonel and –"

"The Fullmetal kid right now," Envy finished.

"That child is the closest person to our goal. We can't let anything happen to him."

"Lust," Gluttony's voice cut into their hushed conversation. He waved a bloody hand in their direction. "I'm done eating."

"Wipe your mouth, Gluttony," she instructed. She turned back to Envy. "So what was that guy called?"

"Scar? A man with a scar?"

Roy sat up a little in the bar stool, rumpling an already wrinkled uniform. He took another sip of his whiskey and let the liquid burn its way down his throat. Drinks with Hughes were the best way to end a week of Hawkeye's relentless vigilance, but tonight the tone of their usual conversation had taken on darker undertones.

"We don't have his true identity yet," Hughes divulged quietly. "There are eyewitnesses who say he has a big scar on his forehead, so we call him that."

"Is he the guy who killed the State Alchemists in Central City?

"Nine of them." Hughes eyes never left the amber liquid sitting untouched in his glass. "Four in Central City alone, and in this entire country, nine State Alchemists have fallen victim to him. If we include the victims who were around them, the count easily surpasses twenty. Victims were found with wounds that indicated that they were detonated form the inside. His weapons and motives are unknown. That's why the people in Central Headquarters got scared."

"So they've come here on vacation and are saying they're here to escort the Fuhrer as an excuse," Roy surmised. "The killer won't come chasing them here?"

"You're here as well," pointed out Hughes. "The ones who gave you the demotion three years ago know about your skilled abilities."

Roy's thin lips twisted wryly. "I'm starting to want to run away as well," he admitted sardonically.

"The problem is his next target."

Further elaboration was cut off by a cute barmaid. She dimpled at Hughes. Maes immediately flushed. "I'm sorry," he stammered, "but I have a cute daughter who's going to turn three soon…"

"It's a phone call for you." She offered him the phone with a smile.

Hughes' anxiety quickly deflated. Glacier and Elicia were his world, but a guy could live with a little flattery, couldn't he? With a slump of his shoulders, he picked up the heavy receiver. "Hello, this is Hughes." Hughes' light-hearted tone turned serious. "What…Major? I understand." He hung up the receiver and got to his feet. "They found a soldier's dead body at East City station."

Roy took another sip of his drink. "Was he destroyed from the inside?"

Hughes nodded.

It was horrible. It was just like the ones before. The soldier's limp body slumped against the wall, blood exploding outwards on the stone in a grotesquely brilliant splay of red. It was almost art.

Ed and Al strode through the small, quiet town on the outskirts of East City. The softly rolling hills reminded Al a little of their hometown.

They stopped to ask a man pulling about the whereabouts of the elusive doctor. The brawny man paused and set down the large cart of corn stalks. He wiped his forehead with the edge of a blue work glove.

"Dr. Marcoh?"

"You mean Dr. Mauro?" his young son asked.

"No, Marcoh."

"But there's only one doctor in this village. Dr. Mauro." The man pointed a beefy finger down the quiet road. The brothers thanked them for their time and went in the direction he had indicated.

They paused near three middle-aged men who sat on stools near the town's outer wall. "As you can see, the people living near this road are poor. It'd take us half a day to get to a doctor in East City," one man explained. He squinted at the two boys from behind thick bottle glasses.

They continued on the path and encountered more and more of the town's inhabitants full of praise for the good doctor. No one seemed to mind talking to a suit of armor and a young boy wearing too many layers of clothes for the hot weather.

"He's a good man," said an elderly woman with a slight hunch and a cane. "He even sees the patients who were abandoned by other doctors."

A farmer they passed told them how the doctor cured his leg when he got it stuck in a cultivator and almost died. "During the operation, I saw a bright light," his six-year old daughter added. His wife agreed with a smile over the armful of grass she held.

"A light."

"It was alchemy," Ed agreed. He and Al had left the center of town and now broodingly strolled the outskirts. "This person is Dr. Marcoh, all right."

"But he's running away from the military, right? Why did he become a doctor? Rumors about him will spread."

Ed tensed up suddenly. He threw himself to the side, tackling an unsuspecting Al into a nearby pile of hay.

Al managed to pop his head out of the top. A white-gloved hand reached up and shoved the metal helmet back down. "That was mean," Al complained. He hunched inside the haystack. He didn't know haystacks could be so large. "Straws are coming in." He fidgeted as more stalks poked in through the metal gratings of his armor.

Ed shushed him. A large man in a black overcoat stood in the middle of the road. He pulled off his blue military cap and surveyed the empty fields. All he saw was acres and acres of green and yellow and the vast blue sky.

"Who's that?"

Ed noted the muscular build and shining head bald but for a single blond curl in the front. "He's one of the State Alchemists who came from Central City with the Fuhrer," he answered.

"Why is he here? Did he follow us?"

"The colonel said that he didn't report Marcoh's location to the military." The State Alchemist gave up and tugged his cap back on. Ed watched carefully as he disappeared in the direction they had been headed. Sure it was safe, he pushed his way out of the haystack and brushed off the stalks that clung to his black pants and jacket. He ignored the pieces sticking out of his hair. It kind of blended in anyway. "Let's hurry," he called into the haystack. "Marcoh's house should be near."

Al's head popped through the top once again, straw protruding out from any and every opening in the armor. Now he knew what the scarecrows he and Ed used to play around with felt like.

Ed barely dodged them in time. Two bullets sped past his underarm, embedding themselves into the concrete wall behind him instead of his chest.

"Hey now, we just …"

The middle-aged doctor stood in his front doorway. The craggy features and salt-and-pepper hair lent the image of a gruff and kind country doctor, with the exception of gun clasped between his two hands currently pointed at the young boy in front of him. "You said you're a State Alchemist? Did you come to take me back there?"

Al spoke up from behind his brother. "Um, you're the Crystal Alchemist, Dr. Marcoh, right?"

The doctor's knuckles whitened on the gun at the sound of his second name. "I don't want to go back there. Please." There was a more desperation and plea in his voice than threatening anger. Which made the gun he held all the more dangerous.

"That's not it." He had faced ferocious chimeras and axe murders with aplomb, but Ed still couldn't bring himself to look down the barrel of his possible impending death. He kept his arms raised in the air and squeezed his eyes shut. "We just came to ask you a few things."

"Please, that's dangerous." Al motioned for the doctor to put the gun aside. As a hollow suit of armor, it held infinitely more danger for his brother, but some lessons had been firmly drilled in years ago. Like guns are dangerous.

"Did you come to get rid of me?" Sweat beaded at his graying temples. "I won't let you kill me. I…I…"

The hulking armor rose to its full height and slowly approached the trembling doctor. The barrel was straight in-line with its heart. Al calmly stood before the older man.

"It's okay." Al wasn't sure if he was reassuring his brother or the doctor whose violent trembling increased twofold. "I won't die even if you kill me," he said quietly. Al took another half step forward, bringing the metal chest plate in contact with the metal gun.

The doctor's shaking arms could no longer hold the weapon up. Resigned, he dropped his arms to his sides. "I see." His gray eyes took in the resolute suit of armor. "So you're the Fullmetal Alchemist."

"No." The suit of armor was pushed to the side, and the shorter, blonde boy came forward. "I am. Me."

Empty and full glass bottles and jars filled bookshelves around the spartan room. Next to the bed was Marcoh's surgical tray, the gun harmlessly juxtaposed next to two bottles of painkillers and a scissors and bandages. Al sat at the end of the plain bed next to the large, wide table Marcoh and Ed presently occupied.

"I ran from the battlefield," Marcoh began. "And stole the research data I had. The military might still be after that data."

Both brothers leaned forward anxiously. Ed actually stood up out of his chair. This could bring them one step closer to their goal.

"We're doing research on human transmutation," Ed began eagerly.

"I can't" – the doctor's voice was abrupt and gruff – "show you anything." His head was lowered, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to keep out the flood of unpleasant memories. "Although I was ordered to do it, I was involved in the research of that thing. And it was used in the massacre during the East Rebellion." He lost the battle and clutched his head with both hands.

"Massacre? Do you mean the rebellion of Ishbal?"

"It was horrible. A really terrible battle." He could see the regiments of blue uniforms, rifles held at their shoulders, ammunition clattering heedlessly to the streets of the small town. "Women, children, everyone was killed. There was no reason." In his mind, he wandered down the deserted streets littered with broken windows, broken homes and bodies.

He laced his fingers together tightly and rested his forehead against them, almost as if in fervent prayer. "The Ishbal people opposed the military. That was enough. I cannot atone for what I did, not even with my life. But I still wanted to do something. That's why I'm a doctor here." He looked up at the young boy across of him. A boy of a generation of children he hoped would never have to witness the things he had. "Go home."

Ed's surprise at the soft order quickly slid into anger. He had quit being a child three years ago and he was tired of people judging him as one. Ed slammed his palms on the wooden table. "I am a state alchemist. I have a right to see your research," he demanded.

Marcoh closed his eyes. "You're very small…" Al heard the word as it escaped the unwitting doctor's mouth and slung his arms under his brother's to prevent the habitual attack. Marcoh continued, oblivious to Ed's restrained temper tantrum. "But you probably took the test because of the abundant research funds and the numerous privileges." What a foolish boy – young and naïve. "If you'd been at the scene of that rebellion…"

"I know," Ed hurled the words at the condescending older man, "that I'm doing something stupid. But still…"

Marcoh looked away, unable to hold the intensity of those golden eyes. An intensity, a determination, that had yet to be tainted by the mercilessness of war. No, maybe not untainted. There lurked a maturity there that spoke of hardship and acceptance that that was how life was.

Al decided to intervene. "Dr. Marcoh, you treated some babies in Xenotime five years ago, didn't you? One of those babies is now healthy."

The doctor faltered. Ed watched him with hawk eyes. Marcoh's eyes slid almost imperceptibly to the right.

Ed ran to the wall in the direction of the doctor's slight. He splayed his palms against the white surface and lightly tapped the area. He stepped back, reckless determination glinting in his eyes. Quickly assessing the composition of the thin plaster, Ed clapped and slapped his palms against it.

A hole opened in the wall.

Marcoh got to his feet. "You did that without a transmutation circle?" What was this boy?

Three tiny glass bottles lay neatly in a box. Each was about the length of Ed's finger and filled with a red liquid. He picked one up with two fingers and held it up to catch more light. It wasn't the water from Xenotime. It was a lot clearer than that stuff.

"Stop that." Marcoh rushed forward.

"Niisan!" Ed yelped as Al's large gloves lifted him up from behind. "Niisan, that's not polite."

"Let me go!" Ed kicked, but Al just hoisted him higher.

"Niisan!"

"I said let go of me!" The bottle flew from Ed's fingers and shattered on the wooden floor. Both brothers stilled in mid-motion to watch as the liquid gelled and formed a solid red stone.

They knelt over the stone, carefully examining its composition and density without touching it. "It's not liquid."

"Niisan, this looks like the thing the head priest at Lior had."

The door slammed. Ed and Al stood as a military officer barged in, rifle drawn.

"The Sorcerer's Stone." An imposing man with a handlebar mustache strode through the doorway. "The Astral Stone, Elixir, the Red Tincture, and the Fifth Element. As the various names imply, it does not necessarily have to be a stone." He passed a petrified Marcoh and picked up the stone.

"Brigadier General Grand…"

"Brigadier General?" Marcoh's voice held a tint of irony. "You've received many promotions, I see."

Grand turned his attention to the salt and peppered doctor. "The Crystal Alchemist," he both acknowledged and accused. "Hand over the Philosopher's Stone and its research data."

Everything clicked. That thing between the Brigadier General's fingers was what the brothers had searched all of Amestris for. The Philosopher's Stone.

"This was created as an experiment of the devil," Grand explained, towering over Ed from his impressive height. "We do not know when it will reach its limit and become unusable. It's unstable, incomplete and far from the real thing. But it amplified our abilities during the rebellion and showed a tremendous effect."

Marcoh closed his eyes. Everything he had run away from had finally caught up to him.

Grand held his right barrel arm before him. The stone imbedded in the front glowed, engulfing his entire body. When the light cleared, two dozen cannons protruded from the metal base encasing his frame.

"Does that mean that the military did research on the Philosopher's Stone a long time ago?"

"Although it's incomplete, it was created by human hands, which means it's possible to create the Philosopher's Stone." Hope shone in Ed's eyes. "Where's the method to create it?"

Grand cast a disdainful glance upon the diminutive alchemist. "And what are you going to do after you see it, Fullmetal Alchemist? The research is top secret and under my jurisdiction. You do not have permission to read the data." He completely ignored the dropping of the proud boy's shoulders. "Let's go," he ordered his men.

Two soldiers seized the doctor by his arms. Ed looked up at Marcoh's pleas and struggles. They dragged him out of the house and into the waiting military vehicle. Neighbors had heard the commotion, or saw the unusual car parked outside the doctor's house, and had congregated outside.

"No, please release me," Marcoh pleaded as they forcibly carried him past the concerned crowd. "I don't want to go back there." His gruff voice was laced with desperation and panic. "I don't want to go back. I'm sick of that place, please. I hate that place. I don't want to."

Ed and Al stood motionless at the top of the stairs. Watched as the doctor was dragged past all the people that had come to respect and cherish him in their lives. Watch as he was dragged out of those lives. And it was their fault. It was just like that time with Nina. Nina in a cage, locked up in the back of Grand's car, driving away from him because he couldn't protect her.

The car pulled away, past the young mothers and their children, the working fathers, the elderly. No, Ed couldn't let it happen again. He sprinted down the stairs and after the vehicle.

I haven't grown at all. His boots pounded on the packed road. I can't let my heart remain a little kid.

The car skidded and swerved to a halt. A man stood at the front of the car in the middle of the street. He stoically faced the car and placed the palm of his right hand on the hood. In a burst of red, the car disintegrated taking the two lower-ranked officials with it.

Grand and Marcoh lay on the ground and coughed the debris from their lungs. The man strode forward through the smoke with ominous steps.

He wore a dark yellow jacket and dark sunglasses partially covering a large scar across his forehead and eyes. Ed studied him closer. He looked familiar. Where had he seen that X-shaped scar before?

"The Iron Blood Alchemist, Basque Grand." Grand got to his feet and faced the approaching stranger.

"Sorry, but you've caught me at a bad time." Grand was always prepared for battle, but even more so at this very moment. "Right now, I have this!" He reached into his pocket and grasped the red stone.

Ed's eyes widened. He didn't know how, but he knew what was going to happen. He yelled for the man to stop.

With a powerful lunge forward, Scar thrust his palm into Grand's face. The Brigadier General's fist had just cleared his pocket. But it was too late. Red light swirled around the two men. Blood spurted, exploding out of the back of the Brigadier General's head. Grand's body folded at the knees and collapsed lifeless to the ground.

The red stone fell to the ground and bounced once to land at Ed's feet. Ed didn't even notice. If I remember correctly, he's the guy I met three years ago in Central City.

The man turned to the young blonde. Even through the tint of the sunglasses, Ed could feel the burn of his gaze. With slow, sure steps, he stalked the alchemist. Ed quivered, pinned to the spot by the intensity, yet sheer lack of emotion emanating from the murderer.

He was well aware of the danger. Too well aware. But it was as if the sun had melted the rubber of his boots to the ground. His knees trembled.

The man shifted his attention to the right of the young alchemist. His eyes came to rest on the doctor, still kneeling in the dirt. "The Crystal Alchemist, Doctor Marcoh. I heard you were dead." He walked toward the doctor. There was no emotion in his deep voice, just solemn acceptance of the reality he had conceived. "I'll have to kill you thoroughly." He raised a hand still stained with the blood of Basque Grand.

"You're…" Marcoh bowed his head. "I see. I must accept my fate then."

"In the name of God, die."

The barest moment before his palm made contact with the doctor, Ed grabbed the older alchemist by the sleeve of his brown jacket and ran. He didn't know where to, just away. He dashed down the streets, dragging the doctor behind him.

"Edward," Marcoh began.

"Don't give up like that." Ed didn't even look back. "Run."

All the man had seen was a flash of red. "The Fullmetal Alchemist?" He turned in the direction of his fleeing prey and saw the red coat flapping in the wind followed closely by the doctor. "I won't let you get away."

Ed noted his pursuer. He knows about me? What's going on? I don't think I did anything to make people mad. Well, actually, he hedged, I did. But I didn't do anything to deserve to be killed.

They turned the corner off the main road. "Niisan, this way." Al peeked out from a small archway in the stonewall that separated the town. Ed and Dr. Marcoh ducked in and Al closed the opening with a transmutation circle he had sketched beforehand in preparation.

The Fullmetal and Crystal Alchemists leaned over and gasped for breath. Ed shot his younger brother a grateful smile. They had just caught their breath when the new section of the wall was engulfed in red and exploded into bits.

The man with the scar stood at the new circular entrance, right hand still outstretched. Al scooped up the doctor in his metal arms and the three of them ran in the opposite direction further into the tunnel.

Unperturbed at the escape of his prey, Scar merely lifted his hand to the tunnel wall. Red light shot out and raced across the stone surface, crumbling the stone as it hurtled down the tunnel. Ed and Al came to a halt as the tunnel caved in front of them.

Ed turned at the approaching boot steps to face his would-be executioner. Edward Elric never cowered and never backed down. "Who are you," he demanded. "Why are you after us?"

"If you are the ones who create, then there are ones who destroy." As far as answers went, the cryptic statement didn't quite meet Ed's standards.

Marcoh was back on his feet. "Edward, leave me here and run!"

As always, Ed ignored any voice of reason or authority. His golden eyes never leaving the man in front of him, he clapped his gloved hands and reached for a piece of pipe sticking out of the debris behind him. Blue light flashed and Ed brandished the sword in front of him. Al followed suit and brought his arms up.

Scar eyed the young alchemist standing bravely before him. "You have good eyes. My older brother had eyes like yours. Strong eyes that look like they're gazing off into the distance." Ed's gaze didn't waver. His attention was centered on the man before him. He had already assessed his surroundings and carefully judged the distance between the two of them. "Three years ago, was it? I heard that you quit being a State Alchemist and I was pleased by that."

"Sorry to hear that." Ed's apology was anything but sincere. He leapt forward and slashed with the sword. With superb reflexes, Scar dodged the attack and spun toward Ed, hand outreached.

"You're too slow!" His hand descended.

"Niisan!" Al rushed forward.

Red light flooded the narrow tunnel for the briefest of seconds.

Ed fell to the floor in a heap just past Al. Al sat up and looked down at his arm. His right forearm was cracked and dented where Scar's hand had struck.

"Al!"

"Don't get the wrong idea. I was trying to destroy human flesh, so you got away with just that crack." Scar faced the suit of armor. "Stay out of this. Only State Alchemists are my enemies."

"Why? Why us?"

"Alchemists transform objects into evil things. That is blasphemy to the creator of all things, God. I am God's representative and executioner."

Aside from the fray, Marcoh's eyes widened at the man's statement.

"I'm an alchemist as well," Al asserted. "Even though I'm not a state alchemist."

Scar slanted a glance at the persistent suit of armor. "Why do you endanger yourself?"

"You mentioned your brother earlier. So you must understand. I can't just watch and let you kill my brother. Even you—"

"I do understand. The feeling I had when the only thing I could do was watch my brother get killed." Scar's shoulders almost shook with suppressed emotion. "That's why I'm now—"

Ed saw his opportunity and lunged once more. His attack was stopped in mid-air. Scar gripped Ed's right arm in his right hand. Ed met bland eyes behind the dark glasses. "I told you that you're too slow."

Red flashed and Ed was hurled backwards. He landed hard on the stone floor about ten feet away. Scar observed the relatively unharmed boy and turned a puzzled frown on his hand.

Ed struggled to his feet. His red coat was torn and what was left of it clung to his metal arm in tatters.

"An auto-mail. So that right hand of yours can only create destruction as well?"

Ed growled. "Don't treat my right arm like yours." He brought his hands together and transmuted it into his favored auto-mail blade. He vaulted forward, but his attack was interrupted by another explosion. Yellow bursts of debris flew into the tunnel and Scar danced away, nimbly avoiding the blasts.

The smoke cleared from the obstruction Scar had created and the military soldier Ed and Al had seen earlier that day stepped into the tunnel.

Ed was completely taken aback. "The State Alchemist?"

Al brought his arms up in defense against the newcomer. "Did you come to capture Dr. Marcoh?"

The major strode past the doctor and the suit of armor, much to their surprise. Ed tensed as he approached him, but looked up in surprise as a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he finally said. "I was asked by the Lieutenant Colonel to guard you, but…"

Ed couldn't hide his surprise. "What? You mean Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?"

The towering man nodded. He turned his attention to Scar. "Representative of God, try to execute me, the Strong Arm Alchemist, Alex Louis Armstrong." He brandished metal gloves that encased his great hands, transmutation circles etched on the backs of each.

Scar recovered his composure quickly and his lips curved upwards. "I am blessed today. This saves me the time of finding you all." Anticipation gleamed in his eyes from behind the dark glasses. "This must be the help of God."

"I will show you the artistic alchemy method that has been passed down through the Armstrong family for generations." The major hefted a dense rock in his hand. He shot it up into the air and drove a spiked fist into it midair. Yellow light danced down the tunnel in the wake of the powerful missile. Scar flattened himself to the side of the wall and his jacket rippled as it ripped past him.

Armstrong launched another one, this time raising stone spikes across the tunnel floor.

Rose sat protectively in front of the young children in the deserted room, her arms splayed out to both sides. "As you can see, there are only children here," she said to the soldiers, defiance flashing in her brown eyes. "The guerrillas you're looking for aren't here."

General Hakuro snorted and knelt in front of the spirited slip of a girl. He tipped her stubborn chin up with his fingers. "So does this mean you've abandoned Cornello's teachings?" He released her. "Then tell us where the culprits who are against the military are hiding."

"No."

The slap resonated in the room. His palm left a large red imprint on her dark skin. "We've come here to liberate the city from Cornello. Don't you understand that?"

She fought back the tears that had involuntarily sprung to her eyes. The children. She had to protect the children. They had no part in this war. "This city is our homeland. We're going to move forward by ourselves, even if we can only move slowly. We have our own legs." She echoed Ed's last words to her. She hadn't understood them then. But the blood and the hunger and the death had made her see.

Ed's lungs burned, but they were almost there. Ed, Al and Marcoh raced to the light at the end of the tunnel.

Marcoh stumbled on the grass and collapsed in the soft foliage. Both State Alchemists gasped for breath. Al just stood to the side. Having a body that never tired did have its few perks. He unconsciously cradled his dented right forearm.

Ed held the stone out to the doctor between metal fingers. Marcoh stared at the stone being offered to him. "You dropped it." He placed it in the doctor's hand.

"Didn't the idea of running away with this cross your mind?"

"You use that to treat injuries at your clinic, right?" A smile flickered across Ed's face. "I can't forget the faces of the people who talked about you today." The beefy farmers, the elderly woman, the young family. "Both that stone and you belong to them."

Marcoh grasped the stone and drew it closer to his chest. Yes, this boy had a maturity beyond his years. Beyond even his own.

"Can you walk?" Ed put his hands on his hips. "Then let's go," he said at Marcoh's nod, "to where the military and that guy can't chase us."

"Will we be able to run away to safety?" He was willing place his trust in this boy.

"You still have legs, don't you?"

Marcoh was struck speechless by the boy's off-handed question and the armor's reassuring nod. Just who were these two? They had dragged him out of his hiding and handed him the salvation he had sought for years.

He got to his feet. He'd been running for years already. With these two brothers, he could keep going now that his burden had been lightened.

A/N: Thanks for reading! R&R please