A/N: Hello, my darlings. No, I did not forget about this fic. I do intend to finish it! I'm so sorry that it's taken so long to upload this. Again - and I know I keep saying this, it's no excuse - life has gotten in the way. I also finally played Undertale for the first time... it's such a great game, and I love it so much! Anyway. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'm sorry it's a bit short.

Who knew how much time had passed by this point?

How long had they been out here? How much death still had to occur before they were relieved of their duties? How long would it be until they declared the war over?

Karla lingered in one of the tents, this time back at her own camp, for she had found it again after a fair bit of wandering. That had been several days, or possibly weeks, ago; she didn't know. Her track of time had been lost for some time now. At this point, she was running off sheer will. What little sleep she'd had by this point, when it hadn't been broken by the sounds of explosions and screams, had continuously been interrupted by nightmares of bright orange flames, of otherworldly cries, of terrified eyes that chilled her to the core.

She had felled a life once, even though part of her was still convinced that it was by someone else's hand. She had no inclination to do it again. Not when those who were supposed to be her targets had done nothing to deserve it.

She sat, huddled into herself, the can of what they called food sitting forgotten on the ground next to her. Her kinzhal was half-clutched in her broken hand, its blade dirtied with blood and dust, small dents littering its surface from where it had suffered in the explosion that had been aimed at her. Thank everything that existed that she hadn't lost it when that had happened. Still, however, she couldn't bring herself to be too thankful.

After all… she had never wanted to be here.

When would it all end?

"Chernikova." The voice intruded into her thoughts, and she raised her head wearily to see another soldier arrive in the tent. She had no idea who this was; the names, the faces… they were all the same to her here. Dusty, bloodstained, the same sort of strange lifelessness in their eyes that she herself was feeling… or perhaps it was just what her mind was telling her they looked like.

"What?" The voice that responded was hoarse, almost defeated; even though her lips moved, it did not sound like her. Who was this? Who was this individual that was speaking, that had seemingly replaced her with itself?

"The state alchemists are being ordered out. They want you all to finish the job."

A furious fire sparked within her, and she rose to her feet. Instinct screamed out at her to refuse, but as she departed the tent, she shot it down. Her instinct had gotten her nothing but trouble for her out here. The one time she had dared to rebel, she had nearly been killed.

Survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed.

That's the rule here, and it's one to be followed.

Karla strode through the shattered ruins of Ishval. This place, she was sure, had once been a prosperous place for the people within it: a place of peace, of tranquility, of something that they had never thought would be destroyed. Now, it was nothing but a landscape of death.

She had displaced herself. It was as if she was watching from somewhere outside herself, merely an observer as the creature she called her self struck down all who dared oppose it. The separation helped; if it wasn't her doing it, she wouldn't have to live with the guilt of ruthless killing, would she? Even as her hands shook, even as her blade was stained crimson, it was someone else. It wasn't her. It wasn't Karla.

The harsh, metallic scent of raw transmutation was heavy in the air as yet another blade was forged from the blood of the fallen, and she tossed it to a nearby soldier. He was clearly in need of a weapon, and her eyes locked onto him as he caught it with only the slightest bit of clumsiness. He hadn't been expecting it, though his reflexes weren't nearly as bad as she had thought them to be. That was good. He would need those reflexes.

Footsteps sounded at a rapid pace behind her, and she whirled around, her blade glinting in the sunlight. Without hesitation, she cut the throat of another Ishvalan, who collapsed to the ground in front of her. As she stared down at her latest victim, she fought to keep down the bile that suddenly rose in her throat at the sight. What am I doing? some part of her demanded. What's happened to me? Why is this so easy for me…?

I'll die otherwise, another part of her answered.

That doesn't mean it has to be like this.

She continued to stare down at him, her body unwilling to move any farther. What was she doing? Why was she doing this, when she was so vehemently against all of it?

She noticed a split-second too late that the man was still armed, and in an instant, a shot sounded, followed by a burst of unrelenting pain ripping through her side.

She choked out a cry as she sank to her knees, her free hand instantly moving to cover the wound. Karla's vision swam around her, outlines and colors blurring together; there was a bullet in her somewhere, she had to go and get it torn out, she wasn't going to die here, she wasn't, she wasn't, she wasn't…

She looked up just long enough to see a massive wall of blazing flames some distance in front of her, long enough to feel hands grabbing at her shoulders, and the ground was suddenly against her back. Someone above her was speaking, was shouting, but she couldn't make out the words they were saying.

Enough of this. I've gone far enough. Let it be over.

Everything was blurry.

The world looked strange. There was no blueness of the sky above her, but a strange beige color… what was that? Where was she? Her body felt strangely suspended, as if she wasn't on the ground at all, and her midsection felt tight, as if something was constraining it.

What the hell?

She tried to push herself up, but pain seared through her so intensely that she relented, returning to her original position. Only then did she bring up a hand to her wound to find that there was none there. In fact, it seemed to have been covered by something, and this seemed to cement her situation for her.

She was in a tent, on some sort of stretcher. The something that was constraining her seemed to be some sort of bandage, which would make sense… but wait. Where was her knife? What happened?

"Don't move." A stern voice sounded then, and she looked over to see another soldier approaching her. "You're fucked up, and besides, there isn't a need to move anymore. Not right now, at least."

"What happened?" she asked, her voice just as hoarse as it had been before. Her throat was dry, and this fact was slightly troubling to her.

"They've called a ceasefire." He held out a canteen to her. "The war's over. Drink this."

"What?" She took the canteen, but didn't drink from it. "What do you mean, the war's over? What made them call it off so quickly?"

"One of the alchemists ended it that fast, that's what happened," he answered. "Someone in the Daliha district set everything on fire, and that pretty much finished it. We're going home."

So that wall of flame she'd seen… that had been real. Someone had created that. Someone had transmuted it into existence without hesitation… incinerating everything and everyone in front of them. Who would do that? Who…?

If I ever find out who burned this place to the ground, they're dead.

"Are you going to drink that, or am I going to have to force it down your throat?"

This startled her out of her reverie, and she rather clumsily opened the canteen, pouring the water down her throat while trying to not spill any on her. She wasn't entirely successful, but the water felt like heaven, and she gulped it down with gratitude. "So what now?" she asked once she'd drained the canteen.

"Well, we're all going home." He shrugged. "At least, we're going back to our posts. I guess the higher-ups will decide what's next then. Depending on where you're stationed, you might get to go home for a while."

Home… wasn't that a blissful word? A peaceful thought… one that she couldn't return to. She couldn't go back there. Not like this… not after what she had done…

No. That wasn't me. That was someone else. Someone else lost their mind and killed all those people…

"And how do you expect me to leave?" she asked in an attempt to silence her thoughts. "If I can't even sit up properly, how am I supposed to go back?"

"They're not just gonna leave you here, if that's what you're thinking," the soldier answered. "They'll find a way. They always find a way to get everyone out. Especially since you're a state alchemist, and you're alive, they're not just gonna leave you here."

Karla sighed, dropping the canteen over the side of her stretcher. She raised her broken hand to examine it: the bandaging was torn in places, and it was stained with blood, as she was sure the rest of her was. She was sure the bones weren't going to heal properly since it wasn't in a real cast or sling, which likely meant she would have to learn to use her right hand, but… oh, why the hell was she contemplating this of all things? Her priorities were not what she wanted them to be. Perhaps it was because she was determined to avoid her real ones…

Maybe they should leave me here. Maybe I should try to escape from here…

No, that was impossible. She could barely move, no thanks to the bandage around her torso. Someone would see her. Someone would follow her, someone would find her, someone would bring her back.

"Well, listen. I'll be back a little later, all right? You hang in there. And don't be stubborn and try to move, understand?" He gave her a small smile, then left the tent.

Don't be stubborn. Ha. He clearly has no idea who I am.

She moved her uninjured hand down to her waist automatically, and once she felt the metal of the knife in one of her pockets, she relaxed. Good. At least that hadn't gotten lost. She wouldn't have known what to do without it. At least that was a solid part in her world still… if not the only solid part.

"I can't do this," she muttered in Drachman. No one would be able to know what she was saying if she didn't speak Amestrian, after all. "I can't go back. I can't go back to Briggs. I can't go back home. I can't go anywhere." She draped her injured hand over her eyes. "Oh, lord, Father… I wish you were still here. This wouldn't have happened otherwise."

She attempted to sit up again, but the pain shot through her again, causing her to let out a grunt before lowering herself back down. Good lord, this was impossible. What was she supposed to do? Was she supposed to wait?

God, if only waiting was easier.