"Thank you so much for your hard work, Dr. Marcoh!"

This they purred to the shattered man kneeling before them, revelling in the destroyed look behind his eyes. It was too beautiful, too sweet- the kind doctor who sought to heal everyone with his power had unwittingly restored his enemy, brought his jailor back to full health- and with it, lost his magic forever! He would never make another Philosopher's Stone, and what was he without that? Unable to resist, they put their foot to his chest and shoved him down, overjoyed that they could make such crude gestures now, no longer needing to hide behind a complacent human image in order to survive. They were the one with the power now, and he was the worm! They could kill him if they wanted to, punish him for his betrayal and disobedience- but they wouldn't, no, for to do it now would mean ending him in seconds, and he deserved far greater pain and misery than that. He deserved to live with the knowledge of what he'd done.

Inside them Kimblee was burning with his own pleasure, how he enjoyed them when they were like this, how aroused he could get by the sound of their laughter. They could feel their cold body tightening in response- catching a flicker of their reflection in one of Amala's loose medicine jars, they felt such a weight lifted from their shoulders- how relieving it was, to feel young and pretty and cute again! How much easier it was to respond to Kimblee's affections when they didn't feel so ashamed of their appearance.

And on the subject of Amala, where had she gone? Darted out of the tent during their transformation, no doubt bringing others to see. The ozone smell of a transmutation was overpowering in the air, it would attract Scar, if he had not already seen the burst of red lightning within the tent. For an instant they were tempted to fight him- drunk on their own power, hands curling into claws, wanting to rip something apart to prove their freedom- but they restrained themself. There wasn't time to party just yet- they still had work to do, and a certain thing within them was too precious to risk.

"I suppose I'll have to be going," they said to the mewling man beneath them, flashing him a sharp-fanged smile. "Give my regards to Colonel Mustang back in Central. Tell him his god-awful fire wasn't enough to destroy Envy the Bizarre!"

Cackling like a witch they hopped over Marcoh's prone body and out of the tent. In a flash they saw Ishvalans gathered outside, drawn by the commotion, and there was Scar himself, his red eyes widening in recognition and rage- but it was too late, before he could even begin to reach out with his earth-rending arm they were gone, taken to the air on the wings of a peregrine falcon; the fastest beast of flight. He had no hope of catching them now. No one did. For all the humans knew, they were leaving the country, or going back to Central to finish Father's hopeless plan.

That last bit was a little reckless, don't you think? Kimblee said as they flew, the wind streaking underneath their wings and smoothing their feathers. Do you really want to provoke the Flame Alchemist?

He was right of course, but they could never resist the urge to boast a little. And they would be sure not to encounter Mustang in the flesh again, at least not for a very long time, and certainly not as they were- though a little heart-to-heart revenge might do them good-

So bold you become, the moment things go your way.

Yes, and you love it, don't you, Crimson Alchemist?

They landed in the forest a few miles outside of the Ishvalan camp, changing in midair to their preferred form and hitting the ground hard (as was natural, how much better they felt), their feet leaving deep imprints in the soft earth. Breathless and giggling still they collapsed there, rolling about on the grass and feeling the heat of the sun on their skin as it shone down into the glade where they lay. Their heart was beating so strongly, their cold blood pumping freely through their veins, they found themself aware with a crystal clarity of the air around them, the sweet smells and soft sensations and forest flavours on their tongue. Was this how humans felt, when they narrowly escaped death, was this what they described when they claimed to see the world anew, appreciating life fully as they hadn't before? Perhaps that sentiment did not seem as foolish to them now as it had. To think, that they had gone from such hugely different states of being in such a short period of time- only weeks ago they had been balancing on the line between life and death, pretending to fight on the losing side in an ancient war, destroyed and in horrible pain and faced with the deep and terrifying sensation that was the prospect of failure. Complete failure, unlike all of their little missteps in the past, the intentional and otherwise- death, and the death of Kimblee (which was worse), and the idea that Father might have won in the end anyway (though as time went on, that had become increasingly unlikely). And now, they were whole and full and wonderfully, miraculously, all-consumingly alive.

Yes, alive.

Unlike the others.

Are you certain? We haven't had word, not really. If you would like, we could interrogate Marcoh, go back and find out…

No, they knew all they needed to know. How could it be explained? They felt it somehow, deep in their core, they had felt it all along as they had felt it in the Underground during the Promised Day. It was like they had been a flower, or a fruit on a vine, unique in its own properties but aware still of what it had sprouted from- the stalk that had given birth to it and the other such flowers that bloomed along its side. They had known when those other flowers' stems were snipped- wasn't that why Greed's burning, way back in the months before, had been so satisfying, and why Lust's death had bothered them so much? And now, they could tell, even the original vine was gone, sucked away into wherever such things went in death. They were alone now. The last homunculus.

Does that bother you?

Kimblee's voice was calm, scientific in their mind. It was an interesting question- they looked into themself, now still on the grass, trying to sort down to the root of their feelings on the situation. Was there sadness inside of them for the other immortals, the things that had shared their goals and lifestyle and existence for so many decades, the only creatures capable of understanding what it was to be the way they were? Did they mourn for their family?

No.

There were no tender spots in their heart, nothing that ached when they thought of it, only a faint sting deep in their core where the threads tying them to Father's soul had been cut, and those would fade in time. No, they did not mourn, and that made sense, did it not? Of all their siblings they had only ever loved their sister, and she had been turned to ashes long ago, they had already cried for her. And as for Father- well, they had hated him, increasingly so as the years went on, first cursing him for creating a creature such as they (made to suffer, to hate themself, and simultaneously to hate everyone else) and then later wishing him dead so his plan could not be completed, taking the one precious thing in the world to them in the Great Sacrifice…

Yes, they were glad he was dead. And the rest, they didn't matter.

I'm flattered you think me so important. A fragile and inferior mortal, so beloved by the almighty and powerful Great Serpent...

"Don't make fun of me, Kimblee," they growled into the grass, half-laughing behind their sharp words, marvelling at how the tall green stalks tickled their nose. The last homunculus, were they? Well then they were a marvel. The last member of a species that could not truly reproduce, brought to the brink of extinction. Did that not make them a precious thing, as rare shorebirds were that could no longer lay their eggs, or large cats seen only from a distance in deep jungles?

Yes, you are precious, but you have always been. A great wonder of the modern world.

"It's getting embarrassing now, having you read my thoughts. We'll have to stop that. And besides, I want to kiss you."

Yes, they wanted to kiss Kimblee very much, hold him or be held and have the realness of his body against theirs again. They craved it suddenly, craved his gaze on their skin, they wanted him to see them with his own eyes and wanted to stroke his cheekbones with the pads of their fingers. They rolled over to look up at the sky, now calculating, examining the curve of the sun and the line of the trees, thinking of what they had seen in the air and how far they had traveled from the Ishvalan camp.

Had Yamin done as they had requested, gone to the mining town as the Ishvalans sometimes did to fetch the ingredients for a human body? He had been eager, had he not?

(Water (35 L), Carbon (20 kg), Ammonia (4 L), Lime (1.5 kg), Phosphorous (800 g), Salt (250 g), Saltpeter (100 g), Sulfur (80 g), Fluorine (7.5 g), Iron (5 g), Silicon (3 g)... and trace amounts fifteen other elements.)

They ran their fingers through their hair and licked their lips, unable to sit still, they were eager for it, too. They could make the circle today, find a place for it, set it in the earth with Kimblee's help. They could fetch anything the Ishvalan alchemist was likely to forget. The day was still ripe with potential.

"We'll do it tonight." They said confidently to the summer air in the glade, and the sound of their own voice- high and clear and cutting as it should be, not weak and broken with burns- gave them such pleasure that they curled up into themself and laughed hysterically, still feeling drunk on their own success.

Yes, they would come for him tonight. When the sun set- that was a good time for such morbid rituals, was it not?