Envy's cold fingers reached out through the lightning-stung air, grasping for purchase in the rock, moving forward until they came into contact with soft skin. Bare human skin, slightly warm, that was a wrist they were touching- reaching along it they entwined their fingers between those that they felt, and yes, that made their heart jump in their chest because it was exactly how they remembered; or almost exactly, too slack, that familiar hand not grasping back as it should have.
And now the moonlight was coming through properly again, their eyes were clearing off the stains and sparks from the transmutation, readjusting to the dark so they could better see. They trailed their hands up the bare chest of the doll lying in the circle, admiring how accurate it was, how the muscles were the same as those they had touched during the intimate moments of so many nights before. Adoring how the shoulders connected down into the collarbones in exactly the same way, an identical precise curve. The skin the same texture, the same temperature. They ran their hands through its hair, silky and clean black locks, stroked its eyelids and strong cheekbones with the pads of their fingers. It was an exact replica, and living too, they could feel its steady resting heartbeat and soft breathing and the unhindered rush of blood flowing through its veins. Alive but soulless, needing still to be filled.
"It's perfect, Kimblee," they purred, unable to stop touching it, letting their hands run everywhere like wild horses, their eyes catching on different patches of skin, little marks here and there, the exact and ingrained black tattoos on its palms. Though- and they caught this as their gaze flickered over the lines on its face, there was something slightly off- was this thing not more accurate to the Kimblee from Ishval, dare they say it, even from slightly before the war, not yet weathered by time and prison and loss?
"Made yourself a little younger, did you?" they teased.
You're one to talk. How old are you, now? 177? Ancient thing, lecherous crone.
They tossed their head back and laughed outright at that, now straddling the naked Kimblee-doll, looking every part a witch from legend- somewhere, during the transformation their hold on the Disguise had slipped, reverting to what was most natural for them, they no longer wore the sweeping Ishvalan robes but rather their preferred, cute outfit instead, which made their combined image under the cold moon much more sensuous. The sound of their amusement caused Yamin, forgotten until just then, to stir- he shuffled on the grass and made a strange wet coughing sound, like his lungs were full of mucus, or blood.
"Karyme…" he rasped, it was a wet and choked sound, and they giggled dumbly at him, noticing with some interest that all of his limbs were still intact- the Gate must have taken something from within, then. He was trembling, looking up at them with such uncomprehending eyes, tongue and teeth slick with blood and gaping like a fish. His fingers scrabbled across the rocks towards them, searching for something that was not there. He said his wife's name again, like a broken record player, despair beginning to curl into his words as the realization of what must have happened started to settle into his mind.
"Sorry," they cooed to him, their tone not sorry at all. "It's not what you wanted. But you have to understand, right? You would never have gone through with it if you knew it was my lover we were bringing back from the dead."
Yamin's body started to shake more, releasing hacking wet sobs that brought floods of dark and clotted blood to his lips, strings of it clutching to his chin. They rolled their eyes at him, already becoming disinterested in his pain, it was so typical and expected. And besides, the task was not complete- it was their turn to do the work, now. They could feel their body hardening in preparation for what was to come, muscles tightening, getting ready to accept the pain. They touched the doll's warm chest again, comforted by the feeling of its heartbeat, and inhaled.
"You ready for this, Kimblee?'
Whenever you are.
Envy bent over the doll, cupping its expressionless face gently with their hand, and closed their eyes. Reaching in, deep inside, to the core of their being for this next task. They didn't know the technique for this specifically- but they knew it was possible, just like anything was possible, they had seen Father do it again and again and he had never flinched. All they had to do was visualize it properly, what they wanted to have happen, and it would be enough.
It's my Stone, I can do what I want with it.
Yes, even break the thing in half.
They could see it in their mind's eye- round, whole and glistening, connected by so many flesh-like tubes into their body, lighting up the darkness of their insides. They envisioned the divide, forcing the image onto reality and then it happened, oh God it was excruciating this pain as they carved themself in two, bone-rending as the shocks of it went through their body, but the horrible feeling was nothing to what Mustang had done to them- a candle in the face of that inferno. So they held on through it, it was terrible but it wasn't so bad, and after all, they were doing it for love- or some other silly reason like that.
The second half of the divided Stone was unwilling to drag itself away, strings clinging stickily to their insides, but they forced it out of their chest and onto their tongue, snapping all the remaining ties ruthlessly. This part had never been theirs to keep originally, all the souls were from Marcoh's little crystal- and Kimblee was there as well, of course.
Now the pain of the act was fading, leaving them with a cold and slightly empty feeling in their chest, not only for the split but because they couldn't really feel Kimblee inside anymore, gathered as he was on the tip of their tongue. Gently, for now their breathing came easier, they bent down and pressed their lips to those of the doll, kissing it deeply to pass the power over joint tongues, letting it break contact with their body forever.
Envy moaned a little into the slack mouth, now opening their eyes to watch its face, breathless and suddenly afraid- they couldn't hear Kimblee inside them anymore, they had no way of talking to him, how would they know if he was not alright? What if something had gone wrong, what would they do, what could they possibly do now without him-
Behind closed lids Kimblee's eyes flickered, and suddenly his mouth was pressed up against theirs, kissing them back, and the feeling of it filled them with such a rush of inescapable joy they almost cried. His arms were wrapping around their waist, running over the hard muscle of their belly and back, pulling their pelvis to his so they could feel him becoming aroused, the kiss a fierce and deep entanglement of tongues. Reaching up with strong, real fingers- and that was the miraculous part of it, that they were so physical after all this time without that contact- he gathered a fistful of their hair and pulled it; willing, they let their head roll back (he was not strong enough to actually move them, no one was save maybe their dead little brother Sloth, the imitation of the act had to be enough) and he lavished their throat and jaw bones with burning lips and scraping teeth, releasing a flood of breathy noises from their mouth.
Yamin was sobbing a little off to the side- how obscene it was, breaking his heart and destroying his trust and then putting on a display like this, wanton longing and serpentine entanglement and desperate reunion. But they couldn't help themself even if they had wanted to, it felt so good, having Kimblee there with them again, and they were very seriously considering shedding the last of their constructed clothes like snakeskin and being with him right then and there, letting the cold moon and the dying man on the rocks be a witness to their victory. Kimblee certainly wanted it, his fingers prying up under the waistband of their shorts and picking at the seam of their top, fluttering everywhere, unable to stop touching as he had in their mind only now it was all real and he was physically there and that made everything so much better.
But a sound suddenly caught in their sharp ears, other than Yamin's broken crying and the erotic noises of their coupling and the expected blanket of night ambiance in the woods- a disturbance. Something was coming, something not designed for passing naturally through the terrain, an inelegant human approach. Yes, that would make sense, they weren't truly so far from the Ishvalan camp, the red light of the transmutation would have been visible from there against the blackness of the sky, and those familiar with alchemy would have known exactly what it was.
They peeled their head away from Kimblee's and sighed, and he gripped more tightly to them with curiosity in his flat blue eyes, no longer able to read their thoughts to answer his questions. "What is it?" he asked, and his voice was perfect too, exactly as they remembered it. They smiled at him, sharp teeth, running their fingers over his kiss-swollen lips, admiring how the Stone had changed his body to better suit it; still as he was, but also more like they were, whiter and harder and glittering in the cold light. Immortal, or nearly, his heart was made of the Red Stone now, and he had power beyond any human imagining.
"We have some company," they purred, looking into the dark trees with powerful eyes, and Kimblee gripped their thighs firmly with his hands, the tattoos designed for killing pressed into their flesh. He smiled up at them, entirely radiant with his skin glowing and his hair loose around his shoulders, the image of the man he had been in Ishval- free, and full of power, like a god capable of choosing who lived and who died. The conductor, was what he would say, what he had always called it.
"Then we should give them a proper welcome," he replied.