Envy adjusted the buttons on Kimblee's new suit, and his tie, and ran their fingers through his ponytail but mostly they were just holding him, pressing their bodies together under the moon and entirely unwilling to let him out of their grasp. In the relatively short amount of time it had taken him to get dressed the procession of people from the Ishvalan camp had come within human sensory range- their footsteps and the tug of brush on their clothes could be heard from here, and orange torchlight flickered between the trees. It seemed they were hurrying, and to Envy's sharper ears some conversation could be made out, murmurs of fear and anger and concern. Scar was there, they knew, and so was Marcoh. Interestingly Yamin made no attempt to call out for help, no effort to escape and follow the lights back to his people- did he think they would not accept him, after what he had done here tonight? Would they believe he had done it all entirely of his own free will? Perhaps he was right. Or perhaps he was simply catatonic with despair, not thinking to save himself because he could not think at all, reaching the depth of misery that some humans did when they were completely betrayed, and had nothing left to live for. Whatever. He didn't matter anymore. There was no value in a broken toy, he had already served his purpose.

"What shall we do with the Ishvalans?" cooed Envy in Kimblee's ear, nipping the tender flesh there with white fangs, envisualizing smoke and death akin to the great extermination in Ishval; it was Kimblee's youthful face that was making them think this way, some of their happiest times together had been during that war- and what better way was there to celebrate his rebirth than with a reenactment of it?

"Finish the noble task you gave me," said Kimblee softly, and they knew he was thinking the same, he never liked to leave anything incomplete, it rankled him somehow to have a messy work history. Perhaps he thought also of his failed mission to collect Marcoh and kill Scar; they knew that had been a sore spot for his pride, and they were more than eager to help him satisfy his ego, bloodlust in their veins spiking.

"But we should also be careful," Kimblee added, and they gave him an exaggerated frown, nuzzling up under his chin. He chucked at them. "They've beaten us both quite surely in battle before."

Envy knew he was right, but they were still raring to go, all of the excitement and arousal of the evening darkening in their body to a killing need. All of the hard work and pain was over with now, they had Kimblee back, they had themself back for that matter, and they were completely free- free from the responsibilities of Father's plans, free from the life they had led for all of the years (so many years, more than one human lifespan) that had brought them here. The possibilities of where to go next, it seemed, were endless- they had never been the decider of their own fate before, not really, and the liberation of it was wildly exciting. They wanted to play.

"I just want to have a little fun," they purred to him, and he squeezed their waist and kissed their forehead and as he did so the first of the torch-bearing Ishvalans from the forest emerged onto the rocky outcrop, shouting at the sight of them, and Envy turned their gaze from their lover to meet the group, lips peeling back instinctively into a wolflike snarl.

"You!"

It was Scar that spoke, his hands curled into fists and his muscles clenched. He was looking at Kimblee with such hatred, such righteous anger in his eyes- and the disfigurement that crossed them, the x cutting through his brows and cheekbones, who was it again that had placed it there? It was well-matched that he should meet Kimblee with such intent, they were a fitting pair, one a civilized city-man and the other a desert barbarian- but both destroyers, more alike than different in the end.

Marcoh, who stood behind Scar, let his eyes flicker between the two inhumans (or barely humans) with a strange expression on his face that turned into something like understanding; his lips parted to form a little 'oh', unheard from where they stood, and the look in his eyes was disturbed, but not afraid. What did he think he knew, the human fool? Envy growled deep in their chest, scales bubbling under their skin.

"Good evening, everyone," said Kimblee to the crowd, every inch a gentleman, refined and polite and proper. "It's a lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?" No one made any effort to reply.

The other gathered Ishvalans- for there was quite a group, all men with strong arms and many with sashes- whispered to each other, unsure perhaps of their purpose here. It was clear that many of them recognized Kimblee as Scar did, and their eyes were filled with some mixture of hatred and fear. He was quite accomplished, wasn't he, no doubt the vision of him appearing atop a building in one of Ishval's dusty cities was a nightmare for many of them. But they weren't going to be outshone. And there were others- younger men, some of them little more then babes- who did not have quite the same level of reverence. They would show these humans who was on top of the world; if nothing else, they would prove themself tonight, for it could certainly be said that they loved doing that- even if, occasionally, at their own expense.

"Hey!" they called, unable to keep a bit of a giggle from their voice. "All of you gathered back there, do you know why you're here? Did they tell you who we are?"

Scar glared at them terribly when they said that, the veins in his arms bulging, and Kimblee let out a soft little laugh. The Ishvalans whispered amongst themselves, the fire from their torches dim compared to the moonlight, which seemed an eerily perfect stream of iridescent white, clearer than the average nights that had come before it. The humans were afraid. A great big mob of brutal men, ascending the mountain to face evil under the stars, and not one of them had the stomach nor the power to deal with it.

"Really? None of you know who we are?" they shrieked, their voice coming loose at the hinges, unbalanced and insane. Scar took a step forward, raising his destructive arm and cracking his knuckles, closing the gap between the two groups on the cliff.

"Speak if you will, monster," he said, his voice deep and commanding. "Have your peace before I send you to your maker."

Now that was especially funny, the serious way he had said it and the words he had used. Their maker was dead, had he not seen to that? Or did he truly believe that something like them was mastered by some kind of god? And he wouldn't succeed, anyway. He had little hope of taking them both together.

"I want everyone back there to listen closely! I want you all to know who has triumphed over you tonight!" They felt crazy as they said that, wildness pumping in their veins, like they were intoxicated on some kind of high-level stimulant, purple smoke inhaled from pearl pipes or crystal powder injected in human veins. They took a step back from Kimblee and made a mocking bow to him, holding one hand out to gesture to his elegant stance, his regal but unassuming posture. A gentleman, a nobleman, really. And he was looking at them with such a sweet, adoring expression in his eyes.

"This is the Crimson Alchemist! He was one of the leading State Alchemists in Ishval, awarded for his initiative, creativity, and body count. I'm sure many of your friends and family members were blown to smithereens under his talented hands!" The Ishvalans looked disturbed, some faces defiant and others fearful, but they weren't done yet. As they said the next part they met Marcoh's gaze deliberately, smiling at him wickedly, as this was for him. "And now by me he has been rendered immortal, and doubly powerful, so you can rest assured that his work isn't over yet!"

Marcoh's eyes widened quite impressively as the implications of what they had said settled in, and he reached out to Scar as though he wished to pull him back, suddenly fearing they had bitten off more than could be chewed, but Envy kept talking; their voice carried inhumanly loud over the heads of the crowd, cutting the wind into ribbons. They stood straight again, and put their hands to their own chest.

"And I am the Great Serpent, Invidia, Envy the Bizarre! I'm the one who started the extermination! I destroyed Ishval!" Not alone of course, and not inherently by their own choosing- it had been just another part of Father's plan- but it was so satisfying to behave this way, to see how humans' expressions changed. Honesty was just as much fun as deception, under the proper circumstances.

And Scar by now looked borderline insane with rage, his fists were shaking and his jaw was tight, and he took another step closer, trying to regain the cold executioner's attitude he had possessed before.

"It is good that you have confessed," he said through clenched teeth, his voice trembling under the weight of his anger. "But for those crimes you do not deserve the chance to pray."

He raised his palm, his muscles visibly tight in preparation for slamming it into the ground and Envy opened their mouth to say something- some thoughtless poison, they knew not what- and the world was suddenly rocked with the force of a terrible explosion- but it had not been Scar's, Kimblee had been too fast for him.

The transmutation ripped through the stoney ground with earthshattering violence, rending even the air in pieces with the sheer power of it; splitting tree trunks and crushing rocks and turning the right-side up upside down. Remaking the natural world that had been as it was for centuries into a new image. Screams of human fear and pain accompanied the roaring of destroyed terrain, the sounds of limbs torn away and bones squashed like the exoskeletons of insects, of death and unrecoverable mutilation. It was a perfect imitation of any day in Ishval, save the chill in the north wind. It was beautiful, exactly what they had always wanted; or rather, did they not describe instead the look on Kimblee's face as he beheld it?

Before the world could stop shaking Envy changed themself, skin twisting into scales and spine elongating, human jaw thrusting forward to become a snout, hands contorting into claws- and as the dust cleared they coiled themself elegantly around Kimblee, their figure now that of a tremendous Xingese dragon. A serpent, like they had said, but a little prettier than their true self- and, more importantly, also capable of flight. An enchanting (and terrifying) sight they were sure.

They let out an inhuman scream over the ruined hilltop, like the wail of a banshee, releasing all of their crazed and wanton emotions with a fury fitting of their inner nature- the sound was loud enough for even Kimblee to cringe a little, putting one hand to his ear and giving them an exasperated look which easily melted into satisfaction as he gazed out upon his handiwork.

Most of the Ishvalan men must have died. There were bits of human scattered everywhere, fragments of skin and bone peeking out from cracks in the ground or underneath overturned rocks, blood staining the earth. Those that did breath did so weakly, brokenly, there were only a few of them and many would not live to see the sunrise, their injuries too great to maintain. Drifting forwards with their huge maned head and opalescent eyes they surveyed the wreckage for familiar faces; Scar was unconscious and bleeding in multiple places, no matter, let him live or die as he would. But Marcoh, yes, they wanted to spare Marcoh, and Yamin too- he was behind them, safe from the conelike radius of Kimblee's explosion. Those two men were much alike, both spineless and pathetic little creatures, alchemists that Envy had whipped to their will. Both men that would suffer greatly to be the survivors of an event like this, like kind that would blame themselves for what had happened, that would be consumed with guilt and misery for the rest of their lives. They wanted those two to live, for such an end was a thousand times more satisfying than a simple death. A sadistic little bitch, Greed used to call them that when he was especially struck by their actions- it was what he would say if he could see them now. And there, Marcoh was trying to lift himself from the rubble, bleeding from his temple and cradling a crushed hand- but otherwise fine, that was good, exactly how they wanted it. His deformed face stared up at them, his whole body fitting within the shadow of their dragonine head, and his expression was strangely devoid of emotion. Perhaps the situation hadn't registered fully to him yet. Or perhaps he was accepting of it all, understanding how futile it was to be angry with them. Had he thought that because he had seen them naked and weak- kept in a jar like an exotic pet- that they were of no consequence, that their actions were forever invalidated from that moment on? No. They wouldn't be trifled with. They were now the oldest being in existence on the physical plane, and they would not be humiliated again. Perhaps, to amuse themself, they would spite him some more.

Turning away they curled through the air back to Kimblee. It was fun being in this shape, moving through the empty space like a fish would in water, swimming through the sky. And they could do it despite being so dense, and so strong, appearing to weigh nothing when they weighed so much, it was a marvellous deception. When they reached him he patted the thick and iridescent fur along their chin, smiling at them as he always did (his expression never changed, no matter what they looked like). Yamin, still alive (whatever organs had been ripped from him in the transmutation would be survivable without, his insides would rearrange themselves as necessary, the Gate would never take a life as a toll- though it would make the remaining life into one of great suffering), was mumbling something to himself, he was of little consequence, the sound simply adding to the orchestra of moans and whimpers and crumbling rock permeating the air around them. Kimblee turned his head, mild and curious, the palms of his hands- which had created this spectacular mess of death and destruction just moments before- exploring the gleaming green scales of their throat.

"Where to next?" he asked, and the question was a potent one, though they had an immediate answer.

"To the camp," they replied, their words distorted by their shape, a sound like many human voices at different pitches all speaking at once. "I want to destroy it."

They wanted to leave nothing for these survivors to go back to. They wanted to put a scourge in the land here, to prove that they had existed, that they had won. It would make the humans hate them, of course, but they would be feared as well. Too many of those in Central had seen them in unflattering positions; they wanted to be remembered as a powerful and beautiful creature, capable of great evil and worthy of being considered a foe, not a disgusting little worm, a helpless and pathetic thing. They were ashamed of that.

They lowered themself to hover just inches from the ground, slithering forward to bare their back to Kimblee, answering his unspoken question- and to the gesture Kimblee laughed, openly and with a touch of charmed surprise, and he swung his leg over their spine to straddle their thickly muscled body, his hands gripping their mane.

"I didn't know I was going to be riding today," he said with the attitude of a horsemaster, though his posture was unsteady on their serpentine back. "I would have worn something more appropriate."

To tease him they shook their head a little, the muscles in their back writhing, letting him startle a bit and clutch them tighter. But when they flew they did it gently, sliding through the air like an eel, making the undulating of their body as smooth as they could. Now, as the ground descended beneath them, pulling into the distance and shrinking to a toylike appearance they could tell Kimblee was enjoying himself- that was right, it was the first time he had flown, wasn't it? This was what humans dreamed of, both in wake and sleep. The beauty of the moment was not lost on them; the night sky was clear and speckled with brilliant stars, the moonlight a pure and bright white light illuminating the treetops beneath them with a cold grace. Kimblee's body was warm on their back, and they loved him, and they were free.

When the Ishvalan camp came into view they were eager to unleash some violence of their own- from deep within the pit of their stomach they pulled fire, breathing it onto the flammable tents with huge and belching roars (drawing on different mythologies for the nature of their body, they knew, but they didn't care). They swiped back and forth across the camp like this a few times before landing, to ensure that the entire thing was burning, burning like they had burned, consider it to a degree an act of revenge. Women screamed and babies cried, human bodies rushing into crowded streets, the untidy infrastructure now working against the Ishvalans as they trapped themselves in piles of panic, easily snapped at by Envy's huge jaws or crushed by a strike of their tail. It was rather childish of them they knew, stomping around in a playground and knocking over the little houses of sticks, but it was fun anyway. It was exactly the kind of release they had been looking for. Kimblee helped some, his explosions setting off delightful cascades of sound amongst the symphony of screams and destruction, but mostly he just watched, letting them enjoy themself. It was a messy thing, this, as messy as the act up on the hill- there could be survivors, and there would be literal tons of evidence, it was rather unlike all of their previous operations which had relied on precise execution and cleverness, often overseen in recent years by the cold and calculating rage of Wrath. But there were no tricks here, no strategy. It was blatant and ridiculous and unimaginably fun.

They were out of breath by the time it was over, feeling the exhaustion of a good workout setting in, and the light in the sky was changing almost imperceptibly to reflect the coming dawn. All of the humans had stopped screaming, their bodies squished under Envy's taloned feet and bare belly, and the fire had started to settle down, only burning in a few places where there was still fuel to kindle. Kimblee walked through the wreckage as a wealthy tourist would a flower garden, his hands in his pockets and his white suit surprisingly unstained by blood or soot. He made such a fine image, their heart swelled at the sight of it. It was easy to remember how they had fallen in love with him. They felt they were doing it all over again now.

Seeming to sense their change of mood he looked up at them, that familiar easy smile on his face. They wanted to live with him forever.

"Are you happy now?" he asked.

Yes. Yes, they were very happy, now.