Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

- x -

It had been a mistake to bring him here.

Edward brought the car to a rolling stop, just staring out the windshield. The still-functioning part of his brain noted they were going to have to cover the rest of the distance on foot.

Rather ironically, they were only a few blocks west of Cobb Road, on Plantir Avenue, which Alphonse had reconstructed just last month. It was in ruin. Twisted lumps of metal Edward assumed had once been cars were grafted into the pavement, which in turn seemed to have mixed with the brick of the buildings like half-melted ice cream. The road resembled a child's unmade bed. It was impossible terrain for their car to traverse.

It was impossible terrain period.

Even if he'd wanted to, he wasn't sure he had the power to transmute that amount of material that quickly. Given the distance dust and smoke had been kicked up into the air, he would say the destruction began only twenty to thirty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes . . .

If this Fusing Alchemist didn't have a Stone, whatever it was was worth getting their hands on.

Edward was jarred out of his thoughts by the sound of the passenger door slamming. Mustang had pulled off his Parliament uniform jacket; it lay forgotten in the seat beside Edward. Its previous occupant was already jogging down the sidewalk.

Shit. The idiot actually thought he was going to fight.

"Roy!" Yelling for 'Mustang' or 'Minister' was likely a bad idea, considering he was still conspicuous enough in his dress white shirt and blood-soaked gauze eyepatch. But much like the last time parts of the city had been reduced to rubble, there were few civilians actually still present on the streets. Most seemed to have already fled; he could hear scattered automatic fire, so obviously the military was attempting to handle the situation.

Was he going to rally the troops, as it were? Or merely determine exactly what was going on?

An alchemist was destroying sections of the city. That part was obvious.

The question was why.

Edward hopped out of the car, suppressing a wince at his throbbing rib, and he made a fist inside his armor. He already felt guilty enough about how that fight had ended, and it was clear he'd been the one needing protection, not the other way around. He'd followed Mustang without entertaining the thought that he might become a liability. Hawkeye would still have failed to back Mustang up no matter how it happened, but –

But there had to be another way.

There had to have been a way to get out of that room without killing that woman. She was probably the old man's housekeeper, she didn't have the power to be an apprentice and –

Ed slammed the door shut, leaping a cresting wave of frozen cement and breaking into a run.

And there was no time to worry about it now. There were bigger problems.

From the look of the street, much bigger problems.

Mustang had ducked into one of the twisted storefronts, a shop Ed recalled sold cigars. Its sign was nowhere to be seen, and there was too much smoke and dust in the air to smell the fragrant tobacco. He followed, crunching over shattered glass and dodging the largest cracks in the cobbled pavement. Just as he'd reached the half-collapsed building, Mustang reappeared in what had once been the large shop window, holding something –

A small box.

"You really think pipe-smoke will distract them?" he quipped, as the two began to run towards the sound of gunfire. How in the hell was he going to tell Mustang to sit this one out? The man didn't even have his ignition gloves. Not only did he not have a circle, he didn't even –

It was a hundred-count box of matches, clenched in Roy's hand. Not just a book.

Bastard just didn't know when to quit.

And neither do you, his brain muttered at him. You can't even transmute things properly. He'd considered twice shucking the armor, but now that they were about to charge into military central, it seemed a bad idea -

Mustang frowned at him as they hopped a particularly large chasm in the sidewalk. "Give it a rest, Fullmetal. I'm not in the mood."

It was the first time the man had made a joke, even one in a bad humor.

A small alarm bell went off, somewhere in Ed's memory, even as he slipped on an unexpected plain of mud. The queasy feeling had returned as soon as they'd seen the smoke and dust over the city, and it was getting worse with every step.

Mustang wasn't planning on just organizing his troops.

He was planning on taking care of this problem himself.

At this point, it was going to be obvious that an amplifier of some kind was in use. Even Hakuro would be able to tell that. Any hope of quashing the rumor of a Philosopher's Stone in use in Amestris was well and truly gone, so there was no reason for him to risk his life -

"Your priority is the civilians," Mustang continued, dodging around a piece of debris. They were about to reach the intersection where most of the activity seemed to be originating. "Protect them and get them out."

Leaving him to take on the other alchemist alone? "Roy -"

His voice was so ragged half the words were inaudible. "That's an order, Fullmetal!"

The repetition of his title got his attention, which was obviously Mustang's intent, but Ed fought back the urge to just shut up and obey.

It was extremely easy. It always had been.

"Can you even transmute in this condition?" Telling Mustang he was going to get himself killed was going to fall on deaf ears. He already knew that. And he couldn't well ask the man to leave it to him; he'd given such a good account of his own combat skills not two hours ago –

Even as he asked, the blood that had been gathering behind the soaked gauze of Roy's left eye socket finally spilled down his face in a thick tear. As they rounded the corner, Roy brushed it off his cheek with his thumb, using it to begin drawing on the back of his left hand.

So he was serious.

Ed let it go, slowing and eyeing the suddenly smooth pavement suspiciously. They were on Tracer, a large avenue that functioned to separate downtown from east Central. Despite the condition of the street behind him, this part of the city was completely intact.

He expected that to change immediately.

A few scattered blue Amestrian military uniforms were ducked behind cars, around the corners of buildings, even crouched behind the ornate parkway benches. Their target was walking down the center of the street as if he owned it, completely oblivious to the flying bullets. With every slug of lead that flew towards the strolling figure, there would be a sudden crackle of alchemic energy before a transparent polygon would shimmer into existence, apparently blocking the bullet.

Was he concentrating air to make them? They seemed to honeycomb around him in a sphere; Edward could see them flashing on all sides as the man walked towards the soldiers that were trying to cut him off.

And it wasn't just soldiers. At the end of the street, unmoving, stood the unmistakable shape of Alex Louis Armstrong. He was flanked on either side by two other figures of non-remarkable height, too far away to identify.

Possibly the Tringums. The corner of Tracer and Plantir was only two blocks from their apartment building.

He and Roy began running again, and as they approached the attacking alchemist from behind, Ed realized it wasn't just the man's walking that bothered him. If the old man had a Stone, it wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that he could have retrieved his legs from the Gate.

It was his hair.

The figure with his back to them was obviously a he, and his head was dark. His posture was completely different, but if he didn't know better –

He'd think it was the old man's apprentice, the one that had tried to slam a door in his face.

That's why it was such a mess.

This was just a diversion.

Clearly Mustang had had the same thought; the two exchanged a glance even as they passed the first holed up soldier.

"Find the old man!" He probably wouldn't have heard the shout at all if he hadn't been as close to Mustang as he was.

Even if the alchemist's assistant had an amplifier, with Armstrong and at least two other National Alchemists present, this wasn't going to take long. "After we take care of him!" The real battle was going to be with the old man, from what Mustang had revealed.

And this way he could leave Roy here, with the soldiers. If nothing else, he and Armstrong could guilt Mustang into returning to Parliament just to prove he was still alive.

At least now they knew how one man could be responsible for the half-dozen fires they'd seen, approaching the city. There were two of them.

It still didn't answer the why.

He heard an attempted shout, but he didn't take his eyes off the figure they were fast approaching. It was hard to relate this confident, unhurried man with the one he'd met less than eight hours ago. If this guy was able to predict where bullets were going to fly, and still solidify air prior to their arrival –

Transmuting faster than bullets was extremely dangerous, and extremely difficult. No one was brilliant enough to do so while continuing to walk as though nothing was happening.

Not even Edward himself. Every time he'd done it, he'd managed it only by the seat of his pants.

So this alchemist must be continually sustaining a sphere of air around him as armor, and only when the bullets struck and displaced the thick air did the reaction occur, recreating the 'tile' in his dome. The alchemic energy was visible after the bullet hit, not before.

If he truly was covered by invisible armor, Armstrong didn't stand a chance.

No one could touch him until that sphere was eliminated. It seemed to be at least five feet around him in every direction, allowing for plenty of air inside his bubble as well as some protection of the ground he was walking across.

But did it go under . . . ?

As soon as they were in range, he clapped his hands, dropping to the street. There was no point in feeling the situation out – he suspected anyone who could transmute and sustain a thickened cloud of air around them without apparent thought or attention would notice instantly, and if it was an opening, it would disappear. Again, Mustang screamed something at him, but as voiceless as he was, Edward couldn't hear it over the bullets. He was careful not to let his armored hand touch the ground, for fear whatever had been done to it would make his transmutation unpredictable.

If the man had an amplifier, it was physically separate from his body. All he had to do was use the dirt to strip the man down to his skin, then put some physical distance between the two bundles. He knew there would be a pretty extensive sewer system, so he couldn't go too far down without giving the alchemist an escape route. Perhaps pushing him up high on a pillar of rock, and letting his clothes drop to the ground below? That way, even if he did transmute himself an exit, he'd just fall, or at the very least have to scramble to transmute himself out of the predicament, wasting his advantage.

And it might make him drop the condensed air armor. It was that or be crushed against it.

Without wasting another thought, he gathered the dirt and rock beneath the street, sending it into the air in a thirty foot geyser.

Or at least that was his intention.

For a brief second, everything went according to plan. He was able to grab solid rock and concrete without delving too deeply into the city below Central or threatening the stability of the street, and he'd been right; there was no protection beneath the other alchemist. He could feel the ingredients swirling around a human body, and he added a twist, just to further disorient the alchemist trapped inside.

Then he started meeting resistance.

It was like nothing he'd ever felt. It suddenly took three times the energy to sustain the reaction. Very few times, even when he was a child, could he recall alchemy taking physical effort. On those times, he'd felt his heart pounding in his ears, as if he'd just run or carried an enormous burden.

This took physical effort. He could feel it in his chest, even before his heart rate went up. It wasn't just concentration.

He had never tried to complete a reaction with less energy than he'd gathered when he started it. He assumed it would fail. And even as he concentrated harder, blocking out everything, he could feel his control of the molecules slipping.

However, it appeared that whatever he was experiencing, the other alchemist was as well.

Ed glanced up in time to see the first ten or so feet of rock column shooting towards the sky, spinning rapidly. The amount of spin was the first thing to be slowed, as he no longer had the energy to sustain the momentum. It didn't matter; the condensed air armor was no longer visible, and to his right, he could see Mustang had his left hand raised, the circle on the back glowing a steady blue.

He was preventing the other alchemist from re-forming it.

From his crouched position he could see Armstrong clearly; with a roar the Strong Arm Alchemist pounded his fists into the dirt. The moment he did so, Edward could feel the resistance Alex met.

Feedback, he realized abruptly. They were feeling feedback.

The column stopped rotating with a shudder, and almost faster than he could blink, five strings fell away from the main structure like octopus arms. Edward abandoned his transmutation, leaping to his left and rolling twice before landing in a sprint. He clapped his hands as he came up, in the off chance the rock-tentacle had followed him –

Something struck the ground right behind him with enough force to send him sprawling, and he used his prepared transmutation to cause a wave of pavement to carry him away. He was only able to ride it for a moment before he felt the same resistance, and this time he didn't even try to fight it. The wave beneath him suddenly tried to fold around him, forcing him to roll to his right, and he clapped his hands again –

Only this time his right hand – his armored hand – was the first to strike the rock.

He didn't have enough time to bring his left into play before he was completely enfolded in concrete.

It curled around him tightly enough to hurt, and the rib that had been cracked earlier creaked within his chest. His right hand was still touching the materials he'd been intending to transmute, though, and he forced a hole to clear, tucking himself into a ball. As luck would have it, he'd correctly guessed which way was down.

It was just down a little further then he remembered it.

Edward hit the pavement hard, taking the majority of the force on his left shoulder and allowing himself to tumble to try to spread it out. Again, he managed to get his feet under him, and again, he prepared to decompose silicone, tar, and the twelve or so other chemicals that made up the vast majority of current pavement.

Luckily, it seemed the alchemist had more important things to worry about. His attention could only be stretched so far.

Edward took a brief moment to gather his bearings. He'd been spun so that he was now facing the end of the street he'd approached from, and should have been on the same side of the alchemist as Armstrong and his colleagues. He was shocked to see that Alex was no more than six feet away, bodily holding back the rock tentacle that had been aimed for him. He was crouched low over a fallen figure, facing away from the column of stone and using his broad back and right arm to hold off the rock as it fought to crush him, waggling back and forth.

The body that lay at his feet was a redhead, quite young, and someone Edward knew well.

Franklin Sorn, the Mechanical Alchemist. It was both a play on his flavor of alchemy, which was to transmute things that had a mechanical or physical function, such as a catapult, as well as his ability to regurgitate knowledge at will without an apparent need for sleep. Franklin was possibly smarter even than he and Al had been at his age.

And he had not successfully dodged his attacker.

To Ed's left lay another bloodied body, one that Armstrong had not moved to protect. A simple glance at the angle at which the man's neck was bent gave ample reason why.

Which meant Franklin was probably still alive.

And Philip Kirby, the Glass Alchemist, was not.

Edward sprinted for them, stretching his right hand out. The red glow of a decomposition began, and Armstrong grunted his thanks as the stone powdered behind him. The alchemist in the column abandoned it, letting it fall to the ground with a thunderous crack.

Which meant the alchemist's apprentice was now concentrating on Roy.

"Take him and go!" he called to the gasping Strong Arm Alchemist, and without a second thought he brought his hands together again, this time creating a column of his own. He would fight stone with like-sized stone.

Despite the obvious powergap, and the strange feedback they were generating as they fought, it was clear the alchemist's apprentice was not a seasoned fighter. He seemed unable to get his previous impervious confidence back, and he also seemed unable to give more than peripheral attention to more than one opponent at a time.

He was, however, striking out without remorse or pity. He finally had some power, and now he was going to make everyone sorry? Was this destruction no more than the petty, power-crazed rampage of a downtrodden assistant?

He'd killed Kirby. With one blow.

Was every street, every fire burning the site where this man had murdered a State Alchemist?

The alchemist's assistant was housed inside the column of pavement, staring out an arched window as if he was merely standing in a watchtower. He didn't appear to be successfully containing Roy, however; Ed could see that Mustang had broken out the box of matches and was putting them to good use. Even as he manipulated his column of stone to fall towards the other alchemists', a flurry of healthy-sized fireballs went flying at the transmuted window, forcing the alchemist to seal it or be burned. Angrily, he watched the young man fling out an arm, and another string of the column broke apart, mimicking his movement.

Mustang ducked and rolled beneath the ill-aimed swipe.

He also got himself out of the path of the column Ed was now toppling.

The two columns collided, the momentum of weight of Ed's forcing the other alchemist to compensate or lose control of his own. He used that opportunity to press forward, transmuting a throwing spear as he ran. When he had it at the right weight he hefted it from the ground, using the armor's leverage system to hurl it towards the man.

The apprentice wasn't a soldier. He had courage because he'd thought he was untouchable. But now that he'd been challenged, that false bravado was going to start shifting into the realization that raw power wasn't the only way to win a fight.

And it wasn't very likely the spear was going to get to him, anyway. He just wanted to scare him.

Hopefully they could get it away from him before he killed anyone else.

The column spun as Ed's rock crashed against it, spinning the open doorway in a lazy circle. Ed's throw had been true; it was the right height, and as the column came fully around, rather than hitting the frame of the aperture, as Edward had intended, it actually passed through.

There was no compressed air to stop it.

There was no stone to stop it.

There hadn't even been time to see it coming.

The column smashed to the ground, the force of it shattering what few intact windows still survived on the street. In the ensuing dust cloud Ed lost track of Mustang, and he turned to his right, trying to get a bead on Armstrong. Alex had accepted the order, and he could barely make out the giant man carrying a much smaller figure to safety.

Hopefully Franklin was just knocked out. In a way, he was relieved it hadn't been the Tringums, but the fact that they were missing, and areas so close to their apartment building had already been demolished –

Had they already fought, and already lost?

And where was Al? If he'd been working Cobbs Road like he'd intended –

Maybe he'd stayed in Central when they'd turned up missing. Maybe he was still in the Capitol Building, or facing the old alchemist.

The settling rocks drew Edward's attention back to the fallen pavement, and a brief but blinding line of yellow light flashed out, moving in a horizontal pattern from the ground to about five and a half feet high. Without context it just seemed current climbing a transistor, but the very sight of it dropped Ed's stomach into the vicinity of his ankles.

That was impossible.

Before the light had even died, a figure stepped out of the dust and smoke. In his hands he held Ed's transmuted spear. The handle was stained with blood. When his face came into view, Edward could see it really was the same apprentice. His expression was shocked, but it was quickly changing to something else.

Glee.

Edward had seen that reaction before.

Envy had used that reaction to change his shape. Or to heal his wounds.

The apprentice had just performed human transmutation.

On himself.

The man caught Edward staring at him, meeting his eyes before recognition lit them.

"Still feeling sick?"

And then he began to laugh.

- x -

Author's Notes: Cliffies, cliffies, everywhere, and not a drop to drink! This chapter was HARD. I certainly hope it's not a bad read, but for some reason it was the hardest chapter yet. I have found a lot of typos, so I expect I got most of them, and I apologize in advance! I also apologize for the lateness. I can't keep my posting schedule. Stupid work.