No Compromises
In the microcosm of the moment, Roy Mustang was completely aware of the world around him. His mind worked at lightning speed, analyzing the components of the surrounding air. Taking them apart and rebuilding them as pockets of enriched oxygen.
It was a precision dance, creating the bubbles, getting the spark to them at just the right instant before their potency dispersed into the wind. This was what he was good at.
He had proved it unequivocally during the State Alchemist trials. There were many good candidates whom had reached the exhibition portion. He had played the part expected of him, putting on a show as he stepped out with a lighter in hand, unwilling to immediately give away all the secrets of his white gloves with the transmutation circles stitched in them.
With the flick of the lighter, a single spark was all he needed to create malleable flame. It was like a game, bending it, twisting it about with alchemic control not shown by others vying for that one, coveted spot as a State Alchemist. Where he required a single, all-purpose array and a sharp mind, they had drawn various transmutation circles, struggled to create fanciful objects of no real importance to the State or its military. Reaching back through a lifetime of alchemic studies, he too could have created towers and statuary, rebuilt broken objects and even filled the exhibition grounds with a flood of colorful flowers. Yes, those skills were a part of his repertoire, but far from as great or refined as his skill controlling flame was.
Making a plant grow and bloom would not serve him here. He would not waste this chance with the mundane.
Some alchemists had tried many times for State certification, but Roy had known this would be his only attempt.
The Fuhrer and the high-ranking alchemists standing at either side would not deny him.
Though they watched with almost unaffected expressions as he danced the flames about, snaking them between the men, Roy was not concerned.
He was younger than most who had performed for the trials. The others were seeking the extraordinary research funds they would receive along with their State title. He could feel the heat of envy in their eyes as he brought the fiery dance to a carefully controlled end. Calmly he closed the lighter and pocketed it.
Basque Grand stepped forward to say something.
Roy was not yet finished.
The words were cut off by a single snap followed by dozens of small, yet precise explosions that sent men scurrying to protect the Fuhrer who stood there unfazed amongst it all as if expecting this last bit of show.
The anger that lit Grand's face was quickly replaced by a hungry look.
A look that Roy would learn to hate, as he would be forced out onto the battlefield day after day, but at that moment, that was all he desired.
He never hesitated. Mission followed by mission for weeks on end without a break, but he never let them see his reticence for doing his duty. In truth, the devil inside that liked to watch the fire dance would never pause. He followed orders without question, because the military leaders were doing what was best for the State.
The smoke was still a part of him, ingrained in his skin; the ash still filled his lungs even years after the war had ended. His senses were tainted with the sweet, sickly smell of burned flesh. When his mind was still, he could still hear the gunfire from the shooters that surrounded him and the Ishbalan who only wanted to take his life.
Sometimes, he jerked, the sound so close it was startling, and yet, he was not afraid of the bullets.
A pained yelp to his left tore into his thoughts.
Instantly, his mind crossed from the pain-filled haze back into the sharpness of the moment. His actions were quick and without falter. He locked eyes with the deep reds of their attacker.
Only briefly.
snap
Flames, like an ancient serpent, quickly coiled around the tattooed man. With an insatiable fire, it closed in on the man, the heat so intense, the Ishbalan never had a chance to scream.
The familiar smell of death was tinged by the toxic stench of gas fumes. Just as the burning man collapsed dangerously close, Roy grabbed Hawkeye's still form and rolled her onto her side. Blood oozed from a deep gash above her right brow.
He twisted around, looking desperately about. To his back was the shattered remains of the car, large jagged spears of glass protruded from the shattered windows and had torn through the metal body as if it had been merely cloth.
Reflecting in the light of the burning body, liquids dripped from the smashed engine compartment.
"Wake up. I can't carry you," he growled. When Hawkeye did not respond, he rocked back slightly and pressed a hand to his wounded side. Warm blood soaked through the fibers of his glove. "Damn."
Glancing around again, Roy searched for any more attackers. He knew that Rhodes had to be nearby. The glass attack was her handiwork. It also likely meant her henchmen were also close.
Grabbing the Lieutenant under the arm, he pulled the unconscious woman close; her bruised and bloodied face pressing to his chest. "Remember this, the next time you have a stack of paperwork for me to sign off on," he whispered, bracing himself before slinging her arm over his shoulder. Biting back the pain that laced through his side and almost made him pass out, he struggled to his feet, pulling her with him. Every step was difficult, harder than the next as he half dragged the smaller Hawkeye away from the fire and the wrecked car.
"Who is supposed to be protecting who?" he asked through clenched teeth.
Stars twirled and fluttered in and out of existence at the edge of his vision as he approached a curb. Slowly, he managed to lift his foot, enough to step up, pulling Hawkeye along with him. After only a few steps across the grassy carpet, they both crashed to the ground.
Holding himself up, he stared at the still figure next to him. From the corner of his eye, he caught the flames on a feeding frenzy. They engulfed the car with little pause, creating a bright orange glow that stretched up and down the crossing streets and casting demonic shadows across the ground.
Roy smiled as he listened to the roar of the flames. This was workable, he thought. Though he was not happy that Hawkeye was involved, let alone hurt.
The crackle of the burning car nearly obliterated the sound of approaching footsteps.
But not quite.
Reacting instinctively, Roy lashed out. A series of controlled explosions tore through the street sending bodies flying. He was on his feet, focusing his attack on anything that moved. More tattooed Hareti burst into flames.
"You didn't waste any time," he huffed as he turned to face Odessa Rhodes.
She stood calmly in the middle of the intersection, silhouetted by the flames of the burning vehicle. "And risk dogs tearing me down before I take your life?" she asked softly.
Roy stood motionless, unwilling to be drawn away from where Hawkeye lay for fear that she would be left vulnerable.
Used against him.
Gripping his wounded side, he desperately tried to focus, pushing the pain back. Brushing his fingers across the back of his hand, activating the array, he utilized the flames from the burning car. Like demons in the night, the flames licked out toward the woman.
Rhodes responded, ducking low, her palms pressing to the ground. A shimmering, crystalline wall rose up, tall and wide, shielding her from the flames.
The Flame Alchemist was not so easily thwarted.
snap
A series of well-placed explosions brought the wall crashing down on top of Rhodes. She screamed as she tried to escape the destruction.
Roy mentally followed her, setting fireballs off all around, desperate to take her out. His physical and mental reflexes were somewhat hindered.
A blast sent her flying.
Now it was over.
Odessa Rhodes lay in a heap on the ground; a multitude of cuts glistening in the firelight. "I won't go so easily!" she spat, struggling to get up.
He would not make the same mistake twice. He would see that she was dead this time. He raised a gloved hand.
The air caught in his lungs and his vision swam, as he was struck hard across the chest. The blow knocked his feet out from under him and he landed on the pavement with a dull thud.
"Get her out of here!" the Hareti looming over him barked as more figures moved from the shadows.
The blow had winded him and Roy was almost certain cracked a rib or two. He struggled to catch his breath, even as he crawled over the ground, determined to get out of the Ishbalan's range. Broken glass tore into his left hand, through the protective cloth as he scrambled away.
The air was violently forced from his lungs again as another blow met him across the shoulder blades.
"No!" Rhodes screamed. "He's mine!"
The distant sound of sirens echoed through the night.
The Hareti paid Rhodes' cry little attention as he raised the heavy metal pipe again. Gunshots rang out. He jerked violently before tumbling backward.
Twisting slightly, Roy saw Hawkeye kneeling where he had left her. Her hands held straight out, gripping her weapon. They trembled as she struggled to maintain the position.
He would thank her later as he pushed himself up, his breath coming in stabs as he unleashed a flame attack on several Hareti running to Rhodes' aid. They burst into flames, lighting the area around the fallen woman. A grief stricken cry tore from her.
Several vehicles tore around the corner. They quickly closed in on the scene.
Raising his hand, Roy snapped his fingers but nothing happened. His glove was soaked with blood and useless. Shock only lasted a moment before movement to his left caught his attention. He tried to react but was not fast enough.