The indigo flames danced and swung out their shadowy partners, flitting back and forth, revealing and veiling, leaving a smoky gauze wherever it went. The overhead canvas of the sky twinkled and glimmered and shimmered, like the infinite eyes of the Almighty Father looking down upon the earth.
The man without a name looked up and felt ashamed. God looked upon him, and he was not worthy to have that divine grace on his shoulders.
Gruffly, he felt the bandages shift against his skin, feathery soft and whispering. He could only rest for so long, and then he would return to his bloody crusade.
Briefly, he wondered how many he had killed in this one man's divine war, this one man's choice.
After a while, every State Alchemist, every military dog's blood felt the same raining down around him, filling the air with copper and death.
Others might be deluded enough to think they were some sort of avenger, an angel of vengeance.
He was no angel. He wasn't in this for any holy purpose, any purpose other than revenge.
So what if he was perpetuating a cycle of violence. So what if every bloody murder was another sin on his hands.
This was a brother's revenge. This was a people's wrath.
He looked at the fire. That's what he was... fire raining down upon those who had violated his home, his life, his world. Reborn from his ashes with an arm and a destiny.
This was what he chose.
"You seem distracted tonight, scarred one." The elder sat next to him, blinking adoringly at the smiling stars. "But I suppose the wonder of Ishbala's creation is quite diverting."
Pausing, the one that his enemies called Scar blinked. "I... I wasn't thinking about that. I was... thinking about..."
"Were you thinking about the murders you have caused?" the old man asked, and at Scar's rather thrown look, chuckled. "We hear tales of you... killing State Alchemists. Some say that you are an Angel of God, sent down to punish those who would use the Devil's craft."
Scar scowled, and glanced downwards. "I am no angel. I am a devil, one who seeks nothing more than death to all his enemies."
With a hum and a stroke of his beard, the elder asked, "What do you think such a thing will accomplish?"
Frowning, the man turned away. "I don't expect anything to be changed." His voice was deep and harsh.
"Then you expect nothing in reward for such grave sins?" the older man laughed. "We all have a reason for doing something, lad."
Scar looked at his arm, and frowned deeper. "Vengeance." He breathed, the one word that was etched in his mind.
Frowning, the elder looked at him with mild disapproval. "The State will meet its end through Ishbala's will. Not through any man's."
The younger was silent for a moment, before he stood, a pillar among the stars. Once more, he looked down at his arm, the arm that was, to him, divine justice.
"I know that. But this is the path I chose, and if it is God's will I be damned, then it will be His will."
His voice was resigned as a man on his deathbed, and with enough defiance to match the will of Heaven itself.
Sighing, the older man stood as well, shaking his head. "Nothing will sway you from this path, I see. So then, I will say you my goodbyes now, scarred man. I fear nothing but death and purgatory awaits you on this road."
Scar looked at him rather coldly, his voice harder than steel. "Then so be it."