So, Like the first chapter, I used dialogue from the actual scene. Its the last part, in case anybody cared. Anywho-here ya go!

Madman Running

The Alchemists ripped apart the city he had helped to build. Those affronts to God Almighty had, in one fell swoop, ripped apart all he held dear. The old man just stared at the carnage around him, huddled in the corner of what used to be his home. The golden-eyed one advanced on him, its lips pulled back in what it thought was a smile.

"You can start screaming now."

But the old man stood shakily and held his ground. This alchemist, this boldfaced insult to the Almighty, had killed his whole family. He would not give that thing satisfaction. The old man drew himself up as the monstrosity loomed over him, leering. He spoke, softly, but the golden-eyed one remembered his words for the rest of his life.

"You have a rotten soul."

For a moment, Zolf paused. But only a moment. He clapped his hands together.

"Too bad I don't believe in God, old man."

They had been chasing him for days. Basque Grand brushed imaginary dust from his uniform, his motions betraying his irritated mood. After the first solitary sweep, Kimblee failed to report. At first, Grand ignored this gross disobedience. Kimblee's schedule, like his uniform, was often mussed. He had failed to report before. But then he failed to show for the debriefing. The Crimson Alchemist never failed to attend a debriefing; it was where he was told to blow things up. Isn't that what he likes?

Then came the reports of bodies found, unrecognizable. "Like they was blown to pieces, sir." A nervous private informed him. So they tracked the bomb happy fool through the desert. One team got close, but the follow up team found them. Not them specifically, but what remained of them. The only recognizable thing was the uniform. Even blown up, Grand could recognize it. There was a betting pool at base camp on whether Basque was going after Kimblee for blowing up people or messing up uniforms. Most bet the latter.

Basque Grand forced himself not to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh (a military man never shows weakness!). He had personally received an order from the furhur to capture Kimblee-at any cost. Now he was tramping through the desert after a bomb happy ghost-a dangerous one, even without the incomplete philosophers stone.

"Sir! Another body! One of our men!"

Case in point

"His uniform sir." The private held up a piece of tattered cloth. Basque grimaced slightly. This mad idiot was giving him indigestion.

"Hey kiddies! How 'bout a rhyme!"

The orphaned Ishballans stared up at him in terror. Kimblee grinned and grabbed one of the old women they were with.

"There once was an old bat who swallowed a rock!"

Kimblee popped a rock he had been carrying and popped it in her mouth, and shook her until she swallowed it.

"I dunno why she swallowed a rock, she was dumb bitch who was gonna-"

His words were cut off but the woman's stomach exploding outward.

Cool. I always forget about rock bombs.

The orphans started screaming, crying, running, desperate to get away from him. Some were yelling nasty things to him.

Ungrateful brats

He watched them run. He yawned and decided not to pursue. He was more interested in the adults anyway. More noise. Better insults then "you're a mean poopy face."

He considered that the weirdest thing anyone has ever said in the face of death.


A young Ishballan man struggled to keep his weakend brother walking, let alone keep the designs covering his body under the cloak. If the others saw, they would be shunned. It was the last thing he needed. His brother stumbled, and seemed to stop using his left leg. The younger sibling grunted as he shifted to keep them both standing.

I hate him.

The man bit his lip in shame.

He ruined our life.

No. He wouldn't cry here. Not now. Not when the explosions kept getting-

An explosion nearly knocked him off his feet. He whipped around, squinting into the sandstorm that resulted from the bomb. A figure swirled into view, a long ponytail whipped in the desert wind. The alchemist looked up, a predatory grin gracing his features.

"You have to ask yourself, how does one state alchemist get all the fun jobs in this war?"

"Can't you see that we've given up?"

An old man grabbed the lanky alchemist by his shoulders and begged for mercy. He was shown none. Something cold dropped down into the mans stomach as the alchemist almost loving grabbed the old mans wrist.


A blast blinded him, and a hand snake out and grab his face.

Oh god. Am I to die like that too?

"All you guys just need to relax. You're all going to die someday-it might as well be at the hands of a specialist!"

The alchemist tightened his grip on the man face. He groaned in pain, barely registering the alchemists words.

"Why don't we go piece by piece?"

No, please, no. I don't want to die like this!

The alchemist lightly tapped the mans forehead, and the man felt his skin strech and explode into pain. He screamed and clawed at his face. Kimblee decided to test his theory of blowing arms or legs off. He decided to try arms.

The man screamed even louder, and Kimblee was starting to get annoyed. Why do they always scream like that? It was obnoxious!

"What shall we take off next?"

The man barely heard him, barely felt his brother throw his weight over him. He never heard the words exchanged, nor the alchemists own people attack him.

He knew nothing til he awoke with his brothers cursed arm, and a new mission.

The golden eyed ones face was ever present in that goal.