Chapter 19 The Crimson Lie / Under the Rain of Amestris
Kimblee was running.
Not out of fear, but out of pleasure. Every step on the wet pavement of Amestris was followed by a calculated explosion—precise, beautiful. He touched the ground with the tips of his fingers and let the blast bloom behind him, never close enough to injure himself, but chaotic enough to turn the streets into a labyrinth of fire, smoke, and rubble.
"Come on… follow me," he murmured with a crooked smile.
Explosions kicked up dust, shattered windows, made lampposts tremble. The city slept, unaware that one of its greatest sins was running free with a forbidden miracle beating against his chest.
Envy stopped for a second, looking in every direction.
"Damn human…" he growled.
Then he saw him.
Above, on the rooftops, a white silhouette moved with elegance, leaping from building to building as if the world were his personal stage. Kimblee wasn't running—he was dancing.
Envy smiled with fury and launched himself after him, pursuing from below, climbing walls, warping his body to gain speed.
And then, as if the sky itself wanted to take part, it began to rain.
The rain fell heavy and steady, extinguishing embers, cooling the air, mixing with the smoke of the explosions. The sound of water against stone erased tracks, diluted scents, and turned the chase into a blind hunt.
Kimblee jumped one last time—and vanished.
He slipped into a narrow, dark alley hidden between old, abandoned buildings. He took a deep breath. Rain ran down his face, mixing with sweat and dried blood. In his hand, the crimson stone glimmered faintly.
"Magnificent… even when it trembles," he whispered.
Then, with unsettling calm, he leaned forward and regurgitated another stone—identical in shape, but dull, imperfect.
Two Philosopher's Stones.
Or so it would seem.
Kimblee held both for a moment, comparing them. The real one vibrated—heavy, alive. The other was a crude lie… but a lie of his own making, transmuted with his right hand, a soulless imitation.
"Art doesn't always need truth," he said to himself.
Without hesitation, he swallowed the real stone. He felt it slide down his throat, hide itself inside his body once more. Then he closed his hand around the false one and left it visible.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Furious.
Envy appeared at the end of the alley, soaked, eyes gleaming in the darkness.
"I know you didn't want to do this, human," he said in a strangely calm voice. "You always complicate things, but deep down you know how this ends."
Kimblee slowly raised his hands, feigning surrender.
"Maybe you're right…" he said with a tired smile.
And then he threw powder.
A quick gesture, almost invisible. Damp gunpowder, yes—but enough. He clapped his palms together and the explosion thundered through the narrow alley, forcing the air outward, shattering bricks, lifting water and fire at the same time.
Envy roared.
From his body emerged a gigantic, dark, monstrous arm that tore through the smoke and seized Kimblee with brutal force, lifting him off the ground.
"I've had enough of you, human," he spat. "Give me the stone and I'll spare your life."
Kimblee coughed—but laughed. He always laughed.
He slowly opened his hand and let the false stone fall.
"Here it is," he said. "All this chaos… for this."
Envy took it, frowning. The stone was dull, almost dead. Even so, he crushed it between his fingers and absorbed the fragments.
Nothing.
"It's useless," he said with contempt. "You risked your life for a trinket."
He raised his arm to finish him.
"How disappointing," he added. "I thought you were different."
Kimblee closed his eyes—not out of fear, but anticipation. Because he knew something Envy had yet to understand.
And then, from the deepest darkness of the alley, a shadow moved… and spoke.
"Enough."
The rain seemed to stop for an instant.
The shadows on the walls stretched, twisted, fused together. Envy felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Pride was there.
He didn't walk. He simply appeared, formed of living darkness, his eyes glowing with terrifying calm.
"You've been careless," he said. "And you—" he looked at Kimblee, "—keep playing with things that don't belong to you."
Kimblee opened his eyes and smiled, even while restrained.
"It's always an honor when the stage fills up," he replied. "It means the performance was good."
Pride surveyed the ruined alley, the rain, the extinguished explosions, the carefully composed chaos.
"This human…" he murmured. "He doesn't flee. He composes."
And for the first time, even Envy understood that Kimblee hadn't been escaping.
He had been creating.
Pride stepped forward, and the shadows of the alley obeyed as one body. They slid along the walls, over the wet ground, climbed Envy's monstrous arm until it was immobilized.
"What are you doing, Envy?" Pride asked coldly. "Didn't we tell you not to kill the pawns?"
The pressure of the shadows forced Envy to release Kimblee. The alchemist's body hit the ground with a dull thud, breathing hard—but still smiling, as if he had enjoyed every second.
"Very sorry," Envy replied irritably, dissolving his giant arm and returning to his humanoid form. "But this one was asking for it."
Kimblee slowly pushed himself up, one hand on the soaked ground. He looked up at Pride with an almost respectful expression.
"A pawn?" he said with low laughter. "I'm flattered you still consider me part of the board."
Pride did not answer. A shadow emerged behind Kimblee, solid as a real hand, gripping his shoulder before he could move.
"We're going back to prison," he ordered, "before you draw more attention than necessary."
Kimblee did not resist. He let himself be lifted, even straightening his rain-soaked white suit, as if returning from an elegant evening rather than a lethal chase through the rain.
"I suppose the intermission is over," he remarked. "A shame—it was starting to get interesting."
The shadows partially wrapped around him—not like chains, but like a constant warning. Kimblee walked among them with his head held high, fully aware that he was alive only because they had decided so.
Envy clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"He always does this," he said. "Makes you think he's in control, even when he's one second from dying."
"Because he is," Pride replied. "Otherwise, he'd already be dead."
The rain continued to fall as they left the alley. As they entered wider streets, Envy began to change. His body stretched, his posture hardened, his face shifted until it assumed a familiar, feared figure.
General Basque Grand now walked beside Kimblee.
The immaculate uniform contrasted with the recent chaos, and anyone who saw them would have assumed it was just another prisoner transfer. A criminal escorted by a high-ranking officer—nothing unusual in Amestris.
Kimblee glanced sideways at the transformation and smiled.
"It suits you," he commented. "You were always good at copying serious faces."
"Shut up," Envy growled in the general's voice. "You've had enough fun for today."
Pride gradually faded into the shadows of the buildings, watching from everywhere and nowhere. He didn't need to escort them; he knew Kimblee would return where he belonged.
The journey back to the prison was silent. The city was beginning to wake, unaware of how close it had come to disaster. Kimblee walked with his hands visible, no cuffs in sight, yet with an unsettling calm—as if the cage he was returning to was not a punishment, but a pause.
At the prison gates, Envy resumed his usual form. The guards saluted the "general" without suspicion, opening the doors quickly.
Kimblee stopped for a moment before crossing the threshold and looked up at the gray sky.
"I'll see you again," he said, almost fondly. "I always do."
Envy shoved him forward.
The doors closed behind him with a metallic, heavy, final sound.
And yet, as he walked back to his cell, Kimblee was smiling.
Because the stone was still inside him.
Because he had proven, once again, that even among monsters, he knew how to survive.
(End of Chapter)