Chapter 42 The Demon That Burned in Silence
"And after that, what happened?"
Kimblee rested his elbow on the now-empty table, absently playing with the edge of the plate. The general hadn't asked the question out loud, but Kimblee had read it on his face. It was always the same with high-ranking men: they wanted answers, but feared hearing them.
"Mustang wiped out every single one of those left in that camp," Kimblee finally replied, a crooked smile on his lips. "Without exception."
The general didn't interrupt.
"His fire explosions were perfect," Kimblee continued. "Clean. Calculated. Not as beautiful as mine, of course," he added with false modesty, "but his alchemy… was nearly perfected. He wasted no energy. He didn't hesitate. Wherever he aimed, the world ended."
Kimblee closed his eyes for a moment, as if reliving the scene.
"After that, I didn't see him again," he said. "In the war, it was hard to keep track of him. Mustang moved fast, changed fronts, appeared where he was least expected. But it didn't take long before I heard the rumors: several enemy divisions eliminated. Wiped off the map."
He opened his eyes, bright.
"Mustang is definitely a demon," he declared, smiling.
The general did not smile.
Kimblee finished what little food remained and set the cutlery aside.
"Take me back to prison, General," he said calmly. "I'm not in the mood to stay out here any longer."
"Don't you like freedom?" the general asked as they stood.
Kimblee chuckled softly.
"Freedom without explosions or screams is boring."
They didn't speak much during the drive. The military vehicle moved through the streets of Central City, which felt quieter than usual to Kimblee. Maybe it was just him. Maybe after Ishval—after the chimeras, after the basements full of corpses—the civilized world would always sound hollow.
They arrived at the prison.
The gates opened with their familiar metallic screech, as if the place itself recognized his return. Kimblee stepped out of the vehicle, rolled his shoulders, and walked on without looking back. He knew the way better than many of the guards.
He changed clothes. The uniform was stored away again, folded with unnecessary care. The gray walls, the bars, the smell of confinement—everything was familiar. Comforting, even.
"Until the next visit," the general said before leaving.
Kimblee didn't answer. He was already smiling.
The hours passed slowly, as they always did. Kimblee sat in his cell, leaned his back against the wall, and let his mind wander. He thought of Mustang. Of McDougal. Of Armstrong, painting figures as if the world hadn't shattered in Ishval. He thought of the captured chimeras, the missing ones, the ones still walking free.
He thought of the homunculi.
"Not bad," he murmured. "Not bad at all."
He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard footsteps unlike the usual ones. Footsteps that didn't belong to an ordinary guard. Confident. Mocking.
"You know," a familiar voice said, "you always adapt quickly to change."
Kimblee looked up.
Envy was there, leaning against the bars with a twisted smile on their face. No uniform this time. None was needed.
"I thought you'd take longer," Kimblee replied. "I was starting to get bored."
"The rest was necessary," Envy said. "But it's time to get back on track."
The bars opened.
Kimblee stood up calmly, as if he had been waiting for that moment from the very beginning.
"So we return to the script," he said. "To the things that must happen."
Envy watched him closely, as if trying to read something deeper.
"This isn't a reincarnation," Envy remarked. "It's not a miracle or a mistake of the world."
Kimblee tilted his head.
"No," he replied. "It's just the way I always imagined things really happened."
Envy smiled.
"Exactly. Small spaces between known events. Gaps no one wanted to look at too closely."
Kimblee stepped out of the cell.
"And I'm perfect for filling those gaps," he said. "With explosions."
They walked through the prison corridors as the lights flickered. Outside, the world continued toward events already written: conspiracies, betrayals, revelations. But between one point and another, there was blood that was never counted. Decisions that were never recorded. Monsters that worked in silence.
Kimblee took a deep breath.
"I like this role," he said. "I wouldn't change a thing."
Envy laughed softly.
"I know."
Author's Note
And so, without breaking the course of destiny, Kimblee moved once more through the shadows of canon—not to rewrite the story, but to complete what had always been there… waiting to explode.