Chapter 38 When the Body Yields, the Will Detonates
Kimblee was still grappling with them, the world reduced to blows, ragged breaths, and the brutal weight of the armadillo chimera pinning him down. Every movement tore a muffled groan from his throat; blood streamed down his back, and his uniform—now unrecognizable—clung to his skin like a second wound. Even so, he didn't loosen his grip. He didn't know how. He didn't want to.
The Falcon—Halzon—suddenly released him and gained altitude with a violent beat of his wings. The whistle of the air announced the attack before it came. Kimblee looked up and understood instantly: a dive straight for his head. There would be no time for a clean transmutation. Not with his body like this. Not with pain gnawing at his nerves.
"Fine…" he murmured. "Then let's be quick."
With a dry grunt, he rolled over the armadillo, forcing him directly beneath the attack's trajectory. The ground-based chimera roared, struggling to break free, but Kimblee drove his knee down with every ounce of strength he had left. The Falcon was already descending like a living spear.
And then the unexpected happened.
Halzon stopped.
The momentum broke at the last second. His wings snapped open, his speed collapsed, and he fell clumsily, crashing into both of them in a tangled mass of feathers, plates, and flesh. It hadn't been a mistake.
It had been a decision.
"No!" Halzon shouted. "I won't kill him!"
That moment of hesitation was enough.
Gasping, Kimblee twisted his torso and drove a punch straight into the Falcon's face. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't clean. It was pure instinct. The impact landed with a wet crunch. Halzon collapsed to the side, stunned, wings spasming against the ground.
"That…" Kimblee snarled through clenched teeth, "was your mistake."
He didn't have time to finish him.
The armadillo reacted with blind fury. A brutal upward strike slammed into Kimblee's chest. He felt the air explode out of his lungs in silence. The world flipped. He was hurled several meters away, rolling until he crashed into a half-ruined wall.
For a second, he didn't move.
The pain was total. Not localized. Not precise. It simply existed—everywhere.
"Come on…" he whispered. "Not now."
He braced one hand against the ground. The other trembled. He inhaled with difficulty. The armadillo advanced—heavy, relentless, intent on finishing him. Kimblee brought his hands together.
The explosion wasn't large.
It was intimate.
Right beneath his body.
The blast launched him forward like a bullet. The ground shattered behind him as he crossed the distance at unnatural speed. Before the armadillo could react, Kimblee clapped his hands together again—this time directly in front of the chimera's face.
"Look at me," he said. "All the way to the end."
The explosion tore a scream from the chimera.
The impact was direct—devastating. The chimera's face warped under the concentrated force, hurling him backward like a broken doll. He hit the ground hard and didn't move. The silence that followed was thick, almost reverent.
Halzon tried to rise, but his body failed him. His wings folded awkwardly. His eyes—still conscious—met Kimblee's.
"I'm sorry…" he managed. "I didn't want to—"
Kimblee dropped to his knees.
"I know," he replied in a thin voice. "That's why you lost."
Both chimeras were down.
The dust hadn't even settled when Envy appeared—this time accompanied by a massive, slow, crushing presence: Sloth. Each of his steps made the ground tremble with literal laziness, as if the world itself struggled to move beneath him.
"Quite a show," Envy said, surveying the unconscious bodies. "Took you longer than expected."
Kimblee didn't answer. He just breathed.
"Take them," Envy ordered. "Carefully. Father wants them… intact."
Sloth grumbled something unintelligible and, with insulting ease, lifted both chimeras as if they weighed nothing. Envy turned back to Kimblee.
"You look awful."
"You always exaggerate," Kimblee replied, forcing a smile.
There was no further discussion.
Kimblee was transferred to a discreet government medical post—one of those places that existed solely to keep certain names out of official records. They treated him without questions. Stitched him up. Wrapped him in bandages. No one asked for explanations.
That night, the pain wouldn't let him sleep.
Hours later, when dawn barely hinted at its return, Envy appeared in the room, leaning against the wall as if he had always been there.
"We're not done," Envy said without preamble. "The evidence still needs to be destroyed."
Kimblee opened one eye.
"Tomorrow," he replied. "Not today."
Envy studied him in silence for a few seconds.
"Rest," he conceded. "Then we finish this."
Before leaving, he paused.
"Oh, by the way…" he added. "I don't feel anything anymore."
Kimblee didn't ask.
"I figured," he murmured.
Envy smiled, satisfied. He was convinced now: Kimblee didn't have the Philosopher's Stone—at least, not like before.
Two days passed.
Kimblee healed enough to move without seeing black at every step. His back was wrapped in bandages, his shoulders stiff, marked by claws that had come far too close to something vital. He dressed slowly, ignoring the constant ache that reminded him every second that he was still alive.
He left the medical post without saying goodbye.
The morning air struck his face with brutal clarity. He walked toward the train station, step by step, each one a small victory. People looked at him without recognizing him.
Good.
As the train approached, Kimblee watched the horizon.
Central City was waiting.
And with it, everything that still hadn't exploded.
(End of Chapter)