A chorus of groans went up from the bar, as the men from Mustang’s squad watched the stonework of the temple burst into golden light. The day’s highlight reel showed a haggard Mustang watching as the King strode away laughing, several hundred men in tow. Private First Class Kain Fuery sat back with an exhausted sigh.
“That wasn’t exactly a surprise,” The military engineer conceded, pulling off his glasses to wipe them clean on a cloth, “But It couldn’t have come at a worse time! What’s the Lieutenant Colonel going to do now?”
Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc grunted in response, cigarette in his mouth as he leaned forward at the bar, watching the screen.
“That was near half his force that left with the traitor.” Second Lieutenant Breda stood a short distance to their left, leaning on the wood with one elbow. He eventually nodded to himself, advancing a rook on the chessboard that had been set up between himself and Warrant Officer Falman
“Your move.” He commented. His opponent nodded faintly, eyes still scanning through an index of reports from the last year’s event.
“Losing that many men limits the Lieutenant Colonel’s options severely.” Breda continued, mostly talking to Fuery at this point, “Not only does that leave his position more open to a retaliation by that Unmade monster, Ridley, but he has to worry about this so-called ‘General-king’ moving in the moment he turns his back.”
Warrant Officer Vato Falman folded up the array of documents with a self-satisfied nod. “We did have reports that this Gilgamesh character had obtained a power like this during the event last year.” He confirmed, though no one in particular seemed to be contesting the point. “Either the Lieutenant Colonel didn’t read his reports, or he knew something like this was a distinct possibility.”
A momentary silence settled over the group, each officer separately envisioning Lieutenant Colonel Mustang laughing in his chair with a stack of untouched reports to one side of his desk. It was all too possible.
“Well, I guess he’s got no choice but to track down that traitor and show him what for, right?” Second Lieutenant Breda posited, “It’s going to be messy, both armies have that boon nonsense that the announcer was talking about.”
“He needs to hang onto that temple.” Falman nodded in agreement, moving his bishop on the chessboard, “Ever since the other one crashed down in a ball of rubble he’s got nothing else to keep people from panicking.”
Breda’s next move elicited a curse from the warrant officer who squinted closer at the board, brow furrowing. Second Lieutenant Havoc just laughed, taking a pull from his cigarette. He blew out the smoke in long trails, watching as they lazily ribboned their way towards the ceiling.
“It’ll be a disaster!” Havoc sighed, tapping the ashes into a nearby tray. “It’s just a plain bad situation, no matter what his plans were!”
---
In a darkened Markovian hospital room, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye sat silently in bed, watching the camera feed as Mustang staggered unevenly down the steps of the temple, leaning heavily on the young mage boy Izaneus for support. This is what she had worried might happen when he had been selected as Commander. He was continuing to throw himself headlong into every problem he came across, like he was able to conquer the island simply by
willing it to listen to him. Part of her was glad to see that, but she was also aware of the bigger picture that he didn’t seem to be keeping track of. His current pace wouldn't hold. She knew that much for certain.
She glanced away to the hospital window. The ever-active neon lights of Markov shown in their permanent array, but there were more darkened patches now than there had been a year ago. Even here in the “defended” portions of the city, pockets of Unmaking still appeared at times. She could see one from here. She kept her eyes trained on the building as it warped and fractured. They could contain the pockets here, they had been for months now. But elsewhere? What about the areas of the city beyond their barrier? What wilderness beyond that? They were only staving off the symptoms of the Unmaking here in Markov.
His next move here was simple to her eyes. He had the burden of command, and a force of several thousand men that he had been charged with leading and defending. He wanted to do what was in his men’s interest, that much was clear. But he hadn’t known he would be given that charge when he had stepped into the booth. Mustang had agreed to participate in this mad game of death for one reason. He was going to defeat the Unmaking.
