Ed couldn’t believe his eyes. Standing there at his mother’s grave was the bastard who had been absent almost all of Ed’s life. What was he doing there? He had no right to stand over her grave. Where had he been, this asshole who had spent so long masquerading as a husband and father?
Something akin to fire licked along Ed’s skin, his rage boiling out of him. If his father had been here, maybe his mother wouldn’t have died. If his neglectful dad had been here, maybe he wouldn’t be bruising himself dragging around metal limbs. If his asshole bastard of a good-for-nothing father had been here, Al might still have a damn body.
Hohenheim was saying something. It barely registered in Ed’s mind. The young alchemist balled up all of his rage, his disappointments, his fears that set in once his father slunk out of the house, feeding those emotions to his muscles. His fist was in motion before he realized it. Ed wouldn’t have stopped it if he could.
The punch sounded like lightning. Hohenheim’s head snapped back. The only thought in Ed’s mind was ‘damn, that felt good.’