A/N: Hello, my viewers! I, through some misdirection in Himaruya's blog site, have discovered the wonderful world of 2P!Hetalia characters~! And I hope that this story will spark the interest of all Hetalia fans, old and new, to convert to a darker side of their favourite characters.
This seems to be new to everyone, so I'll just make a short summary for 2P!Hetalia before I say the summary of this fanfiction.
So, does anyone know what 2P!Hetalia mean? Anyone in the audience at all?
[Crickets chirped behind her and a gust of wind blew tumbleweed into the scene, just passing Violet's feet for a second or two. She claps her hands with an exasperated smile.]
Right, no one is supposed to break the Fifth Wall. I'll just explain then.
2P stands for 2nd Player, for the people who don't usually play games. It is the character based off a game (or in this case, anime), but it is the complete opposite or darker version of the original.
So far, Himaruya has made Axis and Nyotalia!Axis & Allies 2P characters, though not officially claimed by the creator himself that these are the darker versions of our beloved characters. He just labelled them in 'Another Color'. But from the looks of fans (myself included), those pictures are easily interpreted as their darker selves, or at least, more badass than they are now.
There is still no 2P!Allies or the rest of the canon characters in Hetalia. Yet just from basing off from the Nyotalia ones, the fans were able to create and interpret the looks and personality of the 2P!Allies. Some individuals like to make their 2P character different to the others, but most can agree on one fanon for each character.
If you don't believe me, check DeviantArt. This new section of the Hetalia fandom spread so quickly, but we need more people. Much more fans.
Alright, let's get into this story, but I'll just mention one last thing to you all. I chose North Italy as my main character because (1) the show is named after him, (2) he is a character full of potential other than being a lovable loser that he is portrayed as, and (3) his other selves (Nyotalia and 2Ps) are very different from him yet still very similar (and I'm not talking about their physical description).
Well, you'll just find out what I mean later in the story.
Violet911 doesn't own anything you've seen or heard in the media.
Prolouge
It has happened to lots of nation by now. Once, twice, maybe even more in their long lives.
Triggered by a war, gaining imperialistic power or in the brink of destruction. Yes, these are probable causes that bring them out. That makes them take over the nation's body, changing their physical and mental health in the process, just to shed some blood.
But they can't stay in control, for as long as their originals — their light-hearted counterparts — resist, they'll disappear to their own alternate dimension, as chaos and discord cease in their surroundings, lost and forgotten for the time being until they escape through the countries' minds once more.
When they do come out again, their counterparts, little-by-little, practice how to expel their other selves until there will come a time.
Of war.
Of power.
Of dissolution.
They can never resurface again and was forgotten till then on.
Over the centuries, they've grown furious, possibly even mad, for being unable to cross to the other world for so long. None of their counterparts came close in setting them free like from the past experiences being under their command, being sometimes unaware at what kind of 'business' they were doing. Yet eventually, they lost interest in getting out so they caused mayhem in their own world, which satisfied them enough.
Except for one.
One who has been released only once in his lifetime, due to the original's agony from losing a love.
One who has inflicted pain on his young small body as a reaction to that agony, with a wicked sharp blade slicing a portion of the flesh, and no one else, for the original gained control once the tears stopped rolling down the cheek.
It didn't have time to hurt others in its counterparts. It didn't have time to satisfy its passion.
Oh, but it was patient. Very patient as the years went by. And while waiting, it searched and planned for a way to permanently control its counterpart's body.
Maybe, even send him to the hell hole they are all staying in.
The dark counterpart chuckled as the thought lingered in his mind now that goal is nearing after a goodnight's sleep, thanks to a magic book and certain information he 'borrowed' from a nutcase, poison-loving Englishman living hidden in the woods. No matter how nice the 'gentleman' acted, it didn't clear the fact that he, and the rest of the so-called-united Allied Forces, is dangerous with this pointless wars happening every day.
Ah, well, good thing the Axis is neutral.
The Italian wouldn't want to stain his new uniform because of some idiota wanting to slice his neck open before his very special day that comes only once a year is approaching.
But, no matter.
He is sure, even if there was an idiota, that package he sent on that day will still fulfil his dearest wishes while he is slicing anyone who opposes him with his own golden blade.
And he better taste some blood afterwards.
"Fratello."
He didn't need to turn his purple gaze away from the surveillance screens that monitored and recorded every movement of his 'fellow' country embodiments with his revolving chair to know that it was his older brother speaking, just entering the dim-lit room very late in the evening.
"Did you get them, Romano?" he asked quietly, propping his chin on intertwined fingers that was supported by elbows on armrests.
The older Italian, Romano, said nothing. Hearing a huge thud behind the chair and retreating footsteps followed by a click of closed door, the younger gave a light smirk as he swivelled around to face his working desk with photos tapped in an organized and lined manner that filled the entire space of the mahogany desktop. On top of those photos were a stack of folders.
Humming a tune with a lyrics 'Draw a circle, there's the earth~' following along, the brunette stood up, carried the pile of documents without breaking a sweat, and left his office.
But, without tossing his polished knife up in the air and piercing a certain picture tapped at the middle of his table first.
That was a lucky sign.
His weapon whenever he leaves the room usually hit the pictures of his counterpart, wearing the first-class blue suit and waving pathetically a white flag in surrender, located at the sides of the surface.
This time, right as the long arm of the clock located on the wall beside the door hit twelve at midnight, the blade sliced right between the closed eyes of a smiling Italy Veneziano or, in human terms, Feliciano Vargas.
Not there were any more humans to hide their identities with. In their world.
The Italian just likes to keep the name.
It was too nice of a name to share with anyone else.
A/N: And that's the end of the prolouge~!
I'll update this pretty soon. Hopefully. *sighs inwardly* I'm such a procrastinator . . .