Summary: Even nations need saviours. Too bad Germany's was the Devil in disguise. Darkish Hetalia.
I'm a horrible person for posting this instead of writing another chapter for my on-going stories.
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
His hands were in fists, nails burying in his palms, as he glared at the wall. His blue eyes were flaming, icy flames deep in his iris in his fury, silently raging against those who were humiliating him. Those self righteous nations who thought they could do what they wanted just because they had 'won'.
That France, making him make clocks- cuckoo clocks no less!- to pay him back. And the rest, taking advantage of his people, children's, desperation and make them disgrace themselves for a measly pocket change.
In a sudden move he punched the wall, an angry yell ripped itself from his chest before he leant on the wall, the smooth surface cool to his feverish hot skin.
How pathetic, he mused, to end up like this.
There was a knock and his door opened. Germany looked at the intruder. He was a short man, with a funny moustache. Yet, he was not one of his and he wondered why a man like that was there.
"Deutschland." the other started, dark eyes travelling his weak body. Germany knew he must have looked a mess but didn't say anything. Instead, he glared. "I can make you great again." and the nation narrowed his eyes at the human, daring him to continue "You could take revenge" it was sweet to his ears that word. Revenge.
The man must have noticed his interest and continued to talk, a snake beckoning his prey with sweet, sweet words, laced with promises of greatness and power. They shook hands, the human smirking and the nation lusting for vengeance against those who raged him.
(And in a rational, still sane and not hazy with sickness or anger, part of his mind, he wondered if this is how it felt to make a deal with the Devil)