A.N: This is my last update for today, its the first chapter of my first ever Hetalia story, and I'm writing it in honor of my soon to be finished absolutely epic Fem!Pirate!Spain costume. I hope you enjoy^.^
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own Hetalia, and if I did, there would be a large, large amount of yaoi, and lots more of THE AWESOME PRUSSIA!
keseseseseseses...
It was a very cool, brisk, and early morning. The sun had only just started to rise. The tide was still low, and the waves only ever so gently lapped the cliffs and rolled over the pale sandy shore. Just beyond the beach rested a small Italian village, where it's inhabitants slept on in the early morning, blissfully unaware of the sleek black ship with it's crimson blood-like sails and it's gold adorned sides, helm, and intricate carvings that slowly was pulling in to harbor.
It was a perfect morning.
And as the Captain of said ship gave the order to begin they're raid as he looked peacefully over the sleeping village with shining emerald eyes, he could not help but think that very same thought. He smiled at the little town one last time, almost pitying the people so quiet and docile, as his red and black long jacket with gold trimming flew around himself in the wind and gently shifted his dark brown hair kept at bay only by the elegant red Spanish captain's hat on his head. And so Captain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo raised his battle axe and began the attack as his happy emerald eyes turned as cold as ice.
Within the following twenty minutes the entire scene seemed to change. No longer was the village peaceful. Screams could be heard, gunshots echoed across the waves, and fire licked the small homes and building. All the people were fleeing for their lives as the pirates broke in to houses, setting fire to everything, and stealing all precious items. All, except for one.
Lovino Vargas.
Lovino was standing on the beach, a sword in hand, screaming curses and cutting down the pirates in his way as he tried to get as many of his people as he could to safety. To say the least, the captain was impressed as he strode down the beach as well, his black leather boots parting the now furious tide and blood stained waters as he watched a boy of no older than 16 take out many of his men.
Antonio knew of course that the boy had no chance but he was still impressed. Pissed, yes, but impressed. As the next one of this men fell, he raised his axe and took his place, smirking when the younger boy faltered slightly, his eyes widening in fear. "You- you bastard!" the boy yelled, trying to fight back, but was only rewarded by a quick cut to his arm from the enormous and famed weapon. It was not enough to truly hurt him beyond repair, but it was enough to make the young Italian begin to loose quite a lot of blood.
The pirate and nation leaned down low over the boy who had now collapsed to the ground out of pain, blood loss, and exhaustion. "It's been fun, Roma, and I must say I'm impressed, I didn't expect this much of a fight, but you're mine now." He smirked, lightly planting his foot on the smaller nations chest. "Damn you, bastard. D-damn you...Spain." South Italy coughed, unable to breathe, as he closed his eyes and he fell deeply unconscious.
He woke up two days later, laying in the captain's quarters of the Spanish pirate ship, his arm wrapped in bandages, hundreds of miles away from his home.