Simply a little, ridiculous drabble that I shat out whilst bored~
warnings: contains illusions towards violence, and some questionable views on said violence
characters:Prussia, brief mention of Germany/German Confederation
rating:PG-13? I don't know
disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't, and never will belong to me, for shame
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Warrior's Call to Arms
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There was something glorious in war, Prussia decided, something glorious and terrible all at once. There was a terrible beauty to the dance of a sword, the soft songs it made as is sliced through the air and then flesh, bone, marrow. A sickening pleasure in the way an arrow flew through the air, creating deep bass rhythms when they embedded in leather and muscle. A twisted awe as polearms rammed into the flesh of beasts and men alike.
Prussia loved the sounds of war. They were his siren's song, his beckoning call. There was no way he could not be tempted by the ways of the warrior. Could not resist the solid, grounded, wonderful feeling of a sword in his grip, could not go without the muted horror and sick fascination that went hand-in-hand with cleaving a man in half, with slicing bits-and-pieces apart, with the scent of blood and steel and sweat and death.
War was primal, war was raw, war was feral. No laws applied to war, only kill or be killed, and nothing could change it.
War was an intricate dance, every dancer in-tune with the steps and the beat.
The trick was not to mess up.
Prussia was born for war, was raised from the very pits of hell, cast from the halls of Valhalla and the ever-fighting Valkyrie. He was placed on the earth with one thought on his mind; war. Nothing could change this. This, as he learned long ago, was set in stone, set into the very bones of the earth that he fought on, fought for, and claimed as his own. Not even tiny German Confederation could stop him from fighting, stop him from killing and war-waging.
Nay, for he only gave Prussia one more reason to fight. One more reason than merely to feel the course of one thousand wills, one thousand battle cries ringing in the air, the blood in his veins. One more reason to laugh in his enemies eyes, watch them fall, one-by-one to his sword, watch them bleed, watch them die. Now, he had someone to fight for, someone to justify his bloodlust, and he fought all the more for it.
Nothing would ever change war. Not the weapons, not the time, not the people who used them. war would forever be an untamed beast, capable at mass destruction, yet so beautiful as it destroyed.
There was something glorious in war, Prussia decided...
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So, yeah, this...was fun to write. Does that make me a bad person? Haha...
I don't know, man. People are dead-set on war being something terrible and discusting, and I guess they're right.
But I've never liked following the norm. I love wars. They're so indescribably /human/, yet raw and animalistic at the same time...War reveals the true beast inside, I suppose. And, yeah, Prussia is a war-monger. No, he doesn't act like it. But I can't help but think that, even in the heat of battle, he would have this glint in his eyes, this fire within...
It would be magnificent, wouldn't it?
tl;dr: I'm a freak and love war. And I jizz when I think of Prussia fighting.
