My first Hetalia fic, so please be gentle. Inspired by "World Powers" (Drovenich) and the ending of Lost (which you don't have to have any knowledge of). And, yes, there is a HetaOni reference in this. Enjoy and please review.
A book in his hand, Arthur stood and looked over the pentagram drawn onto his floor, double checking for any mistakes he may have made while creating it. Finding none, his attention switched to the spell book that was now being held with both hands; it was already open to the page he would need. His gaze quickly swept over the words he had long since memorized. He believed he was ready.
His chanting started out slow and steady, the Latin falling easily from his mouth. The volume quickly rose though, and with it, so did the proof that his spell was working; paintings were rattling, books were falling off of shelves, the floor was shaking. It was becoming hard to keep his footing, and after so long, he couldn't help but fall to his knees. Objects went flying through the air, glass and metal crashing into him. He never stopped chanting though.
I can do this. I am the bloody United Kingdom.
In the literal sense, he was bloody; the skin of his arms, chest, and face was torn. As more of his clothing ripped open, the flesh under it did as well. Still though, he kept going. It was too dangerous not to.
I can—I can—I—
It was then, while he was screaming the words found on the page second to last, that drops of one of the ingredients he had poured over the pentagram hit him, going into his eyes. He was prepared for such a thing—everything he had used save his own blood was lethal—and had known to cover his face with his arm, but the action came too late. He fell back, writhing in agony.
Though the chanting stopped, the now uncontrolled spell kept going.
When Alfred found him ten minutes later, he was still unconscious. He came to when the younger country started shaking him by the shoulders, shouting his name. His vision had yet to return to him, but there was no mistaking his ex-colony's voice, just like there was no mistaking the concern to be found there.
"Britain!"
Alfred's voice was still frantic. He had to wonder how bad his injuries really were; other than his headache and the stinging of his eyes, he couldn't feel them. He barely registered the hand that was still on his shoulder.
"Britain! Answer me! What happened here?!"
You happened. You caused the third World War, you bloody git. I just wanted. . . to fix it. I just wanted. . .
He was also thought to be a major cause of it, but since most of the people who were pointing fingers at him did so because they blamed Alfred's behavior on his upbringing, which they saw as his fault, he paid them no mind.
"What's going on?! Britain!"
The floor was still shaking, but Arthur couldn't feel it.
"I'm sorry, America. I can. . . no longer see."
It was then that the blood Arthur had poured over the pentagram reached the same liquid that had blinded him, causing a white hot flash of magic to engulf everything, starting with the personifications of the United States of America and Great Britain.