Poland stumbled through the mess of city, stumbling over debris and wreckage, coughing on the thick dust that choked the air. He frantically scrambled over the ruins, trying to evade the attackers. Not knowing where his people were, or how many were left. As he was climbing over the rubble of a collapsed building, a white-haired man blocked his way, Prussia.

An eerie laugh emanated from the bloke, Poland stopped dead in his tracks, pondering the idea of retreating the way he had come. Even if he did run, it was obvious that Prussia could easily outrun the nation, in their current states. Poland breathed heavily, Gilbert's smirk glowed in the hanging dust. His polished blue uniform and shiny medals stood out among the desperate wreckage. He had large gun strapped across his shoulder. Another man, taller than the Prussian, walked hesitantly towards the pair. With his slicked blonde hair and broad stature, he was easily recognizable.

"You two look totally cute in your matching outfits," Poland exclaimed with a laugh, his heavy breathing hindering his attempted jab.

Prussia laughed back, "at least you kept your sense of humor, after all, you've lost everything else," his red eyes glared wickedly at the injured country, moving his gun off his shoulder. Germany stood behind his brother, not nearly as eager as his partner.

Poland's smile faded, his expression turned cold. Prussia raised his gun against Feliks.

"Give up, you've lost, Feliks," Gilbert voiced plainly

Limping badly, Poland shuffled towards his attacker. Coming face to face with the end of the Prussian's gun. As his cities crumbled around him, Poland stood in front of the ones who had caused it, unable to stop their immense forces.

"You think you're strong!" Poland yelled, "you think you can get away with this!"

Gilbert quickly recovered from his surprise at Felix's ferocity, and took aim against the Pole.

"Actually I do," Gilbert answered cruelly, there was an anger in his voice

Poland did not give up, like the two men had anticipated. Even as he stared into the face of death, even as his nation burned, and the will of people struggled dangerously close to the edge of hopelessness. He did not give up. He stared at the brothers as they stared back, welcoming their hatred and cruelty, but not accepting his harsh fate. And it was then Prussia hesitated. Felix was supposed to give in; he was supposed to surrender like the others always did. He had not expected, and definitely was not prepared, to have things come to a stand-off like they currently were. Could Prussia shoot down Poland, it should be easy. He and his brother had already been slowly killing the country, so why falter now. Where did this weakness emit, why was it there. He was the mighty Prussia after all, standing next to the fearsome Germany. They were going to take the world together, but how would they do that if Gilbert couldn't muster the courage to end one little nation.

Germany waited, not sure for what.

"Gil-"Ludwig started, a harsh crack cutting him off. Prussia had lashed the butt of his gun out at Feliks, connecting with his jaw. Gilbert's anger flaring outwards, Poland sprawled out on the ground, sputtering blood. Germany raised his gun, cautiously.

"Who do you think you are?!" Prussia shouted, overflowing with rage, Poland tried to sit up, but Gilbert kicked his shoulder, hard, sending him back down to the rubble," you think you can stand against ME! You think you win a war with just pure tenacity?!" the white-haired man continued, his usual pale face red with sudden anger. Bombs burst in the distance only adding the drama of the moment.

Silence crept over the three of them, as Gilbert stood over Felix.

"You won't beat us, you can't," Poland declared with grim determination

"We already have," Prussia retorted, scaling down from the pile of ruins, leaving Poland to lie in the ash.