Chapter One: The Battle

Nobody knows the true story of what became of Holy Rome… Right? Well, a certain aristocrat says otherwise… Also, Holy Rome only looks about 16 in this opening, for those who get easily lost/confused. ^^ (As for Prussia under "Characters, that's because he's extremely important later on)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, any Hetalian characters, or anything else mentioned in this story, except for any OC's I might use.

He fell into the mud, gasping in pain; and he'd barely been hit once! That's how he knew, how he knew his time was up. Holy Rome felt his body weakening, his body failing slowly. This was going to be his last battle, his last day, his last everything. Holy Rome had never even gotten to see Italy again…

"No…" he breathed out helplessly. He'd promised, promised his Italia that he'd return. Holy Rome could deal with his disease kicking in, or his empire falling if that happened later, but…

"Please, please," he begged. "I-I want to… to see her a-again… P-please, I'm beg-begging…!" It was a desperate, last-request plea, but he had to say it out loud, just to know that he did still care for her. "I, F-Frederich Beil-Beilschmidt… I w-will not… ngh… give u-up… on… Ita…" he said, losing strength with every letter that passed his lips. "It..a…li…a" He collapsed.

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France was more ruthless than ever. He was sick and tired of being mocked for how weak he was! He was slicing down man after man, set on finding Holy Rome himself so that he could end a nation and finally get some damn credit! Finally, though, he and his men were the only ones left standing. Bewildered, France wondered if he'd killed him accidently, or if he'd escaped.

Non, I would've felt his presence had I killed him… And there's no way he could run fast enough to escape with how injured his empire was already, France thought. "You there!" he shouted to one of his men. "Yessir!" they responded with a salute.

"Look around for a man in a black cloak with blonde hair and blue eyes and bring him to me! He also could be wearing a black hat," he ordered. "Yessir!" he shouted again, not once breaking salute. As he marched off, France turned angrily back to the battlefield. "Merde," he hissed under his breath. France was severely ticked at losing his target, and he was highly doubtful that he would find him; or if he did, he was relatively sure Holy Rome would be dead.

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Austria had been in the area when France and Holy Rome's armies had engaged, and he was currently curled behind a tree, hugging his knees close to his chest. He hadn't moved from that position for hours, and he had no plan to move any time soon. But then…

"Hey, sir? A-are you alive?" someone asked. Austria opened his eyes and jumped away from the voice. His stiff body protested greatly to movement, but Austria hadn't been prepared for someone to spot him. The man in a French uniform that was standing in front of him sighed in relief. "Good, I wasn't sure if could live with me if I thought we'd killed a… someone not on either side of the battle," he said with a very, very thick accent. It was also apparent that he only barely knew English.

"Um, have you seen a… English word… a man with yellow hair and… bleu eyes?" he asked. "He said that he could be… were? Ah, wearing a… a darkly-colored cloak and hat," he said, getting straight to his business. Holy Rome...? Austria thought in worry. "No, I haven't. I was, ah… s-sleeping," he lied. "In that way? Through a battle?"

"I've been caught up in many battles," Austria said. It was true; even if he wasn't in uniform, he'd had to fall suddenly to the ground and crawl away many times when a battle had unexpectedly started. The man simply nodded. "Oui… Well, if you spot him, please tell me fast." And he was gone.

Austria stretched his body out, despite his muscle's protests; though he did have to sit around a little while until he was able to get enough feeling in his legs and arms to stand up. As soon as he could stand on his own, though, he rushed toward the piles of dead bodies- most of which were Holy Roman soldiers. Even in battle, he had worn the same clothes.

Austria scoffed slightly; that French imbecile could spot him easily if he had the sense to look at the bodies! Austria knelt down beside him, a sullen expression on his face. Italy was going to be so upset… He put a hand on Holy Rome's body and closed his eyes…

…Wait…. Wait a…! His eyes shot open and he looked at Holy Rome in shock. Impossible… He'd swear he felt Holy Rome's body move slightly upwards, as if he were breathing! Austria carefully picked up Holy Rome's left arm and felt for a pulse. No fucking way… Austria thought. He was only able to stare in wonder at the former nation's body.

This was just… so impossible in so many ways. Still, Austria scooped up his young body and darted away as fast as he could go.

So I was bored and then read a fic about Holy Rome dying; that got me back into what I call my "Chibitalia Mode". I do sort of believe Holy Rome "died", but not really. LOL confusion. So how I see it should be sort of obvious based on the intro., but if not, Austria and his fancy doctors will explain soon enough! Rate, review, whatever! Just show respect for me and others, 'kay?