A/N: You know how Italy just keeps going back, and back, and BACK, in HetaOni? Well, what happens just before the time-travel? I mean, really, I think it'd be kinda stressful to see your friends/yourself die OVER AND OVER AND OVER just to go back so it can all repeat itself! So, well, this mad fic is something like what Italy's crazy mind's like before going back once more. Um, stay away if you don't like gore, blood and a very heavy, obviously insane, atmosphere. It's my first shot at writing something this crazeeeh, so maybe it's not so good :D
Blood. That's his first thought. He felt himself falling, getting crushed by thin air…
"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" He cried, burying his face into his hands. "You… You DEMONIC BOOK!" He screeched, throwing it across the room.
Light.
Blinding white light, but red at the same time.
Crimson.
Blood.
The same unwavering thought, he always ended up with it. The time loops… "YOU'RE AFFECTING MY MIND, AREN'T YOU?" He laughed crazily, sinking to the floor again. Images flashed across his vision. "ENGLAND! JAPAN! GERMANY!" He blindly ran towards them, arms outstretched, but fell forwards into nothing. He raised his hands to the dim red light. They were glistening with the same blood which plagued him.
As in a madman's dream, he saw the blood autonomously run down his arm in rivulets, leaving the skin behind it clean and untainted. It collected on the floor around him, before rushing forwards in the middle of the room. Hushed whispers filled the room, and he could feel his heartbeat slowing. He watched in horror as the crimson liquid moved to form the broken clock he feared so much.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" He screamed at the numbers swirling around the bloody circle. "GO AWAY!" He backed away from the vision, breath coming in short gasps.
"Italy… Come with me…" One hushed voice rose higher than the rest, and a man wrapped in a black cloak flashed before him, hand outstretched. Static filled Italy's ears, he gazed at the flickering image with wide eyes, tears turning red and running down his face in an endless stream. Frantically grabbing the blood-stained journal, he screamed in agony as he opened it up, fire coursing through his veins.
Gashes appeared on his arms, dripping crimson onto the faded pages. Slumping back, he tore a particular blank page out in rage and pain seared through his head, as if he'd just ripped off something of his own. Looking back at the paper, he let out a cry when he saw all of his friends depicted on it, lying in pools of their own essence. The blood from his arms flowed into the page on its own accord, animating the corpses. The sketches all turned to look at him, black voids replacing their eyes. Staring at them in terror, Italy let out another scream when he felt a hand clamp down on his neck, drawing blood, just when the drawings faded and the page turned clear again.
He struggled weakly against Germany's grip, crying out in fear and pure desperation. In a last mad attempt, he flung the journal away again, into the pool of blood still dancing in the centre of the room, watching it rot and disintegrate.
"What did you do, Italy?" The voice seemed to come from one but all of his friends at the same time. Trembling, Italy keened softly, realizing his mistake. Anger flared up within him, and he struggled harder, freeing himself. Standing up to face whatever haunting conjuration his mind had created, he started to cry again. "YOU MADE ME DO THAT, DIDN'T YOU? YOU TWISTED ME INTO THROWING AWAY THE ONLY CHANCE I HAD TO SAVE MY REAL FRIENDS! THAT BOOK WAS THE ONLY WAY I COULD GO BACK!" He yelled, voice breaking near the end. He dared a swift glance at the journal. It was gone.
"Looking for this?" The man in the black cloak appeared again, holding the book. He was different now. Dripping in blood, covered in cuts and eyes glowing red. But the maniacal grin on his face sent shivers down Italy's spine. "Use the journal, Italy. Come on." He threw it at Italy, who barely managed to catch it. It'd somehow been restored, thankfully. "Turn me like this when you do. Condemn your "friends" to an even worse fate. CONDEMN THEM TO MORE AGONY, I DARE YOU!" He screamed, an edge of insanity to his voice.
Italy whimpered, looked at his "friends", still standing motionless and staring at him, at the blood all over the room, at the journal. And finally at his beloved. He smiled a knowing smile. "You're not my love. You have no power over me." A frightful peace had overcome Italy. Gazing back down at his salvation, he held the book to him more tightly, feelings its blessed powers starting to seep out through the pages.
"Goodbye, Holy Rome. You're not needed anymore. I need another chance at life."
A/N: Um, quick question: How does Italy actually time-travel? Does he just go, "Hey Mr. Book, one time-travel please!" Snaps his fingers and BAM! He's gone back? Is it willpower? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN :3
Anywhooo, I hope it wasn't too terrible. Be kind and R&R!
BTW, I was listening to the Dark version of Marukaite Chikyuu whilst writing this, it really sets the mood! It's the song Italy can play on the third floor piano in one version of HetaOni. Try listening to it, it's almost as worthy as England's Evil Demon Summoning Song (Which is, BTW, the song England can play on the piano.)!