At first he doesn't believe that what his eyes are processing is real until he is aware of the splitting pain in his stomach. His hand reaches down to grasp at the sword; he begins to tremble and he pales considerably.
France stands in front of him, his wavy hair fluttering in the wind and his cerulean eyes hardened with war, rage, and hatred. He grips the sword tighter in his hand and twists sharply within his abdomen. A pained shriek escapes the child, his breaths coming out in raspy gasps.
"So," France leers at him, chest heaving with victorious gasps of breath as he grins at the terrified empire, "how are you, Holy Roman Empire? Perhaps...a little bloody?"
"F — france," Holy Roman Empire coughs, blood spilling from his wobbling lower lip, "p — please have some mercy. I just want to go home to I — italy and Prussia..."
"Why should I give you any mercy?" France asks, leaning closer to the weakened empire, "If you are not healing right now, perhaps that is saying something about the state of your empire."
With his sharp words spoken, France rips the sword out of Holy Rome's abdomen, twisting it fiercely at he did so. Holy Rome screams, the sound tearing painfully at his throat before he curls up tightly; he mentally begs for the pain to stop.
France stands above his fallen rival, his eyes holding a slight sorrow in them as he turns away from the sobbing child and walks away.
The blood begins to seep into the grass, staining the blades with the color of his crimson regrets. Holy Rome curls up and squeezes his eyes shut, shoving his fist in his mouth to muffle his screams.
"No!" Holy Rome hears someone shouting; he can feel them grasping his shoulders and shaking him wildly, "No, no, no!"
"Prussia?" He asks, his tiny hand grasping onto the fabric of Prussia's tunic. He can hear a heavy sob from above him as his albino brother shifts him so that he lays on his brother's lap, staring up at him blankly.
"West? H — hey, West... Just try and stay awake, okay?" Prussia urges him, carding through his hair and looking at him with desperation in his eyes. Holy Rome does not respond; his world spins around him, his brother's words garbled. He shuts his eyes and feels the world disappearing from beneath his feet.
When he wakes up, there is only one thing he can remember.
I love you, Italy...
Augh, I didn't even mean to write a Holy Roman Empire death fic! I just thought of swords and two countries battling eachother, but not deathfics... *sobs*
Here. *holds out tissue box*