A collection of oneshots featuring the darker periods of a nation's history. I will not be able to cover all of the nations, so I selected a few of my favorites.
I wrote this fanfic for my own literary enjoyment and wish to share it with other APH fans. The chapters I post here are not to be taken seriously and I apologize if I offend anyone. Also, I do not support or condone any of the themes I use here. Thank you.
MAJOR WARNING: dark themes (blood, gore, violence, death, cannibalism, etc); implied rape and necrophilia; explicit language and sex scenes; inaccurate historical references; slight OOC; NSFW & R-18
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the APH characters or the franchise; Axis Powers Hetalia rightfully belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.
~ Suum cuique ~
~ To each his own ~
With crazed eyes, he watches his soldiers' lifeblood stain the muddy earth in a red shower. Limbs upon mangled limbs decorate the battlefield like colorful posies. Flayed organs and innards spill from their flesh hosts, blood spluttering from severed veins in steady bursts. Dying cries and determined shouts deafen his ears. The clang of battered iron and the twang of flying arrows make his body vibrate in frenzied pride. He cares not while his people, his children, are being slaughtered around him. All he desires is more power, more bloodshed, more everything!
Greed is his guiding angel and his whispering devil. When he takes up his sword, it is for his king and country. When he fights, it is for the betterment of the people. When he fights, it is for a prosperous future. Yeah right.
When he fights, it is for his own gain and pleasure. He revels in being bathed in dark red, whether it is from his enemies or his people. He craves that coppery liquid every battle, drinking his fill as if it is delectable wine. His weapons have no alliance. Battling and murdering are his very reasons for existing. The first thing he learns while being raised in this barbaric world is to kill. To kill is to survive. To survive is to grow stronger. To grow stronger is to kill. It is a never-ending cycle and his personal mantra.
As his opponent's blood soaks his clothes, warming his face, a feral smile creeps across his lips.
"You are lucky. Not everyone gets to die by a nation's hand, du dreckiger hund. Though, I wish they would. More fun for me!"
Before the injured soldier can whimper a pitiful reply, Prussia sadistically lops off his head.