BOOM.
The burning pillar next to Canada exploded in a roar of fire, spraying flaming splinters everywhere. He ducked and rolled, neatly avoiding a piece of flying shrapnel, then looked around, wild-eyed.
All around him, the countries fought grimly on, clashing with their unknown assailant in a desperate attempt to escape from the living hell they'd been lured into. Screams and furious, inhuman roars echoed around the walls of the cave they were trapped in, each resonance of sound swirling into a twisted melody of gutwrenching fear and anger. Smoke filled the cavern, making breathing difficult and visibility next to none. Canada twisted his head in pain at the sound and propped himself on his elbows in an attempt to rise, every muscle in his body screaming in pain at the movement.
WHOOM. WHOOM. WHOOM. A wave of chilling fear swept up the country's spine as the sound of massive wingbeats thundered over his head, the wind of the beast's passing knocking him back to the ground. He trembled where he lay, heart hammering in his chest, feeling completely and utterly helpless in the shadow of the monster. The fear activated his instincts and before he knew it, he was a bronze-gold dragon crouched low on long slender legs, pale cream wings wrapped around the rock outcrop in a desperate plea for protection.
Canada's suddenly super-sensitive nostrils flared and he snapped his head around, warily scanning the cave as a scent that was there-but-not-there triggered his senses.
Someone was close...but where?
The whistle of a sword slashing through the air was the only warning Canada had before the blade bit into his shoulder, rending through the shimmering gold scales like paper. He flinched, feeling his form flicker-dragon was never an easy guise to hold for him. Hot blood pulsed down his side, pain flaring with every heartbeat as he staggered back from his assaulter, twisting his neck to stare down at the soldier in horror.
The man stared back, no hint of fear showing in those burning pits of hatred reflected in his eyes. He let out a guttural war cry, raising his sword high in the air as he charged again, the incandescent sheen of dragon blood spinning though the air as droplets spun free from the movement.
This time, however, Canada had enough warning and pivoted on his back legs, swinging his tail around to deliver a crushing death blow, smashing the errant soldier into the cold rock wall. The abrupt snap-snap-snap of breaking bones announced the man's fate; cold blue eyes glared up at the country even in death.
Canada shivered and stepped back, feeling scales slip and wings fold as he lost control, changing back into his human guise. His shoulder burned in pain; he automatically raised a hand towards it, but the bleeding had already stopped, his healing factor sped up by the mix of fear and adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He took off running, scrambling off the ledge that the enemy had trapped him on and launching out into thin air, shifting into a golden eagle halfway through to break his fall.
It was then that he finally truly saw the hell that he, as well as the other countries of the world, had stepped into.
The cave they'd been lead to was huge-the width of it was nearly wide enough for all of the biggest countries to hover wingtip-to-wingtip in their full dragon form and not have to worry about brushing the other. Burning wooden buildings were scattered across the ground, filling the air with oily black smoke. Dark men streamed around it, seeming almost transparent in the light of the flickering fire, the steely blue glint of metal bright against the dark. Canada saw the Italy brothers backed into the corner shrieking like a pair of terrified hawks before Japan dived in and slashed the attackers away in a blur of swords and huge dark wings, half-transformed with feathers stretching up his neck and framing luminous gold eyes. He looked fierce and mysterious, and Canada swooped higher in the air at the sight, but the effect was ruined when Italy threw himself at the other country, wrapping his arms around Japan's shoulders, seemingly in disregard for the massive black eagle wings that ruffled and flapped around him as the poor shy nation sputtered in agitation.
Canada decided to move on.
He saw Finland and Sweden next, the smaller country charging into battle with frantic bloodlust, Sweden at his back defending him with wide sweeps of a stolen broadsword. There was a certain maniacal light in their eyes that somehow convinced Canada that they were the ones dominating the fight despite how outnumbered they were, especially when Sweden transformed into a massive navy blue sea dragon and knocked at least ten of his enemies back with a single deep-throated roar.
A searing bolt of light flashed up from the far right wall, stabbing straight into Canada's sensitive eagle eyes and temporarily blinding him. He shrieked in pain, wingbeats faltering, and hastily dove towards a rock spire, claws scratching against stone in a desperate attempt to not to plummet to his death.
Another pulse of color behind his tightly closed eyelids encouraged him to try to look again, and he did so hesitantly, peering out with his third eyelid half-slid over his eyes, blurring his vision and protecting him from the light.
What he saw took his breath away.
The Magic Trio stood back-to-back with each other, shoulders forming a perfect triangle, heads tipped back and palms held out as they muttered incantations in a strange tongue that flowed smoothly between soft and silvery sweet to harsh and guttural, rasping harshly out of their throats like the angry roar of something ancient and hungry waking from a long sleep. Canada shivered; apparently they did far more than just play around with love spells and dress up as Harry Potter-he could feel the icy crackle of power tingling up his spine even from far over here, a good distance away from the action.
The light flared again, and now Canada could see an ornate summoning circle drawn out on the ground around them in luminous white chalk, the perfect sphere ringed with smaller designs, all sharp edges and twining knots and staring eyes. The dusty lines blazed with bright, searing color-first icy blue, then emerald green, then blood red. Glossy red stripes smeared the ground beneath their feet where they'd used each other's blood to close the circle; even as Canada watched, England drew out a silver athame and passed it to Norway, who methodically slashed a double cross across his wrists before passing it to Romania, who did the same, thin lips pulling back from razorblade fangs as the silver pressed into his skin.
England carefully cut bleeding symbols into his arms, the ruby-red slits streaming blood down across his palms and dripping onto the floor. One droplet landed on the ring of chalk and hissed, the whole circle lighting up in a blaze of emerald flame. Canada saw the same happening as the two other countries' blood slithered down their arms to meet with the ground, the scarlet of Romania and the cold blue of Norway illuminating their faces in ghostly light.
England dropped the dagger with an abrupt clang and all three nations turned their palms in as one, hands locking together, bleeding wrists pressed against each other. Their eyes never opened once during the transaction; it was as if they had no need of their bodies to see, had linked their minds so closely together that they had lost all memory of their individuality. It was completely and utterly terrifying-Canada felt that feeling of timelessness, of decades and centuries passing in the span of a heartbeat and seconds crawling on for nearly forever.
And he was just watching the spellwork.
He hadn't realized that his claws had detached from his safe hold until America's terrified roar of "CANADA!" pierced through the fog in his mind and jolted him to his senses. Suddenly, he was in freefall; he let out a screech of terror and extended his wings, but in the smoky blackness he couldn't tell which direction was up or down, which way would end with him either soaring away in safety or becoming just another bloody smear on the cold hard stone...
The sudden slam of impact tore him out of weightlessness; America had caught him before he could crash. A familiar feeling of warmth radiated up between his ragged feathers, telling the little county that America was in dragon form even before he opened his eyes.
Sure enough, the fire dragon that had him trapped in its claws was soothingly familiar, the patterns of blazing scarlet and pale gold in striking contrast to the concerned blue eyes staring back at him. Canada squawked in gratitude, remembered that he was still a bird, and shifted back into human form (he was still small enough to fit snugly in America's talons).
"Thank you," he said weakly, clutching one claw tight under his gloved hands. "It's a long way down."
"Shure is, bro." America dipped his head to survey the chaos below. "And hey, I'm your hero. I'm just glad that it feels safer up here than down there..."
The words had barely left his throat when a massive shadow leaped out of the dark, crashing into the smaller dragon with an ear-splitting shriek. Canada barely had enough time to register the same cold-fear-there-not-there aura before he was falling again, the angry roars and terrified screams of his brother following him down.
He slammed into a rock outcropping before he could break his fall, the jolt-snap of impact and sudden searing pain in his side keeping him from shifting. His glassses slipped off into the night; Canada couldn't care less. They were broken anyways, he thought fuzzily as he slammed against rock again and again, enough times so that when he finally rolled to a stop, his body seemed to have forgotten whether it was either numb or in screaming agony.
He raised his head weakly, muscles shaking, feeling blood pooling in his mouth; through the blur of fire and darkness he could see Finland racing towards him, eyes wide in horror, mouth forming words that Canada couldn't hear past the roar in his ears. Sweden ran behind him, fully human, normally stoic face creased in concern and vague fear; blood was pouring down his face from a shallow cut on his temple, but the Nordic took no notice of it, eyes shifting from Finland to Canada then up at the darkened ceiling with seemingly no pattern whatsoever.
It was then when Canada realized that the roaring in his ears wasn't actually in his head, it was outside- Germany had joined the fight against the rogue country. The sounds of their battle rolled and clashed like thunder as the two dragons screamed their anger and hatred at each other, the hollow stone of the cave walls catching and amplifying the sound by a thousandfold until the very earth seemed to shake with the sounds of their battle.
Germany roared again, a deep rumbling bellow that grew faster and louder with every passing second. His opponent matched him with a scream of defiance and rage, the higher-pitched sound cutting through the deeper roar and matching him step by step. Canada saw Sweden and Finland flinch in pain and cover their ears; he did the same, shaking with the agony of his broken ribs and the knowledge that somewhere, up there two ancient and powerful and very angry monsters were in full-fledged battle, and he was just a tiny little scrap that could be easily crushed along the way...
And suddenly he was being lifted, moved away; Sweden and Finland had reached him, it seemed, and now they were dragging him into the protective shadow of a stalagmite, which hurt far more than he cared to admit. He must have made some sound of pain, however, because Finland brushed some of the hair out of his eyes and whispered, "Sorry, sorry," in a pained voice, as if he couldn't stand to see him in discomfort, which Canada found somewhat ironic, considering the way the little Nordic fought.
Sweden said nothing, only breaking his concentration to scan the air anxiously; this was the most worried Canada had ever seen him.
Though, he realized, as he caught the taller country sneaking a look at his companion, not for him. Canada got the distinct felling that Sweden was the type to sacrifice himself for the good of others, even if it lead to his own demise.
That was strangely...terrifying. Canada may be weaker in battle than other countries, but he didn't want to be responsible for someone else's death because he couldn't even protect his back in battle.
Finland propped him up against the stalagmite and held something out to him; some squinting later, and Canada realized that the unidentified object was his glasses. He put them on, murmuring thank-you's as he went; the lenses were cracked, but his sight was clearer than it had been before.
He accepted some water from the Nordic with a nod of thanks, then jumped as a familiar battle cry resonated through the air. It was higher and thinner than the growls and muffles cries still clamoring in the background, and undeniably terrified, but also undeniably America.
Canada struggled to his feet despite Finland's protests to sit down, wait until his ribs had done healing, but he couldn't-that was his brother up there, for maple's sake, he couldn't just sit there and hide away behind a rock until the fight was over! He had to...had to fight...
Then his brain finally clicked and processed what he was seeing, and whatever thin little battle cry that he'd been forming in the back of his throat shriveled up and died.
The two fighting dragons were absolutely gigantic. Germany had apparently decided to drop the veil spell that Norway had instructed all the other countries in before the raid, because there he was in plain sight, a huge red, black, and gold snarling beast clashing with his opponent in a strangely synchronized dance of fangs and claws, leaping at the other and trying to pin the firedrake's head down to slash the throat before twisting away in a strangely elegant roll as the rogue snapped at his exposed chest scales. Blood was already streaming from small tears in his wings and gashes across his snout; a particularly deep cut gushed crimson into one icy blue eye, blinding it.
Fire flickered deep in the transformed countries' throats as they fought, but both were reluctant to utilize it; flames in quarters as close as this could result in both of the fighters blinded. Even the rogue refrained from using it, sparks flying from his mouth and illuminating his shadowy face as he whipped his head back and forth, that god-awful scream still vibrating up from a chest too deep for such sounds.
And then America dove in, scales a paler scarlet against Germany's rich vermillion and roared, flames pouring from his mouth and washing over the enemy's vulnerable eyes, the light startlingly bright against the unnatural darkness of the cave ceiling.
The other dragon let out a broken screech of pain and jerked backwards, turning and diving out of the river of fire in one practiced motion, abandoning the shadows for the lower half of the cavern still illuminated in firelight, only a monstrous silhouette of the night.
Until he dipped lower into the light.
Canada was pretty sure that he and Finland let out broken gasps of fear at the exact same time, because that was the only possible way that Canada could hear the shocked inhale of air over the thud-thud-thud of his heart pounding in his ears at the sight.
A demon hovered in front of them, all twisted black shadows and razorblade spines and burning red eyes like twin flames the color of fresh blood. The murky black of its scales wasn't the true shade- rather, it was thin and grey and almost velvety in places, like he'd smeared soot and grease over them instead of investing a glamour. It was big, too, bigger than Germany by at least several meters, that long barbed tail lashing restlessly across the ground, the huge spiraling horns catching the light and tracing it over the curves and spearlike points.
For a long second the monster hung in the air in front of them, bright red pupils rolling desperately in their sockets, and then it was off like a shot, sudden fear striking through its body and laying its crest flat as he fled, an unearthly shriek of terror ripping from his throat. Canada fell backward at the sudden movement, muscles stiff, chest shrieking in pain.
The creature had looked at him, had locked pale violet with burning crimson before bolting, and in that single heart-stopping moment, Canada had seen far more torment than he had ever thought he'd find mirrored in the eyes of a demon.
It...no, he...had looked anguished. Not angry, not frantic with bloodlust, but tormented, as if he'd just watched all of his loved ones die before his eyes. It rattled the little northern country in a way that he hadn't expected, and he suddenly felt horribly saddened.
He could relate to that loneliness quite well, actually.
Russia turned the corner, a bloodstained pipe clutched tightly in one gloved hand, bright purple eyes smoldering. It suddenly occurred to Canada that it had been Russia that the dragon had been fleeing from, which made sense in a really astonishing sort of way, considering the fact that the nation was still in human form.
Russia said nothing about his sudden victory-just smiled in that creepily innocent way of his and shifted, transforming into a dragon nearly twice the size of the one just defeated. A flap of his wings and a twitch of his tail later, and he was off, soaring out of the cave and into the stormy blackness of the outside.
The rustle of scales, feathers, and leather swept through the cave before the other counties followed suit, silently sifting into various winged forms before taking off. Canada inhaled and closed his eyes, willing away his shock and focusing instead on the closest sensible thing to do; turning into a mythical scaled beast that, by many standards, should not exist today.
He caught up with America somewhere around fifteen minutes later, matching his brother beat-by-beat despite the other's dragon form being much larger than his. The usually obnoxious nation was uncharacteristically silent, blood still trickling from cuts on his snout; his blue eyes stared resolutely ahead when he addressed Canada, not moving from his flight path as he spoke.
"Tell the others to meet me at the hall on the border. They'll know which one. Now go."
Canada nodded, then turned to spread the word.
A/N: Happy b-day, Prussia.