A spray of tears noiselessly hit the ground behind him as Italy ran for his life, which was all he seemed to have anymore. But what good were tears now? They sizzled on the charred ground and quickly evaporated in the blazing heat of the flaming rubble around him. Running frantically, barely dodging the flames and the falling debris from above, Veneziano panicked as if he were a cowardly sheep.

"Autare," he spat out with the painful heaves of his frenzied breath, "Please, anyone! Is anyone alive?! Help me!"

His eyes, which were usually closed, were now wide open, his pupils tiny against the amber-brown of his fearful irises. His skin was abnormally pale white from the sheer terror of the moment. His throat was incredibly dry and his lungs burned with each damn breath. But he didn't care about those inconveniences. Italy continued to run as he had been for quite some time. He trembled, his heart swelling with agonizing fear. All that was on his mind was safety.

He stopped abruptly in his tracks, almost hitting the brick wall at the end of the hellish alley he had run down. A dead end. "Dannazione!" he barked at the wall, and immediately collapsed to his knee as a wave of vertigo washed over him. His vision went black for a second or two, his entire body throbbing. When his sight slowly came back to him, although blurred with every pulse of his blood, he found himself staring down at the royal blue suit he wore oh so often. It was ripped in places, and stained everywhere with soot, and blood not only from himself but from others as well. Veneziano clutched his stomach as he felt it lurch with nausea. But he only managed to cough up a small amount of blood, as his stomach had been empty for quite a while.

He looked up to the sky, which seemed to be burning just as everything else was. It was asuch a horrific sight to see that poor boy, collapsed to his knees and clutching his middle, stained in blood from head to toe, pleading for someone to help him.

The end of the world... he thought, not able to speak as his breath now came ungenerously to him, It can't be happening... Italy now knew not where the ground was, for his severe dizziness had abducted his sense of direction. His eyes were half-closed, although he was not aware, and the long curl protruding from the left side of his soiled, light brown hair had been tangled up within itself. Italy's hands trembled, and as he looked down on them, he saw that they were covered in blood.

What had happened, exactly? Veneziano struggled to remember. He recalled the murderer, bathed in shadows. The other countries, who had seen its face, were now dead because of it. The murderer could not be touched, and as it seemed, nor could it be avoided. That is why Italy had run, desperately trying to escape the sure death this phantom brought.

"Am I the last one?" Italy breathed to himself, hearing now his own heartbeat, which seemed to be growing louder. "Are they all dead?" His pupils pulsed, dilating and contracting with every tremulous beat of his heart. "America is dead..." The horrifying image of America's blood-soaked body burned in his mind. "Japan is dead..." His friend's dying cries still echoed in his head. "Canada... Britain... Germany... France..." Italy's heart beat so violently now that he shook with every rush of blood through his body. The magnitude of his heartbeat increased more and more, and his breathing quickened still. "All my friends... Everyone... I am... The last..."

At that moment, Italy threw back his head, roaring to the sky with all his might. The power of his cry seemed to echo throughout the entire world. It rang through the falling city around him, and his heart seemed to burst. "I AM THE LAST!"

Italy's head then fell against his breast, and his vision flickered wildly. He wavered in his dizziness as the world was plunged into darkness. He saw images of his friends appearing and disappearing erratically around him, colors flashing through the pure blackness that had seemed to swallow him alive. He felt as if he were falling, yet his knees still detected solid ground- In an instant, that ground came up to hit his face.

Italy's amber-brown eyes opened slightly, having lost some of their light. He found himself lying motionlessly on his side, still engulfed in shadows, against the invisible ground. His chest heaved with each heavy breath, and he weakly rolled to his back, begging within himself for the pain both inside and outside of him to cease.

"The world belongs to me," a low voice rang out, "And you mortals seem to forget."

"What have I done...?" Italy said weakly, barely more than a whisper.

"It is what the rest of the world has done," the voice said as an ominous face appeared in the dark before him, a face that struck fear into Italy's soul and would have petrified him had he not been too weak to be afraid any longer.

"I did nothing..." Italy said, a small tear streaming down the side of his face, "But if I have done something... I didn't know... I swear..."

"Veneziano..." The specter said, grinning an awful, devilish grin, "It is far too late."

"I'm sorry!" Italy cried, "Please... Don't kill me..."

"Don't kill me," the specter mocked, "Is that all you ever say? You are weak, Veneziano... Weak, childish and cowardly. You surrender before you even begin to fight. You value your life over the life of a friend."

"No, I don't!" Italy cried.

"You offer them up as a sacrifice for yourself," the specter taunted.

"No!"

"Yes, Italy!" The face grinned demonically, its devilish body beginning to grow from the shadows. "You are nothing but a coward, and that is the reason none of your so-called friends really loved you!"

Italy was fatigued. Pain throbbed in his body. His lungs burned, his chest heaved, his legs seared with pain; but rage grew in Italy's heart. He was about to die. But he wouldn't die in vain. He wouldn't prove this murderer right. Veneziano loved his friends more than anything, and now he would do what it took to avenge their deaths.

His body shook now with rage rather than fatigue or panic. His fists clenched, and fire burned wildly in his wide eyes. He wavered, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in anger. He bared his teeth, fresh blood still dripping from the side of his face. His sanity was lost, and now Italy as well had a demonic air to him. The devil before him grinned evilly, an expression that would have normally sent him running. It did send Italy running, but this time, he ran toward this demon, roaring violently in his barbaric rage.

They clashed, and all at once, colors and pictures flashed through Italy's mind. He felt himself falling, deeper, deeper, until a great flash of white sent his eyelids flying open.

"Italy," a familiar, robust voice flowed out above him. Italy found himself, when his vision focused, staring up at two piercing blue eyes. His arms were limp beside him, as well as his legs. "Are you okay?"

Italy's eyes pulsed a few more times, and then finally stopped. He blinked, eyes half open. "Germany..." he stuttered weakly, just barely managing to curl his lips into a trembling smile. The light from the sun shone down on the both of them.

"You lost conciousness during training," Germany said as he held the limp Italy in his arms, "Let's get you home."

Italy placed a weak hand over his breast, listening to his own frightened heartbeat. He closed his eyes once again.

"Vita..." he whispered to himself as Germany carried him away.