June 22, 1940
A man kneels in the center of a dark room, hands bound behind his back, military uniform stained red and in shreds, showing bruised skin. Long blonde hair surrounds a once regal face, somehow feminine yet masculine at the same time, now bruised and covered in blood, both fresh and drying. Blue eyes glare at a figure draped in shadows in the corner of the room, anger and defiance raging in their depths. "Jamais." (Never) He hisses, putting every ounce of hatred he can in that one word.
"Jou vill respect mein authority." A heavily accented voice commands, hard with arrogance. A tall man in uniform steps out of the shadows, flanked by two others.
"Big brother France…" A short Italian man with pale skin and amber hair whimpers, taking a hesitant step towards the man on the floor. The blonde shoots him a look so poisonous that the Italian yelps and scurries back, hiding behind the man in front. The one in front, a tall man with slicked back blond hair and ice blue eyes sneers, delivering a sharp kick to the Frenchman's side. The other blonde remained silent even as there was a sharp crack of snapping ribs, not wanting to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing his pain. An albino with red eyes looked at the figure on the floor, lip curling slightly.
"Bruder he haz surrendered. Zhis iz not how I taught jou to treat people, Germany."
"Shut it Preußen." Germany snapped, shifting his glare to his brother. Prussia merely narrowed his eyes at his brother and resumed facing forward, flicking his head to get a lock of snow white hair out of his eyes. Germany knelt down and grabbed France's chin roughly, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Give it up France. Jou lost. Zhe Third Reich vill rule jou all, und jou vill bow down to me. Jour precious England vill cease to exist." France bit Germany's fingers in response, smirking and spitting out a piece of bloodstained leather as Germany withdrew his hand with a yelp, cradling it against his chest. "Jou little French slut." He growled, slapping France across the face.
"You will regret zis day, Allemagne. I will never submit to you." he spat, trying to struggle to his feet but stumbling.
"Ve vill establish a Vichy government zhat vill be controlled by us, but vhat jour citizens don't know von't hurt zhem. Zhat iz very generous of us so I urge jou to be grateful." he warned, taking a gun out of his pocket and tapping it against his hip threateningly.
"What makes you zink zat I will agree to zis?" France hissed, shaking his head both in defiance and to get his hair out of his eyes. Cerulean clashed with ice, and Germany smirked.
"I don't have to. Paris should fall right about… now." France's eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a wordless scream of agony, writhing around on the floor before going still. France had fallen to Nazi forces.
