This is an Author's Note
Hello, dedicated reader. If you were here before and read this, you'll notice that the second chapter has been removed. It's been taken down for editing. I noticed it was way too short, and that's unacceptable. I am working on fixing that now. The first chapter has also been overhauled, and quite a bit more filler has been added in. I noticed that the first two chapters were barebones. The second chapter will not be uploaded without the third, so please wait patiently!
Thank you! I will let you read the first chapter now. More from me at the bottom of the page. Read on!
iSoftRain
Prologue Part One
Location: Unknown
It was cold, and the walls were falling down. The Nations had gathered in the most obvious of places for their top secret gathering - an abandoned warehouse. There were many, cloaked in waves and folds of coarse black fabric, hoods drawn tight. A table had been dragged here, courtesy of England, for the occasion, being the third end of the Third World War, which had been ended twice beforehand, though the nations involved had declared war again not one week afterwards each time. The rest of the Nations had scrounged for chairs, and many had been uncovered, folding chairs and dining-room chairs, but there were not nearly enough. Civil and neutral Nations gave up their rights to seating to the more aggressive Nations.
This fateful meeting was called towards the final months in the Third World War, and the war had not, as predicted, ended the world upon which that war was fought. Rather, it had greatly decreased the net population of the nations that fought and those who threw themselves, unwittingly or by choice, into the crossfire. Many great republics had been lost in the war, and meetings such as this were commonly called to report the passing of a Nation or a rising of a powerful empire.
Meetings such as this took place in locations that were secure, neutral territories. Liechtenstein was a popular choice for locations, as well as Sealand and Tasmania. Locations such as southern Svalbard were also commonly used. This time, the meeting took place in Iceland. The host Nation stood leaning against a wall at the front of the room, having not even been considered in the arrangement of chairs, secure as his country was at this time. Emil conducted a long, quiet headcount. When at last he had completed it, the silver haired Nation paused, his hand hanging limply at his side.
"Well?" Germany said impatiently after a minute. Iceland hesitated even longer, doubt written across his young face, despite his knowledge of what little time the huge group of Nations had to waste, and for some, how much time they had before they declared war yet again on their neighbors. "Cut to the chase, Iceland. Who's dead?"
"France. It's France." Iceland spoke so quietly Germany had to ask him to repeat (which he did with much less of a delay) before he turned and relayed the information to the anxious crowd of Nations. The variety of continental groups, Oceanal provinces, states, provinces, and micronations, had already begun to count their own groups, and attention was turned to the European group with a few murmurs of surprise from around the room.
France was a very proud Nation at this time, with a large territory expanding much of Central Europe. He and his magnificent army had not quite reached the Czech Republic, with her own neutrality and hovercraft center of the world, but the brown haired young woman looked quite relieved to hear of his disappearance. The Italies, as well, seemed a bit more upbeat at the prospect of the end to France's slow but steady expansion into Italian lands.
Germany sighed. This would be hard to say back to his brother, whom was left behind in Berlin. There was a moment of solemn silence in grieving for the Frenchman, though few must've actually been grieving. By unspoken agreement, when the moment of silence was finished and the Nations' murmuring began anew, with most of the groups looking towards England. As he seemed oblivious to this, Denmark coughed lightly before recieving a sharp jab in the stomach from his Norwegian neighbor ("But Norgie!" "Hush, Dan."), and England looked up. The Europeans had shifted away from the Englishman, leaving him on an island of solitude in the near center of the room.
"What!" He exclaimed, seeing the eyes of many of his fellow Nations turned towards him, but none would meet his own. The Nations who had been too oblivious or too nervous to look at the Brit looked up at his outburst of anger. "You think I killed him." He accused. A few Nations shrugged and looked away, nobody speaking. England was a rather large Nation, not to mention the most powerful, having taken over most of Ireland's remaining land territory and barricading against the floods of 2092 which swallowed the rest of the Irish man's land territory. England was also the second to take to underseas colonies, after his Irish brother.
"Well you were the closest and likely the only one big enough, aru." China pointed out. England had to admit that this was a true statement, though it didn't exactly help him to prove his innocence. The closest powerful Nation able to potentially take the Kingdom of France down in a fight was definetely England. Even Germany's proud army was less than capable of a feat of that proportion.
"China!? You as well? What is all this? I didn't bloody touch the frog, let alone kill him! Who's next to accuse me? Huh? America, maybe? Canada?" A few murmured words floated over to where the Europeans had shuffled away from the Englishman, leaving him alone and revealed. He turned to where the Americas had clustered together. "Really?!" His voice was raising in pitch, and he took a breath, returning his voice to it's normal pitch.
The United States of America shrugged, a pouty look coming across his youthful face as he spoke. "Sorry dude, it seems like Frenchie was powerful-er than everyone else, so only you're left."
"That's not a word, you bloody idiot!" England's anger grew. Everyone had shifted together into a three-Nation wide line, and the Americas joined them, no longer seperated by the figurative Atlantic Ocean of a wide swath of empty room, and the Nations formed a wall of accusation, impenetrable and unmoving.
"Don't speak in past tense," Someone called out from behind the wall. England thought he recognized the voice of one of France's close friends and allies, Portugal. "Francis is definetely still out there. He can't just disappear." Portugal continued. England spotted the black-brown hair of the Portuguese man through the crowd. Andre wasn't facing towards him, but rather looking around. When he finally turns towards England, his green eyes are displaying alarm. Something Andre had spotted had made him uneasy, and thus it made Arthur uneasy.
England turned the other Nation's words over in his mind, trying them and poking at them. Something wasn't right with the way the other Nation spoke. He sounded to be weighing his words, picking and choosing each word like one might pick and choose each step they take in a minefield. Carefully, mimicking Andre's way of speaking, England called out. "What do you mean, Andre?" England was careful to use the Nation's human name, though it was much too late for that.
The Portuguese didn't get a chance to answer. A loud sound like thunder sounded from all sides, and a collective mutter spread like the plague everyone so vividly remembered through the gathered Nations. Some smarter Nations, such as Portugal, stepped back to be wreathed in the shadows, pulling up hoods and throwing on cloaks, but the crumbling walls swallowed many of them up, literally, as people came flooding over and through them and rubble rained down upon the open room. The doors burst open and fell off their rusting hinges with a crash. More citizens came crowding through the open area. For a world devastated with such a long and violent war, there sure were plenty of people in the neutral lands to break in.
England took a quick glance around the room, already moving towards the back wall, which had most of it's ceiling intact, and therefore the densest shadow. He also happened to know that there would be no possibility of people entering that way, as bottom of the exterior wall was clogged with thorn bushes. A month or so before, when the meeting was first called, England himself had taken the time to scout out the meeting area with the help of Iceland.
All of the Nations had dispersed, some throwing off their cloaks in an attempt to disguise themselves as normal, others throwing them on. This turned out to be in vain, as bloodhounds, which have the uncanny ability to sense Nations' auras, were released into the room. England winced, watching one take down Austria but being unable to help. The brown haired Nation was soon impossible to be seen, his body blocked by so many others.
All around him, the same thing was happening to almost everyone. The sights were horrifying and sometimes gruesome. A few splashes of blood surrounded an area where a German Shepherd had leaped up on The Netherlands and sunk it's teeth into the Nation's side. England sprinted on, reaching the back wall after encountering a few other scenes, which he quickly adjusted his path to avoid at all cost.
England was by no means a selfish Nation, but he didn't pause in his mad dash to help the other Nations around him. He spotted Norway and Denmark fighting side by side once again, blocking a couple dozen people from getting to Svalbard, Greenland, Faroe Islands, and Iceland, who seemed quite indignant at being protected, though he had no weapon or training in combat, unlike the two older Nations. Japan, with Greece in tow, China, pulling along an injured Hong Kong, and South Korea had pulled out their respective weapons and, united as brothers once more, began to fight the storm of opposition. Perhaps, England thought grimly, nodding to the three as he sprinted past, hoping against hope that they would follow. This may be a good thing, in some ways.
The English Nation reached the back wall relatively soon. Skidding to a stop, he stared up at where the night sky glimmered, glaring coolly down at him, the twinkling stars laughing at and mocking his predicament. He immediately moved into a more secluded location, where a tumble of debris shadowed a small corner. And, furthermore, the debris climbed to the open sky, where England could escape.
This is the first organized attack on the Nations, he thought, correctly. While some Nations had been attacked and injured by people in the past, the incidents were few and far apart. Nothing like this had occurred in Nation history. England had a difficult time believing that the people had a definitive reason for attacking only Nations. The attack seemed well planned out and prepared for. Perhaps, however, this was only a random terrorist attack. He forced himself to believe that idea, disregarding the sheer numbers that worked to disprove this, and the native look of the citizens.
An alarmed shout caught the Brit's attention. He turned his head, and immediately cursed and began quickly climbing the cluttered mass of debris. He had been spotted. A few people had begun to give chase. Reaching the top of the wall, he leaped down, pulling his cloak around him in an effort to evade as much thorn-induced injury as possible, though the threat of death, capture, or severe injury at the hands of the angry people still held precedence in his mind. Twisting in the air, England turned about, so that he would land on his back. He may or may not have wanted to land on his back to avoid having to look at the thorn-studded landscape.
After he hit the ground, driving all the air out of his lungs, he lay still for a moment in the thick brush, holding back a curse. He could hear the shouting above him. One voice in particular stood out. It sounded vaguely familiar, but all the same, not familiar at all. "Come on! We're wasting our time! He probably fell on his head or something! There are more for the pickings inside." The voices made some further sounds, and a flashlight beam even shone near him, but in time that, too, disappeared. England sighed in relief, but waited a few precious moments afterwards to dare movement.
Right away, the Brit could tell he was injured somewhere. Tearing the bottom off of his cloak with a small effort, he wrapped it around his upper leg, where he spotted a splash of blood, steadily growing larger as his heart, hammering with anxiety and adrenaline, pumped the red liquid out through his injury.
Finally, when he thought he would be okay, he risked standing up. He saw, thankfully, that the people had retreated from the opening on the top of the building, and heard, not sure what to think, the sounds of screaming and fighting from inside the building diminish. He considered briefly returning to the building, some insane part of him insisting on making sure everyone was okay. Then, the rational side of him, which was stunned that it had been able to have been convinced to JUMP OFF A BUILDING, kicked in. He quickly decided that it would be suicide to return, and he had just escaped anyway, so receiving his injury would have been in vain.
A wave of dizziness passed over him as the Brit stumbled away from the site of the- it could only be described with one word- massacre. As he finally found somewhere he could enjoy a slight respite, he bumped into someone, who reeled backwards, them having clearly not seen him like he had not seen them.
England tensed, but relaxed when the person let down their black hood, letting their long brown hair fall tumbling down their back, revealing them to be Hungary. She held onto his hand and smiled comfortingly, blinking at him. He hesitantly curved his lips upwards a bit, relief swallowing him. What a strange time this was, England supposed, when he would be relieved to meet an opposing Nation at a time when he was vulnerable.
Hungary led them to where a small group of Nations had managed to escape the fates the humans had felt necessary to enforce upon them. England's heart twisted when he saw how few of them had escaped to be here, and how injured those there were. None had escaped without injury, and Bulgaria was having to lean against Romania, his eyes half closed. Among the pitiful group was Japan, Russia, Canada (finally visible for once, poor chap), Greece, Bulgaria, and Romania.
"Spread the word." Japan's soft voice was firm and grave. Everyone was close, and the small group of Nations could not risk letting people searching for escapees such as themselves hear, but his words held some tiny amount of defiance and hope, and the spirits around the group were lifted that much higher. "We are no longer safe."
A/N Begins Here
Whoo hoo. I'm not going to bother saying that this is my first story, as you likely will not care too much. I will however mention that if you have not yet figured it out, Hetalia does not belong to me. This is a long, but important, Author's Note. Please read to not be confused.
I am looking for a beta reader! If you are up to this, message me, please.
Now for some background.
The events mentioned in this first prologue happen in the order as follows:
- Present day (2014)
- Humankind takes to the ocean again, in the Russian and Greenlandic settlements floating on the Northern Sea. (2030)
- Soon to follow, England and Ireland, though they are credited with underwater settlements first. (2056)
- Great Anglo-Irish Floods (2062)
- World War Three begins (2100)
- World War Three reaches it's height (2115) From here, everything dies down until it's just a few countries left fighting. Most have surrendered or been eradicated. However, there are still some small skirmishes, as tensions are high.
- The first "end" to WW3 (2119)
- The second "end" to WW3 (2130)
- The events of this chapter (2159) This will be referred to as the Great Nation Hunt of 2159, and will continue for the next two prologues.
I've been trying not to favor my favorite characters, being Norway, Lithuania, and those guys, but if you see them being used a bit more than the others, just know that I could have used them a LOT more.
Headcanons will be used in this story, as well as fewer pairings than normal. I will hint at a few pairings, like brotherly AmeCan, some AusHun, other things like that, so long as they have historical basis. I tend to view Hetalia in a very historical way.
OCs are going to be introduced. I have the Nordic Region, which I will post character profiles for, and I have some other areas. Mexico, Portugal, and so on. As Nations tend to be male characters, I have tried to keep it about 80% male OCs, so the only really female OCs I have planned are Czech Republic, Svalbard and Greenland, and a few others that will be introduced later. Not to worry, however, as my OCs will very rarely be mentioned, minus one very important OC.
This story has a roughly 50 - 70 chapter outline. It will continue for a while. Updates are planned on a bi-weekly basis. However, I had originally written the first 21 chapters on a notebook, which subsequently got lost just six weeks from the creation of the story. I am now re-writing the story off memory, so I will post when the bi-weekly marker comes up or when I get a chapter written, if that happens after the bi-weekly marker. This previously said "one week". I have changed that to two weeks.
Two more prologues are planned after this, and then the real story begins.
Long Author's Note is long. This prologue has been overhauled.
