Hello, lovely readers!

If you guys didn't know, this is a complete rewrite of an old story of mine! You can check out the original on my profile for details on why I rewrote it and what the new version aims to achieve in comparison.

Here are a few warnings for you guys on the what the story will involve. If this kinda story content ain't your cup of tea, you should stop reading here:
Violence and gore
Mentions and depictions of past abuse
Psychological trauma
Neglect

There will probably be more things that require a warning, but I'll warn you about them when they come up.

I don't think there's much else to say. As you can probably tell, this will be a 2p story. But instead of having the two worlds face off as these sort of fanfics tend to, the plot will be a bit more complicated with less clear roles and motives. I guess I prefer this sort of story, and we'll see how it goes. The story will change between different points of view, though this first chapter is just from one.

Okay, I think that's it. Enjoy!

The sound of the kettle was loud and piercing, and England didn't know it any other way. Many people had told him the sound was annoying, or unnecessary, but he didn't take their words into consideration. For him, it was more calming than anything - something familiar that he could rely on to always have that shrill noise as he prepared for his day.
When it slowly quietened down, he selected a teacup from his cabinet, something pretty and china, maybe from the 19th century. It was as he was choosing a tea bag that his phone rang, a noisy disturbance. He grumbled and continued to make the tea with magic, not needing to even look at the process, and went to answer his phone. It was a blocked number, but he didn't let that bother him.

"Hello?" Arthur asked. He was trying his best to be a gentleman - not letting his voice convey the irritation of being phoned at 5:30am. Nobody responded on the other side, and he frowned.
He tried again, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
Listening closely, he managed to hear breathing through the phone line. If this was a prank call, it wasn't a very funny one. He wondered if it was Alfred or if some local kid didn't realise that they had discovered the personal number of a living nation.
"Arthur Kirkland here, who is this?" he was getting impatient with whoever this was. The breathing got heavier and then they hung up. He sighed and put it back down, returning to his tea. It was stirring itself, and he let himself physically take control by taking out the spoon and picking it up by the handle.

Who could've called him? It probably wasn't another nation. The one that seemed mostly likely to do something like that to him was definitely America, but he liked his sleep. Because England was holding the G8 meeting at noon, the nations could sleep in at least a bit. His internal clock had woken him up but he doubted that would be the same for America due to jet lag.
He decided not to think too hard about it. He needed to get himself into a state of mind able to deal with 7 others, and the tea definitely would do that. Maybe he would have enough time to watch some TV. As he started to make his way into the lounge room, he took a quick glance at his reflection in his full-length mirror.
It wasn't really his reflection, though.

It had his face, but that was the only similarity. Everything else belonged to a stranger. Instead of his sandy blonde hair, the reflection had a strawberry blonde, and his sensible black suit was replaced with a pastel sweater and bowtie. Instead of being green, its eyes were bright blue, a sharp contrast to the hair. Everything behind it was darkness, and it was cut off from the torso up, everything beneath also dark. It was wringing its hands together, which were also splashed with some sort of black substance.
England stared. He had never seen anything like this before, in all his long years of magic. He had never seen any sort of spirit which even remotely resembled him. Was it some trick or apparition? What would someone gain from changing the person in the mirror? Maybe it was some sort of long-distance communication device, was this thing trying to talk to him?
It didn't seem like it. The not-him seemed just as surprised as he did, if not more. England opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure if he should even try to hold a conversation with whatever-it-was.

The reflection seemed to be trying to get a grip on the situation. After a little while, it broke out into a wide but seemingly forced smile and said, "Hello!"
Its accent was distinctly British, albeit a little unlike his own, and seemed to hold a slight edge to it, no doubt because of the situation. England didn't know how to respond, if to respond.
He tried to think rationally, figuring that he needed to find out as much about this situation as possible, "...Who are you?"
The reflection shrugged, "That depends, who are you?"
England frowned, the response seemed somewhat uncomfortable. Who he was depended on the other person? The idea was connected to the concept of secrecy, and it reminded him very much of how a nation was a human to someone who didn't know they exist.

"Arthur Kirkland… My name is Arthur," England said cautiously. When it came to magical creatures, he usually didn't have to be so careful, but somehow it felt right to use his human name.
The reflection frowned and cartoonishly stroked its chin, the black substance rubbing off on their face, "Well, I find that strange. After all, I'm Arthur Kirkland!"
England made a noise of surprise. Was this reflection him in some capacity? No, no, it was just bluffing to throw him off. Possibly it had also chosen this form to confuse him, it was merely nothing, he shouldn't be getting so worried.
But then the reflection broke out into a devilish grin, "But, those aren't our real names, are they? If you really are Arthur, then your proper name should be the England! That's who I am, after all…"

England's eyes widened, surprised about how quickly it jumped the gun, "I… Who… Yes. I am England."
He said it in a slow, cautious tone, unsure of how to properly reply. This not-him had the knowledge of what he was, and he was still convinced it was some sort of spirit or creature pretending to be him. The reflection took its hand down from its chin and tilted its head.
"Say, Mr. Fake Me. That act you're putting on is rather convincing, but it would be best if you stop now," it said, having dropped its grin. England was confused its strange mannerisms, always shifting its body around and never staying in one position.
England glared at it, "If anyone is putting on an act, it's you. I don't know who you are or why you're imitating me, but I suggest you stop."

The reflection pouted. Hard.
"You're no fun! Just give it up and maybe I won't hurt you."
England narrowed his eyes, "I should be saying the same to you. I am Arthur Kirkland, I am the real England, and I suggest you stop doing this before I destroy you."
They had somewhat of a staring contest, before the reflection seemed to realise something, and that infernal grin returned.

"Hey, Mr. Fake Me? I think I have a resolution to this conflict! If you really are me, then please say! What did I, you, us, do yesterday?" the reflection happily cheered, as if he had just solved some global issue.
England frowned further, "What I did yesterday? I prepared for the G8 meeting that I'm holding at my place today."
The reflection stared, "Well, I'm not sure what a Gee-8 is, but I don't think making up words will help your case, Mr. Not Me! Now, let's get this over with nice and quickly so I can get back to dealing with America."
Arthur frowned, "Dealing with America? What-"
Before he could continue, the reflection slammed his fist against the glass. England stumbled back. He heard the smashing of glass, but no fragments fell from the mirror. Instead it had black, spindling cracks, that couldn't have been from his own mirror. To be sure, he traced his fingers over them, but there were as smooth as before.

The reflection frowned, "That didn't do much… Well, I'll just have to-"
He interrupted himself by sending a fist at the glass again. It had much of the same effect, but England stumbled back a little further, pressing himself against the wall. He started to ready his magic, just in case. He started to recall all the magic he had used in the past few days, reassuring himself how he had only used it for the most mundane of tasks. He was ready and willing to use as much as he could to deal with this thing.
The not-him punched yet again, and the glass was becoming more and more obscured with black. He couldn't properly see it anymore, only flashes of pastel colours and its face, furrowed in concentration.

"Maybe you should just give up, hey? Maybe I should stop wasting my time on you!" the reflection exclaimed.
Arthur said, "I'm not doing anything! Whatever's happening-"
"Shut up!"
He could vaguely see the reflection rearing back to strike one more time, but this time there was no sound of shattering, and no black lines appeared. Instead, all of the black was gone, and England could see his entire body, including his bottom half. The black substance was now visible, and it was with disgust that he realised it was blood, with glass shards sticking out which must have been from when he was punching the mirror. He could now suddenly see the room behind the reflection, what seemed to be apartment much like the one he was in right then, for when he needed to stay in London. But none of this was the most shocking thing that happened, mere passing thoughts. After all, the reflection was sticking out of the mirror.
It was as if the glass had stretched, much like plastic wrapping, and it had entirely come out of the mirror after the fist.

The reflection stared at him. He stared back.
Suddenly, the not-glass popped, much like a bubble. The background behind the reflection instantly disappeared, revealing the wallpaper behind the mirror, and it tumbled out, right in front of England in the cramped hallway.
"Where am I?" it said, before Arthur ran, into his living room and away from the reflection, dropping his tea cup in the process. It staggered up, using a painting on the wall as leverage, tearing it down in the process. England backed himself up against the door, before making some of the objects around him float. It was mostly for intimidation, to let the reflection know to back down, but he was willing to use them in whatever way if it were to attack.

The reflection paused when it saw his powers, and England thought that it was appropriately scared, so he sighed in relief.
"Whatever you are, I will easily be able to defeat you, so just go back where you-"
It looked back, saw the kitchen, then glanced back at England. It took a deep breath, as if readying itself for something. Then it suddenly broke out into a wicked smile, "Well, not if I defeat you first!"
It suddenly ran as he had done, but up to the kitchen. Arthur frowned. Not if it defeated him first? What did that mean?
He heard the sounds of his draws being hurriedly flung open, and he hurried up the hallway to see his entire kitchen being ransacked. But it was with magic, every single drawer and cupboard and even the fridge and pantry were being opened with magic.

He gaped. The only things that were capable of using that kind of magic were nations with the magic touch. What did that mean? How could this thing be a nation?
His thoughts were cut off as he realised that the reflection had been looking through his kitchen to find his knives. It made them all levitate, 5 or so wickedly looking down on him.
"You have less knives then I would've preferred, plus they're all rather blunt, but I can make this work," it said, still grinning.
England didn't know what to do. Normally, he would be confident in his ability to fight any magical creature, but this thing had the magic of a nation.

He didn't end up having much time to do anything when all of a sudden, a knife was sent to plunge into his flesh.
Arthur quickly sent out a wave of magic and knocked it away before it reached him, stumbling backwards at the sudden attack. He similarly deflected a few of the follow up attacks, mind going into overdrive as it went into a familiar pattern, analysing everything around him in an effort of self-preservation. He had to take things seriously.
The reflection seemed to playing with him, almost. It didn't seem perturbed by how he was easily deflecting every single attack, and it didn't look like it was being serious, either. Perhaps it was gauging how strong he was? He tried his best to use the least power possible to deflect each attack, to keep the extent of his abilities hidden.

He wasn't attacking yet, maybe just so he could judge how dangerous the reflection was and how much force it required to defeat. He didn't want to run out of magic, after all. But, it was supremely difficult to tell considering how it also seemed to be conserving power, and England was considering just attacking full-force to get it done quickly and hoping that he had enough magic left to handle it.
As England began to back away near the door, the reflection unexpectedly shut it, and he heard the lock click. He growled and dodged the next knife instead of deflecting it, moving closer to the other door, hanging wide open to the hallway leading to his bedroom. The reflection noticed this, but before it could do something similar, he slipped through. He heard it yelling but didn't look back, letting his knowledge of the apartment give him an advantage, using his magic to make sure no knives would get him.

But the door slammed shut and locked, and when he tried to unlock this one with magic, he discovered that the reflection was blocking it from his magic such as he had physically blocked its knives.
England whipped around, taking down his taxing shield and deflecting each knife individually as he had before. They were getting faster now and harder to combat, despite the fact there were only 5 - the reflection clearly knew how to handle them well. But it still wasn't difficult to him, though he was getting increasingly concerned about how much magic he was using. He hadn't had a magic fight like this in a very long time, so he was unsure on how to properly pace himself. As he thought about this, one particular knife flew towards him, and then dodged his deflection.
It got him square in the stomach.

Arthur wretched from the pain for a second before he tore it out, far used to this kind of pain after centuries of much worse. The reflection raised an eyebrow and he knew that he was cornered, literally. He had to either defeat the horrible thing, or escape in some way. A knife wasn't much, but he was scared that it was going to lead to much worse, so the nation started to get more serious than he already was.
He leant back against the door, and used magic to propel him backwards, causing it to shatter into pieces and him to get inside the room. His opponent blinked and its knives faltered for a second, clearly not expecting him to damage to his own household. This gave him the opportunity to launch a sudden counterattack, and he sent his side table flying towards it, everything still on it.

He sent it so quickly that the reflection had no time to effectively block or dodge it, and it was hit square on, sending it flying backwards a few feet, its knives falling to the ground. England took the opportunity to take them himself, sending them flying towards the reflection. It blocked them with magic and the table, then tossed the latter away, practically spitting, "Don't use knives against me!"
It seemed enraged, the grin now missing and a new fury in its eyes. Arthur knew that this meant it was probably now going to unleash more of its power, so he hopped onto the bed to get leverage, and slid his wardrobe across the room to block the door.
His eyes widened when the reflection utterly destroyed the wardrobe, turning it into splinters and tearing up every piece of clothing inside. That certainly would've taken a lot of magic.
Then England realised.

Using both magic and physical force, he sent everything in the room towards the reflection, it destroying every single one. In the meantime, he also had to block all of the attacks from the knives, which were growing into a frenzy. He began to be stabbed and slashed more, some only tiny cuts, but many more extreme. Eventually, he ran out of the things to launch, and in his distraction to find another alternative, a knife suddenly managed to slash his left arm right down to the bone. He exclaimed in pain, and tripped off the bed. Before he could be attacked again, he sent the entire bed launching towards it, and it was appropriately completely obliterated. Everything in the room had been ripped to shreds, and judging by the blood flowing out of his wounds, that included him.
But if he had any chance, if the reflection's magic was even remotely similar to his, hopefully he would be able to get away. When it stepped towards him, knives primed, he suddenly sent a powerful wall of force towards it, making it stumble back for a second and giving him enough time to run out of the room.

"Don't use dirty tricks! That just means you're losing!" it shouted after him, now aiming the knives towards his legs. He managed to stop most of them with the draining amount of magic he was using as a shield, but one still managed to hit his right leg and he had to stumble into the kitchen with a limp. He then sent the refrigerator barrelling towards it, and it only managed to just tear the thing to pieces in time before it was crushed.
Since most things in the kitchen weren't big enough, he broke down the door to get into the lounge room, his final resort.
He whipped around to see more knives being sent after him, and after being stabbed in the left shoulder, he launched the sofa at it.
The sofa was only half-destroyed when the reflection suddenly fainted, and he felt huge relief go through him. He stared, panting and sweating, almost half-expecting it to get up somehow. But it didn't, and he had won.

He stood there, shaking, and tried his best to organise his thoughts. He needed to… He needed to…
In an effort to pull himself together, he decided to make a list of what he had to do.
'1. Make sure reflection is actually unconscious, make sure it is reasonably restrained.
2. Call Norway and Romania.
3. Patch self up.'
He took a deep breath, and went to complete Step 1. He cautiously stepped over the reflection, pinned down by what was left of the sofa. It was definitely unconscious, so he pushed the remainders of the sofa further onto it so it couldn't get up, adding the TV to the weight for good measure. If it cracked any of its bones, it would be for the better. He also took all of the knives, each of them bloody, and hid them in the cushions of one of the remaining pieces of furniture, not sure of what else to do.

There wasn't much more that he could do as he was, so he used his right arm (the left was too thoroughly mangled) to take out his phone that was still somehow in pocket. He quickly opened it, looking through his contacts and quickly tapping Norway's. To his frustration, the nation didn't answer, even when he called for a second and third time. For all the times Norway could've been occupied, it had to have been now?
He realised all too quickly that he may be dealing with a similar situation, so he quickly moved on to Romania. He started to shake even more when there wasn't an answer from him either, but that was probably just the blood loss.
Who else could he call? There was nobody else he knew of with the magic touch, and barely anyone knew of magic-

At that, he knew he his only viable option. They would be quicker, anyway.
He felt a little panicked when his first call wasn't answered, he knew it was early but it wasn't that early, right? They would still answer, they should still answer, otherwise he had no other options and he would have to deal with this himself-
He felt another big relief go through him when it was finally answered.
"The fuck do you want?" said a grumpy, tired Scottish accent.
England immediately said, "I need your help, right now."
His tone seemed to deliver the urgency of his situation, because Scotland replied in a more serious manner, "What's wrong?"
"It's a magic problem, a very dangerous one, but Norway and Romania aren't responding, so I think they're dealing with it, too. Please come to my apartment in London, bring the other three, too. And stop at my house on the way, get those magical blocking gloves that I've used before."

The other's voice got demanding, but England knew it was out of worry, "Arthur, what's happening? What's wrong?"
"Look, it's complicated. I'll explain when you get here. Just get the other three, get the gloves, and come here. Fast is best, so maybe take a plane and get Seren to get them. Please, just get here and I'll explain. I have things to do while I'm waiting…"
He shifted as he felt the blood continuing to drip down his body, feeling the familiar sensations of haziness and weakness.
There was a pause, before Scotland answered, "...Okay, but you better have a good reason for this. Be careful, yeah?"
"Yeah."
Arthur hung up before his brother could say anything more.

He felt his injured body ache even more just at the realisation he'd have to clamber over the sofa and TV he had piled upon the reflection, which was blocking the doorway. At least his medical supplies were in the bathroom, the only room where things hadn't been torn to pieces.
Trying his best to not let the blood loss get to him, he began limping forward.

So, what do you guys think?

Hope you enjoyed!