Oh God, the slow, agonizing, seeping pain…
The cruel blade cutting flesh was still fresh in his mind, though everything was starting to get a… Starry quality that was meant to distract all thought.
So this was it, huh?
Captain Arthur Kirkland was on his knees. Dying.
The blonde man coughed weakly, the taste of blood even finding its way into his mouth- maybe he was coughing it up from the sword-wounds in his stomach, or maybe there was so much pooling around him that when he moved it just found its way inside. Who knew? Who cared? All he could focus on was the pain slowly numbing the rest of his body- even the tips of his fingers were starting to go tingly.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared in front of him, followed by two more. He looked up hazily, his green eyes flicking over the three men in front of him- a man with long, blonde hair with a bit of stubble on his chin, a Spaniard, and a German man who he was pretty sure was albino. The man's hair was so blonde it was white, and his eyes were red- or perhaps a strange shade of brown. Either way, he looked like he needed an umbrella to be in the sun. Each man different except for one key feature- a smug smirk of victory.
The bearded man took the lead in the trio, stepping forward with his hands on his hips cockily. "Ah, mon ami Arthur, you seem troubled. What could be the matter?" the Frenchman practically cooed, obviously mockingly.
"Go to hell Francis." Arthur spat back with a glare, weak though it was.
Francis chuckled darkly and yanked the Brit up by his hair, slamming him into the wall before deciding that letting the small man suffer a bit more wasn't going to hurt him. He let Arthur go, letting the man slide down the wall slowly, leaving a faint trail of blood behind him.
The Spaniard- Antonio was his name –tutted in disapproval. "Francis, I told you, this is my ship and I don't want anything ruined! It's going to take ages to get the blood off the walls." He sighed dramatically and shook his head, adding a flair only the Spanish could.
"Ah, Toni, don't be so damn whiney all the time!" the German man practically shouted- or, in other words, he used his regular voice. "If you're that worried about it, the awesome me will buy you paint when we get to port!"
Antonio shot his friend a glare before turning back to Arthur. "So. Do you have any final wishes?"
Arthur chuckled almost tiredly. The stars were dancing now and it was distracting him greatly. "Just one really- How about you go to Hell and be raped with pitchforks for all eternity? For me?" he said as easily as he could- not his greatest insult ever, but in his defense he was bleeding out, and that kind of messes with brain activities.
Francis laughed, though it wasn't quite friendly- it had an icy edge to it. "For you, mon ami, anything." he said, his blue orbs flicking up and down his old frenemies broken body- many cuts and bruises, which were standard in their skirmishes, but there was a difference- a gaping wound in Arthur's stomach, curtsey of Francis himself. His sword had been sharpened just for this occasion. "Oh, and don't worry, Arthur. When you're gone, I'll take care of your arrangements… And Alfred." he added casually.
Arthur gasped, his eyes flashing in realization- Alfred. "You stay away from him frog, do you hear me?" he growled, his eyes hardening into a glare full of true hatred for the man in front of him. "Stay away from my little brother. I want you nowhere near him."
"Oh? You forget- he's my brother too." Francis purred, an edge in his eyes that wasn't normally there. "Besides, he is so young, and so fragile. He wouldn't survive in an orphanage… However, with Big Brother Francis there with him, he'd be just fine." He smirked down at the angry, broken Brit with a cold satisfaction. "Don't worry- Alfred will be in good hands."
"Listen to me- gahh!" Arthur had tried to sit up, but the German kicked him back down.
"Sorry Brit, but the awesome me can't let you get up. Don't take it personally- not that it matters since you're about to die, but whatever." He laughed when Arthur began shuttering under his boot- a coughing was coming on, trying to let his lungs clear of the red liquid filling them. When the hacks finally came, the blood flew directly onto the man's white pants, earning him a scowl and a swift kick to the ribs- God, he loved the feeling he got after he heard that crack! He was about to deliver a second when Antonio grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "Gilbert, no. If you kill him Francis won't give us our share." he said sternly as if he was talking to a child who was being naughty and not a grown sadist. Gilbert glared at the Brit, giving him a look of 'Be-glad-someone-stopped-me-or-you'd-be-a-bloody-pulp-right-now'.
Arthur wanted to smirk, but he couldn't really do that because he felt as if he was about to pass out- he wasn't sure if the nausea was from the swaying of the Spanish pirate ship or the blood loss accompanied with a now broken rib… Probably both.
Francis looked down at the Brit for a moment before kneeling down face-to-face with him. "You know, mon ami, this could have been a lot less painful for you if you had just given me Alfred in the first place." he said, almost gently- almost. There was still ice in those sapphire eyes.
Arthur scowled at the man before him. "I would have never given you Alfred, frog, and you know it- And if I have anything to say about it, you'll never have him."
Francis smirked. "Well how are you going to stop me? You won't be able to protect him after today, you know? Not at the bottom of the ocean." he said calmly, his hand slowly brushing against the Brit's cheek, making the man recoil in disgust.
"Don't touch me, frog." Arthur snarled, trying to hold up an arm to deflect the Frenchman's hand, only to find that he was too weak now to even do that. The attempted movement lead to a wave of nausea that sent him reeling. However, he took a deep breath and didn't give into the swimming in his head. Francis noticed this weakness and chuckled.
"Poor little Arthur. You look so tired… How about you just give in?" he purred.
"Never, frog." Arthur answered, giving Francis a death glare that would have been frightening if it weren't being given by a man so close to death himself.
"I always have hated that name you gave me. Hardly friendly- though you are English, so I suppose you have an excuse." the Frenchman said with a dramatic sigh.
"You're hardly one to talk, you snooty French frog." Arthur bit back. Francis laughing and looked down at the Englishman below him- Arthur had slid so far down the wall that at this point he was laying down.
"Well, I really have enjoyed this chat, mon ami, but all good things must come to an end." Francis said as he straightened up again. "So… Do you have any parting words?" he asked, producing a small pistol from his belt.
Arthur chuckled weakly. "Go to hell, frog…" he murmured, turning away as a sort of finality.
Francis smiled somewhat sadly and gave his old friend a nod. "Well then… Goodnight and goodbye, mon ami Arthur…" The pistol became level with Arthur's head… The trigger was pulled…
And then the pain stopped.
Note- Mon ami = My friend in French
I used the human names for these characters in my story, so, just in case you don't know-
Francis = France
Gilbert = Prussia
Antonio = Spain
Arthur = England/UK
Thank you guys for reading the first thing I've ever uploaded to this website! If you want to comment or leave reviews, please review fairly. I don't mind constructive criticism at all, so be brutal if you must.
I appreciate you taking the time out of your day to read the story I wrote while not paying attention in Math~! As I said, please comment and rate fairly, and have a nice day.