Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.
As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.
Enjoy!~
PruCan: Weapons of Mass Destruction
Prologue: Ember Explosion.
The waning gibbous moon and infinitesimal stars had been staunched that night by the opaque charcoal smoke that trailed heavenward and coagulated into an impenetrable fog. Magnificent scarlet flames that had fully engulfed the miniscule town hours earlier were just now beginning to fizzle out, charring buildings and corpses of those that lacked the agility to flee. Choked sobs punctuated the tense air that reeked of ash and iron as a pair of bespectacled, azure-violet eyes that belonged to an adolescent surveyed the wreckage. He stood in the center of what had been a church, head tilted skyward to gaze into the face of a porcelain saint that remained unscarred by the wildfire. Her eternally stoic eyes seemed to stare into his very soul, offering no comfort or sympathy. "Did you foresee this, Saint?" the boy asked, desperation threaded through his tone, "Why didn't you send a messenger? A rainstorm, even? Anything would have helped…!"
His head dropped to his chest, blood-matted champagne hair tumbling forward to obscure his face as his shoulders trembled visibly, shaky hands balling into fists. Tepid tears ghosted down his cheeks, following the shimmery trails of those that had first christened his face following the deafening explosion that sparked the fire. His knees buckled and crashed against the tattered carpeted floor, unable to hold himself or the burdens of his country up any longer. "Saint, please send help… send someone. Anyone…."
As if on command, shallow footsteps broke the lethal air, transferring from crisp earth saturated with innocent blood to formidable, soot-stained hardwood flooring that used to ground the church's tiny lobby. They advanced forward, buffeted now by the surviving verdigris carpet of the main room, halting a few steps behind the boy as a steady hand reached out to prod his back. The blonde shot a glance behind his shoulder to find a pair of crimson eyes studying him. "Ameri—no, Canada?" the newcomer asked, noticing the curly strand that stuck up from the rest of the boy's slightly wavy hair.
"T-Take me away from here," Canada managed in reply, his quivering voice scratchy and thick.
For once the other man obliged without spouting some snarky comment, one arm coiling around Canada's narrow shoulders and the other hooking under his knees as he hoisted the wheat-haired country off of the floor. A hand flew to Canada's mouth as he descended into the throes of a coughing fit, tilting his head away from his rescuer; he could almost feel the capillaries burst in his trachea as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. "Shit, you're bleeding bad," the other remarked as he broke into an all-out dash, clutching Canada close to his chest.
"I am?" Canada asked once he recovered from coughing, his periphery immediately tinting sepia, as if someone had changed the lenses on his glasses without him noticing.
"Yeah, your red hoodie concealed it until I noticed it just now on my jacket. We're gonna have to hurry." The wind whipped the other's choppy hair that mimicked the hue of untouched snow as he somehow pushed himself to run faster.
"I'm sure it's… not that bad. I can't even feel it..." Canada replied as the world around him began to spin at a sickening rate, huge black spots splattering across his vision like paint until he could no longer see, his indigo eyes fluttering shut not soon after.
To be continued.