Yaaay! Another chapter... Again!
Warnings for this Chapter:
Major, major PruCan
Masocistic Canada
Slight USUK
Implied FrUK
Slight RusCan"
Lots of killing
And I kinda dense France.
Please read, review and most of all, Enjoy!
Chapter2: Bloodshed in the Moonlight
The two made their way from the scene of the crime, down the hallway. Prussia laughed loudly, his arm wrapped carelessly around Canada's waist. Carelessly, yet at the same time, possessively. Canada just walked with him, smiling and staring at the drying red on his hands and clothes.
Prussia stopped at the end of the hallway, turning back with a wide smirk.
"Now isn't that how it should be?" He asked Canada in a whisper. Canada just gazed at the scene before him. "Beautiful?"
Prussia, who had claimed to have had little action, decided to have some "fun" before the duo had continued on their mission. So he had taken a moment to "create art". Canada had to agree, it was beautiful. Prussia had a very interesting, dark idea of art. Canada loved it.
What was once simply the murdered bodies of England and America was now, in thec ouples opinions, art. The two bodies were tangled in a gory embrace, cold lips pressed together. White skin. Red Blood. A large bloody maple leaf covered the wall.
"Perfect," Canada said, turning around to face Prussia. His heart was pounding. He reached up and ran his fingers across Prussia's face. "Thank you."
"Anything for my Mattie," Prussia said, kissing him on the forehead. "Let's go."
Prussia grabbed his arm, and casting one last look at his art, pulled Canada out of the hallway. Despite their situation, they walked casually. If they encountered anyone, that person will die. There was no other option.
The halls were silent. It had been quite a while… Nobody had come after them. At least not yet.
But soon… Canada licked his lips in anticipation. Soon the place would be swarming with countries awaiting their murder.
"Eeh-!"Canada gasped as he was suddenly grabbed and dragged into a room. He was almost blinded by the contrast of brightness from the darker hallways, but didn't have much time to think about it.
He heard the door behind him click closed as he was pushed roughly against it. As soon as Canada gathered what was happening, he returned Prussia's heated kiss.
"If– No – One…" Prussia panted, breaking away from Canada's mouth and turning to the younger boys jaw and collarbone, "Is –Coming… Let's have some fun?"
Canada found this plan quite agreeable… Taking the Canadian's silence as a yes, Prussia returned to the boy's neck. Seconds…minutes… hours passed? Canada couldn't think properly… but he wanted SOMETHING, anything to happen… He needed blood shed… there wasn't enough blood…
"Gilbert…"Canada said it so softly, Prussia stopped and looked at him, smirking at the obvious effect he had on him. "I want… pain… blood."
Gilbert's smile, if possible, grew. He reached into a pocket, and withdrew a small pocketknife.
"You sure, Mattie?" Prussia asked. There was no reply. Just cold violet eyes gazed at him. "Have it your way than."
Prussia pulled the nation closer to him in another kiss. But this time… a streak of pain shot down his back. And then another one… He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
Warmth covered his back. The liquid soaked through his clothes.
When the knife came back for the third time, Canada couldn't hold back. Digging his nails into Prussia's shoulders, he let out a loud cry of pleasure and threw his head back. Prussia paused, almost teasingly.
"Is…Mattie alright?" He asked mockingly. "Does it hurt…?"
"It does…! It does!" Canada practically growled.
"Then maybe we should stop…" Prussia purred against his throat.
"No!" Prussia almost flinched as the boy's nails drew blood. "I want it!"
So Prussia complied. The boy's shirt was in ribbons and his chest and back laced with small, nonlife threatening cuts.
"GET YOUR HANDS OF MATTHIEU!"
The loud demand broke them out of their actions as a door swung open on the other side of the room.
Swearing under his breath in German, Prussia turned away from his lover, to the obnoxious Frenchman. "Francis, Antonio."
"G-Gilbert?"Both men stared at their best friend, covered in blood, in shock. France was the first to recover, stepping forward, a gun held cautiously. He kept his eyes locked on the pair. His poor Matthieu… "Mon Cherie?"
Canada looked up, staring directly into France's eyes for the first time in years. The word tumbled out of his mouth before he could help it. "P-papa…"
France continued forward, never lowering his guard. Spain still stood frozen in astonishment. Canada couldn't have backed away if he wanted to, due to being pressed against the wall. Instead, he took a step forward, standing in front of Prussia. France was speaking softly to him, in probably what was supposed to be 'Comforting'. He obviously thought Prussia had attacked him.
"Mon Cherie, are you alright? It'll be okay…" France eyed the knife in Prussia's hand, and the torn shirt Canada wore. The small lacerations… "Sorry we weren't here faster. H-He killed Angleterre and Amerique. They're dead…" For the first time, Canada noticed France's eyes were slightly red, puffy. As if he had been crying. His voice shook, "He won't hurt you anymore."
"Now why would I hurt my Matthew…?" Prussia mocked, placing his hands on Canada's hips. France froze in his advances. Canada said nothing, just kept staring at France. France… France left him too, didn't he… He did… long ago… he doesn't care anymore…
"Don't think you'll get away with this," France threatened. Canada broke his gaze from France. He didn't want to look into those eyes anymore. They were full of lies. He was only distantly aware of Prussia snapping something back at France. He had suddenly found the room they were in very interesting…France shot something back at Prussia. They were in the room of world history…Ancient war artifacts… Fitting…
Canada was sucked back into "reality" when Prussia pulled him into a tight embrace. He nearly screamed as his wounds burned at the contact.
"I don't think he wants me to let go," Prussia purred, causing the pain to turn into pleasure and a shiver to run down Canada's back. France took it as fright and hurt, and his resolve seemed to harden.
"Let Matthieu go."
"No."
Canada felt something cold in his hands, and his arm rose. But he was not the one controlling it. Prussia was, with his larger hand wrapped around Canada's, guiding his finger to the trigger.
Canada didn't want France to die like this. No way… Not this easily…
"Prussia… It's… Papa… I can't…" Canada was staring at France with wide eyes. A plan… He had a plan…
Countries had begun to trickle into the room, and they stood on the sidelines, observing. Canada didn't think anyone else had noticed… But he did. And he noticed their looks. They were watching him, no doubt wondering who he was.
But, nonetheless, he was seen.
It was the blood, without a doubt.
Like paint being thrown over something invisible.
Suddenly, Canada pushed himself away from Prussia, barely catching the look of shock and betrayal, and launched himself into France's arms. Without taking the guns aim off of Prussia, France wrapped his free arm around Canada protectively. Gently… Next to no pressure was applied to his wounds.
"Matthieu…" France muttered sounding almost… relieved. Canada nodded, and dug his face into France's shoulder, hiding a cruel smirk from anyone watching. And no one saw it. Poor, pitiful souls.
"I want to go," Canada's voice was muffled. He pushed lightly on France. "Now."
"Of course…"
France turned, looking towards the still frozen Spain, indicating him to take care of an equally frozen Prussia. But neither moved, and the countries just watched in disbelief and shock.
Mistake one…
France had turned away, leaving him completely defenceless, and revealing Canada's large smirk to the world. No one could quite process what was happening.
Not even France, as he was suddenly pushed onto wooden block, looking up into Canada's wild eyes. A rusted silver metal blade was held above them, ready to fall at any moment. A guillotine… The very weapon he had created.
He could do nothing as his 'son' held him down with a strange amount of strength, sitting on his chest looking like an innocent, curious child.
"P-papa… Papa… Papa never loved me…" Canada seemed to be talking more to himself, than anyone else. "Papa never cared. Papa only wants me because now he's scared." He chanted this over and over, his eyes narrowed into slits. France's eyes widened. "England and Brother are gone! And now Papa doesn't want to lose me." At this he let out a mad laugh, throwing his head back. "But Papa didn't try to see me…"
Canada hissed out the last part, his eyes wild as he roamed over his father's face. His father's fear.
"Papa! Time to die!"
Canada watched the guillotine blade fall with uncontained glee, laughing darkly as the rusted blade embedded itself in the elder Nation's neck. The Frenchman couldn't even utter any type of cry. He was just… gone.
Canada eagerly lifted the blade, revelling in the sight of France's gory, mutilated neck. Clean slice, only about halfway through… Damn rusty blade…
No one could move. After everything they had been through as individual countries, as a whole world, they had never been through anything like this. A snapped country… No country had actually tried to kill another before, had they? Conquer, yes… Kill, no… It was supposed to be impossible…
And after watching that scene, there was no way possible that the four of them (five if you include the motionless Spain) could bring down the two insane nations.
Canada reached up and caressed France's unmoving face, and letting the blood cover and drip off his fingertips.
"Désole, Papa," Canada murmured, taking a deep breath and leaning back. He licked his fingers, tasting the blood. "But you are the one to forget and forgive, oui? Unfortunately, that's just not me."
Canada crawled off France, and instantly set his sights on the others, his hands carefully fingering the gun he had pulled out of his Father's limp fingers. He took a few steps forward, his narrowed eyes raking over the multiple countries in the room.
Prussia was still frozen, but his lips were turned up again, no longer betrayed. Germany… China… Japan… they all held unused weapons… He would deal with them later, or let Prussia have some fun.
But right now, he wanted an easy target. One that would upset the others. They needed pain in their lives. They needed to learn. They needed to learn how to lose someone they love… before they too died.
His eyes found what they were looking for.
The nation was very close to the front, eyes wide, and shaking in fear. He could barely keep the gun in his fingers.
"Hehe…" Canada laughed, stumbling forward. He lifted his gun, grinning madly. A bullet whizzed past his him, missing by a few inches.
"Don't go near him," Spain threatened, holding his gun in trembling hands.
Canada raised a bloody eyebrow, and pointed the gun at a horrified Italy.
"And I suppose you are going to stop me?" He mocked, moving his finger towards the trigger. "I'd like to see you try."
These words set off a chain reaction; just what he had been hoping for.
Spain let out an angry growl and shot at him again. The bullet once again barely missed, but this time, Prussia defended him.
Spain fell over as the bullets hit him over and over again in the chest. Prussia approached the body with mounting disgust. But Spain still lived. He looked up at Prussia, his eyes full of anger, sadness and betrayal. "Why, Gilbert?"
Prussia just glared at him emotionlessly. "Because you abandoned me too… After I lost my status as a nation."
Then the final shot came, ending Spain's life.
"S-SPAIN!"
The cry had come from the door. More nations had spilled into the room, led by Romano, who stared at the scene in horror.
"A-Antonio! Toni! Spain!" The Italian leaped towards the body. His eyes were wide at the sight of blood, tears gathering in the corners. He knelt down beside Spain, frantically shaking him and pleading, begging. "T-Toni! W-Why?"
Romano suddenly abandoned his mission, standing up and swinging to face Prussia and Canada.
"Y-YOU! YOU KILLED HIM! YOU BASTARDS! I'LL KILL YOU!" The Italian hurled himself towards Canada, prepared to shoot. Canada just stood calmly, staring at the berserk boy. Prussia swore and lifted his gun.
A gunshot rang through the room. The Italian fell to the ground, bleeding from a wound directly to the head. Silence rang through the room before a voice spoke from the dark hallways.
"Sorry I am late, Matvey," Russia said, stepping into the room. He too was covered head to toe in blood, and wore a small smile on his face. "The Baltics weren't hard to take care of. Bela and Ukraine put up a fight."
Canada rolled his head around and grinned at the Nation. "I'm just glad you could make it, Ivan."
At that moment, the Nations, now with much more back up, seemed to snap out of their horrified daze. Launching forward, the bloody war began.