Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia or its characters, I am simply using them for this fan-made piece to create a plot-line.A/N: I forgot to mention that this story is after the Kalmar union is broken and is an alternate take on what might have happened. There won't be much history, if any, and I won't be googling names so…royals will be referred to as 'king of Denmark' and such. I may have unimportant OC names, but we'll see. Sorry for the confusion!
Waltz of Crimson Drops
For Luke, the Vegas NorgeCh. 2~Lust for Death
Blue eyes stared ahead toward the horizon with a mad light as boots crunched across blood-stained hallways and mangled bodies. A mad grin that never left his face exposed reddened teeth.
He was covered from head to toe in the crimson fluid, and he didn't seem to care as the ominous sound of metal on stone reverberated down his home as his axe trailed behind him. The poor woman whom had attracted his attention shook in fear.
"Please…" she begged, knowing that Iceland was no longer around to help, his leaving having left this demon in his wake. Never had she seen such madness coming from one human. "Please spare me…I…I have a husband…and a child! Spare me! I beg you!"
He threw his head back in a mad cackle before he faced her again, with the most bloodthirsty look that could scare even demons, she was sure. "Go ahead…beg!" he purred. "It won't do you any good, because you have to die you see?" he held up a hand as if explaining the concept to a child.
"I need to know what its like…to be dead…no one else has come back yet to tell me so…" he raised the axe and she tried to scrabble away, but was unable to from where she was pinned in the corner. "You have to die and tell me what its like!"
Her lips were left in a scream that would never touch the air and her eyes wide with terror as if still seeing the axe flashing toward her neck. The body crumbled to the ground now that the head was no longer there to keep it up.
He laughed at the poor woman who had done nothing but get in the way of his axe. Still he felt no remorse, nor did he feel regret for the madness spreading across his bones. They had done this…all the Nordics; they'd done this to him. If they'd just stayed by his side like they were supposed to this would have been avoided!
He growled, slowly losing his patience as he continued to remain alone. Deciding he'd had enough he hefted up his axe and began to violently hack at the headless body, laughing wildly as blood and gore splattered across his already stained clothes and face, some even sticking in his hair.
This was his life now. All alone he killed and hacked to bits anyone who dared to set foot anywhere near him. Once the body was completely unrecognizable as human he turned and stalked further down the hall, as if hunting for a prey that had already been well-exterminated from the castle.
There was blood everywhere, even in the courtyard, and damaged bodies coated the ground like a new floor, and still he remained. His home now looked more like a battle ground than the place where a nation resided.
Yet the slaughter was not but a callous expression of his broken heart and despaired hope of ever being happy again. He wanted to die so badly it was eating him up, but he always came back, and after ten attempts he had decided that killing others was much better.
If he couldn't escape his pain, why not remove all the people who caused this pain? It was so easy to just get rid of everyone around him, his insanity making him grow numb to the deepening despair at the loss of so many of his citizens. The guilt was there, but he was to far gone to feel it in any way beneficial to his nation.
"Kill them, kill them all, and then tear apart the bodies…make them feel it all the way in hell." He laughed, amused by his own morbid tone, and the way the blood surrounded him like a red, velvet cloak. "Take them down. Kill. Destroy. Conquer. Revenge."
His deranged mind liked that one. Ah yes revenge was a sweet thing, one he was going to enjoy all to well. He could almost taste their blood on his tongue, but for the knowledge that it was in fact the blood of all those he'd killed today.
A tongue darted out to swipe away the ruby beads gathering on his lips and an inhuman purr slid from his throat and into the air. All around was death, what he lusted for most, and in this place of death, he was King, and no one was going to leave him, or disobey.
But the glory was beginning to grow sour as here and there bits of Norway came out to haunt him. Here was a bit of blond hair, as pale as the sand under the waning moon. There, ocean deep blue eyes, devoid of all emotion, and wide open to his own.
A golden cross glinted on the fleshy remains of what had once been a living human. He growled, trying to destroy all that reminded him of this man, trying to drown the despair in his heart that threatened to drive him further into the depths of insanity.
But that blue cloth was so perfect, yet unsoiled by all the blood, that he shattered once again, something that should have never been possible. He fell to his knees, gripping the cloth tightly in his hands as his eyes rained and his voice became thunder, roaring all his pain to the sky.
When guards finally arrived to contain 'the monster in the castle' they found not a monster, but a creature so broken it couldn't remember being human, a human who had become an animal.
This was the proud nation who had devotedly faced armies for the ones he loved, and cried for each life lost under his care. The man who always smiled, no matter the pain inside, just so others could feel safe to rest their burdens on his shoulders.
Now there kneeled Denmark, hot tears that streamed continuously from his face framing his pitiful bloodied form as his head tilted to the sky, mouth open to allow the strangled cries slip out. He had truly snapped, and so they approached with caution, trying to coax him over, but he hissed at them and pulled away, gripping his axe tightly.
Yet the guards were sneaky. While they demanded all his vicious, animalistic attention, another snuck up from behind, knocking him out with a good blow to the head and he crumpled to the ground, his blood beginning to slowly mix with the rest from a cut on his forehead.
When he returned to consciousness he was locked in a dark cell and the only light was a small slit cut into the stone walls around him. He crawled towards the bars and reached out, feeling the urge to end a life.
He was soaked in blood, both his own and that of others, and from the smell he'd been there several days. He growled, clawing at the metal angrily, tearing his hands and spilling crimson trails along the black.
He needed to get out so he could kill that man! That stupid man who'd taken his heart and then dashed it on the ground. He needed to end him so bad that the need was 'causing him to turn viciously upon not only his cell, but himself. Bleeding digits grabbed at his hair and sharp nails pressed bloody trails into his face. A guard came in and panicked, trying his best to stop him, but once he came close, his life was snuffed out.
There was no time to panic, no time to even take one more breath as powerful hands snapped his neck and then fumbled for the key. The creature needed out, wanted freedom to kill more than anything.
Norway must die. That was his only wish, his only thought, and if he'd thought about it reasonably, he might not have reacted so, but all reason was gone. Nonetheless there were no keys on the soldier and he hissed. Nothing to do then but wait…
In Sweden
Norway was staring out the window with the most passive face he could ever pull off. Inside, however, he wasn't so calm. He had cried the first day away from Denmark, and every day since.
The weather outside was stormy and sullen, reflecting the feelings swirling in dark shapes within. A bad day for a bad mood, and possibly even bad news. There was nothing more that the nation wanted to do but curl back up in his bed and dream of the time he was with Denmark.
As for Iceland, well, he mostly kept to himself, or enjoyed messing about with paper and a charcoal pencil, drawing whatever he pleased. Then there was Finland and Sweden, and it was of no surprise at all what those two did behind closed doors.
It was of no great secret either about how they felt either. Norway had walked in on them more than once, and he was getting tired of it. So he and Iceland usually hung out in the small study, staring out the window, or playing a game, or just doing their own thing.
Sweden and Finland were hardly ever in the study, so any sickly-sweet displays of affection, or worse, were avoided. Today, however, it seemed that was to be an exception, and Norway's fear of bad news coming on such a day to be confirmed.
The normally stoic leader of all three countries, now perched alertly 'round the room, looked distressed, well, as distressed as his stoic face would allow. He held in his hand a very urgent looking letter, judging by the way the lettering was hurried and badly done and splotched covered the envelope that crinkled around its contents.
"'s 'bout Den…" he mumbled in his complicated accent, and though it was hard to translate, at the mention of his lover, Norway visibly blanched. He had been so worried about his lover all this time, and now he feared that his leaving had indeed done much worse to this precious man than he'd intended.
Finland gently took the letter, hands shaking, and began to read, his easily understandable accent spreading horror through the room.
Dear Sweden, and all countries pertaining to him. I write to tell you of horrible news considering the personage of Denmark, our countries personification. Signed,
To anyone who would dare come near him after the breaking of the Kalmar union, it was quite obvious he was upset about the whole thing, but when not only Norway left, but Iceland as well, he changed.
He became irritable and antagonizing. Any wrong move, the slightest mistake, and he would condemn the hapless fellow with harsh words, so cruel, that I scarce withheld from fainting that such words could come from one so charitable and light-hearted.
His moods grew worse, so I thought perhaps some time alone to mull through whatever bothered him would be good. I sent him away to a country castle he has known as home before. I believe one of his early rulers lived there.
I deeply regret my decision as I now see that thousands of lives might have been spared if I simply had been wiser. But I am only human, and thus I lack the understanding of a nation that other nations hold.
He has slaughtered all the staff, guards, royals, and nearby villagers of this castle, and enjoyed every moment. We were unable to tell whether a body was the remains of a man, woman, child, or all three piled together and spread about, such was his thoroughness.
In all my years, which though not long, are still many, I have never seen such a massacre. It wasn't like a war, or even a slaughter, it was as if the very devil had visited. Needless to say we were forced to take action.
Denmark currently is locked away in the most inescapable cell we could find, without torturing him more, or putting him into a deeper misery.
I know nothing of what ails him, or what caused this horrific deed, only that a mere human cannot save him from his madness, which is why I turn to you, nations who know him best and hold him dearest.
I pray you come quickly and that you will save this hapless country from himself.
Crown Prince of Denmark
"I will go…" he said calmly, glaring icily around the room as if to dare the others to defy him. Finland moved as to speak, and it was obvious the other two weren't far behind, but Norway was determined, and he raised a hand, silencing them.
"I was the closest to him. I know him better than any of the rest of you, though I don't doubt your caring of him; simply that he cared for me most. It is a fact, one we cannot change or argue with, and therefore I will be the one to go."
Grumbles were heard around the room, but in the end it was decided Norway would go, and that was the end of it. Norway found himself thinking more and more of his Danish lover as he packed, fearing what he'd find when he arrived at the prison.
Closing the single trunk he moved over to stare at the cross-clip in his hair. It had been a gift from Denmark after they had converted, a sign of his undying love. He touched it gently, praying that the 'forever' promise placed upon the object still held true.
Then with a speed born of fear, worry, and desperation, he was in a carriage and away, the storm doing little to prevent him from going. He had been apart from Denmark to long already, much to long, and it was time to return to his side.
He only hoped Denmark still knew him when he arrived…
A/N: Ok so probably not as good as the first, and a lot worse in terms of gore and such, but it was a necessary evil. Other than some craziness at the beginning of the next chapter, all the violent angst is over, but the angst is still there. Anyway, I don't like gore much either…Oh well, it was for the stories sake! Hope you enjoy! Oh and please review!