Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I do, however, own the hell out of a creepy porcelain doll whose unblinking glass stare takes something from your soul and leaves behind something…I don't know what it is that it leaves, but it's not pleasant. I…I don't like it…
The portal spat Nadie out near the edge of a dock. Unfortunately, Alice, who had been the one to perform the spell that conjured it several days ago, had forgotten to add in the proper trajectory. Thus, rather than depositing her on solid ground, the portal dropped Nadie off several meters shy of the dock, resulting in her falling into the ocean, luggage and all.
By the time she made it onto the beach, not only was she sopping wet with her clothes clinging to her like a second skin and her hair tangled from the salt deposits in the water, she'd also somehow managed to lose her duffel bag to the sea, which just so happened to contain her favourite needle gun. The fact that she'd been able to keep her grip on her suitcase was of little comfort to her.
Whilst her expression betrayed not the smallest iota of irritation, the air around her seemed to curdle in on itself, causing the beach goers who'd previously been lounging around on the sand to flee in the opposite direction. Many would later claim that the sand blackened with each step that she took and that every metal object on their person rusted until they crumbled into piles of red-brown dust. Others would go so far as to say that her presence had coincided with the momentary blacking out of the sun.
Whatever phenomena she may or may not have been inadvertently causing, Nadie was indeed quite annoyed, a fact which was only bolstered when a young man with a side swept black fringe similar to her own and bright green eyes ran up to her, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind himself and began to chatter animatedly in a voice that made her want to shove screwdrivers into her ear canals. Nadie's lip curled in disgust. This was her Hetalia male equivalent?
This universe's Puerto Rico, however, remained woefully ignorant to the fact that she was in actuality the Mirrorverse version of his opposite sex counterpart, and continued to blather on about some inane tripe that she couldn't be bothered to remember. After nearly five minutes of the unbearable affront to her already poorly maintained sanity that was his voice, Nadie put a thorough end to the one-sided conversation by slipping a poniard out of her left garter and twirling it around her finger. Smirking as realization dawned across his face; she stepped up to him and shoved it in his throat, eyes glinting in satisfaction as the lightweight blade buried itself in up to the hilt. To add insult to injury, Nadie ripped it out of his neck, the sudden removal of the knife resulting in a rivulet of blood erupting from his punctured carotid.
She smiled as he stared dazedly into her eyes, his bewildered blinking slowing down as his eyelids began to droop. Sliding the weapon back into its sheath around her thigh, Nadie's face kept its vacant smile in place, even as she clamped the same hand that had resulted in the injury over the wound to stifle the violent spurts.
"Hands can heal, hands can hurt," she sing-songed as he opened his mouth to scream. The only sound that escaped his throat was a wet gurgle, but she still pressed a hand against his lips anyway, feeling warm blood trickle from them and onto her palm, then down the length of her wrist to land with a gentle patter on the sand.
By chance he looked down, his eyes widening until they looked like they might burst from his sockets when he caught sight of the white sand blossoming red. "It almost looks like a rose pattern, doesn't it?" Nadie said conversationally, as though she weren't standing there watching him slowly bleed out. She clicked her tongue when he didn't respond except to claw at her hand.
"Now, now, that's just impolite," she chided, shoving two of her fingers into the gaping wound in his neck and twisting them around, feeling the rapidly slowing pulse of his ruined artery throbbing against her hand. More blood spilled out, terrifyingly fast, trickling down his shirtfront like spilled ink. He attempted to scream as she withdrew her fingers, slick with blood, but her palm was still pressed against his lips, the only sound escaping them a muffled whimper.
Almost lovingly, Nadie brushed her cheek against his, wan porcelain against his healthy tan, eyelashes fluttering in a delicate butterfly kiss. "Shh," she whispered, and for a moment, he almost seemed to take comfort from her feigned compassion. "It'll be all over soon."
And it was. He stopped struggling; fell forward into her arms slack as a puppet whose strings have been cut, arms dangling limply at his sides and eyelids falling heavily over his glassy eyes.
Nadie watched, watched as once vivid eyes, verdant as the fronds of the palm tree swaying in the breeze just a short distance away grew dim, as though an internal light switch had been flipped off. Watched intently as their gleam grew fainter as his body lost its tentative grip on his soul, dimming into darkness. Watched as his grip slackened and finally lost its hold entirely, the light in his eyes flickering like the flame of a dying candle before it was snuffed out entirely. A body emptying its entire supply of blood wasn't as quick as many would believe, and it was several minutes later that he finally slumped, his knees giving way as the last remnant of life dribbled out of him and onto the sand.
She removed her bloodied hand from his neck, the violent spray from earlier now reduced to a steadily subsiding trickle. Wiping her hand against his shirt, she gazed once more into his now lifeless eyes, partially covered by his half-lowered lids. Smiling once more, she lifted him into her arms as she stepped towards the shore, laughing softly as the surf sprayed into her face, introducing a familiar brackish scent that momentarily overpowered the cloyingly metallic reek hanging in the air.
"Quite a pity that you can't enjoy it as well," she said wistfully to the boy lying slack in her grip. Then, she grinned, albeit wryly. "Actually, you probably will be smelling the ocean far more than is comfortable when you revive," Nadie added. With that, she unzipped her carryon and pulled out an axe and a coiled length of rope. The former was generally used to cut apart large sections of wood, but it would work just as well on bone.
Less than an hour later, she sighed and wiped her brow, gazing in satisfaction at her handiwork. All of his limbs had been separated from his torso and placed in a burlap sack weighted down with rocks, with his trunk having been given similar treatment. Nadie wasn't sure what the laws of this universe were in regards to national personifications, but she had decided that it was better to be safe than sorry, hence why she'd taken care to remove his eyes from their sockets. She'd even placed them in a mason jar for posterity; they were a rather lovely colour, after all. Vaguely, she wondered if they would grow back when he came back to life before shrugging. She'd suffered plenty of eye losses in her lifetime from friend and foe alike, and each and every time they'd reformed so she had no reason to doubt that his wouldn't.
"Hmm, if his regenerative abilities are the same as mine that probably means that the flesh of his fingerprints and his teeth will grow back as well," she muttered. "Oh well, at least he won't be able to pull himself back together by himself." Sighing once more, she grabbed the sacks and with a strength that one would never suspect given her diminutive height, flung them into the distance. They sailed for a distance of nearly fifty meters before landing with a heavy splash into the water, at which point, weighted down as they were, they began to rapidly sink beneath the current, the only thing to mark the boy's watery grave a patch of scarlet. Soon enough, that too disappeared, replaced by a spot of sea foam.
Wiping her hands off with a monogrammed handkerchief, Nadie inspected the blood stains and bits of fragments littering the sand from her grisly feat and then looked down the front of her vest, which was similarly marred. "I suppose that I have a bit more cleaning up to do," she deadpanned.
A/N: And to think that I was originally going to label this as humour.