A/N: This will probably be like a manga once a week upload. UNLESS I GET LUCKY AND HAVE TIME TO WRITE

The demon glided upstairs, grinning. He had a lot of business to take care of. "Arthur" sat down for a cup of tea and some scones. He bit into one.

"What.. the hell.. IS THIS?" He spit out the revolting treat.

"Bastard can't cook for the life of him." He barely managed to finish the cup of tea, it was simply.. horrible. The blonde sighed and got ready to go find something suitable to eat. Before he could get out of the house, there was a knocking.

"MI ANGELTERRE!" What..? Who.. The demon racked Arthur's brains for a minute before he finally understood who it was. The country name France. He hid his wings, horns and tail and opened the door.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" England glared at France

"Honhonhon. You seem in a worse mood than usual"

"Shut up bastard. If you've come to pester me go away" France raised an eyebrow. Something didn't feel right about England.

"H-hey, is everything alright" A sick smile appeared on England's face.

"Since you refuse to shut up, I'll have to do this the hard way" The elements of the demon re-appeared.

France's eyes widened.

"A-angelterre?" His voice was full of fear. Just what he loved. The feeling of people realizing the countdown had begun. Their hearts pounding, pulse racing. Fear was a wonderful thing, he fed off it. Before France could even blink, the other nation had his hand around his throat. Choking him.

"Goodbye Francis, your time in this world is over"

"E-England.. let.. go.. it's me" England laughed.

"Yes, the nation whose soul shall finally become mine! The stupid nation who believed that we were friends! Stupid stupid!" France's eyes were full of hurt and shock. Even if they did fight, he always had a liking toward the British man. He did think they were friends.

"England.. s'il vous plait" England's eyes showed no mercy.

"Goodbye" He muttered an incantation and France's body was frozen, then it started shining. The Frenchman let out a scream as he felt something being torn out of his body. It was agonizing, it burned, it hurt, he wanted it to stop.

"PLEASE!" England smirked.

"It'll be over soon, the last of your soul is leaving" France's body shimmered, and a split-second later, his soul was in England's hand.

"Thank you for this meal" He licked his lips and dropped France's soul into mouth. It was delicious, savory, smooth. It was obviously high-grade, he hadn't had a meal this good in ages. Realizing he was was still holding France, he dropped him. The nation fell to the floor with a sickening thud. England walked away leaving France on the floor, dead.