Italy couldn't hold back a scream. His dear fratello was lying there, completely void of life. Blood decorated the room, splatter on the walls, on his brother. A slit marked skillfully across each of their throats, and blood pouring out of the wounds on their backs. Feliciano could see this with a simple glance, but one thing stood out beyond any of the blood and death.

His brother was holding Antonio's hand, as if his last moments were spent with his lover. Feliciano could feel the tears run down his face and his throat tighten as he ran to the nearest phone.

Ludwig quickly jotted down the current information on the notepad he held. He only knew five things at the moment:

1.) The victims were Lovino Vargas and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, other wise known as the countries of Spain and Southern Italy.

2.) The killer used a blade, slitting each of their throats and making quite a mess out of it.

3.) On each of their backs there was a large star-symbol. Opening the possibility of a cult killing... if the victims were average humans.

4.) The possibility of a cult killing is ruled out, because of lack of other symbols around the room. If this was for a sacrifice they would have kidnapped them, not kill them in their own house.

5.) One of the victims was Feliciano's brother.

"What information do we have?" Vash snatched the booklet away from him, reading over the 5 known things, "Replace 5 with something else."

"What exactly?"

"Only a nation, can kill a nation." Yes, that was important information. Ludwig quickly erased number five, and replaced it. He then put it back in his jacket pocket.

"You should really go comfort Italy. He's lost a brother and a friend today." Ludwig nodded at Vash's suggestion and stepped over the yellow tap.

Feliciano was shaking, and sobbing from just recovering from shock. As soon as he saw Ludwig he flung himself at him, burying his head into the recesses of shirt.

"Fratello... Oh dio Fretello..." He kept muttering his brother's name into the larger man's shirt. Ludwig did the only thing he could do at the moment, hold his little lover in his arms in some attempt to comfort him.

"He's dead..."

"They're dead." The green-eyed man chuckled, washing the latin blood from his hands, "I almost feel bad." He let out a sight, looking at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, and psychotic from the blood splatter on his cheek. He soon washed off the remaining blood before pulling out his wallet. He needed a reminder of why he was doing this before it shook his faith.

He pulled the picture out, and stared at the eyes that contrasted his so much.

"I hope your happy, I'm doing this for you." He grinned, then began to chuckle, and then began to laugh. He laughed for what seemed an eternity, then began to cry. The crying seemed to last longer.

"What am I doing? Talking to a picture? He's dead..."

The funeral was today, a week after the couple's death. Ludwig looked down at the two caskets, side by side. Feliciano said that's what they would of wanted, to be buried together and to have a funeral together, as they had shared a life together and died together. Ludwig had to hold Feliciano after that, as he was doing now. The little Italian, as Switzerland had said, 'lost a brother and a friend' and all he gained was land. Italy now had the burden of his entire country, not just the northern part.

Francis and Gilbert weren't much better off. They had lost their best friend, their third amigo, the third musketeer... now it was just the 'two musketeers'. This was the second friend they had lost in the last year, and it was tearing them up inside. It was painfully obvious on their faces.

Everyone else was sad, but nothing compared to those three. All of Europe attended. Belgium was crying her eyes out from the loss of her two closest friends, Kiku was tearing up, and Arthur was patting him on the back in some attempt to comfort him. Every Latin American country attended, and they all looked sadly upon their former brother.

"Il loro fratello. Mio fratello. Whose next?" He heard Italy mutter as they left the caskets to sit down as the ceremony began in the large, Italian church. Feliciano cried the entire time.

"I'm so pissed! They cared more about those damn hispanics dying then they did you!" He practically shouted at the picture hung up. The green-eyed man punched the wall, glaring at it.

"I'll just have to kill someone no one cares about. That'll make me feel better!" He threw off the jacket of his funeral clothes, as he was finding his knife to sharpen.

"I'll just have to kill someone else with a filthy language." He began to chuckle again. The psychotic laughter soon filling the house.