A/N: Ollo peoples! How ya'll doin'? Good? Not so good? In between? Well anyway, here's an update for you peeps. Thanks for the constructive criticism and reviews! Hopefully the POV thing is better, GoldenNekoLover14.

Now let the fun commence~!

Disclaimer: Pfft hell no.

EDIT: I edited the last part of the chapter because it was complete and total shit. So hopefully it's better now ^_^


Chapter 3: "Your Misery Is My Goal."


One Minute Later...

(Italy)


Italy shifted the axe weapon to his left hand before easing the door to Romano's room open slowly. It was dark inside; the windows were closed and shaded completely, the lamps and light bulbs were broken, and there were no candles. So the only light in the room was that that shone from the hallway, and even then it wasn't enough to light up the whole room.

Italy loved it.

Said country whipped his head to the right, where Romano's bed lay, as he heard sobbing. He could make out the figure of Spain's body hunched over his brother's dead body through the dim light. Smiling cruelly, he watched for a few minutes as Spain slowly tore to pieces over Romano. Prayers, sobs, cries, screaming, and shouts of, "Romano!" echoed from the Spaniard's mouth in gut-wrenching agony.

Italy relished it.

Tearing his eyes away from the scene, the Italian fingered the axe weapon in his hands. As he ran his finger lightly over the edge of the blade, he realized how dull and somewhat rusty it was. The rust he could care less for, it would make what he wanted to do more enjoyable, but the dull edge was a no-no. He needed it to be sharp!

Quietly, he slipped back into the hallway and closed the door. Then he took out a set of keys and used one to lock the door. Once that was done, he made his way back downstairs to the kitchen, but upon passing the front door he remembered that he had left the other weapons outside. Cursing his stupidity, Italy laid the axe weapon on the banister before opening up the front door and retrieving the bag. If someone had stolen it, he wouldn't know what to do.

Oh wait, yes he would. He would find and kill that person - mercy be damned!

After locking the big, wooden front door so no one would stumble in while he was busy, Italy finally made his way to the kitchen, axe weapon back in hand along with the bag. He threw the bag onto the table carelessly before grabbing a sharpening blade from a drawer beside the sink. Italy studied the blade a bit and when he was satisfied, he started to sharpen the axe weapon.

The minutes passed by with the only sounds in the house being Spain's faraway shrieks and Italy sharpening the blade. The Italian didn't mind, he rather enjoyed the sounds in a weird, sadistic kind of way. But then suddenly he heard the Spanish man grow quiet, so he stopped what he was doing to listen.

One minute passed in pure silence.

Then two.

Then three.

Italy started to grow worried for all the wrong reasons. Did Spagna kill himself? Hopefully he didn't, because then I would have no fun! Did he fall asleep? What happened? I was looking forward to some fun, he whined in his mind.

After about one more minute of absolutely nothing, Italy sighed and dropped the axe weapon and sharpening knife on the table, replacing it with a six-barrel pistol. He retrieved a handful of bullets from the stash of ammo inside of the bag and loaded the gun before fastening it securely to his belt. When that was done, he walked across the room to a locked drawer, where he got out a key and unlocked it. Inside was a black case and inside the container there was a sharp, long, slightly curved, glimmering knife resting on red velvet.

The knife's blade was made of carbon steel with the exception of the point, which was obsidian. Its handle was made out of micarta and had a red ruby that was placed near the hilt. This baby was sharp, very very sharp, and could pierce the skin of anything without much effort. Especially skin, although Italy hadn't been able to try it out yet.

Until today.

The Italian smiled fondly at his most prized weapon, he kept it in tip-top shape and cared for it every day, before taking it out and holding it in his hand. Then he made his way with his two choice weapons upstairs to his brother's room again.

Upon entering the room, he found that Spain had cried himself to sleep. His head was buried in Romano's chest as his arms were draped across the body, his knees on the floor. The Spaniard's breathing was deep but uneven due to the grief, and it was apparent that he wasn't going to wake up soon.

Furious that his next victim fell asleep, Italy walked over and gave three good kicks to Spain's side. Instantly, he woke up and clutched his side, moaning in pain.

"Get up!" Italy growled.

When Spain made no move, Italy roughly grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked upwards. "Get up, I said!"

Spain stood up sadly and looked at the furious Italian before breaking into more sobbing. "R-Romano-o is d-dead," he stuttered, with his head in his hands.

Italy rolled his eyes in annoyance and impatience. "I know that, Spagna."

"H-He's dead and I'm-I'm never going to s-see him alive ag-again! Oh my little tomate is gone! Why?"

"He was in the way. Same as you."

Spain looked up from his hands, his green eyes hazy. "W-What?"

Italy grabbed his right hand forcefully and dragged him out of the room instead of answering. Weak protests came from Spain, who tried to get away and back to his beloved. But each time that happened, Italy only made his grip harder on him and twisted his arm further. Eventually the physical struggling was done and was replaced by whimpers, which the Italian ignored as he led them downstairs to the basement.


Two Minutes Later…

(Spain)


Bursting through the door due to irritation and slight anxiousness, Italy flew down the stone steps in haste causing Spain to almost loose his footing. "I-Italia…" Spain whimpered, when Italy let go of and walked ahead of him. He was confused why they were down here; it looked like a prison cell because of the chains on the walls and how dark it was.

BANG!

A bullet tore through Spain's shoulder, blood flowing out swiftly. The injured nation gasped and looked at the wound in disbelief, his green eyes wide and clear now. Suddenly everything seemed to make sense: why Romano was gone for a week; Italy's strange behavior; that weird incident Prussia had told him a few days ago that happened between Germany, a stained couch, and Italy; not to mention why Italy refused to let him in with weapons…

The weapons! If Italy gets them, then I would be screwed! Spain shouted in his mind.

Quickly, he looked up again and tried to spot Italy, but he couldn't.

But he did hear a door slowly creaking close, leaving him in pitch darkness.

Fuck.

Wildly looking left and right, he tried to see something but couldn't. It was all black.

Italy chuckled menacingly in the darkness from somewhere behind him. "Have you figured it out yet, Spain?"

Spain felt something cold whisper across the back of his neck.

Turning around swiftly with Goosebumps rising, he saw nothing. He turned around again when he heard the sound of a match being lit and saw Italy standing on the other side of the room…Or rather only his face, which was illuminated by candlelight and grinning wickedly, his eyes violet and glimmering.

Spain felt the color drain off his face because of how creepy it looked. He didn't even know how his voice could remain steady as he said, "You killed Romano."

Italy's face lit up in the most twisted way. It made the other country sick.

"YOU TWISTED ASSHOLE! HOW DARE YOU! YOU'LL FUCKING PAY!"

BANG!

Another bullet hit Spain as he was charging towards the killer, this time on the knee. "Ah!" He called out in pain, collapsing. How Italy had that much accuracy, he had no clue.

"Oh did that hurt? Mi dispiace, my finger slipped on the trigger," Italy apologized, slowly walking over to Spain.

Gritting his teeth, Spain glared at the Italian. "Stop right there, bastard." He ordered.

The other just laughed and continued walking. A few seconds later, he crouched down in front of Spain and set the candle in between them. Violet eyes met green ones and it was a moment before Italy broke into a grin. To say that Spain didn't feel a trickle of fear would be lying. "Did anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you are scared?" Italy cooed, his hand reaching out to cup Spain's cheek.

It was slapped away. "Don't touch me, you pendejo."

Anger flashed across Italy's eyes, but he didn't make another move to grab him. "Fine then, I won't touch you. This will," Italy said, pulling out a knife.

Spain shrieked when the blade was stabbed into his side. He shrieked harder when Italy pulled it out slowly, almost as if he was taunting him. When it was finally out, Spain clutched his heavily bleeding side as Italy held up the bloody knife against the candlelight.

"Isn't blood pretty?" Italy mused to the injured man. "It's a perfect red!"

Spain said nothing; just shut his eyes to stop tears from falling from the pain.

"You know I asked for your opinion, Spagna."

Spain grimaced.

"Are you going to answer or not?"

No comment was made.

There was a silence before a loud scream was heard along with some laughter.

"That's a very good answer Spain, even if I had to burn it out of you. I think I should use it as paint too, but no store sells blood as paint. Hmm…"

Spain cradled his burnt fingers in his other hands, letting the cut in his side bleed out. Italy was studying him creepily, his knife resting against his cheek as he thought. Suddenly he grinned and Spain felt his blood turn to ice. "Spain~" Italy sang, "I think you should help me get some paint~!"

"No! I won't help you!" Spain shouted.

"Oh but you will, otherwise you die."

Green eyes went wide as Italy reached into the darkness by his side and got a large bucket. Grinning, Italy got up with the bucket and knife in hand before sitting right next to the Spaniard. Placing the bucket underneath the cut he had made, he leaned forward with the knife to make the cut deeper so it could bleed out more.

Spain would have none of it though and tried to get away. But Italy was faster and disappeared into the darkness to go and retrieve something. Spain heard a door creak open and close a moment later leaving him in the darkness with nothing more than a candle.

Just a candle.

Just.

A.

Candle.

No matches, nothing other than the candle as the source of light.

Being struck with an ingenious idea, Spain leaned over and blew out the candle before painfully crawling as far away as he could. A few moments later, he heard the door open again and Italy walking down. Spain crawled faster, but found himself in a corner just as Italy's voice called out sickly-sweet through the black, "Spain, what did you do to the cero?"

Spain did not answer.

"You'll pay for blowing it out, you know."

Oh dios, he's getting closer! Spain panicked in his mind as the sound of Italy's footfalls fell across the room.

"You know I'll find you eventually."

He's getting far too close!

The sound of a knife gliding over the stone walls only increased the panic.

"Come out, come out wherever you are~!"

Spain mouthed a silent prayer.

"Are –"

A knife came out of nowhere and lodged itself into Spain's hand. The nation bit back a scream.

"You-"

Another knife followed suit and claimed the other hand.

"Here?"

A knife punctured Spain's injured knee, causing him to finally cry out.

Then he felt Italy's fingers gently cup his chin forcing him to look up. Although he couldn't see his face, he could see his violet eyes and white smile, and quite frankly that was enough for him to stop breathing for a second. "You are so cute when you are scared," Italy whispered. "Especially now. Too bad you are not my type."

Spain gulped when he heard that.

"Now let's go make some paint, shall we?"


3 Hours Later…

(Italy)


Italy emerged from the basement bloody but satisfied. He looked down at the full bucket of "paint" happily. Today had been a successful day, Spain was dying downstairs and he had gotten a whole bucket of paint. For free.

The telephone rang just then, so Italy set down the bucket and walked over to pick it up. "Ciao," Italy greeted happily.

"Italy?" Germany's voice came from the other side.

"Germany!"

"Um, hi. I was wondering something…"

"What is it?"

"If you, um, if you wanted to, um…"

Italy tilted his head to the side curiously. "Are you okay, Germany?"

"Ja…doyouwanttogoouttodinnerwithmeonTuesday?" Germany rushed.

Italy froze, he hadn't heard right, had he? There was no way that Germany had asked him on a date. "Pardon, Germany, but I didn't get that..."

A shaky breath came from the other end before, "Do you want to go out to dinner with me on Tuesday?"

Yes, he had heard right. What was he going to do? "...I don't know..."

"O-Oh..."

"Maybe another day?" Italy asked, he didn't like how sad Germany's tone seemed. Besides, he needed allies so he couldn't quite go rejecting people. Speaking of allies...

Germany cut off Italy's thought-train, "Whatever works best for you."

"Would Friday at seven work?"

"Ja. I'll pick you up?"

"U-um, why don't we meet at the Piazza?" The Italian asked shakily.

"...Why?" Germany's tone was skeptical.

"It would be an easier meetup, and - and it looks pretty at night..."

"Okay...so see you then?"

"Mhm. Arrivederci, Germany!"

"Auf Wiedersehen, Italy."

The line went dead and Italy ran shaky, blood-stained fingers through his hair. How was he going to do this on Friday? He was not ready for a relationship! But he needed allies, and it was only just one date.

With Germany.

His best-friend.

...Who knew Switzerland and Liechtenstein...The Italian mused, looking out the window. The two seemed like easy targets, he was sure he could get them to back him up. Well, Liechtenstein anyway. Switzy would need an extra push or two. Oh and then there would be Austria and Hungary, those two would probably like to ally with him.

Looking back at the telephone, Italy decided to ring up Liechtenstein.

The phone rang a few times before someone answered. "Hallo?"

"Ciao Lichtenstein."

"Italy? Why are you calling me?"

"Listen, I need to ask you something..."


Translations (No more long phrases to avoid confusion. Thanks TheLastofUs for pointing that out)

(Spanish)

Italia – Italy

pendejo – motherf****r

Oh dios – Oh god

(Italian)

Mi dispiace I'm sorry

cero - candle

Arrivederci - Goodbye

(German)

Auf Wiedersehen - Goodbye