Finally, stuff is getting good. Now that all that planning is over expect updates to be quicker, the next chapter will probably be up in a week. I'm going to be honest with you guys looking back at the last chapter I see that I unconsciously wrote some Germany x Italy in it…ya the sad part is I didn't even notice I was, things just sort of happened. I would change it but I don't have the heart, eh whatever, I'll just say everything is 'platonic,' but feel free to 'imagine,' that it's GerIta. If you haven't guessed already I'm struggling with the concept of 'no pairings,' maybe I'll put up a poll asking if you guys even want pairings…hm. Also this chapter IS supposed to be confusing, though to help smooth things along, the whole 'different dimension thing, and then being countries,' plays a lot with this and don't worry things will be revealed later in the chapters on how this is happening. Oh and as for some other stuff China's chi use is my interpretation of it, I know that's not how it works but I sort of played with what would work with this story so forgive me if I offended anyone.

Disclaimer: I don't own Corpse party or Hetalia, the more important question is if I own myself…see these are the real things people should be looking into to

China breathed in than out, each time he exhaled his shoulders dropped and he felt a wave of total control and solitude. No conscious telling him what to do, no panicked side freaking out, and no military side barking orders at him. It was just him…and a clear goal, finding her at any cost. Letting his chi flow through the room, making the little closet he found detach from the dark mass that he got sucked into from America's charm. Though China didn't ponder over whose fault it was, for right now he was letting his chi shift, until he felt it a tug, no more like a watery gelatin acting as a weak wall, trying to block his energy. It was a feeble attempt, as China has been practicing with his Chi forever 4,000 years. He used his force to scan the so called 'gelatin', the wall was made up of a pinch of worldly emotions, but there was one that sizzled and crackled more than the other was, so much that it made China's chi waver, only for a millisecond. Taking a breath he released his chi a little at a time toward the packed emotions, letting it trickle like water dripping off a weathered stone, to a raging river coursing through a flourishing earth. This made a gaping hole in the gelatin, and that's when China entered. Images passed through him, not letting him even take a breath. Mania, obsession, misguided hope, manipulation, although interesting was not what China wanted to see so he willed himself to dig deeper. He practically tore his way through the unrelenting emotions until he got to what he wanted. Old crumpled memories, forgotten notes shoved beneath a bookcase. Opening the notes he was met with more visions, though these were less defined than the others, so much that he had to pick his way to the information he wanted until he got it. Not sparing a second he greedily grabbed it and pushed his way back, while burning his way through the rest of the notes until he got back. When he did he felt like his body was being compressed, all of his chi shoving back into his body. With that China opened his eyes with a start, the room was blurry and he could not feel anything but a tingling sensation all over his body. Unraveling his legs out of his sitting position he went on his hands and knees. Wheezing and gasping he felt his limbs gradually become less fuzzy, and his eyesight become sharp and refocused. Now that his body returned to normal he leaned back and sat again, putting his arm behind him so he could lean against them, 'Aiya I'm getting too old for this, dumb person's emotions got in the way, if she wasn't so creepily obsessed and psycho like that damn Russia, I could of got my information a lot quicker,' China complained to himself.

Dragging himself out of his thoughts he looked lazily at the many paper seals scatted on the door, personally made by him of course. 'Good thing I always keep a few charms with me, I bet all those western nations are scrambling around trying to keep those nasty spirits at bay…' As he thought about the western nations his thoughts went to Japan, 'if I know Japan he's probably mediating, he knows better than to get himself involved in all of this.' That still didn't keep him from worrying about Japan though, 'Aiya what am I doing lazing around, the sooner I finish and find Japan the sooner we can get out of here.' Picking himself off the ground he scanned the room he was in, it was a little janitor room with some grody mats and a dinky little TV which next to it was two plastic sliding doors, probably an old storage room for brooms. After looking around some more he rolled his eyes, 'better get this over with…' walking to the sliding door he opened the doors and looked at what they revealed, two bodies, almost unrecognizable but one wearing a yukata the other a female school uniform. Bending down he searched the female's body until he found what he was looking for, a student I.D. with a little paper scrap tucked in the plastic sleeve. Taking the I.D he held it up and admired it.

"Found you, Naho Saenoki."

Russia was strolling along the halls, ignoring every corpse he found and every creak the floor boards made under his weight. Honestly he could care less about how 'frightening,' everything looked and the bodies that covered the place. His concern was mainly toward finding the others. He hated being alone, even if they were noisy they were still all he had. So Russia searched, not paying mind to the messages scratched on the walls, probably last testaments that the unlucky victims of this place scrambled to write, to try and prove they existed. Turning a corner instead of more dead bodies he was met with a flight of stairs, 'this place is much like a maze…' Russia thought. Since he pretty much explored every inch of the lower level he figured there was no place left to go besides up, so naturally he climbed up the stairs. His heavy boots and his sheer size made the shambled steps creak and moan, and the further he stepped the denser the air grew until he was sure he was going to suffocate. Finally when he got to the top the air thinned out a bit, but at the top he was also met with a spirit, it was of a girl with long hair and ratty red dress. The girl didn't seem to notice him, as she stared blankly to the floor. Upon seeing the spirit girl he took out his pipe that was hidden in his coat, 'spirits think they're going to get the best of me? How funny.' Instead of outright charging it he went into a simple stride, his pipe dragging behind him, scraping and hitting loose floorboards. Right when he got there he leisurely swung at the girl and was met with a loud clank. Looking back he saw that the ghost girl defended herself with a pair of large and rusty scissors, surprise etched on her face.

"Ah, little spirit has strength heh?" He observed.

To his astonishment the girl replied, "You're not supposed to be here!" She shrieked.

"So you can talk? The spirits I've met just gurgled out nonsense; it won't matter though, for you won't be able to talk once I smash your face in."

With that he swung his pipe again but before he hit her she dispersed into thin air. Although frustrated that his prey left him his grin still hung on his face, 'now where did that sprit go? Surely little spirit couldn't have gone far…' Just in time he heard a creak come from behind him followed by the sound of footsteps running toward him.

"There you are!" Russia announced happily before swinging his pipe blindly at the figure he heard. The pipe made a loud, sickening, cracking sound that resounded through the halls, a bone had definitely shattered. Too pleased with himself to ponder over if sprits had any bones to break he turned and saw that his prey fell limp at impact and tumbled down the stairs, only his 'prey' had blond hair, and was wearing a bomber jacket. For a moment he just stared at the figure tumbling down the stairs and then his face quickly turned into horror. The body stopped barreling down the stairs midway and skidded limply to a halt. Eyes widening, it took a bit for everything to sink in, and when it did he rushed down the stairs to where the body was. Kneeling besides it he pushed the body on its back to more clearly reveal who it was.

"America…" Russia whispered hoarsely.

Of course it was America; he should have known it was from the golden locks and trademark jacket. He stared at the body, blood was gushing from the open wound and his limbs were mangled and twisted from the fall down the rickety stairs. 'I didn't mean to...' was all Russia could think. This certainly wasn't his intension, he may have a slight dislike for the rash, ignorant, foolish, and loud American, but this…this was not planned, this…wasn't supposed to happen, nations aren't supposed to be able to die like this. Now cradling the head with shaking hands he continued to delve in how this was out of his control, until he felt America's jaw move a bit. Startled he turned the head toward him, so that he could see his face. America was alive, but barely. When he turned the head the clouded eyes widened in shock, and painfully he moved his jaw again to try to form a word using his last, dying breath.

"…Ivan…" America spat before his head fell limply to his shoulder, marking that the American has ceased to be in the same world as Russia was.

Dropping the head out of his grasp Russia felt his hand gradually make its way to the left side of his face, trying to grasp what happened while also unsuccessfully mask the guilt that was bubbling in his chest. He had just witnessed a country…die…a huge superpower country…die. To make it worse when Alfred said his human name, an act that was normally only done with close… acquaintances or in his case a taboo, his voice held so many emotions, surprise, despair, angst, and detestation. Even while fading at an alarming rate America managed to weave venom in the way he said his name. 'It's all that damn spirit's fault, she'll pay…' Russia suddenly thought. With that drive in mind he stood up and went back up the stairs, determined to make the spirit suffer.

It burns stop, augh, my throat burns, it feels scorched like I inhaled a bunch of smoke, the outside stings to, just make it stop! I don't' care who you are just let it stop, even if it's only for a little bit, that's it…ack no, stop! It's even worse, it itches, but no matter how much I scratch it continues to be inflamed. Why is it so dark to? Have I gone blind or… yes I'm finally losing consciousness; soon I'll be out of my misery, Finally! About time! You really know how to pull some strings…huh…light? No I can't be dying, NO this wasn't part of the deal, you BITCH! Y-ou think you can make a fool of me, without me you're nothing! You caused this! I hate you…NO!

…I deeply regret what I did. I can't even truly express how ashamed I am, but how much are you going to make me suffer for it...oh I see…

America's eyes shot open, he couldn't see anything for everything was a blurry mess. His neck felt ablaze and extremely sore. Squinting a bit he could mold in the fuzzy colors to make three figures hovering over him. They looked vaguely familiar…ah yes he couldn't mistake those bushy eyebrows for anything, and that little blond curl, and that carefully styled hair, it was England, Canada, and France. Wait were they crying….well Canada was crying, however England was spewing out curses and France rambling on in French, 'what the hell is going on here!' His vision cleared a bit to a point where he could see them much clearly, Canada had red puffy eyes and tears stained his pale cheeks, 'why is Mattie crying? Whoever made him cry is going to wish they never stepped a foot near him…' Besides him France had his hand covering his mouth, he looked very shocked and fear stricken. England on the other hand looked fuming, America was sure he never saw England so angry before until now. 'Okay what in the hell is going on here?' To say America was confused was an understatement he was bewildered. His mind was too foggy to try to make any sense of this either.

Trying to speak to ask what was going on he couldn't really because of how much his throat burnt, instead he managed to choke out a botched set of words that were sort of what he was going for, "Wh…at…g-oing…o…n."

Instead of clearing things up like he hoped to, that little question seemed to make England even angrier, his face was now an even angrier shade of red.

"WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME!?" England screeched.

Swallowing a bit to get his throat more moisture he gave stunned look, the Englishman was FUROIS. While he was thinking of a way to reply the pain in his neck worsened considerably, so to try to ease it he tried to massage it when he felt something scratchy object tied around it ,'w-what, why is there a rope…' At that observation everything seemed to click. The pieces came together so fast America almost passed out.

"Holy shit…" America whispered, "did…I try to kill myself?"

Apparently his whisper was louder than he thought because if it was even possible England's face turned to an even darker shade of red.

"YOU…YOU…BLOODY GIT…I'LL…" England chocked out.

"Angleterre…calm down…" France spoke up, putting a hand on England's shoulder, "clearly America is confused, maybe we should…"

Before he could finished Canada surprisingly spoke up, "wait, America you don't remember anything…but…you tried to-"

"LIKE HELL I WOULD TRY TO KILL MYSELF!" America yelled before his brother could finish, though regretted it instantly as it made his throat hurt even more. Now that he thought about it, he COULDN'T remember. Not past Canada fixing his sprained ankle. The more he tried to remember the more it hurt, until he was sure his head was going to split open.

Canada looked like he was about to cry again from America's outburst, which made him feel incredibly guilty. His face softening America lowered his tone of voice, "look Canada I'm…sorry…for yelling at you, but I swear from brother to brother, I would NEVER try to kill myself, no matter what this creepy ass school throws at me I'm not going to surrender, heroes never surrender."

England, still angry, was about to call him out on his hero nonsense when France put a hand over his mouth to prevent him from yelling again, "Amérique what is the last thing you remember?"

"When Canada fixed my ankle of course," America answered easily.

Hearing this England, France, and Canada gave him an uncertain look, seeing as America didn't try to kill himself, then who or what hung him, or more broadly what was happening here? America on the other hand had delved deep in his thoughts, oddly enough wondering what Russia was up to…