Hi, it's me~! It's this chapter with torture scenes in hell and stuff like that and then… okay, just read it and please REVIEW! Can I make myself clearer?

Ludwig stumbled down the path in the direction of England's house, his jacket placed on his shoulders as usual, and then turned back to wave a solemn goodbye to Kiku, who saluted gravely from Ludwig's porch.

"Sayonara, my friend," whispered the Japanese, "and may the gods allow all this to turn out for the better."

Of course, Ludwig was too far away to hear Kiku, and probably would not even have heard him if he were right next to the other man, but he tensed and turned his gaze to the sky, fingering the cross under the cloth of his tanktop and feeling that somewhere, somehow, Gilbert was watching him. What would he tell England, and how could he convince the Britishman to help?

Ludwig, however, had figured out that Arthur had long harbored a secret obsession for black magic, as well as concealing the fact that he regularly practiced the art, so it probably wouldn't be difficult to enlist his aid. At least Ludwig now knew that Arthur had a heart.

His feet suddenly feeling disfunctional, he took a few more steps determinedly, but after nearly tripping on the unleveled, rocky road, he shuffled over to the side of the path, sitting, rejectedly, down with an abject feeling rising in his own heart. This was not going to work.

Gilbert's dead and he's under a curse… the only one who can help him is me—a nervous wreck. Wonderful.

Ludwig buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of what was going on. What was the meaning of all of this? If Gilbert was dead, why did he even care to return every full moon? Why did Ludwig remember every month of Gilbert's visits, of the clacking chains, the red eyes that gazed down on him?

I guess that's what I need Arthur for, reasoned Ludwig. It had actually been Japan's idea to phone the Englishman—Germany had been far too distraught to think properly. Come to think of it, he still was quite far from being in his right mind. "Oh, Gilbert… what are you… why are you here? Why do you haunt me?"

"Because I love you, Ludwig!"

Ludwig's head snapped up, he wearily peered around at his surroundings. "Gilbert?" None was there. "Gilbert? Come on, I know I heard you somewhere. W—Where are you? Hurry up, show yourself!"

And instantly there was a blinding flash of black that nearly shocked him into having a stroke—and suddenly Gilbert stood, not more than 10 feet away, struggling against the chains that held him, stood the silver-haired man. His wrists were bound in rough, rusted iron clamps that were attached to a long chain of metal tied to a jagged-edged, sharp boulder. His wings sprouted, the magnificent feathers now crumpled and damaged, falling from the crippled wings, out of Gilbert's bare and whip-battered back.

And Ludwig stood, staring in horror at their surroundings—a burning, bloody battlefield, black with ashes and red with the glaring flames that consumed it. The crack of a whip, and Gilbert cowered, screaming in agony as a new gash appeared on his back, bleeding for a few moments, and then his skin closed over the wound, healing it of its own accord, but apparently causing the man great anguish.

"No… no… don't—please—don't do this to me!" The whip sounded once more, the wounds reopened, tears of blood ran down his brother's face. "I—I can't t—take it… aah!"

Ludwig flinched, gasping fearfully as Gilbert screamed painfully, he was hurting inside so much just to watch this.

"No… I don't want to be here… i—it scares me so badly…!"

Alone in a battlefield. That, Ludwig knew, was what his brother feared. Being the last of the Prussians, kneeling in surrender, at the feet of the enemy, the bodies of his comrades burning behind him. And sure enough, when Ludwig squinted into the fire, he could glimpse the lifeless figures of the elegantly-clad soldiers. Their forms hovered and receded in the distorting illusion of the flames' heat, their quivers slung over their backs, the black hats still perched ever so delicately on their heads as they lay, motionless, on the battlefield where they had fallen.

The cruel screech of a wild creature ran through the air suddenly, and Ludwig turned to see that Gilbert, groaning, had collapsed into a heap on the burning ground, a fresh set of claw marks in his chest, bleeding heavily, but Gilbert refused to cry out, even as blood trickled from his cuts.

"I—I had to!" gasped Gilbert abruptly, as if an unheard voice were whispering to him—tormenting him. "H—he forced me to, he practically begged me! Please… don't do this… It w—wasn't just my fault! He was drunk…"

Ludwig's blood ran cold as he listened to the rasped words, his heart sinking as he realized what Gilbert was talking about. So… that's what he meant by "the night of 1947". That's why this is all happening…

Gilbert groaned, a deep whip-mark forming on his skin, and then tried to speak, "I—I don't know if her loves me anymore… after all the time that's passed, after everything that's happened… but n—no matter what's happened in the past… I will love him." The unseen whip was flung, lashing the man at its mercy.

"Aah! Because…" The invisible torturer began to beat Gilbert, who choked as something collided with his stomach, probably a fist, his skin red from raw exposure to the fire, and blood flowed from a corner of his lips. "Because he is my bruder. I—I will always love him. No m—matter what happens, I will love him."

Now there was the agitated roar of the tormenter, the beast began to claw and pound at the poor man, who coughed hoarsely, blood spurting from his mouth as he cried at last, his pride burning with the flames of the field.

"No!" Ludwig shouted at last, not able to hold in his tears any longer. "Bruder, are you alright? I—I'm coming!"

But Gilbert didn't seem to hear him as he scrambled towards his older brother, careful to avoid the flames as he approached the Prussian, the man was bent over as he gasped painfully. "B—bruder… are you… Gilbert…" whispered Ludwig as he reached out to touch Gilbert's back—but instead of feeling the flushed, warm, and bloody skin of the prisoner, he felt nothing as his fingers traversed through the barrier of skin, through Gilbert's body, and right out his big brother's chest.

"What t—the—" Ludwig started to pull his arm back, then, as his hand had retreated into Gilbert's body, he flexed his fingers unbelievingly, feeling only air. "S—so…" gasped Ludwig, "Th—This… is only… a dream… o—or is it…?" he suddenly question. Then his eyes trailed back to Gilbert's limp, forlorn form.

"G—Gilbert! Gilbert, can you hear me? Is this really happening? Come on already, answer me!"

He reached out again, with both hands now, to grasp his brother's shoulders (he practically had to bend over at a ninety degree angle to do this)—but this time his fingers came into contact with the smoothness of freezing, cold skin that he might have mistakened for ice had he not seen Gilbert there.

"O—Oh mein Gott, Gilbert!" He withdrew his hand to see that it was coated with the slick blood. "You're so cold!"

Gilbert seemed almost to hesitate, and then he lifted his heavy head to stare at Ludwig in devastation as the other man got down onto his knees, taking his hurt brother into his arms and cradling him caringly.

For a brief moment, those ruby eyes simply stared into Ludwig's icy blue ones, and then Gilbert whispered, "… Bruder."

I can see that either all of you except Naviar hate me or hate my story since I'm not getting any reviews or anything! THREAT: I will discontinue this fic if I don't get any more reviews! Well… maybe not, but I'm considering it. *shakes head, slaps forehead* Sorry guys… I just don't know where to take this thing next…