Okay, just to make things clear to where things take place in this strange, strange world in my mind. So this is the way I'm going to explain its Geography.

There are 4 main continents: Nortaina, Estopa, Suterria and Orthica. (Yes, very original names, I know.) Arthur Kirkland (AKA England/Britain) comes from Nortaina, whilst Lukas Bondevik (AKA Norway) comes from the northern areas of Estopa and Vladimir Lupescu (AKA Romania) comes from the centre-slightly southern- Estopa.

Nortaina is like a mixture of Great Britain, France and the Germanic states so good food but terrible weather, it is home to Arthur and Francis as well as Ludwig and other people no one cares about. Estopa is just a mix mash of the eastern countries, so you've got everyone from Norway to Hungary to Romania and Russia as well as the Asian countries like China and Vietnam who live in their own little communities in the farthest east. There are smaller little islands that are also inhabited by the small countries personified like Japan, Taiwan and Hong Kong. Suterria is home to a lot of the Mediterranean countries like Spain and Romano and the Balkans and Greece as well as Turkey and some of the named African countries Finally, there is Orthica which is home to America and Canada as well as Cuba.

Thank you to those who are either following/favoriting the story. It makes me happy; especially when you read the latest chapters. I'm sorry if the chapters are really long-believe me, they aren't that fun to write/read through- but after this one, the focuses will be switching depending on whom I feel like writing so I hope you won't get bored. Also, I solemnly swear that my little notes on the beginning won't be this long.

Warning! This chapter contains some torture like whipping and the use of the boot as well as burning at the stake. Big Warning, I actually enjoyed writing it and no, it is not because I'm sadistic but I actually liked the research. There was something I was going to use called The Pear but it really was horrifying so I didn't. And since Vlad's a boy… just, if you're going to look it up, be warned.

I don't own Hetalia, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Please enjoy and review.

When Lukas awoke from his unconscious slumber, he had not expected to be greeted by a ghost. It was draped in a charcoal black cloak that obscured its face, if it even had a face, and floated at least 2 centimetres of the ground. It had no arms or hands nor feet or legs. It was just a body floating in mid air.

Lukas was lying on his side on a wooden bench with his back pressed up against the cold stone wall of his cell. The back of his head still hurt from his attack and his left side began to throb with pain from resting all his weight on it. He slowly sat up, never taking his eyes off of the ghost, and felt around his trouser pockets for a handkerchief, but he felt nothing.

"You wouldn't have a handkerchief would you?" he asked the ghost. It didn't reply, not even looking like it even acknowledged him.

"You don't talk much do you?" It still did not answer. Lukas sighed and began to look around the cell. Three of the walls were made out of old grey stone whilst the other had long metallic bars and a door. There was an incredibly high, but small, window, which showed a slightly cloudy late afternoon, to his left that was also barred off. The ground was made out of concrete and was just as cold as the walls. There wasn't anything else except for the bench he was sitting on, so Lukas deduced that this was a cell for people who were going to be here for one day. What was I even here for? he thought.

"Oh, yeah. That man. He thought I stole some money off him. Never seen him in my life though, he was definitely a strange guy. Must be new in town. I'll just tell the police in the morning when they come. Yeah that's what I'll do." He mused out loud, glancing at the thing every so often to see if he would respond. It didn't even move a muscle.

"Wow. Did your hit your head when you were a baby or were you just born stupid?" crowed a voice, echoing in Lukas' head, making Lukas flinch. The ghost still didn't respond.

"And know I'm hearing voices. I must be going crazy." He shook his head and gave a little scared laugh.

"And you're impolite as well. Didn't I get the short straw?" it chuckled; frightening Lukas further as he realised the voice wasn't his.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"My name is Rafn. I'm your familiar if you hadn't guessed that already."

"Familiar huh?"

"You're surprisingly calm for somebody who just got told they have a familiar. You were more freaked out when you thought you had schizophrenia." Lukas shrugged.

"I've read enough fairy tales and fantasies when I was younger. I even had trolls as my friends when I was a kid. I even remembered why no one else could see them."

Rafn clucked with amusement, "A sign of magic if you had imaginary friends; they're hard to conjure up."

"So, why can't I see you then? Are you invisible or are you just in my head?" he asked, looking around the cell for any sign of Rafn. Suddenly, the window caught his eye and a long black shadow started to run down the frame like water. Lukas quickly stood up but never took his eyes off the flowing liquid-like shadow. Slowly, it began to crawl down the wall until it landed on the floor as it began to materialise into a normal sized raven with beautiful purplish-black feathers and midnight blue tips. It stared at him with blinking black eyes and hopped closer to him.

"You're a crow?" Rafn crowed in annoyance, flapping its wings with annoyance and anger.

"I'm a raven! Gees, are you blind as well?"

"They're the same thing."

"No, they're not."

"Both are birds and both have black feathers. The names different, that's all."

"Ravens, for your information, are much bigger than crows and we live for longer. Not to mention we don't have an irritating squawk. "

"Really? I never would have guessed."

Rafn smirked- if birds could smirk- and flew onto Lukas' right shoulder. Lukas winced a little with pain as Rafn's talons dug into his shoulder blade. He felt a slight tug on his curl and he slowly twisted his head as to not aggravate the aches along his neck and head.

"How long has he been there?"

"Huh?" he glanced at the unmoving ghost. "I dunno. He's been here since I woke up." Rafn flew from Lukas' shoulder and landed on the floor; his head tilted to the side.

"What is he?" asked Lukas, rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand as he tried to loosen the pain. Rafn didn't respond at first but he let out a loud scream. It rattled inside Lukas' head and the cell started to spin. It felt like it was splitting his head and the dull throb was already flaring up again. He felt himself black out and he landed on the bench, closing his eyes and holding his head with both hands, trying to block out the scream. It felt like an eternity before he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up.

The ghost was right in front of him now and towered over him. The hood still obscured his face but now had wings like a birds and raven like feet. It started to speak.

"Are you okay? You were shaking." It sounded like Rafn's voice; only much lower and raspy.

"Rafn? Wha-what happened?"

"I teleported you out of the cell. I had to use the ghost's body though; I'm not strong enough to do it in my bird form. By transferring my energy into the ghost; my powers increased and I was able to teleport us both out of there.

"Where are we? I don't recognize this place."

Lukas looked around from where he was standing. It was a garden but it was unlike any garden he had seen before. It was filled with towering trees that Lukas recognized to be poplars, and the flowerbeds were filled with such mysterious and unusual plants. There was one that looked like a rose but whose petals were crystallised and diamond-like and another that looked like a lilac but the flowers were more metallic than natural. Just further were even more trees that held apples but these weren't normal apples; they were browner that juicy red and they were patterned with gold spirals. They did look delicious though. Even further beyond, Lukas could see a tall gothic looking house with beautiful dark windows and roof.

"Welcome to the Garden of Wonders or if you want to get technical; Lord Mordes' Garden."

"Mordes? Wait. You mean…"

"Hmm." he nodded, "The God of Death himself."

Lukas couldn't believe it. He was in the Land of the Dead. Yet, this wasn't what he was expecting. Of course, it was still a garden but he had expected skulls and demons and fire but not this. It looked rather serene and peaceful.

"Did you have any reason to bring me here?" he asked,"I mean, you could have brought me to the closest town or a forest."

"No. That ghost is one of Lord Mordes' clones; though still one of the weaker ones. If he was there, it meant two things. One was that Lord Mordes wanted me to come to you immediately. You see: one of the clone's special abilities is exhibiting energy that only familiars or those with magic talents can see. By placing it in your cell, with you, I was able to locate your position and find you. Ingenious eh?"

"What's the second thing?"

"By sending out a clone, he also wants us to come here. I sensed that once I found you in the execution cell. So I figured-"

"Wait a second. What do you mean "execution cell". That was a cell for people who were just going to spend the one night there. I'm innocent. I didn't recognize that man and I didn't steal anything of him either."

"That wasn't his lordships plan- the night in the execution cell. Originally, he wanted me to appear to you in your house or in a dream or something like that. Somebody must have messed with the man's memories to make him think that you stole money of him some time ago and then have you executed. Luckily, his lordship was able to find you and send a clone after you otherwise you'd be already dead."

"How would I be already dead though?"

"You're joking. And I thought you had magical talents."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I guessing you didn't smell anything bad like rotting eggs or vomit or-"

"A little but it was really faint."

"That's the smell of evil spirits. They were trying to kill you in your sleep but the clone warded them off. It kept you safe by casting a barrier around you and the cell. It must have been a weaker one or there were a lot more evil spirits there than usual if you smelt something bad whilst still under protection. But now that there's no barrier protecting your cell, I can bet that the cell is going to smell disgusting by tomorrow. You owe a lot to his lordship."

"Where is he anyway?"

Rafn looked puzzled for a second and shook his head, a little confused and bewildered, "I don't know. I don't sense him here so I guess he must be on the Surface. I hope he's not getting himself into trouble."

Lukas didn't reply and instead he looked around. He had to give the Lord of Death credit; he had a very good taste of aesthetics. Then, something caught his eye. It was another person; another man. He had blond hair and wore a simple outfit consisting of a long sleeved white shirt, black slacks and stylish black shoes. A large black dog was right next to him and sniffing to make sure he was okay and it looked like they were talking. It glanced upwards and met Lukas' eyes, sending an icy feeling up his spine. Rafn turned and dissolved into his raven form before cawing out.

"Hucksley! It's nice to see you again."

Arthur lent back in his chair and lazily started to tip it back against the wall. He could tell that the sun was beginning to set as his shadow became longer. How long had he been here, he wondered, at least a few hours or so. He was all alone and the room was completely silent except for the odd creaking of his chair. He had been left with nothing more than a cup of very weak tea and a half eaten stale biscuit which had been discarded to the side so after receiving it.

Upon arriving at the station, he was immediately led into the room and placed into the hard wooden chair. His handcuffs were taken off and he had rubbed them a bit afterwards- even during his questioning. They hadn't shone a light into his face like he expected but the questioning went on for a very, very long time-much longer than expected. Then Ludwig, for he was doing the questioning-left. He wanted to leave right then and there but something stopped him like invisible ropes were tying him down to the chair.

He pushed the chair forward a bit so all four legs were safely on the floor and started to fidget with his fingers and begun to inspect them for the fifth time. They weren't as soft as Francis' or any other rich persons but at the same time, they weren't like the fishermen's or builder's which were rough and strong. They were, however, covered in small scratches and scars. Most were from the hat making and stitching, when he had been too careless with the needle or pins, but the others were from his late night drinking where he would cut his hand on the bottle tops of beer bottles or shards of broken glass. He would wake up from the drinking, check his hands for any blood or injuries, wash them if they did and then e would wake up from the drinking, check his hands for any blood or injuries, wash them if they did and then put on band aids or bandages. His oldest and the most noticeable scar was on the back of his left hand that trailed from his ring finger to the part of the wrist near his thumb. He had been in a fight and one of the men had used a piece of sharp glass against him. The shard was large and sharp so he had put his hands up to defend himself with the man slicing the back of the left hand in the process. He didn't remember much from the fight but he had remembered it hurt a lot. It was also the only time he went to the hospital; it was during the time that he did have a little bit of extra money before the hard times had hit him. Now, he was being much more careful and wasn't drinking as much as he used to: it used to be twice per week but currently he had only been to the bar twice in the past month.

"Why," he whispered, "why, Oh Lord Almighty does this have to happen to me? I only went out for a drink once and the night I do also happens to be the night that Daniel Morgan is murdered. Can't you just give me a break for once, for once in my god damn life?!" His whisper started to transform into a shout. He slammed his hands on the tables, shaking the crockery and plate, before planting his head firmly on the table with his hands behind them. He started to take in deep breaths to calm himself down but it was no use. He was just so mad.

"Why are you so upset? You're innocent, remember?"

"Huh? What the-"Arthur lifted his head and looked across the table. There he saw a large black shaggy dog with burning red eyes like saucers and large white canines. Arthur didn't move a muscle, or even breathe, as he stared at the hound in front of him. It cocked his head to the side before opening its mouth and spoke.

"Are you okay?"

At that moment, he jumped from his seat and the chair legs and his became tangled in the process, leading him to fall painfully on the floor, directly onto his right hand. Thankfully, it didn't feel like it was broken but it still hurt and Arthur winced with pain as he tried to move it. The dog moved hurriedly to his side and started to like his hand; the rough tongue scraping over his scars. Arthur was completely still as this strange dog licked his hand. The strangest thing was that his hand wasn't hurting that much now; actually, it didn't hurt at all.

"Wh-wh-what are you?"

"You don't recognize me do you?"

"You-you're that voice I heard when I was arrested? You're Hucksley." The dog nodded and barked; happy that he could somewhat remember him.

"I also visited you this morning in the bushes. I wanted to greet you then but you were interrupted."

"Oh yeah, that was Francis-the stupid frog. Wait a sec." he paused, "I know this might sound weird but did you leave my kitchen window open?"

"I did. I wanted to get your attention so… yeah."

"And I'm guessing you also left the water jug on the table for me, right?" there was another nod from Hucksley. "And the bread?" Again, Hucksley nodded.

"I hoped you liked it. It took me a while but it was worth it."

"Wait, did you make it yourself? The last time I checked, dogs don't have the ability to make bread."

"I had some other help. There were the best of the business so I used their talents to make the bread."

"Thanks, it was really nice. How did you get in here anyway?"

"Every familiar had four abilities: one of them is healing, another is teleportation and the other two are different for each one. I have the ability of intangibility and necromancy, which means I can pass through solid matter and I have control over ghosts."

"So… the bread was made by ghosts?"

"Um…yeah. You're not too freaked out are you?"

"Ghosts made the most delicious bread I have ever tasted. I'm more impressed than freaked to be honest." Hucksley breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why are you here anyway?"

"I've come to help you escape. We need to leave now."

"I can't right now. I need to stay here so I can be released, then I'll come with you. It won't be that long anyhow, they'll be back soon. I'm sure of it."

"You won't be leaving here, Arthur. We need to leave now." By this time, Hucksley had grabbed onto Arthur's sleeve and was tugging at it fiercely. Arthur started to struggle.

"I'm innocent. I didn't kill anyone."

"They don't believe that. That blond hair man is away and signing your execution papers as we speak." Arthur stopped, his face filled with bewilderment.

"What?" he whispered, shaking his head, not trying to believe his words. "Bu-but I-I-"

"Arthur," Hucksley whispered softly, "you were drunk at the night of the murder; you were leaving about the same time when the murder took place and worst of all; you had a grudge against him. Daniel Morgan was a well known and respected man of the town; people want his murder to come to justice. You're the best they can find so-"

"I'm going to die."

"In the simplest way to put it; yes. By tomorrow, you are going to be hung in the public square. Then your body is going to be thrown into an unmarked grave-or ditch- alongside other criminals."

"You're not helping me boost my confidence, Hucksley."

"Sorry. After you've been around so many ghosts, you loose all sense of sensitivity to human kind. Especially to the murders."

"What about a trial? Surely-"Hucksley shook his head.

"No such thing I'm afraid. It's an open and shut case as far as they're concerned. Now, are you going to come with me?"

"Will it be better than being here?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll go with you."

At that moment, Hucksley stood a step back and ran into the middle of the room. He lifted his head and howled. It rattled the room and made Arthur shake as a cold sensation ran down his spine to his toes. The world swirled and dissolved into inky black and purple as the room disappeared. It only took a blink and Arthur felt something soft underneath his fingers. It felt like grass and the softness brushed against his skin.

He was surrounded by a large garden; it was dark but very beautiful. He recognized the shapes of familiar flowers-roses, daisies and daffodils to name a few- but they didn't look like real flowers. They were either crystallised-the roses- or their colours weren't the same-whoever knew that daisies looked better with blue petals rather than white?

"This is amazing. Where is this place?" he asked Hucksley who was checking his body for any wounds or injuries. Suddenly Hucksley turned his head, his ears perked, and lightly growled. Arthur was surprised by Hucksley's ferocity and he too turned his head to be greeted by the sight of a young man with sandy brown hair and blue eyes staring back at him, as well as the sight of a raven.

"Hucksley! It's nice to see you again."

Hucksley bounded from Arthur's side and ran towards the raven with jaws open, showing his magnificent array of white fangs. The raven cawed again and flew up into the air, trying to avoid Hucksley's jaws, and started cawing again. Hucksley dropped into a playful crouch before springing in the air, snapping its jaws, almost catching one of the raven's talons, before it quickly pulled away and flew little higher. The raven laughed at him before flying to the young man's shoulder and nipped at a loose bang in his hair. The man nodded to Arthur.

"Who are you?"

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. And you are…"

"Lukas Bondevik. I'm from the north east of Estopa. I'm guessing from your accent your from Nortaina."

"The east, yes."

"I hoping you know where we are. Cause sure as bloody hell I don't."

"The Garden of Wonders or better referred to as Lord Mordes' Garden. You know, the-"

"God of Death. No bloody kidding. So this is the Land of the Dead."

"Actually," cut in the raven, "this is only a little bit of it. The rest isn't as beautiful as this."

"Really?"

"The rest of the Land of the Dead is more of a giant park with flowers, yes, but its nothing like this. But it could be worst. The worse the person you were when you were alive, the worse the punishment. There are four levels in all; this is the first layer you could say. It's called the Garden of Wandering Souls. Over the poplar trees is the garden itself with all of the wandering souls that are waiting for judgement. It'll take a few years but they'll be judged, then they'll either be reborn or move onto one of two layers."

"Those whose were, for the most part, a good person will be reborn into a new life with no recollection of their previous life and gender. So if they died as a man, they might be reborn as a woman."

"Anyhow," continued Hucksley," the first layer isn't terrible. It's called the Valley of Asphodels. That layer is the largest and is only for those who have committed crimes enough to warrant them not being reborn, yet still not enough to go to the third layer. The worst is that they'll keep their memories forever, so they'll constantly be reminded of their previous actions."

"Then we have the third layer: the Fields of the Damned and Punishment. Those who were truly evil in their lifetime will go there. They are punished and tortured for eternity and they experience some of the worst pain and humiliation anyone can feel. There aren't many people in the third layer though; about one in twenty souls go there."

"You said there was four layers to the Land of the Dead; what's the final layer?" asked Arthur to the raven and Hucksley. Lukas also looked intrigued. Both animals looked at each other hesitantly like they weren't really supposed to talk about it. Finally, the raven spoke, though solemnly.

"The lowest layer, the final layer, is known as Caged Eternal Hell. It holds some of the most powerful demons in the ancient world before Lord Mordes imprisoned them here. Some of them agreed to become his subordinates, but those who refuse it are sent here. He doesn't kill them; he just imprisons them to keep them from rampaging. No familiar is allowed there; he only allows hellhounds to work there."

"The most dangerous demon is known as Inazaru." The raven and the hound shivered at the mention of the name, before the raven continued, "You see he was one of three leaders of the demon forces back in the ancient times. When Lord Mordes defeated him and the other leaders he locked them in the Caged Eternal Hell. The other two leaders were weak enough when they were defeated to be sealed away in a special containment. Inazaru wasn't so weakened when he was defeated, though, so Lord Mordes had to chain him in a special cell to make sure that he will never escape and cause another rampage."

"Speaking of Lord Mordes," Hucksley asked the raven," where is he anyway? I thought he was going to meet us here in the garden." The raven nodded in agreement.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumble and the earth began to shake once more. Arthur fell suddenly to his knees like an overwhelming force was pulling his down towards the earth. Lukas must have felt it too because he was forced onto his knees immediately at the same time as Arthur. Only the raven and Hucksley looked unperturbed by this sudden event, either because they were used to it or that they were much stronger than he or Lukas. Arthur, with all of his pride, hoped it was the former.

The raven and hound looked towards the west where they must have sensed something because at that second, they both called out.

"My Lord Mordes!"

When Vladimir was quite young, he had been nicknamed as 'eccentric' by his playmates. Often, they would spot him reading -under a favourite tree in his extensive garden- a fairy tale book. It wasn't the actual book that the children think that he was eccentric, but was the fact that he would spout rather gruesome or cruel facts whilst in mid reading. He was once reading a tale about a friendship between a fairy and a human when he had spouted a story about a couple who had treated their changeling child by flogging him and even sticking it in a oven, where he would proceed to give gory details about the proceeded cooking, whereas the children had now run away in fright.

Nobody, however, would have expected him to have been the cause of so much of the crop failure. They were, like much of central Estopa, quite traditional and were very proud of their folklores and stories, as well as their belief of witchcraft. The Lupescu family was one such family that most of the townspeople had kept under their radar, in case of any great incident or accident that befell them. It would be easy to target them; they had a long and grand lineage of sorcerers and magic folk, so they could not defend themselves when being accused of witchcraft. They had to wait though, for it never seemed to be the right time to accuse them. The crop failure that harvest was perfect and those who believed that the Lupescu's had nothing to do with it where easily persuaded by the risk of famine. They had it all planed out with everything to the last, precise detail. What they hadn't expected was the untimely arrival of the Lord of Death.

When Vladimir had awoken from his short slumber, he had found himself within a wooden crate with prickly straw along the bottom and a tiny rectangular window in front of him with miniature iron bars. Feles was sleeping at his feet with both his feet tied and a rough metallic muzzle being placed over top his jaw. He looked so peaceful, unlike Vladimir.

Vladimir's hands were roughly bound in front of him with coarse rope that cut his skin and created red marks and bruises. His mouth was also gagged by an old cloth that made it increasingly harder to breathe through, so he had to resort to his nose. His legs and arms were beginning to cramp and the pain in his head flared once more. The smell of smoke still lingered in his nose from the previous escape from the burning forest and it stung. The occasional jolt of the cart over stones threw him up in the air briefly, before landing hard back down on his bruised backside. It couldn't get much worse, can it? He briefly wondered before the cart stopped and the crate was being lifted before being dropped on the ground and opened to the sights of three faces, all with sadistic smiles.

This is not going to end well.

Vladimir was handled roughly as he was pushed and forced to walk up the stairs to the prison. He didn't like the look of it one bit. He knew, from his books, that this prison was once a castle owned by a powerful knight before he died in combat. It was because of his untimely death, the family that lived there sold it to pay back his debts and so the castle became a prison. It was damp and wet and cold and the floor stung his feet as he forced to walk. He walked right past the prisoners in the cells and his head was forced down, and was half dragged by a guard in front by a rope leash. Not many of the prisoners acknowledged him but those who did nodded in respect and pity.

The room they came to was a large and dark room with a few little windows over looking the road and forest beyond. It didn't brighten the room though, especially for what it contained. There were millions of different objects scattered around like some sick, demented child's nursery room. Near the back, where he was being led to, was a wooden cross with two iron chains hanging from the ends of the T. Beneath it was a small pool of dried blood and Vladimir realised what it was. His shirt was torn from his back and he was pushed onto the cross where two other men held his wrists and shackled them to the wood.

"By the orders of the High Court, you will be punished from your actions of practising witchcraft by flogging, subjection to the Boot and then being burned at the stake. You will be subjected to 100 lashes. I will keep count." Another guard, probably the taskmaster, approached him and whispered his apologizes. Vladimir shrugged them off.

"Begin!"

The first crack of the whip struck Vladimir's back quickly and was followed by the second, then the third, then the fourth and fifth. If Vladimir had been almost asleep, then this would have surely woken him up. The continuous stings broke his skin and refused to relent the pain as Vladimir begun to scream. The blood did not begin to run until the sixtieth lash or so, yet the taskmaster did not give up. He was still continuously flogging him as his blood flew from the air by the force of the whip and the long streams of crimson life flowed down his back. His skin became marred and torn with the tender red welts ripping and blooming before his very eyes. Every second was complete and utter agony.

By the time he was finished, his back was on fire and his voice was sore from his screams. The guards unlocked the shackles and unable to keep himself upright, he fell limp to the floor. He felt himself being lifted by the arms and was being half-carried, half-dragged to a wooden table with the same iron shackles. His back screamed in further pain as he was placed on his back and the hard wood touched the marks with him trying to grit his teeth and stop the whimpers of pain from exiting his lips. Then he caught sight of that. The Boot.

This type was the simple, yet horrifying, design which was made out of four wooden boards nailed together and once the leg was enclosed, wedges would be hammered between the boards, creating a great amount of pressure. From what it said in his books, this particular device was the first choice to get confessions out of people.

He felt four hands having to hold his leg still as the boot was fitted over it and secured. Vladimir tried to slow his heart and breathing as he felt the first pinches of the pressure from the wedges.

Just keep breathing, Vladimir. You'll be okay. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Another wedge was hammered in.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The pressure was building. A slight pain was setting in. Vladimir felt it but tried not to notice.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

More wedges were being hammered in. More pressure with even more pain. He was having a harder time staying calm. His head started to get dizzier and he felt himself begin to faint as the pain grew.

In. .Out.

Crack!

Vladimir screamed. The pain from his leg came flooding in. He could stop it. It just wouldn't stop hurting. His head wouldn't stop spinning and he felt lighter. It wasn't a second later than he went completely limp.

He woke up a few hours later in a dingy cell with a dripping ceiling and cold floors. He was lying on his right side with his back facing the wall and his left leg-primarily his ankle and the lower part of his shin-was badly swollen and well as awkwardly twisted. It pained him further to look at it so he turned away. He was also greeted to the sight of a tied up Feles with a heavy metal muzzle and his right ear badly torn, with dried blood crusted around it. Feles gave a light growl which, to some people would interpret it as anger, though Vladimir knew it was more of concern.

"You were mumbling in your sleep. Are you okay?"

"I-it hurts." It was all he could say as more pain from his back flooded in. He cringed and Feles looked more concerned.

"If only I wasn't tied; I could heal you."

Vladimir didn't reply; he was already unconscious and unresponsive.

When he came to once more, he was tied up against another pole, though this one was much thicker and heavier. Around him he was surrounded by dry hay and sticks and right in front of him was a growling and twitching Feles. He looked up and saw a huge crowd of men and women, as well as children and the elderly. They began to boo at him and it must have taken a lot just to stop themselves from throwing objects to him. He was wearing a plain white shirt again but the fabric did nothing to stop the throbbing pain on his back. His ankle hurt worst then ever, though he wasn't directly standing on it, and he began to sweat.

He had blocked out the noise of the announcer as well as most of the jeers from the crowd, but nothing stopped him from blocking out the sound of the first few flames as they caught fire on the sticks like they were nothing more than paper. He struggled fiercely; I will not die like this! He thought determinedly, but as the air became hotter and more difficult to breathe, he was having trouble focussing. The once proud and calm Feles was now shrieking as the flames licked at his whiskers and tail, but he could do nothing. The crowd grew more and more excited as they watched him struggle further.

Then, he heard a loud roar of anger and the sky grew darker as storm clouds cut of the suns light. Somebody shrieked and people became to scream or gasp in horror. A dark twister appeared from the sky and landed right in front of the burning pyre. Tens upon hundreds of small dogs with flames on their backs leapt from the twister and chased the people and guards as they ran for their lives. But nobody saw the black hooded figure that stepped out of the twister and snuffed out the flames, except for Vladimir. The ropes were suddenly cut loose from his ankles and wrists and he dropped down. He landed on his left foot and he screamed as so much pain flooded his leg. He felt like he was going to die and with every sensation leaving him, he began to fall. Thankfully the rescuer caught him and positioned him in his arms. He heard Feles talking quickly but he couldn't make most of it out.

Lord… land…others…shelter…care…thank…

The last thing he remembered was staring up at the face of a young man with brown, almost black hair, fiery red eyes, dressed in a black cape, before everything turned to inky blackness.

Finally. You would not believe how long that took me to write that. I had to rewrite it like 3 times because of it being a really awkwardly paced scene. It was also supposed to be out yesterday but my 4 sheets of Art won't finish themselves!

Sorry if the chapter's too long, I know some people who hate really long chapters that seem to drag on but these are also the same people who complain about reading a book for a review.

And on that note, please review so I know how to improve it.

CopperKitsune