From then on, things spiraled downward for Russia. He became harsh and reclusive, mostly staying in his bed with the lights off and the window shutters closed. One day, China came to visit him. The two had become very close friends.
"Ivan!" he called. "Russia! Do you want to learn how to make noodles?"
Russia yelled back, "Go away! I don't want to see anyone!"
"Please…please come out, Ivan. This isn't good for you."
There was no response.
"Open up!" China begged, pounding on the door. "Open up…please…" He sank to his knees in the snow. "Don't do this to yourself, Ivan…you're my friend and I don't want my friends doing this kind of stuff."
In that instant, Ivan's dark heart, the cruel child who had whipped his tormentor to death, took control of his lips and responded, "I have no friends."
Wang Yao didn't know how to respond to that. For a moment, he stood dumbfounded, then he dragged himself dejectedly back to his territory. He'd just lost his best friend.
Alone, Russia thought darkly. All I want is to be alone… But do I want something else? His hands twitched with the urge to kill something again- he missed that feeling of total dominance, total victory. He missed the look in the victim's eyes when he went to land the finishing blow. Such awe, such despair.
The craving became worse as the days went by. Kill…kill…kill… The words drummed a tattoo in his mind. Soon slaughter became a necessity to him. He crawled out of bed on all fours like some demented being. Now, who was his first target?