Author's Note: Sorry it's taken us a while to update. Thank you for being so patient with us. Please enjoy. (Warning: Character death. I cried a little while writing it.) -Kat

Hope you guys enjoy the chapter and we hope it was worth the wait! So, in addition to updating the story, I'm going to be going back and editing some mistakes I've caught while rereading (for example, fixing the grammar errors in french.) Anyways, thanks for your patience. -Jax

Looking at the brunette across the room, with his head hung down and red stains covering his white shirt, Italy could only grimace and feel one thing: disappointment. Sure, causing pain was something that the northern Italian loved to do, but for some reason this wasn't as satisfying as he hoped. He averted his eyes away from his prisoner and scanned the neat display on the kitchen table.

Though it wasn't anything like he had at home, he was a bit impressed with himself at the make-shift array of instruments before him. His hand lazily hovered over the assortment as he tried to decide what to do next. There was a meat cleaver, kitchen knives, pins and needles, Lye, scissors of three different sizes, a small saw, and even a small pistol; but he would would use that later, when he was either done or bored. He frowned a bit and sighed at the lack of creativity this house provided for him, but it was the best he could come up with in such short notice.

He placed down the bloody hammer he held in his other hand onto the table; then turned to the quiet nation. Of course, he was quiet due to him being gagged, and was still from the tight rope keeping him against the chair; which he so thoughtfully nailed to the wall so the other wouldn't scoot around so much. A small sniffle could be heard from the captive, but as he looked up, his face wore a scowl mixed with anger and fear. Feliciano couldn't tell which was more dominant, and he personally didn't care. The tear stained cheeks, bloody clothes, and broken fingers told him he was in control.

Yet, despite the pleasure he felt from causing this man pain, disappointment crept up to the back of his throat. The man before him made him sick.

This impostor was nothing like his brother.

Italy forced a smile and casually strode up to the man, pulling out his favorite toy: his pocket knife. He twirled the blade expertly in his hands as he reached out to the man, stroking his hair in false comfort. When he tugged on the curl, this 'Romano' turned red and thrashed about. 'At least he reacts the same way as fratello... Almost...' Italy moved his blade so it ever so gently glided under Romano's chin, forcing the man to stop his struggling and look at him. Magenta and amber eyes met, staring the other down. One with anger and the other mild with boredom.

"You know," Italy spoke in his sweet voice. "This isn't as much fun as I imagined. Mio fratello would never have been caught so easily, nor would he have taken my special treatment so lightly..." He tugged on the curl harder, causing the man to groan and send a death glare. "And he would never have given in so easily and take it like the little bitch I see before me."

Romano grimaced in pain as Italy slowly pierced his shoulder expectantly, idly twirling the knife as if it were second nature. The pain was evident on his face but the glaring eyes didn't dare break away from the magenta ones.

Italy's lips tugged into a small smirk. "That's better~" He dug the knife in more, slowly dragging it down. " Let's see how long you can hold out, shall we? Romano's record is five hours before he dares to even flinch." He added the last part deviously, "I'm wondering how long you would last~" Romano squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to not concentrate on the pain. However, the feeling of his muscle and flesh being slowly ripped apart was too much. He let out a muffled moan of agony and thrashed in the chair, trying to get away from the pain.

Italy tsked. "Aw, how sad..." He removed the blade swiftly, only to stab him in his other shoulder, twist the blade, and smack Romano across the face. "And I'm suppose to believe you are my brother's counterpart. Ha! You can't even last thirty seconds from a small knife!"

The auburn haired nation turned away again. The scrapping of a chair being dragged across the room cut through the angry whimpers momentarily as Italy brought a chair to sit in front of the southern Italian. He reached behind the bloody mess of a man and untied the cloth, allowing his captive to cough and breathe in shakily, soft pained sobs escaped him as his lungs struggled to breath; the pain making it near impossible to focus on anything, fear however, kept most of his muddled thoughts focused on the man before him. Feliciano sat down in the chair he brought and leaned back, trying his best to admire his work, although, he felt he could have done better.

Romano breathed in and winced at the pain, and was silent until he spat at the tan man's face and shouted, "You... bastard!..."

Italy raised an eyebrow and wiped his face. "Really? That's all you have to say? How boring..." He rolled his eyes. He was really hoping for a more interesting reaction than that.

"...Why?..." Romano huffed.

Italy tilted his head. "Ve~? I'm afraid you will have to be more specific than that."

Romano took in a shaky breathe, but his glare was still strong. He coughed. "Why... are you doing this!?..." He coughed again.

Feliciano pondered a bit before speaking. "That's still quite a vague question, but since your brother isn't here yet, I suppose I can answer the best way I can~" He leaned forward. Romano thrashed his head and tried to bite at the gloved hands, but Italy was successful with gagging the nation once more. "Don't be like that~! I can't have you interrupting me."

He sat down once more and folded his hands neatly in his lap, perfectly at ease sitting across from a man in tremendous pain. "I won't bother to tell you why I'm after this world's Italy. I personally don't see why I have to explain myself to you. But, about why you," He pointed at him, anger laced on the emphasis on the word, "that is a different story." He reached out and grabbed his knife, yanking it out of Romano's shoulder roughly and earning a muffled yelp of pain. He twirled the blade in his hand pensively before he continued. "My life has always been a struggle. Some say that I was blessed with being raised by Grandpa Rome, but I wasn't. That man took me away from my brothers and taught me the ways to fight and to torture, to be a strong country. He would beat me if he so much as saw me do anything artistic, which made him furious about the renaissance. He saw it as weak and in no way helpful to carry on his legacy.

"All this time I thought to myself 'Why am I the only one being treated like this? Where's Romano? Why me and not him?' So when I came back and I see him being carefree and an asshole, I suppose that's when my hate for my brother started. It grew more as everyone else started picking us apart, showing that all that time with Grandpa did absolutely nothing! And, to top it off, people still preferred my lazy brother who can't defend himself properly over me! Then, oh then, every war we went through, every lose we've endured, I'm to blame! Even if it was his fault, I'm still looked at as the proper representation of Italy simply because that old fool chose me over the brother who dyes his hair blonde and prances around saying that everything can be solved with words, not war! Ha! He has no idea what he's talking about! He has others fight battles for him and lets me take the blame whenever he fails! Even Germany is on his side, saying brothers shouldn't fight and want to kill each other! He doesn't understand! The angry, feuding blood of Romulus and Remus is inside me, and I can't stand by and watch as my own brother takes away my glory and leaves me with the shitty messes he gets himself into!"

Italy was standing now, shouting at the shocked Romano. His words seethed through his teeth and burned the air he breathed, fueling his pent up rage more and more. The magenta eyed man took in a few breaths and steadied himself. The cool, suddenly calm look he gave Romano sent shivers down his spine.

"And yet, no matter how many times I have tortured him to fill that feeling of hate in the pit of my stomach, he always smirked and brushed it off as if it was nothing, having Big Brother Spain come save him... And now... When I have the chance to fulfill my wish of vengeance with no interruptions... You give me this," he said venomously with disgust, "pitiful excuse of Romano! You don't even act like him! How am I suppose to enjoy this if you DON'T EVEN ACT LIKE HIM!"

He launches for the other's throat and starts to throttle him, shaking him as his grip tightens. Romano's gasps are muffled by the damned fabric, tears pricking at his eyes while his face turns red. Soft amber eyes stare at the insane grin of the poor copy of his loving brother. Romano didn't stop the tears from falling as his vision began to spot. Memories of his brother flashed through his eyes; his sweet brother that would put up with his crap with a smile on his face. This mad man before him slowly draining him wasn't his brother.

A slamming door made the hands around his neck let go, forcing him to breathe in sweet air through him rapidly. Panic took hold of him as rushed steps were echoing throughout the house.

"Romano!" Romano thrashed in his chair, trying to free himself at the sound of his brother's voice. "Romano, please tell me you're here! I went to your house but you weren't there!" Romano could hear the worried tears in Italy's voice. He thrashed more violently so he could warn his brother. He stopped when he felt a cool blade press against his neck and a leather glove pat his cheek softly.

Italy rushed into the doorway of the kitchen, hoping his brother could be there, and froze. He was too late. The violent man calling himself Italy was there, standing in the kitchen, with his brother. Romano and his brother made eye contact, Italy's heart broke at the sight of his nearly mangled brother and the hope he had in his eyes at the site of him. Italy then looked up and started to shake, it was his other self from the conference room earlier. His eyes bore into him, daring to come closer. The standoff seemed to last hours in the short seconds after Italy entered the kitchen, his mind racing for a way to save his brother; who was still looking up at him with such desperation. However, before Italy could even take a step closer, faster than either of them could comprehend, the intruder flicked his wrist, and Romano's eyes dilated.

A loud, pained and blood curdling scream filled the house, it took Italy a few seconds to realize it was him screaming as he watched in horror a red river ran down his brother's neck as he went limp. He covered his mouth as silent sobs caught his throat. "No, no, no, no..." His pleas were muffled as his hand was still placed over his mouth as he felt himself fall on his knees to the floor. He continued to cry choked sobs until movement was heard. Italy tilted his head up and was met with cool eyes and a curling lip on the tanned man's face. He came toward him, the look on his face promising a similar fate. Italy, momentarily snapped out of his hysterics and ran, but as he was about to reach for the front door, he felt the collar of his shirt being tugged back, making him fall back against a strong body. He struggled but was no match for the iron grip and the cloth that smelled strange and sweet.

His body went limp and the conscious Italian smirked. Oh yes, he was going to have some more fun once this one wakes up.

()

From where he was parked, his house seemed normal, nothing out of place. Looking closely, however, he noticed that the front door was kicked in.

Germany turned off the engine and cautiously got out of the car. As he approached the house he cocked his gun. 'Perhaps it was just bruder who forgot his keys... Then again...' Germany kept close to the outside wall as he side stepped toward the front door. Checking to see if the cost was clear, he inspected the door more closely. 'Gilbert wouldn't go to this extent... Even when drunk.'

The German listened closely for any sound before pressing a hand on the door and pushing it open. He cringed at the small creak the door made, stopping. A faint cold sweat began to appear on his forehead as he squeezed through the gap and pointed his gun around him. Seeing the cost was clear, he cautiously continued inside.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Besides the door, everything looked perfectly fine, and it was unnerving. If someone did break into his house, then surely they would have taken something. Had it been Gilbert, the nation's older brother, then the TV would have been blaring and said man would come walking in, wrap his arms around him, and bug him about how the meeting went like the obnoxious ex-nation he was. The fact that everything was quiet and calm made the blonde tense.

A small click made him turn around.

Germany pointed the gun at the man that he recognized from earlier, and said man pointed his gun at Germany. They were both still as they studied each other wordlessly. Germany could see both similarities and difference in this version of Germany. They were both the same height and were equally matched when it came to muscles. Germany had icy blue eyes, while this man had light lavender orbs. Their hair was blonde, short, and slicked back, but Germany's was a pure blonde color while the other's was a bit paler and seemed a bit more messy underneath the hat he wore.

They stared at each other, neither daring to move an inch. That is, until the other spoke. "It appears we are at a draw."

Germany nodded his head. "Yes, I believe so." Even their voices were similar.

The opposite smiled in a lazy fashion. Germany narrowed his eyes. "How about we cut the bullshit and fight like men?"

The German nation didn't budge. "What do you mean?"

"It's no secret why I'm here pointing a gun at you. Personally, I just want to get this over with so I can really get things started. And since we're both at a stalemate of sorts, let's put down the guns, and fight. Sounds like a plan, ja?" He smirked.

Germany growled. "Look, I don't know what you're playing at, but I want you out of my house and going back to wherever you came from! You come barging in my home, pointing a gun at me-"

"You're pointing a gun, too."

"That's not the point! You expect me to just let you come in here and fight you? Are you insane!?"

Lavender eyes flashed with annoyance. "First of all, you need to calm down. Second, I am the representation of the noble country Germany. If this home belongs to you, then in a way it's mine also. At least, it will be mine. Thirdly, if I really wanted to, I could have killed you right when you pulled up to your drive way, so what I'm offering right now is a chance to live. I'm not leaving until one of us is stone cold dead on the floor. I came here to take your place. If you don't agree to what I'm offering you, then I'll shoot you right now. And if you think you can shoot me first, think again."

The attitude of cockiness thrusted into the little speech made Germany boil. "Listen you-"

The sound of a gun going off bounced off the walls in the house. All was still, lavender eyes glaring into icy blue. "I'm not fucking around. Take my offer, or else I won't miss next time."

The blonde looked behind him to see a bullet hole millimeters away from his head. He turned back. "...Why are you giving me the choice if you can just kill me now?"

The other's smirk came back. "I like to earn what's mine. Not just take it." He cocked an eyebrow. "Do we have a deal?"

Germany paused. "...Ja."

Simultaneously, they eased their guns down to the floor, kicking them to the side. The tension in the air was so thick, their movements slow as they studied the other, preparing for the fight. Ludwig held a sick smirk, his lavender eyes slightly amused and staring down at the other. Both were still, waiting for the other to make the first move, preparing their bodies for whatever was going to happen.

Suddenly, Germany felt himself being tackled to the floor. Ludwig was now above him and moved so fast, he didn't even see him coming towards him. The first punch to his jaw didn't register simply because he was surprised. However, as the other German reeled back his fist for a second hit, he grabbed onto it and kneed him in the side.

The other rolled over, grabbing onto Germany's hair and harshly butting him in the head. Germany felt dizzy as he attempted to get up, but the other kicked his chest and as he was on he was on his back, Ludwig stepped on his stomach. Germany then grabbed his leg, throwing him over himself and against the wall. The other groaned yet picked himself up, only to have Germany grab his collar and punch him. Ludwig laughed and punched him back.

They both reached out to punch and grab the others' knuckle, glaring at each other at their standstill. Germany's face bloody and bruised, while the other smirked with only a few bruises forming. He kicked Germany's legs so he fell on his face. He leaned down and pulled him up by his hair and into a head lock, squeezing him. Germany growled and curled his hand into a fist. He punched him three times before he felt the arm around him loosen. The other German punched him in the side of the head before he rolled off and brought his hand to his nose, he brought his hand down from his face only to see blood, and he smiled.

Germany launched at him pinning him down and punching his face. His knuckles were starting to hurt but he fought through the pain. He didn't notice when the other grabbed his forearms and switched their positions until he was on the floor. Mimicking him, they tossed on the floor until Germany's back slammed against a bookcase. The books came tumbling down on them, distracting them momentarily, the other Germany saw this opportunity, grabbed a book, and swung it at the other's head.

Germany got up. "You said we could only use fists!"

"I cheat."

Fed up with the dumb fight, Germany jumped and kicked the other in the abdomen, sending him flying across the sitting room. Just as he was about to grab anything blunt and big to knock out this nuisance, the other German used both elbows to strike him in the back, sending him tumbling down to the ground. Just as he flipped over onto his sore back, strong legs pressed against his forearms as thick hands strangled his neck once more.

Germany struggled to get free, his legs kicking wildly. The mix of his throat being squeezed and pressure on his chest from the body above him pressing down made it difficult to breathe. "Ne-in..." Germany struggled even harder as he coughed. The man that looked so much like him sneered at him.

"Ja." He chuckled. His sneer grew as Germany's vision started to spot and his limbs were beginning to feel heavy like lead.

The world was quieting down and just as he was about to black out, a gust of fresh air filled his lungs. The sting of sweet relief made him cough, his hand reaching to his throat, feeling nothing there. The blonde turned to see the copy cat clutch his head and wince. He pulled his hand back to see blood.

"West! Are you okay?!"

Germany had never been so happy to see his brother. Prussia, his albino older brother, was hovering over him with a worried expression. In his hand he held a crowbar. Where he got it from Germany didn't know nor did he care at the moment.

Prussia stared at his younger brother, all beaten up and just getting the color back in his face. He felt his blood boil and turned to face the attacker. "Who the fuck do you think you are!? Attacking one of us like that iz asking for a whole shit storm of-!" The ex-nation stopped. Lavender met with red and both stared in shock. Prussia couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was like another Germany, only... different. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, confusion evident on his face. "What...what?" He couldn't even form a full sentence, he just continued staring, as did the German counterpart. Only, Prussia was staring out of confusion, the other as if he'd seen a ghost.

The stranger slowly got up, his expression the same as he shook his head, before turning and running out of the room.

"Hey!" The shock wore off, replaced with the anger Prussia felt before. "Get back here! I haven't beat your ass for touching mien bruder!" He was about to chase the strange man when a voice stopped him.

"Let him go..." Ludwig got himself up, wincing at the soreness of his back.

"West!" Prussia knelt down and put one of Germany's arms around his shoulder, helping him up. "What ze Hell happened?"

Germany breathed in before speaking. "I'll explain everything later. Right now I need to warn others-"

Prussia set him down on a couch, sitting next to him. "Ludwig," He looked into his eyes with a seriousness that Germany has rarely seen. "Tell me what is going on right now."

Germany looked away and sighed. "Fine. But afterwards you need to help me make phone calls to warn everybody. Got it?" Prussia nodded, not prepared for what he was about to hear.

()

Matthew Williams stared out the window of his humble home with worry. The drive home was long, longer than he thought, and now here he was, feeling tense and his heart pounding as his nerves got to him. The Canadian nation thought over what happened several hours ago over and over again in his head, not believing what happened. He sighed and turned away from the window. He sat himself on one of his plush chairs and buried his head in his hands.

'Who am I suppose to call? What do I say to them?' Canada's thoughts buzzed in his mind. If anyone asked him, they should have stuck together and tried to catch the villains by surprise. Unfortunately, nobody ever asked what he thought. He guessed the only reason why no one said anything otherwise was because everyone was in a state of panic, including himself. 'And I can't be the only one who thinks that way...'

The blonde man groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. 'I just got home, I need to relax and think...' Another exhausted sigh left him. 'Maybe Kumajirou wants something to eat.'

He slowly got up from the comfortable chair and headed toward the kitchen. He walked toward the freezer, pulled out two salmons, and placed them in the pet polar bear's food dish. Closing the freezer door and heading toward the sink, he listened for the soft padding of paws to come in. The hot water ran loudly over his bubbly hands and down the sink drain as he washed them. The sound of of a door closing made him pause, then he smiled knowing that meant Kuma was on his way down. He turned off the faucet and spun around, ready to greet his forgetful friend.

He narrowed his eyes. There was no sight of the polar bear. 'Was that my imagination?...' "Kuma!" 'Strange... Even if I imagined it, he usually comes in about now... Especially when I serve salmon.' The blonde man walked to the door frame, calling the bear's name again and again. "Kuma, I have your favorite! Come and get it!... Kuma?"

The feeling of unease filled him again. He tried his best to shake it off as he searched the house for the bear, desperately calling out for his animal companion. "Kuma! Kuma! Come out, now. This isn't funny!"

A loud thump came from above his head at that moment. Canada looked up at the ceiling. He rushed to the staircase and ran up them, trying not to trip on himself. He turned to his left and headed toward his office. He opened the door with unnecessary force and stared inside. "Kuma, are you in here?" He stepped inside the dark office, wincing as he searched for the light switch.

A lamp in the corner flickered on, making it easier for the violet eyed Canadian to see. On the floor in front of a chair was a bundle of white fur. Canada sighed in relief. "Oh thank God, he was probably just asleep... Silly thing probably fell out of the chair."

He moved quietly toward the bear as to not wake him up and reached out to pet his fur. Something didn't feel right, but he ignored it as best as he could. "Come on, sleepy head. Time to..."

Canada's hand brushed over something wet. His eyes widened as he pulled back it pack. His palm was smeared with a dark red color. He started to hyperventilate, then froze as he heard the door behind him close with a soft click. He turned and was met with the dark, restless eyes. "About time you showed up."