Another chapter hurrah! I am working on the one-shots for the winners now and I hope to have them out by the end of the week (hopefully!)
All right, I'm going to jump right into the story!
DISCLAIMER: I do not claim ownership of Hetalia Axis Powers or any of its characters.
After talking about it for a number of days Italy finally managed to bring his easel and brushes down into the basement. This was their last time playing with Lovino. Canada had insisted that after so long Romano had begun to get boring. Besides neither of them were getting any points while the man was still alive
.
"Ve~ it's going to be a masterpiece I can tell!" Italy cheered, as he cleaned off his paint supplies and set up a canvas. Romano remained motionless, head hung low in defeat; the scars stretched everywhere on his body, some old and beginning to scab over at the edges, others were still slightly damp with blood.
"S-So… What should we use for this one? It is special after all…" Canada had half whispered, even around Italy his voice barely ever rose from this volume.
They both pondered over it for a few moments, eyes wandering to the many "toys" they had stacked along shelves and hanging along the walls. There were so many options still left, of course, they wanted something that spilled a lot of blood but did not kill the victim too quickly.
Finally, it was Feliciano; pure, sweet, innocent, Feliciano who stepped up to his brother with a knife in hand. "I decided to use something a little more traditional fratello, I thought you would appreciate that!~" He sing-songed, brandishing the blade in front of the weak lamplight to illuminate its eerie glow. "Plus I remembered how you always would get jealous of my paintings so now you'll get to be part of one, isn't that great?" He asked, and then turned to face Matthew.
"Ve~ Sorry Mattie but this point goes to me!" He cheered, suddenly slicing downward across Lovino's chest. Drops of blood spurted from the cut. The Italian screamed out in agony. Italy tilted his head slightly, eyes wide and insane, a smile resembling the Cheshire cat. "Does it hurt fratello? Does it hurt when I do that? I really hope it does, because maybe then you'll know how I felt every time you or someone else screamed at me about being useless. Do you feel humiliated fratello? Do you feel alone? Do you feel hopeless now!" He was screaming now, every word sent another slice against Lovino's body.
Feliciano drove his fingers into the cuts, staining them a deep burgundy. His right hand had a mind of its own, deepening the cuts, splashing blood everywhere.
Feliciano's left hand swiped and curved across the blank sheet, marking evil handprints across the egg white surface.
"Am I weak now fratello? Am I useless? AM I?"
The only replies he received were the screeching and sobbing, the begging and the howling. A chorus of suffering, symphonies of pure agony.
Still Italy continued yelling, hands working on their own, the questions had become nothing more than enraged shrieks, blending in with Lovino's pleas. This went on for hours, or minutes, or seconds; time hadn't seemed to matter. They could have been like that for years or for only a moment. It seemed even time itself had stood still to watch this gory demise.
Soon though, the blood stopped flowing so freely when there was no heartbeat to pump it though the wounds, and the only yelling was Feliciano's wordless shouts. He stood back, hair and face dripping rubies, to examine his two works of art.
The first of course had to be his precious older brother, Lovino had always loved his art after all.
"You look so nice dressed in red fratello, you always have…" He murmured to the limp corpse, unlocking the chains that had held him up for so many days. Feliciano felt fatigue weigh down his body, but he didn't feel the one thing he longed for most.
He didn't feel any relief.
His brother was gone, killed by his own two hands… so why?
Why wasn't he feeling any sense of joy or accomplishment? Why, when he looked down at his blood stained hands, did he feel sick? Feel wrong? Feel unclean?
Why did the liquid dripping through his fingertips feel like maggots instead of gold?
He gazed up at his painting, eyes wide and shaking slightly. He just stared at the handprints as if they were some alien markings.
He didn't regret it. He didn't regret it. He didn't regret it.
In a fit of rage, he let out a terrified howl and attacked the painting, ripping it into pieces as if by destroying the evidence he could turn back time and it would never have happened.
"No, no, no! You're dead! You're dead!" He was all but sobbing now, "I don't regret it! I killed you! I killed you, I did!"
He sat back, chest heaving with ragged sobs. He could not regret anything, he did not regret anything, he was a killer, he was a murderer… He couldn't give up the game, yes the game.
That game, the reason for this, the reason this was fun. His tears began to subside as he thought about it more; of course, it was all just a game.
It was only just a game.
Author's Note:
Short chapter is short.
I've been lacking in inspiration recently so I really wanted to make this one amazing and long and other wonderful things! So instead you get this.
As for beta-ing, for this chapter my kind enough friend (*coughslavecough*) helped me out! So thanks to her I was able to finish the chapter and she did the beta and all that wonderful stuff. But ya know, it's also her fault if it's bad (love ya buddy!).
So! If you have any thoughts or ideas or questions of the sort, review and I shall either reply (or even add it to the story!).
Thanks for reading! (long AN is long)
