PHASE TWENTY-FOUR
Kiku coughed after breathing in what felt like a cloud of dust, as he pushed a large piece of the table off of his back. Small glitches of light momentarily returned a weak light to the room, where he saw the others lying on the floor around him.
"Is everybody ok?!" Ludwig yelled, as suddenly, a small fire began in the corner of the room, providing a permanent warm glow throughout the room, as Arthur stood from the floor, the flame moved with him, revealing that the flame originated from his own hand.
"What the hell was that?!" Lovino wheezed, pushing a piece of rubble off of his back, and brushing the grey dust off of his body.
"Francis broke Alfred, but this time at a much worse scale," Arthur explained, helping Yao to his feet.
"Oh no…" Kiku mumbled, pointing towards the American who laid in the middle of the room, curled into himself, with debris surrounding him. Upon closer inspection, Kiku realised that the small space around where Alfred laid had been untouched by the disaster.
"I've found Francis!" Yao called out, moving some parts of the cupboards, to reveal an unconscious Frenchman underneath.
"Did anybody see what happened?" Matthew asked.
"No idea," Gilbert answered, "we just heard Francis say that… Alfred's parents … um…"
"That's why he was alone…" Arthur sighed, before biting his bottom lip, staring at the unconscious American.
Kiku sighed, before looking at the roof above Alfred, discovering a hole in the roof, "hey! There's a hole!"
"Hm," Ludwig grumbled, "a way out?"
"I'll check," Gilbert said as he walked towards the hole, "because if whoever's watching us can fix a door, imagine what they'll do to fix this."
"Speaking of which, all electricity or general power has been wiped out, if they were watching us before" they certainly can't now." Yao explained.
"Which means that if we have to get out, we have to do it now," Gilbert said as suddenly, he turned into a cloud of black mist, before reappearing at the opening in the roof, hanging from the hole in the roof. "It's a vent! We can crawl through it!"
"Well, what are we waiting for!?" Lovino asked, "Let's leave!"
"Not without Alfred and Francis!" Arthur pointed out, bending down to touch the American with his free-hand.
Remembering the last incident; Feliciano gasped, "Arthur, wait—"
Arthur's hand laid lightly on the American's head, before lightly patting his hair.
"He's fine…" Arthur sighed with relief.
"Maybe we can carry him and Francis?" Matthew suggested.
"Wait!" Yao gasped before running to the door, frantically pulling the large pieces of rubble away from the door, "we still need to get Ivan!"
Yao finally got the door open and ran into the darkness, before being followed by Arthur, who provided some kind of light.
"Yao, don't go running into the darkness, it's dangerous!" Arthur hissed.
"IVAN!" Yao cried.
"What the hell happened?!" Ivan's voice cried, as he stumbled out of his bedroom, "I was sleeping, what the hell did you do?!"
"We found a way out!" Yao exclaimed, running towards the Russian, "We can get out."
Ivan frowned, "How?"
"A vent," Arthur answered, "come, we'll explain everything. We need to go now."
Ivan gripped his sides with his gloved hands, holding onto himself. His only thoughts of freedom since being trapped had only been associated with exposure, if he gets out: the world will see him for what he is, a monster who only creates sickness and cold. He had seen this of himself ever since Natalia…
The idea of being alone and isolated suited him, but at the same time, it terrified him: as did the idea of freedom.
"Ivan, we're all scared," Yao pointed out, taking one of Ivan's gloved hands, ignoring the coldness that radiated from Ivan's hands. "Please, trust me. We're all together in this, we are not separating."
Ivan squeezed Yao's hand, "Ok... fine… I'll go…"
"I'll take this one," Ludwig said, bending down and lifting the unconscious American over his shoulder, he smiled when he noticed Arthur, Yao and Ivan entering the destroyed kitchen, "Ivan, do you think you can take Francis?"
"Do you think that's a good idea?" Ivan asked nervously, "Would I make him sick…?"
"Ivan," Arthur sighed, "We don't have too many options right now, if you can Ludwig can take the casualties; we'll have a better chance of escaping together…"
"Fine," Ivan agreed as he frantically rubbed his gloved hands together; hoping to make himself warmer to touch, before he lifted the Frenchman off of the dirty ground.
"Go on," Ludwig said, as he lifted Feliciano towards Gilbert, like a parent passing a child onto another, eventually everyone had been lifted into the vent.
"Arthur!" Lovino hissed, when he noticed a bright amber light coming from Arthurs inflamed hand, "put your fire out!"
"Well, how else are we supposed to see!?" Arthur hissed, his flame intensifying in spite. Everyone crawled forward to make room for Gilbert as he helped Ivan into the vent; and pulled Francis' limber body in behind him.
"OK! Here comes Alfred!" Ludwig called there was a sudden jolt that vibrated the vent. Kiku looked back to see Ludwig dangling from the hole in the vent, with Alfred hanging unconscious over his shoulder, as Ivan pulled Alfred upward and into the vent.
"Now… Arthur said, as Ludwig pulled himself into the vent, leaving the group sitting in the small metal space. "Where to?"
"Forward," Ludwig ordered, "And keep going until we reach an end!"
PHASE TWENTY-SIX
"Move it!"
"Everyone shut up!"
"Arthur, can you make a light please?"
"Arthur, do not make a light! I do not want a fire in here!"
Despite the plea, a golden light filled the vent, as Arthur's forearm became a torch, revealing everyone's sweaty and tired faces in the tight space.
"How are Francis and Alfred?" Arthur asked, looking to the back of the line where Ludwig and Ivan dragged Francis and Alfred.
"Francis makes noises when I yank him too hard," Ivan admitted; lifting the Frenchman's limp arm before dropping it with the thud.
"Nothing from Alfred…" Ludwig sighed, adjusting the American's limp hold around his shoulders.
"Hey, guys… do you think they've come to clean up the place yet?" Feliciano asked.
"Probably… this means that we need to find a way out soon…" Ludwig admitted, Gilberts eyes narrowed, before he pressed his ear against the bottom of the vent.
"If only Francis was awake…" Gilbert muttered, his tone over voice suggested that he had an idea, "He could hear whether someone was underneath us…"
"NO!" Ludwig hissed, "You are not going down there!"
"Well, he shouldn't have to go alone!" Arthur replied, "Gilbert; you can take people with you if you disappear, right?"
"I… I actually don't know," Gilbert admitted shyly. "I have never done it."
"Try to take me with you, that way you're not alone… We'll let you know if it's safe." Matthew said as he scuffled closer to Gilbert.
"I'm not sure if this is a smart idea, Lord knows what could be down there: people, dirt or nothing!" Yao pointed out harshly, "are you two stupid or something?! I do not like this idea!"
Ludwig remained silent, before lightly knocking his fist on the walls of the vent and listening quietly. "Hollow… we're not buried. But then again, this vent is probably above another hallway."
"That's all I need," Gilbert muttered, before grabbing onto Matthew's arms and facing him; with a cheeky smile on his pale face. "Let's hope this works." Suddenly Matthew felt out of breath, he became cold and empty, as though he literally became nothing but a prisoner in a field of darkness, in a feeling he could only describe as like being blown away by a large gust of wind. When he finally gained the bravery to open his eyes again, he felt a thud, as he and Gilbert landed on a marble hallway floor, surrounded by bright lights.
The two grumbled in pain as Matthew felt around the cold and hard floor he laid on, "What just happened?"
"I hate it when that happens…" Gilbert coughed as he sat up, "we fell. When I made us disappear, we reappeared in mid-air…"
"Ouch…" Matthew hissed.
"Are you ok?" Gilbert asked, offering his hand in helping the Canadian to his feet.
"Yeah, just shaken, where are we?" Matthew asked, as he and Gilbert looked around, seeing nothing but the empty hallway lined with doors. "This place can't be empty, can it?"
"LUDWIG! CAN YOU HERE ME!?" Gilbert cried, looking at the white ceiling, only to hear muffled noises in return, "IT'S SAFE TO COME DOWN!"
The muffled noises above continued, until a blade forced its way through the white plaster of the ceiling, and began to cut a line like a saw. Whilst Gilbert watched the process of the blade, Matthew looked back and forward between both sides of the hallway, dreading the idea of someone walking into his line of sight, or some kind of reinforcement…
The ceiling began to crack, before Ludwig's black boot broke a hole through the ceiling, finally making contact between the two groups.
"Are you ok?" Ludwig asked.
"We're fine, just get down here!" Gilbert responded, as Ludwig pushed away more parts of the roof and air-vent, until the hole was finally big enough for someone to crawl through.
"Damn…" Ludwig grumbled, judging the distance between the vent and the ground. "Alright…" He looked back to the people who joined him in the vent. "I'll go down first, and catch everyone who comes down after me."
"Come on…" Matthew muttered, catching Gilbert's attention unintentionally, "I don't like this at all… where's the guards, the reinforcements? They must know that we're out by now… and with Alfred and Francis like this…"
Gilbert didn't know what to say, he had no idea how he could possibly make the situation more bearable for the Canadian. So, he remained silent and only offered a hand on Matthew's shoulder as a sign of support.
PHASE TWENTY-SEVEN
"Alfred…"
"Alfred, come on, you have to get moving…"
"Ugh…" The American grumbled, shaking his head to cope with the sudden dizziness.
"Alfred!"
Alfred finally opened his eyes to see Francis, standing with him in what appears to be a park, filled with trees and decorated flower-beds, Alfred felt a whole new sense of peace as he took in his first breath of air. "Are you awake now, can you hear me?"
"Where are we?" Alfred asked with childish wonder.
"OK… don't freak out, but we're in your mind, in a way: I really have no idea how to explain it, pretty much if your subconscious was a place." Francis explained quickly visibly shaken.
"Oh my god…" Alfred groaned angrily.
"Yes, I am. But keep in mind that none of this is real," Francis pointed out, "this is your head and you can control it: remember that."
"Sure, so … How do we get out?" At Alfred's question Francis bit his lip nervously.
"That's the thing…" Francis muttered awkwardly, "I think you locked us in."
"How?"
"You really … don't remember?" Francis asked.
"Remember what?" Alfred asked, making Francis frown with confusion as he looked through Alfred's memories, but Alfred answered Francis' questions himself. "All I remember is that … I wanted you to find something for me, a memory. I don't remember what it was though? Do you?"
Francis stood paralysed for a few moments, before deciding on a way to answer the confused and innocent American, "I don't remember either. Ohhhhh my god…. Ooooh no, this is not good..." Francis' head fell into his hands as he continued to grumble in panic, as Alfred took the opportunity to look around the area. Before the two stood a meadow filled with stunning red roses, accompanied by a calming blue sky.
"Huh…" Alfred sighed as he walked by Francis and started walked towards the nearest flowerbed, "red roses…"
"They mean something to you," Francis pointed out, still visibly shaken, "red roses are your favourite because your favourite foster-home grew red roses."
"Can you not speak out my whole backstory?" Alfred asked, becoming visibly irritated.
"I'm sorry, I will try: I promise," Francis promised as Alfred turned in another direction, and onto a cracked concrete path, which reminded him of the road he broke when he first left the children's-home. Alfred began to walk down the path, which led down the steep hill. Francis followed with his hand over his mouth, to prevent himself from speaking out Alfred's thoughts and memories: all of which were triggered by the multiple reminders which were scattered around the space.
As the two journeyed further down the path, Alfred became more and more distracted by the things around him, often stopping to reminisce in the memory for minutes at a time. Before Francis began to notice something off about the space, the air gradually became colder and carried a bitter scent, as the sky grew darker and clouds infiltrated the face of the sun.
"Um… Alfred," Francis muttered, freeing his mouth temporarily, only to receive a hateful glare from Alfred.
"What?" He hissed, obviously inhaling the toxicity of the atmosphere.
"Nothing," The Frenchman squeaked, before covering his mouth again; frightened by the sudden change of tone in the Americans voice, which became full of thoughts of destruction and memories of violence.
But still … nothing about his parents … This thought bothered Francis' whom knew that there was a memory lingering just beyond his reach.
"And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that Star - Spangled Banner yet wave
o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? - heheheee…"
This sudden burst of song from Alfred worried Francis, especially when Alfred's thoughts suddenly changed to express random thoughts… Spanning from basic memories, like meeting Arthur, to arguing with the manager at the children's home years before.
"Alfred…" Francis muttered, only to be completely ignored, suddenly being shut out of Alfred's thoughts, as the sky glowed with a dark purple hue.
Francis walked towards Alfred, who stood a couple of metres before him, only to see the American was staring at a small clearing, where the black grass was covered with light violet flowers, and in the centre of this clearing was a small boy, who sat alone on a rusty swing-set. Francis looked at Alfred's face, to see his eyes transfixed on the boy; as his mind remained totally blank.
Suddenly, Francis felt something grip his ankles and before he could react; he was pulled to the floor, Francis found himself being dragged by his feet, with his stomach scrapping along the ground, and he frantically attempted to grasp whatever ground he could, but failed miserably and was being pulled further away from the American, "ALFRED! ALFRED, WAKE UP!"
Francis glanced beyond Alfred to see the boy who sat at the swing-set, whom looked exactly like Alfred as a child, with the same hair, the same eyes, but the absence of glasses.
"ALFRED, THIS ISN'T REAL! WAKE UP!" Francis cried, "I SAID THIS ISN'T REAL! YOU CAN CONTROL YOUR HEAD! THIS ISN'T REAL!"
Suddenly, the grip on Francis released itself and let his legs drop to the ground: as Alfred's body jolted forward.
"MOM AND DAD DIED BECAUSE OF ME!" The boy cried, as Alfred's face tensed, "You can't stand me!"
"Alfred! What happened to your parents is not your fault!" Francis cried, rising from the ground against the gravity's heightened pressure that attempted to keep him down, "It was too far out of your control! Now you can learn to control your powers through this!"
The boy and Alfred ignored Francis, as the child suddenly screamed, causing the violet flowers to burst into flames, "YOU HATE ME FOR WHAT I DID AND YOU WILL CONTINUE TO HATE ME FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! I CAN'T LET YOU KNOW WHAT I DID!"
"ALFRED!" Francis cried, looking to the still motionless older American, who watched his younger self with broken eyes. "Don't let your powers control you! Don't live under its influence, it is your body, your mind, your power! Don't let it dictate your life when you can live with it in peace! You're mourning, both of you!"
"I…" Alfred muttered as he began to walk towards the distraught younger version of himself. "I can't control you … but doesn't that mean we can work together?"
Alfred made a space through the engulfed flowers to make a path between himself and his younger version.
The boy tried to speak, but became overwhelmed by his own blubbering and release of tears, "I don't hate you … I know it must have seemed that way. It was a mistake, it wasn't our fault… What mattered is that mom and dad loved us… they loved you so much… They stayed until the very end; they would forgive you … just as I do…" Suddenly, Alfred fell to his knees and took the little blonde boy into his arms, and delivered a tight hug. "I am so sorry, if you forgive me, can we work together…?"
PHASE TWENTY-EIGHT
Slowly creeping in the back of the child's mind, the power inside of him released itself. The child never knew what to do or how to combat it, no one did… He knew that his parents cried when he wasn't looking, they had fallen into their misery more and more with every passing incident. By the age of four, he was no longer allowed to have friends over, the risk became too much to handle.
The five year old stared out of the window, talking to his mother about how excited he was to be turning six in that coming month. His mother engaged with him from the front seat as his father drove.
However, something changed the mood, and conversation between the child's mother and father became tense, the seemingly loving atmosphere had disappeared completely between the child's parents; and he knew that it was his fault.
The tense talking had become arguing, and the adults began to talk as though the child wasn't present.
The child's heartbeat rose as his breathing became deeper, he knew another surge of power was building up inside of him, and needed to be released.
He tried to tell them to pullover, so he could breathe and they could sort themselves out.
But they didn't hear.
He began to cry as the intensity of his power turned into pain.
But they didn't notice.
He held his head in his hands, as the noises around him turned into a buzzing pain into his ears, and began to travel through his head.
They finally noticed when he started to scream.
But it was too late.
People would come to know it as one of the worst traffic accidents in American history… people blamed the mechanics of the vehicle for the sudden steering malfunctions, and the devastating effect that the crash had on the people who sat in the two front seats… According to police, it was a miracle that anyone survived the utter chaos of the crash, and could walk away from the devastating wreckage, let alone a small child.
The country cried at the misfortune of the accident, donations flooded in to give the survivor some sort of hope; however, the small child knew that it was his fault... and that same power will never leave his side...