A/N: I apologize in advance for the feels this chapter will probably cause. I wanted to make it realistic...ugh.../crying

Remember, Antonio, Arthur, Ludwig, and Alistair were still on Ivan Braginski's ship when Antonio sent that message to the other two ships...this is what happened right before he did that. The fight scene you've been waiting for! (Hopefully?)

Antonio, Arthur, Ludwig, and Alistair hovered outside the door to Braginski's inner rooms. They had made it, finally, despite lots of stumbling in the near-dark, and cursing from Alistair. If they could just capture or kill him, this would be over. Arthur paused outside of the door, listening for any noise behind it. He met the eyes of the other man standing there, and nodded. He reached out and opened the door, kicking it open and holding his revolver out in front of him. The other three proceeded behind him.

Arthur's eyes swept across the room. It was some sort of lavish entryway into a more private bedroom, a few feet away. The walls were lined with portraits of various Russian notables that he didn't care to learn the names of, and the floor was lined with a plush carpet with intricately sewn flowers and vines. Gold leaf wallpaper lined the entryway all the way to the luxurious entrance to the inner room, which was partitioned off by a rich purple curtain. It was all a bit too much, really. And it was completely deserted. "Proceed carefully," he whispered to them. "He's bound to be here somewhere…" From the next room, they could make out lowered voices talking quietly in Russian. They padded silently towards the source of the voices, when suddenly they stopped.

Arthur stepped forward hesitantly, about to part the curtains, and was met with a powerful blow to the face. He stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding nose and swearing. He fired randomly, but the bullet lodged itself harmlessly in the wall.

"I thought I heard someone enter," his attacker grumbled. He was rather diminutive and slender, with dark russet hair tied back in a thin ponytail. He looked rather feminine, but his stoic expression indicated that he was not someone to be taken lightly. "What do you want to do with them, General?"

Alistair made a move to fire on him again, but the older man brought his elbow crashing down onto Alistair's wrist, making the Scotsman cry out in pain and drop his weapon.

"Ah, these are our guests," someone remarked from behind the Chinese man in a cheerful tenor, parting the curtains and stepping forward. "How nice."

"We outnumber you," Ludwig panted, pointing his large Mauser rifle directly at the huge Russian man.

He only smiled. "There is no need for that, friends," he continued with a chuckle. "You are my prisoners now, da? It is only fair, since you broke into my ship."

"You burned mine," Antonio cried furiously, his green eyes sparking like lightning. "You hear that, you fucker?" He knew they were supposed to take him alive, but he was so angry all of a sudden that he could hardly breathe. He clicked the safety off of his gun and prepared to shoot the larger man square in the head, but with snake-like speed, a pipe emerged seemingly out of nowhere and swung at him, narrowly missing his head as he ducked. "Ludwig," he shouted to his second mate, who nodded and attempted to tackle Braginski, forcing him against the wall. He was almost as tall as the Russian, but Braginski was a great deal stockier.

His accomplice, however, got Ludwig in a headlock when he wasn't paying attention, bringing the taller man down to his level. "I will break your neck," he told the German calmly. "Don't think I won't." Ludwig gasped, unable to reply as the Chinese man squeezed on his windpipe.

"Now the real fun begins," Braginski said with a wide smile, turning to the other three men. Alistair managed to get his pistol from the ground before Braginski's foot came down, nearly breaking all of the fingers in his right hand. "Guns are so impersonal. They don't let you really fight," he continued, approaching them despite the three guns trained on him.

"Not another step," Arthur commanded sharply, forcing himself not to retreat any further. Braginski was going to force them out of his private quarters if they weren't careful, leaving their backs exposed to the open passageways of the airship.

Braginski stepped forward, smiling that incredibly disarming smile.

He fired directly at his heart.

Braginski kept coming. He barely flinched.

Arthur felt all the blood drain away from his face. "What in the hell…"

He fired again, at his shoulder this time.

"Oh, that one might bruise," Braginski said, his smile starting to fade as he reached out and grabbed Arthur's gun, wrenching it away from him. "But not like this is going to."

"He's wearing some kind of protective gear," Ludwig yelled, ignoring the bodyguard's death grip. "Fire—at his head—"

Antonio raised his gun to fire, but Braginski brought his pipe down on his arm. Antonio gave a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, clutching his injured arm. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck—"

Ludwig somehow managed to break away from his captor by kicking his legs out from under him. He hopped onto Braginski's back, slipping his arms under his armpits so that he could wrap his around his neck, disabling the other man's arms. "Grab the pipe!" He yelled at Alistair, who hastily ran forward and yanked it out of his hands.

"Ah, you have managed to disarm me," the Russian said, sounding mildly disappointed. "I suppose you will be wanting me to go quietly now, da?"

Ludwig grabbed the pistol that Arthur shoved at him and held it to Braginski's head, hissing in his ear, "Tell your dog to step down now."

"Yao, you may want to listen to him…for now," Braginski said in his sickeningly sweet voice. His companion looked like he wanted nothing better than to kill all four of them right now.

Arthur watched them incredulously, panting with exertion. If he didn't know better, he would've sworn that the general was almost enjoying the fight. "Antonio, are you alright?" He asked his friend, who clutched his wounded hand.

"I think it's broken," the Spaniard said in a tight voice. He tried flexing his fingers and hissed in pain.

Braginski let out a low chuckle.

Ludwig responded by whipping him in the back of his head with the pistol. A steady stream of blood began to trickle from the soft, snowy hair of the general. "Ah, that did hurt a little," he said, resentment beginning to seep into his voice a little.

"I'll be alright, though," Antonio added, glaring at his enemy venomously. "Let's take him back to the ship. Alistair, you take his friend."

"Walk," Ludwig commanded, nudging Braginski forward with the pistol, now trained at the back of his neck.

"Where to?" Braginski asked cheerfully, as Alistair followed behind them with Yao in tow.

"The Victoria," Arthur said acidly, glancing back at him to give him a look that was full of pure hate. "You know, the ship that you stole."

"I do remember that," Braginski said, smiling so that nearly all of his teeth were visible. Arthur couldn't help but think how wolfish he looked. "It was delightfully easy. Only part of the plan, of course. Eastern Europe has already fallen to the empire. Next…" He chuckled.

He was insane. He had to be, Arthur thought, as they marched out of the entryway and onto the top deck of the Dmitri Donskoi. No one else could be so calm about being captured. He has to know that he will die soon…They left his private chambers through a different doorway, which opened out onto the uppermost deck of the Dmitri Donskoi. Only a hundred feet or so overhead loomed the ceiling of the aerodrome. They could see every single airship from where they stood out on the open deck.

They still had to get down to the first level, where the gangway was, before they could exit the ship and get back to their own, but all of a sudden, a low buzzing noise distracted them. They looked around the deck, deserted except for some scattered crates and extra ballast, baffled.

"What the hell is going on?" Alistair exclaimed, as the floor beneath them began to shake. "Braginski! What are you—"

He just laughed.

All of a sudden, a small plane emerged from a hooded outlet some fifty yards away, what they now realized was a hidden hangar, tearing towards them at an astonishing speed, given that it wasn't airborn yet. The small wheels of the landing gear turned furiously fast and the fan in front of it spun dangerously closer and closer to them, its wicked sharp blades threatening to make mincemeat of them. Instinctively, Ludwig pushed away from Braginski, shoving him towards the propeller blades as he hit the ground, narrowly avoiding being run over by the plane. He rolled out of the path of the oncoming biplane, his former captive's high laughter mocking him as he saw, too late, the Russian running towards it and climbing into the backseat of the plane.

"Excellent timing, Lieutenant," he heard him say to the pilot, whom he dimly recognized as the man that Elizabeta had knocked out earlier. "Let's go."

"Don't let him get away!" Arthur yelled. "Raise the Constanza or the Victoria on the radio! Now! Someone!" He ran after the plane, which picked up speed as it moved across the smooth floorboards of the empty deck, picking up momentum as it prepared to take off.

Antonio ran towards the radio receiver in the room that they had just left, frantically trying to communicate with their friends. "You have to stop them!" He yelled, furiously trying to communicate to his crew mates the importance of their mission. "Braginski is getting away! He's in the biplane! They're about to leave the ship! You can't let them go!"

"Mr. Carriedo?" Kiku exclaimed. "Please, I can't understand—"

"DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!"

"Okay, okay, I'll see what we can do—"

He turned away from the radio, not bothering to turn it off as he ran over to where Arthur, Alistair, and Ludwig were on the center of the deck, trying to pick him off with their guns, as the plane had left the ship and began to rise steadily towards the opening in the very top of the aerodrome. He got out his own gun and tried to take aim, but it was no use. His gun hand was broken. He cursed loudly, watching helplessly as the plane disappeared out of sight into the approaching twilight.

In the chaos, they had forgotten about Braginski's accomplice. The man called Yao was still quite capable of attacking them, and he did. Arthur was too busy trying to shoot down Braginski's plane that he didn't notice Yao, hiding behind one of the many crates on the deck, take aim at him.

But his brother did.

"Arthur!" He shouted, tackling his younger sibling to the unforgiving deck as Yao fired, hitting the giant redhead just below his kneecap. He gave a roar of pain, rolling over and clutching his wounded leg.

Ludwig saw him this time as he raced across the deck towards lower ground. The German fired at him, but he was simply too quick, and scampered away into the lower levels of the ship as effortlessly as a snake.

"Nein," he whispered to himself. This was all going wrong, so wrong. Now he would go and warn the rest of the crew. They had to leave. "Kapitän! We have to go! Braginski's bodyguard is going for help! We have to leave, now!"

Antonio looked up from where he crouched next to a wounded Alistair and frantic Arthur, his green eyes clouded with anger. "Right," he said, gritting his teeth the blinding pain in his broken left hand. "We can chase him down from one of our ships."

"You idiot, what were you thinking?" Arthur exclaimed furiously as he helped Alistair to his feet, taking on most of his weight as he draped his arm around his shoulders.

"You were the one not thinking," Alistair protested, wheezing in pain. Dark red blood poured out from a hole in his right trouser leg. He tried putting weight on it and stumbled forward, cursing loudly as it threatened to give out from under him. "Yer lucky I saved your sorry ass."

Arthur didn't have a response for once. He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He couldn't look at his brother's wound. It was too horrible. What if the bullet had shattered his kneecap? What if he was lame for life? What if—

"We have to hurry," Ludwig urged, as they began to make their way back down. "I'm sorry, Captain Kirkland. We can tend to his wounds later, but now—"

"You two get going," Arthur said, gritting his teeth against his brother's weight. "We'll be right behind you. Go," he added for emphasis, seeing Antonio's hesitant look.

The Santa Maria men nodded, running slightly ahead of them as they kicked open the door to Braginski's now vacated chambers. Fortunately, they were still deserted.

"Agh, sorry, laddie," Alistair apologized as they lagged further and further behind the other two men. He left a steady trail of blood behind him as his right leg dragged uselessly between them.

"Don't you dare apologize, you wanker," Arthur said fiercely, readjusting his weight as he helped them both down the stairs. "Slow down a bit, you two!" He called after Ludwig and Antonio, whose voices were already fading as they ran further down the winding staircase to the lower decks.

"Don't apologize? That's a first—OW," Alistair yelped, as his leg brushed with the wall.

"Ah, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Arthur cried. "Just a bit further, chap, and then we'll get you patched up—"

"Ah, it's nice to know that you care a wee bit," Alistair said sardonically, grinding his teeth together to keep from crying out at the sharp, aching pain in his knee.

"Of course I do," Arthur said gruffly, as they made it to the second level. "You're my brother."

Alistair would have turned his head to look at him strangely, but it was still too dim in the airship to make out his facial expressions. He couldn't remember if Arthur had ever acknowledged their relationship out loud before. "Arthur—" He began, but the captain cut him off.

"Stow it. Don't you dare get sentimental on me now, you fool. It's not like you're dying or something."

"If I'd known that spending quality time with you only meant getting shot, well, then—"

"I'm not kidding, Alistair," the blond growled. "Ah, fuck, I think we lost the other two."

"You did tell them to go on ahead," his brother reminded him practically.

"Yes, but—shit." He rounded the corner. They were on the first deck now, and Antonio and Ludwig were nowhere to be seen. "Where do we go?" The long corridor that led from the stairway stretched out ominously before them, a dark, silvery path with multiple doors that could lead to anywhere. "Which way did we come in?" He asked, his voice starting to rise in panic.

"I don't remember," Alistair admitted. "Let's try the one at the end, eh? And make it quick, if you don't mind."

They reached the door after some struggle; Alistair was quickly weakening from blood loss, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. With his free arm, Arthur opened the door. The corridor became flooded with light from the aerodrome. They were at the gangway, at last. Now they could finally get back to the ship. "Finally," Arthur breathed in relief, helping Alistair over the small doorstep and out to the exterior of the Dmitri Donskoi.

"There you are," Antonio exclaimed with some relief, cradling his damaged hand. "We were about to come looking for you! Alistair!"

The stocky redhead passed out, nearly bringing his much thinner brother to the deck with him.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, if you would—" Arthur began in a strangled voice.

The young man raced forward and took the arm that wasn't draped around Arthur and put it over his own shoulders, relieving the burden somewhat as they managed to get Alistair back to his feet. His head hung down listlessly in front of him, making him look uncannily like a corpse. "Right," he said. "Time to go." They headed down the gangway as quickly as possible, leaving the monstrous airship behind them as they made their way over to the silver platform that connected the moored Dmitri Donskoi to the rest of the aerodrome. They had barely made it ten feet when they heard the peppering of bullets behind them.

The sound of gunfire drew Amelia's attention. Her head swiveled towards the sound. There, on the sixth level of the building, she could distinguish four figures heading towards the stairwell against the wall. Instinctively, she bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time in her desperation to get to them.

"Run, I'll cover you!" She yelled to Antonio and Ludwig, whom she saw first. A small group of guards pursued them from the far end of the platform, guns aimed at them. She began picking them off as quickly as she could as Antonio and Ludwig turned to stand by her. Ludwig managed to get a few shots in, but Antonio was next to useless when firing with his non-dominant hand, and only managed to fire at the ground or the feet of the guards that charged them. They ducked behind a nearby airship to catch their breath, waiting for the rest of the guards to find them.

"Where are Arthur and Alistair?" Amelia demanded, her chest heaving with the effort of sprinting up the stairs and fighting.

"They were right behind us," Antonio said, his eyes wide with worry and a little guilt. "I swear—"

"It's okay," she said curtly. "Ludwig, we need to make sure they can get to safety." She inclined her head, and he nodded, and the two of them poked their heads out from behind their shelter, just in time to see the guards charging at them. There were only five or so left, but they didn't like the odds. Ludwig took Antonio's now unused gun as well as his own and fired them both, taking out two men, while Amelia picked off one and then another. They were about to shoot the last man, but he was badly wounded, and collapsed to the ground in front of them, watching them resentfully as they ran past him in search of their other comrades.

"Arthur!" Amelia yelled, upon spotting a familiar blond mop.

They were about twenty feet away, unprotected on the wide open platform, but fortunately there weren't any guards on the sixth level at the moment. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw that he was practically dragging Alistair along with him.

She and Ludwig ran over to them, Ludwig helping Arthur carry his brother to safety.

"I'm sorry, we lost sight of you—" Ludwig began, but Arthur cut him off.

"It's alright, you were only following orders. We have to get to cover now," he said, biting off the words. The stress was beginning to show on his young face.

"What happened?" Amelia asked anxiously as they ran back to the safety of their ships. The Constanza was on the second level, which was where the four men were supposed to report to, but Alistair needed urgent care.

"One of Braginski's men shot him in the knee," Arthur said, as they boarded the gangway. "You two should probably get back to the Constanza so we can coordinate our next movement. We have to get out of here."

"It should be safe now," Ludwig agreed. "Most of the guards seem to have disappeared." Indeed, there was such a state of confusion in the aerodrome right now, that this might be their only opportunity to get back.

"We'll alert you when we get back to the ship," Antonio said. "Let's get out of here and see if can still catch that bastard." The two men headed down to the lower levels of the ship at a jog, not wanting to get caught unawares again.

Amelia slipped an arm around Alistair's wide waist as they trudged to the sick bay, and gently laid him down on one of the clean white beds.

Arthur looked down at his brother with a helpless expression on his face, gingerly brushing a sweat-soaked lock of red hair out of his grimy face. "He got shot because I was being careless," he said in a low voice. "I don't know what I'll do with myself if he can't walk, Amelia." He took a shaky breath, closing his eyes tightly.

Instinctively, Amelia wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face in the nape of his neck. God, she had missed his smell. It was something like a combination of pine and tea leaves and rain. Was it really only this morning that she had seen him last? It seemed like a small eternity. "I'm just glad you're safe," she said quietly, rubbing circles in his back like her brother used to do to her when she was little and afraid. "I was really worried."

She felt him rest his chin on her shoulder, sighing deeply as his arms looped around her waist. "I managed to make it out alright. Thanks to your gun happy intervention," he added dryly.

"I wasn't gonna leave you behind," she muttered, pulling away. "That wouldn't be very heroic of me."

He looked at her strangely, trying to discern the odd tone in her voice. But then Alistair groaned, and he cursed. "We need to get Toris in here," he said quickly. "He has some medical experience. We have to get that bullet out of him."

Amelia nodded. "Right. What about Braginski?"

Arthur shook his head, opening the door for her as they walked to the meeting room on the second deck, where Toris presumably was. "I don't know. Captain Carriedo communicated with the Constanza, I think. All I know is that we need to get out of here." He grabbed her hand, surprised a little when she didn't pull out of his grasp. "I'm ready to leave this godforsaken country, with or without that insane general. I have my ship back, and everyone is safe. We can work out the rest later," he concluded.

Amelia nodded again. She wasn't ready to go back yet. She wanted revenge, maybe more than anyone except Antonio, since it was her fault that the Victoria had been lost. But she didn't argue. She just waited anxiously with Arthur while they talked with Toris and tried to figure out what to do with Alistair.

On the Constanza, Tino was the first to respond to Kiku's urgent broadcast from Antonio. The small Finn turned to Heracles expectantly. "Well, Heracles, you're the senior officer," he said. "What do we do?"

"There's no way the Constanza can catch Braginski in that little plane, even if we did leave the aerodrome immediately. Which we can't, because we have to wait for Antonio and the others," he mused. "Maybe—"

That was when Mathias piped up with, "We have our own plane! I can chase him down! Let me go after him!"

"I don't know—" Tino began, frowning. "It's getting dark, and—"

"Oh, stow it," Mathias replied dismissively. "If I can't shoot him down, I'll come right back, I promise." He grinned hugely, not waiting for the other two to respoknd.

"Be careful," Feli called after him, but he only laughed.

"Aren't I always?" He returned, racing to the hangar on the bottom deck. There was his baby, a little battered from the flight from Kiev, but otherwise in decent shape. He lowered the ramp that opened out into the aerodrome and clambered in, snapping on his goggles securely as he nestled into the cockpit. It wouldn't be the same without Vash as his copilot, but he could handle it.

He inched the plane forward, swooping off the ramp and propelling towards the tiny opening in the ceiling. He felt his heart race as he soared through the oculus into the freezing, starlit evening. This was what he lived for, even more than sailing. Nothing could beat the feeling of the wind beneath one's wings. He craned his head, trying to find the small biplane that Kiku had briefly described. The city of Moscow unfurled beneath him, a maze of dove-colored military buildings, colorful churches, and factories that belched out black smoke. Now, where was—ah!

He narrowly missed seeing him as he guided the plane west, away from the city. Where was Braginski headed? St. Petersburg, maybe. He couldn't let him get that far. Right now, there was about a mile between them, but he could easily make that up. He cranked the lever all the way forward, mildly surprised at the plane's lack of resistance. Normally, it was difficult to go past a certain speed, but the plane flew at a relentless pace, almost as if it had no brakes. Mathias stayed at his current altitude, wanting to maintain the height difference between the two planes so that it would be harder for Braginski to spot him.

Hell, it was hard for Mathias to discern the larger plane in this dim twilight. If he didn't attack soon, he would have to head back. It was suicidal to fly by night. He approached the plane, now able to make out two figures in the plane. Dammit! Why had no one bothered to mention that there were two of them? No matter. He would take them both out. He leaned out of his plane, aiming his rifle at the cockpit. He took aim, and – crack! He heard the popping of bullets hammering his wings. The man in the copilot seat had seen him. Well, the element of surprise was gone now. He tapped the brakes lightly as his plane began to fly ahead of theirs—he definitely did not want to turn his back to them—and frowned when they didn't respond at all.

"What the—" The Dane muttered, pressing down harder this time. The pedal went all the way down, and the plane didn't slow down at all. "Fuck!" He yelled. He was in a plane that couldn't stop, that couldn't land. Someone must have tampered with the brakes or the landing gear. But who? No one from the Santa Maria crew, and by now, Mathias trusted the Victoria crew as well. Then, it hit him. The young woman that had sneaked onto the Constanza, the one that Tino shot. It was the only possible explanation.

Despite himself, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He furiously wiped them away with the back of his hand, using the other to steer the plane around so that he was tailing Braginski again. He glanced at the wrinkled, sepia-toned photograph on the dashboard. His eyes passed over the fine features of the woman* in the center, standing with one hand resting on the slender shoulders of the frowning young man* in front of her. To the left stood Tino with his laughing eyes and blinding smile, in stark contrast to the tall, somber-looking man* next to him, who awkwardly draped an arm around Tino and the grinning boy* between them in a sailor suit. And right in the center was Mathias, leaning heavily on the blonde woman and pointedly avoiding the camera because he was making faces at the stout Swede by Tino. Ingrid later complained that they would never be able to take a decent family photo of the six of them because he always ruined it by goofing off. He smiled sadly at the memory, running his thumb over the worn paper. He wouldn't even be able to say good-bye.

With a shaky breath, Mathias reached for the tiny, temperamental radio next to the steering wheel. Please, God, let it work just this once, he prayed, keeping Braginski's plane a good half mile ahead of him so that he wouldn't be shot at. God must have been listening, because a moment later, he heard a tinny voice say, "Mathias! Are you alright?"

Thank God, it was Antonio. "Boy, is it good to hear your voice, Kaptjn. We have, ah, a slight problem."

"What's that?" Antonio asked. Mathias could picture the face he was making, and chuckled a little. Not for the first time, he reflected that his friend was too good of a man to be a pirate.

"The brakes are damaged," he answered flatly. Why beat around the bush, right? He heard Antonio curse loudly, and someone in the background yelled, "What?!" He had to laugh. Oh, Tino.

"Yeah. That crazy bitch must have done something when I was with Vash. There's no way I can—I can't land, 'Tonio."

Silence. Then: "What are you going to do?" It was Heracles. Antonio must have handed the radio over to him.

Mathias swallowed. "Probably crash into the bastard," he said lightly, tilting the plane slightly forward, as Braginski's plane began to grow larger in his field of vision. "Gotta favor to ask, Herc."

"Go ahead," the Greek man said quietly.

"There's a letter in my nightstand drawer," he began, his teeth chattering with cold against the oncoming Russian night. "It's sealed. Take it to Malmö for me. Have Antonio give it to a man named Berwald Oxenstierna." He swallowed again. Damn, this was a lot harder than he would've thought. "Tino can tell you where to find him and the rest of my family." The plane was close enough now that he could see Braginski's pale features behind his scarf, watching him curiously. The other man took in Mathias' resolute expression, and he almost smiled, as if daring him to go through with it.

"I'll do that," Heracles agreed softly, and then Antonio and Tino were fighting for his attention.

"Mathias, I'm so sorry—" His captain began brokenly. He thought he could hear Lovina asking what was going on. He smiled a little.

"For what? These have been some of the best years of my life, Toni. I wish I could stick around to see you marry that girl." He laughed. "Tino, you take care now," he added with forced joviality, smiling weakly at his own joke. Tino was always the one to tell him that.

"Dammit, Mathias, this is my fault. I should've—"

"No way, Tino. Not in a million years. Fuck, I gotta go. Tell Berwald and Ingrid and Emil and Peter I love them, okay? And the others too." He slid the levers forward, racing towards Braginski so quickly now that the wind felt like it sliced open his face, despite his protective winter clothing. It was good, though. He knew he had never gone this fast before in his life, and it was exhilarating.

"Bye, Mathias," Antonio said quietly. A burst of static cut him off before Mathias could reply. The signal had been lost.

"Bye," he replied anyway. He blinked away the tears, which froze on his fair eyelashes like little diamonds. He didn't want them to obscure the beauty of the millions of stars above him, scattered against the inky background like crushed jewels. With a final rush of speed, Mathias Kǿhler plunged forward, smoothly hitting the larger biplane right in the center.

Hundreds of feet away, it looked like a new star was being born, violent and colorful and captivating against the infinity of the black velvet sky. The Constanza just cleared the aerodrome in time to witness it, a giant fireball in the sky. Antonio bit back a sob as he watched through the glass pane window, helpless as his dear friend and enemy perished in a burst of golden light.

I really really really didn't want to kill Denmark! I love him a lot! I just...felt it was appropriate, and realistic ..you can't hope to go into enemy territory and emerge with no fatalities :(

Also, the people in the photo: fem!Norway (Ingrid), Iceland (Emil), Sweden (Berwald), Sealand (Peter), and obviously Finland (Tino). Just to clear things up.

Anyway, please be nice and don't break my heart with angry reviews. Believe me, I am just as sad as you are. You could go read my Nordic fic, There Is a Lovely Land, to cheer yourself up c: It has cute DenNor and bro DenSu! It might help? Shuffles away

I promise the next few chapters will be pretty much entirely fluff from here on out, though. PLEASE DON'T LEAVE MY STORY