Thanks for the reviews! God, I really am bad at this... But things keep popping up and I don't understand why I just can't keep up a consistent schedule. Still, for next time, I'm positive I'll have a lot more free time to write. Sorry for the shorter chapter, but I hope it makes up for the wait anyways. Now, on with the show!
Gillen felt his trembling right hand grasp and clutch the cross hung around his neck, an action that was usually the only manner to keep his calm and not give in to his… unsavory emotions.
It was no secret nor mystery that Gillen had no love for England, a nation who not only was among the most psychotic and deadliest nations in the entire world, but was responsible for more than, not to mention the utter torment he put Allen through all the years he lived under his rule…
Gillen felt resentful and angry likely as any person would have, though he always tried not to let these feelings taint him, as remaining bitter wouldn't do anyone favors no matter how Allen might disagree. But how could he not feel disgust toward this... this creature wearing humanoid skin? How could he not feel angry on his friends' behalf?
While he held no fear towards the man, it would be foolish to be completely blunt and hostile. England appreciated 'good manners' above most things, though his definition seemed more on the line of submissiveness. He must be careful with his words. But at the same time, he will not act submissive and imply that England had any hold over him.
In the microscopic chance that England did or is considering assisting the Alliance, Gillen would never be able to forgive himself if they lost some - potentially- good help thanks to him.
First, he must try to see England's intentions. Then he could judge and decide whether to take England's words to heart.
"Forgive me, but I fail to see how that is a new development. Italy has already been acting conspicuous for the past week." Gillen finally replied blankly, unfortunately failing to not sound at least a little deadpan in his tone. But he doubted England would get incensed over that, despite his bipolar nature.
Luckily, if England appeared to take offense to this, it didn't appear to show, as he laughed. "Oh, that's because you and your delightful motley gang of merry men haven't seen the way he has acted beyond the meeting, except for maybe Flavio, but we all know he's not… smart enough to ever accept it as reality."
England laughed at that, as if he had just made an amusing remark and they weren't having a tense conversation at all and didn't just insult Gillen's friend to his face…
Gillen felt his anger rise, but he knew a lot better than to give England bait, so he concentrated on the main topic at hand. "Are you saying that you've been meeting with Italy?
"Hm. Not exactly, Gilly." England had the decency to sound slightly more serious. "But I have spoken to him for a grand total of three times, each conversation proving to be more interesting and suspicious than the last. And it was the very last one where I decided that I simply cannot stand idly by."
That statement helped calm Gillen's anger somewhat, and it was more replaced with the feeling of curiosity. He couldn't fathom just what… words or actions could've unnerved England – England to the point that he'd go to Gillen, ergo the Alliance, for help… if this wasn't actually a ruse, of course.
"I have very good reason to believe that Italy is planning something dire, oh, very dire indeed!" The pink Brit exclaimed overdramatically, and if Gillen was a gambling man, he'd wager that England was probably making exaggerated gestures even though neither could see the other. "So dire to the point I haven't even baked a single pastry in a whole day! It's unbelievably dreadful, I tell you."
"And... what exactly from these alleged conversations led you to believe that the situation is alarming enough to the point contacting us?" Gillen asked skeptically, though curious.
England giggled, a terrible, grating noise that Gillen hated as much as anyone else did. "Oh, Gil, you silly, silly old chap! That would be telling!"
Gillen's hand gripped the cross even tighter, even feeling his knuckles turning white. "…You are not exactly making yourself look any less suspicious, England."
"Well, Gilly, sometimes you have to give people the benefit of the doubt." England said merrily, with more high-pitched giggling flooding the annoyed Gillen's ear before it abrupt stopped, and his became low. "Besides, these days you can never really know if you're being watched…"
Gillen couldn't hold back a flinch. "E-Excuse me?"
"Why, I was just saying that sometimes you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, Gilly." The madman went on as he never said anything remotely unnerving in the first place. Narrowing his eyes, Gillen opened his mouth to object to the change of topic, but the next sentences stopped him. "As well as how you should always see the best in people. I would've thought a devout Christian such as you would know that better than anyone else."
If Gillen wasn't feeling particularly irate before, he certainly was now. He felt one of his eyebrows twitch in anger as he felt he clenched his cross even tighter than ever before. Breathe, Gillen. Breathe... Do not get angry. Do not give in to those feelings…
This… if there something that annoyed him or at least tried his patience about his enemies at times, it was when they would try to use his devotion to his religion to their own advantage.
He already had to endure enough of that in the past, thank you very much.
...Apologies. He had a bit of a habit of becoming snarky when he's feeling particularly stressed or irate.
"Even if said gift horse has a disturbing habit of poisoning his guests for no good reason?
"…Erm, I don't think that's how the phrase works, dear Prussia."
"That's not the point, England!" Gillen snapped, but he forced himself to stand down. Breathing slowly in an effort to calm himself, he sighed in exasperation. "What I am trying to say but what you seem to be deliberately avoiding responding is the question of why, just why in the name of God Himself should I or anyone else in the Alliance believe a word of your saying?"
"Because, Gilly, as the saying goes: The enemy of my enemy is my friend." England calmly responded, the cheer… mostly gone from his voice. But it did little to ease Gillen. "And I like to think I'm a very, very good friend."
"I have more than a few dozen cases that could easily prove that opinion incorrect." Gillen practically grumbled.
"And that is your opinion, Gillypoo." England chirped dismissively, while Gillen stood baffled by the new nickname. "Also, I am a spectacular older brother, so of course I would also be concerned for dear Allie's well-being."
"Even as you poisoned him and made him throw up his insides as you did with so many of your own colonies?" "Children you've scarred for life? And that's not even getting into the heaps of trouble you've given him since his independence. Hasn't it occurred to you that he hates you for a reason, England?"
There was a long pregnant pause from the other side of the line after his bold remark. And for a moment, Gillen began to believe that he may have caused England to hang up or go scream into a pantry.
"Oh, you know how children are, Gillen. Spoiled, naughty, ungrateful…" England giggled, sounding as chipper as before but now with a darkness lacing his tone. "Again, shouldn't you know that better than most after how wonderful your little brother turned out?"
A borderline animalistic growl almost escapes from Gillen. He will not crush the phone. He will not tear into his palms in frustration. He will not yell and shout at him for daring to touch a sore spot and for the Brit's own hypocrisy.
Breathe, Gillen. Breathe…
"Are you going to keep rudely insulting me or will you finally get to the point'" Gillen very nearly snarled.
"That depends, will you continue to be an ungrateful wanker just like my colonies or will you finally shut up and listen to me?"
Gillen bit out the urge to tell him that he had been listening, but England just never seemed to get to the point. However, it'd be best not to add fuel to the fire for now. "…Ja."
"Good. Alas, I won't use too much of my delightful time trying to convince you to trust me. I'm already risking quite a bit just by daring to have a chat with you. Believe me or don't believe, I will try to persuade you, nor force you. That'd just be horribly rude! But I do sincerely hope you do believe in honest intentions… or I'm afraid you'll one day regret very dearly in the future."
"Would you be so kind as to explain how exactly I might come regret it?"
"I will gladly do so if you listen to my woeful tale."
Gillen sighed.
"…Very well, please tell me about Italy's supposed behavior."
"Wonderful! I knew you'd see reason soon enough, you were always one of the smarter," Gillen paid no mind to the supposed compliments and made sure to listen closely. "Well, a couple days ago I was just going about my usual business baking cupcakes and making sure the meat doesn't expire in my lovely abode without a care in the world when I was suddenly alerted to the presence of, and here's where it gets odd, Italians."
Gillen blinked, instantly baffled yet intrigued. "Italians? Are they so rare in your country?"
No. That couldn't be the reason.
"Or… are you perhaps saying that they were actually…"
"Yes, Gilly. They weren't just any Italian humans. They were spies!" England exclaimed dramatically. "Rude chaps who think they can just waltz into my home and stick their noses into my business and get away with it. Oh! How utterly rude of them, I'll say…"
"Spies?" Gillen repeated incredously. In such a time with high tensions such as this, no less? "Are you sure, England?"
"Positive. Believe me; I am quite disappointed in my nation's own security too…"
"But- How? Why? Why would Italy…?"
"I'm getting to that. Patience, my dear Gillen." England spoke gently, before continuing in a slightly more serious tone of voice. "Anyway, naturally, I was both curious and a little peeved because I just discovered this lovely new recipe for a cake that I just couldn't wait to bake. But I went on ahead and investigated anyways and found the culprits. I had the pleasure of bringing them myself in fact. See, my darling chocolate bunny had just invited for a few friends for a visit and so I decided tha–"
"Please… get to the point." Gillen pleaded in the politest and not exasperated way possible with his free hand rubbed his throbbing head. "There's no need to devote an entire detailed explanation to how you captured the spies and interrogated them. Just tell about your conversation with Italy and how it led you to contact us."
"Oh, alright… But only because this is important." The Brit sighed, thankfully not as annoyed as he normally would be for having been interrupted. "Eventually, Italy showed up at my doorstep after I politely requested his presence to answer for this breach of trust. We ended having a rather heated and messy discussion where he somewhat revealed his plans to…"
England trailed off, leaving a long pause once again, and Gillen was left very puzzled once again.
"And?" He asked, sincerely hoping that England didn't just suddenly decide to end in there.
"Oh dear, it appears I best not share too many details." England muttered eerily. Before Gillen could ask if something's wrong, the madman quickly resumed the conversation. "He revealed his plans to me, and my, are they troubling."
"What are his plans?" Gillen dared ask, hoping for a straight answer.
"It is to my belief that Italy is searching for several… ancient things for absolutely nefarious reasons. And should he gather them all, well... I think we can kiss our days of laughing and smiling goodbye."
"…Pardon?"
Italy's searching for relics and artifacts, ones that could potentially lead to a doomsday? Did he hear that right?
"It's exactly what I said. Italy wants ancient thingamajigs for nefarious reasons, and it's up to you to stop him and/or find the items first! Easy as pie! Ooh, and I want to bake a pie!"
N-No, he heard that right. But… But…
Huh?
"What on Earth are you talking about?!"
"Why, what do you mean, Gillen? I-I think I practically just spelled out the plot for you – I don't understand the question." England sounded seemed genuinely perplexed. "Are you in a tunnel right now? Is that what's going on?"
What could Italy want with such items? Was England talking about ancient artifacts of some sort? But Italy had never been one to care about history unless it could be useful to him in some way. But according to England, that's, or at least part of, Italy's plan? That's why he sent spies to England's land? It… it didn't make any sense.
…Then again, Gillen did have the fortune of being witness to how dangerous relics of the past could be.
Gillen calmed down, he breathed, there's nothing to gain from yelling. "I don't think I understand, England."
"I figured as much," England chirped, and Gillen sighed. Did he have to sound so condescending? "The Italian brothers know, Gilly, at least some of it. If you want to badger someone for answers, badger them."
Gillen blinked. "You mean Flavio? He knows?"
"Perhaps… But then again, I doubt even Flavio would be silly enough to keep such information to himself, knowing how it might affect his chumps. So, your faith isn't misplaced for once."
"However, I also have reason to believe that Luciano plans on sharing his plans with his brother, and then make him cooperate willing or unwillingly." England informed him gleefully, dropping yet another bombshell on him. "So if you want to know the full story and details, find a way to have Flavio receive the information and immediately secure his safety before Italy can take him."
Gillen nearly found himself stumbling. "Wh-What?!"
"Oh yes, that'd quite the exciting encounter, wouldn't it?"
So Italy did have dark intentions towards his brother after? Did Flavio really not have a clue about Italy's plans?
No, could he even trust any word that England had told him? What if this was all part of an elaborate and horrible trick?
Gillen's hand again grasped the cross around his neck, praying that he'll find the answera for all these questions soon. "But how would you know such a thing? Why can't you just explain to me exactly what you and Italy–"
A 'ding' sound unexpectedly interrupted him. "Ooh! That was my timer just now. My newest batch of cupcakes should be ready~ I think it's time I hang up."
"NEIN! You are not going to hang up without-"
"Ooh, sorry, Gilly, but I'm afraid your dramatic 'no's' can only do so much against simply pressing a button. Goodbye, good chap, I do terribly hope you listen. The fate of the world may depend on it, oh dear."
"OLI-" "And he hanged up. Of course he did."
He clenched his hand around the phone just the same.
He needed to tell Allen and Flavio about this.
/ / / / /
His guest room in the New York penthouse's actually one of the best bedrooms Flavio ever had.
Yes, yes, while the fabulous décor and amazing view was indeed amazing, it's more than just the superficiality that Flavio adored. It's one of the many pieces of undeniable evidence that his Allie really in fact, a sweetheart, albeit a very bad-mannered one. It was proof of how much Allen cared about him.
Allen went through the trouble of making this room for him, even thoroughly asking him how he would like his guest room no matter how many times he insisted that there was no need. But Allen just snorted at his words and said that he wanted him to feel at home as much as possible.
Which was totally unnecessary, Flavio would think to himself with a melancholy smile on his face. After all, you two are–
"Hey, you're looking better." Allen's voice cut through his thoughts, and Flavio was met with the sight of his little brother frowning. "Finally ran out of tears to shed, bro?"
The blonde chuckled, though even he had to admit that it was a little forced, and humorless. It sounded rude and insensitive. And if he weren't so depressed, he'd maybe pull his ear for a second or two for that. But Flavio didn't have to look at the obvious concern on his face to know that it's just Allen's way of asking if he's all right.
Flavio offered a weak smile. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just- in my thoughts. And I think I'm the one I should be asking that question, Al."
"Worried about how Luci might react." Allen finished for him, rolling his eyes. "Color me surprised."
Flavio couldn't help a frown. "This isn't a laughing matter, Al."
"I know, I know! Trust me, it's not like I haven't thought about it. But guess what? I. Don't. Care." Allen said bluntly, heavily emphasizing those last three words. "What I care about is that you're as far away from that nutcase as possible!"
Flavio bit his lip. "What are you going to do when he decides to look for me? I think he'll know where to look."
"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it, and by bridge, I mean Luciano."
"Allie!" Flavio admonished, but despite that, he felt a chuckle escape him. He felt guilt. He felt guilt for feeling guilty.
"Relax!" Allen waved him off, obviously not taking this as seriously as he should. Or did he really believe he could… "Sure, Luci will get pissed and try to bring you back, but there's only so much that bastard can do when you're in my home turf."
Oh, Luciano would do a lot of things to get what he wants. Other than the heartlessness, cruelty and pointless hunger for power that Luci had inherited from that man, he just seemed to have inherited that stubbornness too. Except even that old man…
No. He refused to even give any form of compliment to that… that monster.
It's not like Flavio hadn't ever thought of what his brother might – would do to his friends.
He actually thought about that a lot, usually in his more somber moments, usually whenever Luci went off on his long tirades about Al, Gil and the rest of the Alliance, along with maybe throwing a demeaning insult towards Flavio or two. Whenever he'd be reminded of the things that might happen because of his passiveness and how all this was happening because Flavio was so stupid, stupid, stupid-!
And it's especially come up a lot in his mind these days. But that won't happen. Everything will be A-Okay! And he will not think about that.
Poor bad-mannered but well-meaning Taiwan suffering radiation poisoning being shoved into a leering Japan's arms and dragged screaming for Allen butthat won't happen, and Flavio will not think about that.
Nice, kind, welcoming Argentina having his already scarred and ruined face horrified get reduced to nothing but seared flesh, bare teeth and red eyeballs but that won't happen, and Flavio will not think about that.
Erszi, ever-kind and understanding, screaming to the high heavens and scratching her tear-stained face until blood drops fell to the ground as she everything she loved and cherished was grinded into nothing as repayment for her kindness to Luciano but that won't happen, and Flavio will not think about that.
Lithuania cursing him with his dying breath as his mangled bloodied lower body slowly faded into nothing, his eyes burning with a hatred he formerly reserved for only Russia but that won't happen, and Flavio will not think about that.
Allen slowly reduced to nothing, nothing, with the rest of him, crying out his useless big brother's name. Gillen being reduced to a pile of bloody chunks of meat, then into even smaller chunks, then even more until he was nothing than a pile crushed liquefiedpileoffleshinnardsgrindedbonesbloodWhyWhyWhy but that won't happen, and Flavio will not think about that.
"Pathetic." Grandpa's voice hissed in his head, perfectly picturing how the monster would sneer at Flavio's 'weaknesses'. "Always so much hesitation…" But Flavio will not think about-
"HEY, FLAVIO!"
The blonde jumped and nearly found himself falling off the edge off the bed in shock. "Wh-What?! What is it?"
"You- You-" From Allen's scowl, he looked ready to go on a rant, but he stopped short and his expression became one of concern. "Are you… okay, bro?"
Flavio inhaled sharply, sweat dripping down from his face and his neck. Was he okay? Was he alright? Oh, why did he think about that? How could he think about that
He's fine. Flavio's fine. Allen was fine. Gillen's fine. Everyone else's fine.
Flavio's hands grasped at the covers at his "I'm fine, Allen. Just got lost in thought in my worries, is all."
He tried to laugh, it came out horrible and forced. It hurt him to laugh it off.
Allen looked at him with red eyes narrowed in suspicion (and worry?), and he asked again. "Are you sure? I know I'm not big on comfort and shit, but you can tell me anything."
Tears wanted to prick his eyes, but Flavio held them back, and forced himself to smile no matter how much it hurt. "I'm fine, Allen. J-Just please, drop it."
He almost thought that Allen would then try to pry in for answers, but thankfully, thankfully, he eventually shrugged it off… albeit reluctantly.
"Okay, 'nuff talk." Allen said with finality, and he went over to the massive doors that led to Flavio's massive closet. "Let's see if how much shit you got, see how much I'm gonna have to spend on ya."
Flavio immediately wanted to raise objections, but Allen shut them down before he could even say anything.
"And I swear to Washitong, Flavio, if you tell me I don't have to, I'll put mismatched clothes for a fucking week."
That shut Flavio right up with his mouth pressed tight, eyes wide in absolute horror at the idea. By God! Wasn't it enough that Allen had such a mediocre sense of fashion?
"Why must you be so cruel to me, Allen?" Flavio sniffled, perhaps a little overdramatically. But it's still a serious issue.
America burst out laughing as he threw the closet doors open. "Cruel? Ha! That's rich coming from the guy that pulls my goddamn ear every time I'm being rude."
"Well, since you won't listen to my warnings and etiquette lessons, you hardly leave me a choice, Al."
"Yeah, yeah…" Allen no doubt rolled his eyes and peeked his head inside the closet. "God, I can't see a thing in this…"
He should have just left it there. Flavio could have just laughed along and pretended that his dark grim thought from minutes ago never even crossed his mind. It was so easy. But words flew right out of his mouth before Flavio could stop them.
"Allen, can do you a favor for me?" Flavio asked him in a clear voice.
The boy grunted, and took his head out to look at him expectantly. "Yeah? What do you want?"
Flavio's hands clenched, he tried not to choke on his words. "I promise I'll stay here without complaint – w-without running away or anything silly like that. I promise on my love for you that I will, but I'll only do so if you promise me something."
"If… When my fratello comes to find me, to take me back by force and you and Gil try to stop him," Flavio failed to stop his voice from cracking, from looking pained. He folded his arms, digging his nails into the fabric of his sleeves. "Just promise me that you'll be careful around him, don't rush headfirst like you always do."
Allen stared at him for a long while, not saying a word. He had that unreadable blank look on his face that he sometimes reserved for… certain grim occasions.
Eventually, his expression softened, and he spoke. "I promise. He won't get you, not if we can help it."
Flavio released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Grazie, Al."
For once, Allen smiled normally. "Anytime, big bro."
/ / / / /
Germany had no time. He had no time to relax, to rest.
Going around barking orders at his men and growling every time he heard an explosion in the distance, he muttered a wide array of insults under his breath and kept his hand close to his holster in preparation for anything.
He's been spending a good part of the night with his men, who keep dying dammit, shortly after the next wave of attacks hit the borders.
What a pain in the ass. He'd pay millions just to stay in his home, taking a nap and remain by himself, but these incidents just kept becoming more and more frequent that Germany didn't actually a choice anymore.
Useless. Useless.
These sorts of skirmishes were too common in the more chaotic parts of continents, even with the nations of the Alliance. America and Mexico, Russia and Finland, Belgium and the Netherlands, North and South Korea, England and Spain, even the countries that didn't share borders with each other would sometimes find themselves under attack by some arrogant assholes who think they can–
"HEADS UP, DEUTSCHANGST!"
Germany snapped his head to glare behind him, and he cocked his gun in preparation to shoot the bastard straight to hell. But he saw no one except for his workers, but just for a moment he was sure he caught a shadow vanishing right in his field of vision.
Another noise soon captured his attention, a thumping one to be precise, and he dared cast his gaze down at the ground, where he saw a familiar sphere roll towards him. It was decorated with a star and the telltale caricature drawing of a familiar bespectacled nation grinning maliciously at him with pointy teeth. Also, did he mention that the little piece of crap had a fuse that's close to going off?
"Scheiße…"
It's too late to react. All he could manage was a scream of rage before a boom and screams filled his ears and a bright flash engulfed his vision, sending him flying back from the blast to shit knew where. Then he was met with darkness.
But the fury left his veins even as he fell to unconsciousness. If anything, he felt even angrier.
Damn you. Damn you to hell!
Before he knew it, he slowly opened his eyes to be greeted by flames, a disgusting smell, and the pain of likely second to even third-degree burns on his body. Ignoring that, Germany gritted his teeth and steadily got on his feet, feeling his veins burning with anger.
Then, out of the nowhere, he appeared in that stupid red suit.
"Hey there, Lutz!"
Austria bared his teeth in a hideous smile.
"Wanna play?"
/ / / / /
In gloomy Paris, where the clouds made the city more grim than it already was, sat France in his gloomy old house, doing nothing but living yet another day in his apathy with his cigarette.
He inhaled.
France didn't give a damn how many times England scolded him for smoking and stinking up the air, why the hell should he be bothered? They're nations. They can get lung cancer, and die from it, but not permanently. It made it all the better for him.
He blew out more smoke.
He relished his moments of solitude, away from other nations, especially in these days.
Sneering, he looked out the window resentfully. Oh, how he hated how this week was going. Everyone else was making such a big deal out of everything that's happening with Italy, the self-centered, attention-hungry little brat, far too much even for France's tolerance. Why must those idiots feed his need for attention?
Why must Italy be such delusional brat in the first place?
Ah, France could say he knew the answer, the brat's grandpa as people say. But let him ask this: Was that still any excuse to go on and go mad from failure after failure despite being so strong, acting exactly like the brat he was as a child, and still expect to one day hold the world in his palm? You'd think he'd have learned by now.
But France knew the truth about that brat. And it was this: the brat was already doomed to live and die a failure.
He knew it, and so did a few others, and so he didn't see the point in running around panicking like headless chickens.
America had a brighter future than that brat, and that idiot's short-temper could only take him so far.
France didn't care about any of that. He retired from conquest and such annoying things. He already knew how all of this was going to end. So why bother? He didn't care. He just. Didn't. Care. So, he'll stay here, in his house, where no one will bother him.
He didn't care, as long as they didn't drag him into it.
If they did, then there'd be hell to pay.
/ / / / /
The 'Shadow' or 'Puppet' as others would mockingly refer to him as, or 'Shadow' as he slightly preferred due to it being the name his brother usually used to call him, moved about unseen by the masses.
He sprinted, agile and quick beyond human capability, and hid in the darkest shadows as he went on his hunt. If other people were alerted to his presence, then they might be alerted in turn, and he would not have that. He will not have that.
People – usually – knew better than to involve themselves in matters involving him, especially when he's seen acting on his own without his brother around. People – normally – knew, or at least suspected, what grisly matters 'The Shadow' would be sent on to do by his enigmatic yet fearsome older brother – no, master.
In the eyes of the public of this country and by extension his own, he was clearly an enigmatic figure, always standing quietly and loyally by his brother's side, never hesitating to spring into action should his master command it, and whose people had no choice but to reluctantly accept their personification's devotion. Why should they complain? They may have a nation who is and always will be loyal to his brother, but they're prosperous and happy.
To forsake that prosperity, freedom of expression, and peace for the sake of pride would be foolish beyond words. But such was the nature of humans, never satisfied with what they have and insisting on conquering…
…He's diverging too much from the main task at hand. He must not do it again, for it might end up distracting him. There was no time to spend his time in his musings when he had a job to do. Musing was for when there he had no task to do or no need to keep an eye on his surroundings for his brother.
Now, this moment and time, was for obeying and completing his brother's orders. Those came first before anything else.
So… yes. It's much preferable if he did his utmost best to not be witnessed by anyone. It also helped that he had brother's permission to eliminate any witness who had seen too much.
But no one will see him. Such a thing would bring shame to him, to see his stealth, a talent that his brother had faith in, fail him.
He found them exactly where his brother had told him they'd be. They were hiding in the outskirts, out in the desert. Brother was right. They are cocky, and foolish to think that hiding there wouldn't attract Brother's attention. For this arrogance, they suffer even more pain than what he had planned to.
The Shadow twirled the knife in its hand, stare fixated on his targets.
He did not spare a word to the invaders. He failed to see any need to do so.
He did not even wait and digest their reactions. Screams pierced the air for only a second or two before he silenced them, though not permanently. Blood splattered the walls and the ground. He witnessed the terror in their eyes, and his heart swelled in pleasure. Brother would be pleased if he saw this.
They fell to the ground, groaning and crying like the lowly beings they were.
He wasn't supposed to kill them.
He knew that. The privilege and right to do so was his brother's and his brother's alone unless that same person said otherwise.
The span of time of his hunt allowed him more than enough time to decide how he exactly he was going to torture them in the way that would please Brother the most. And he had indeed managed to think of quite a few, not that his ideas would ever compare to his brother's.
But he swears that he will do his best to not disappoint.
/ / / / /
"Hmph. So, there were a couple of Italian sneaks in my country."
"We've caught them just recently, ma'am."
"Take me to them. I wanna see who exactly I'm gonna sock in the face."
Torture's something Taiwan never really got her jollies out of at any point in her life.
No. Seriously. Not even back in the old days when she was nothing but a cringe-worthy wannabe trying to desperately impress the wrong guy (coughChinacough), and even though she really liked to hit people when they're being stupid (though it's for a good cause), torture's always something that made her stomach churn.
…Unless it was Japan, China or any other sick bastard who was suffering in front of her. In that case, she'll fetch some popcorn and enjoy the show.
What? They would have had it coming after the Himalayas level of crimes they've committed their whole damn lives.
And of course, back in the old days, she kept trying to get rid of that nasty feeling in her gut and the gross bile rising up her throat (she actually did lose her lunch more than once, not that she'd ever admit that to anyone) because the sooner she got over that crap and proved herself that she's perfectly capable of torture, the sooner China would stop looking at her like she's a worthless waste of space and put her on the front lines
Good Buddha, she was really stupid back then…
It always stung whenever China scolded her for some crap that wasn't even really worth snapping at her for. In fact, Taiwan long lost count of the number of times China would berate for that or for any other thing. Even so she thought, hey, criticism can motivate someone to do better, right?
But she never could stop herself from hesitating.
…And right now, she can't even stop herself from wincing slightly at the poor slobs trembling.
Oh, by the way, it turned out there were spies. And they got caught.
…Either jetlag killed a lot of their braincells or Italy's spies all of sudden caught a nasty case of incompetence.
Taiwan honestly felt pretty torn whether to feel completely understandable rage at such a dick move, or feeling glad that now she had an outlet to take her anger out on.
She stared at the scene through the glass, jaw agape in disbelief and her eyes wide. Why were they so scared? I mean, yeah, sure, Italy's an asshole you don't wanna disappoint or else but this… this… AGH!
She couldn't help but feel, like, y'know, cheated. I mean, come on! Taiwan came waltzing in all her beautiful glory to the place where the assholes were being held, all ready to beat the pasta outta them for thinking that they can just sneak into her country, find any dirty secrets and get away with it… only to find a bunch of quivering chihuahuas.
Granted, chihuahuas were a lot cuter than this, but come on!
This… This was... just pathetic, no, sad, or just pitiful. Or- Or maybe just a sick combination of sad, pitiful and pathetic. Yeah, that's exactly what she's feeling.
Not helping was the person who Taiwan had given the important task of interrogating their enemies, who was. See that guy in a military uniform, even though they're a bit far away from the nearest base, with eyes so wide they could fall out of their sockets any moment, hideous hair and acting like he took a million shots of caffeine?
Everyone called him Fullmetal Fu.
Nice guy, even if he's missing a few screws. He's pretty talented too, and competent most of the time. He had the job of a drill sergeant, good at motivating people (to get the hell away from him). But he's so good at terrifying the crap out of people that they've been using him in interrogation sessions. And now he's scaring the crap out of him.
…Wait. No. Make that scare the piss out of them. Ew.
"Oh, gross. Someone get a janitor!"
Italian spies weren't usually this scared out of their wits, were they? Unless maybe this super-secret mission was super important that they just couldn't screw it up.
But what the hell would that be?
/ / / / /
Most days, when Seborga had nothing better to do or when Italy's being snappy, he normally secluded himself upstairs.
Not that Luci will even let him leave the house even with good weather outside, that jerk.
And right now, Luci's being even snappier than usual, it's almost terrifying. This prompted Seborga to remain upstairs so that he wouldn't possibly wind up bearing the brunt of his anger.
Though he already knew Luci wouldn't hurt him, not unless he wanted to get himself hurt. But… he'd lived here long enough that Luci's prone to do all kinds of crazy-harmful stuff. It'd be best not to risk anything.
Besides, Luci obviously wanted to be alone.
Seborga really wished Flavio will come home soon. Their brother's getting worse.
If he didn't, well, then Luci… he might go find Flavio and drag him back here himself.
And Seborga hoped that that won't happen.
I think there's gonna be a bit of a timeskip after the next chapter, you know, to keep the plot moving along. And speaking of the plot, there's a lot more to it than what's been revealed here, trust me. Hope you guys liked my take on 2P!England and France. Please review, if you have a minute.