Veneciano muttered something to Holy Roman Empire. This was supposed to be a solemn ceremony but teenagers were still teenagers. Spain had a hand on the little German's shoulder and could feel how Veneciano's words made the boy shake. Spain didn't reprimand them, for his full attention was on the Pope crowning Charles as emperor, legitimizing him as the defender of the Christian faith in the continent. He was so proud of him—and unaware of the great headache the most insignificant person would bring to him and his king.

His name was Martin Luther. He was just a monk from Eisleben. From the very first moment he came into the room Spain knew he was bad news. Was it the way he looked around him? How he stop up tall in front of so many important gentlemen, even the emperor himself? Or the rotten ideas he kept inside of his head and had dared to let out through his hand and mouth?

"Do you know why you are here, friar?" Charles asked Luther.

The man nodded. "Yes, your Majesty."

He had said that faith alone was enough to be saved, despising the works, meaning that sinners could go to Heaven anyway it God's will was so, even if they never repented or did a good deed. Belittled the authority of the clergy and rejected the sanctity of the sacraments, calling the daily preachment a 'useless repetition'. In fact, to him, only the reading of the Bible was enough to enlighten the minds. Jesus Christ was the sole intermediary between God and man, and the whole clergy were unnecessary. Claimed that bulls and indulgences, the holidays had to be abolished, as well as the canonization of the saints, for the process was corrupted. Thought that philosophy, mostly coming from Pagans like Aristotle, were corrupting the faith. To him, divorce and remarriage was acceptable in any case.

"Are you the writer of this thesis?" Charles asked then.

Those ideas had earned him the excommunication, and what was this man's reaction? Tear the bull and call Vatican 'the prostitute of Babylon'.

"Yes, I am." Luther replied.

"Your ideas have been censored by His Holiness for going against the dogmas of our mother Church. Here and now, I demand you to retract. Do yourself a favor."

Luther breathed deep. He looked around him, at the princes, the men of the cloth, the emperor, Spain himself. He watched the nation for long. Spain held his stare firmly. Finally, Luther spoke.

"What you are asking me is very serious. I am forced to ask you some time to reflect on my decision."

Charles nodded.

"Very well. We will meet tomorrow morning in this same room."

Spain really hoped God visited that man in his sleep and gave him some common sense. But it seemed he was the one who didn't sleep very well. Luther, Bible in hand, said the next day, fresh like a rose:

"I am sorry, your Majesty. I cannot take back my words."

Spain couldn't believe what he was hearing, neither did the audience, which protested with one voice.

"Do you insist on your heretic ideas?" Charles frowned.

"I am speaking nothing but the truth. And going against what God has revealed to me would be something despicable."

"What is despicable, friar, is that you lay the shadow of ignorance upon the minds of good Christians."

Luther then tried to defend his doctrine. Spain had heard that before and did not want to hear it again, so he interrupted him.

"You are lucky you have the favor of Elector Frederick III, because I assure you I would have cut your neck myself for questioning something as sacred as God's ministry on Earth."

Luther smiled softly at him.

"Is violence the language you speak now, Your Greatness?"

"Do the sensible thing and retract, mister Luther. This is your last chance, for you are trying my patience and there won't be any more of them."

"As long as I am not rebutted by the Scriptures or with evident reasons, I don't want or can retract, because going against conscience is as humiliating as dangerous. God help me. Amen."

"Yes, may God help you, because from now on you are an heretic and shall be treated as such."

'May God help you too'. Maybe it was Spain's imagination, but he thought that was the last thing Luther said before turning around and leaving the room.

The emperor's response came soon: from that very moment Luther's work was banned and its possession was enough reason to press charges.

"These are mad times, Spain." Charles confessed to him on their way back home, in their carriage. "People are willing to listen to this heretic. They print his books, they listen to his lectures. It must be the desperation. There is war, poverty, crime...Of course they are willing to listen to anybody."

"I'm sorry if I said something inappropriate in the council." Spain sighed. "Hearing those things..."

"I know. And I am glad your blood boiled. That means religions matters to you."

"How is it not going to matter to me? God has been the only thing I could take for granted in my life..."

Charles looked through the window of the carriage in silence for a while.

"These are mad times. Our faith is being questioned. The Church is being attacked...Spain..."

Spain turned his eyes to his king and found him staring at him.

"...You have fought hard for Christ at home. Will you defend it in Europe? Or let the infidels and heretics take over?"

Spain paused.

"Do you really think I could keep my arms crossed?"

1525

Spain's family had increased greatly. Eventually, France found himself surrounded by his former friend's domains. It seemed he did not like it one bit. It had already hurt his pride greatly that his king had not won the title of emperor. He was scared that one man was the open door for Spain to have a say in the matters of so many countries, in such vast regions.

He surely felt threatened, and decided to take what was not his. He whispered poisonous words into Italy's ears, knowing how fond Spain felt of them, aware of the strategic position of their house and how rich they were.

When Spain found out about the annexation of the duchy of Milan, he was now convinced that France had forgotten the good old times. And so did he.

They found each other face to face at Pavía, in Italian ground, for the first time in years. Both of them fierce, both of them with their swords stained with the blood of each other's people.

"You've got something that is mine, Spain. Give it back."

France did not look remotely as a girl anymore. He was all a man, with a beard, his defined muscles, his masculine voice—although he kept caring for his hair more than was normal in a warrior. But Spain was not a child, either. During the siege, he had not had what he needed to shave, and, when he thought about it, he decided to keep it. It made him look less like a young man and more like an adult; more like his king, and all the soldiers around him.

"I did not know it was your king. He just put up a fight, and we captured it. He should not have done something so stupid."

"Bring him back to us."

"Knowing what he is...Perhaps we could make a deal."

"My artillery can keep on tearing your walls down until there is nothing left to defend. I am not in a hurry."

"Who do you think you're fooling? I know you are hungry as a stray dog. It is you who can't resist this siege and has come here begging for it to stop."

"And you don't have the money to pay all these soldiers." France smirked. "The Spanish fight for the gold, and the French fight for honor only."

A grin grew on Spain's face. "Everyone fights for what they lack."

The smile vanished from France's face, much for Spain's satisfaction.

"I knew you were an ambitious bastard. You think you are so pious, but you are just like Rome, and all of us. You are no better."

"You are wrong, France. I am better than you will ever be."

France turned around elegantly before he lost his composure. In spite of the lack of water and bread, and the illnesses that were decimating his troops, he ordered to attack. He wanted to tire Spain enough for him to surrender. But he didn't know that Charles had managed to make Holy Roman Empire help his nation. These men had not received their salary and were reluctant to fight for nothing. The captains and lieutenants themselves had to pay themselves to make sure that they would be on their side, fearing that they would surrender themselves to the enemy. Spain was proud to know that his arquebusiers were willing to fight for their nation without a pay. For long, he prayed God to bless them and pay them what they deserved.

King Francis was taken to Madrid as a prisoner, and used to make France sign a peace treaty. They were both let free to go. Italy was alright and France had learned his lesson. Or so Spain thought.

Several months of relative calm followed. Relative because Spain knew it was a tense calm. And he hated to admit it, but money was becoming a problem. It did not matter that gold and all kinds of treasures were coming by the ton from America. Spain was spending too much of it financing an army, buying favors.

That was why Portugal's offer was so interesting.

"My king is willing to marry your emperor's sister, and he could marry my king's. You know I've got your back but...take this as a sign of good will."

Good will? Portugal had done nothing but good to him. Knowing he did not have workforce to attend the demands of his provinces in America, he had sold him African slaves for a very good price. He was on his side concerning France's advances. And now he gave him the chance to get a million ducats from his princess' dowry.

"Nothing would make me happier than you became my husband one day." Spain replied, showing him a smile from ear to ear.

Portugal chuckled, and so did Spain, but in reality he was being serious. One day, he hoped, they would become one.

The happiness of these news ended abruptly with a letter from his little boy Cuba. Normally, Cuba writing to him was something that sent Spain over the moon, even kissing the letters written by the hand of his little jewel. But when he sat in his office and read the content of the missive, his good mood changed completely.

«A terrible spread of smallpox—we think—has caused a terrible harm here. They say it came from one of your ships. I am so glad you don't have to see this, brother. I can't even count how many graves I have had to dig myself. The priests barely have the time to give the last rites to the sick. Tlaxcaltec was infected and has had to spent many days in bed. This morning, he has died. I did everything I had to do, following my captain's instructions and your own teachings, I made sure he had a Christian burial and asked the priests to make a thousand masses for him. I am alright. Sometimes it feels difficult to move, but I am alright. Waiting to hug you once again—Cuba.»

Smallpox...A sickness Spain thought that paradise was free from.

They were free from it until they brought it to them...

His hopes of things getting better crumbled upon hearing the terrible news, the loss of someone he had appreciated so much, without whom he wouldn't have done what he did. He prayed God for his eternal rest and glory, and for this feeling that this was just the beginning to be just that, a silly bad feeling.

But it was then when France betrayed his trust.

1527

France had not waited a single second since his king was freed to plot his revenge. Spain got away with everything because he had powerful friends.

But he could have friends from high places, too. And he found the highest place possible.

This time, he met Vatican and discussed long with him. Although Spain never knew the details of their meetings, he could infer what they talked about for the information he got and their later actions. He could see Vatican as serene as always, reminding France of Spain's contribution to the Christian cause, his importance defending Europe from the Ottoman, who was approaching dangerously from the East. And he could picture France smirking and lowering his voice to tell him, almost confidentially, that it was true, but that role had gone to his head and now he believed he was the king of everything. The man who controlled him accumulated titles and if something was sure about humans, it was that they never get enough once they try power. Spain already had Portugal, America, Italy, Holy Roman Empire, Portugal, Flanders, under his control. Who would be next? He said he respected his underling's laws and let them breath, but how long till he decided to become the bastion of Christianity himself? Spain saw Vatican frowning, seeing himself losing his great authority, becoming just like Romano and Veneciano, servants and little else.

Those were just conjectures but what was sure was that Vatican decided to side with France against Spain. He convinced Veneciano that his place was with France, that Big Brother France was his friend and not Spain.

That was something Spain couldn't tolerate. He sent his troops to Italy, captained by Charles III, Duke of Bourbon, a French constable who decided to switch sides and fight for Spain. With him, his troops managed to win France's in battle.

"Come with me." France said to a reluctant Veneciano, who looked at the slaughter around him nervously, not sure whether to stay with France or surrender and ask for Spain's mercy. "Look. He is filling your precious land with blood. Remember what that friar said, what he did to those Indians? He won't stop until..."

But he suddenly dropped Veneciano's hand and let out a scream. Something in his back...It hurt...

He turned around to find a demon glaring at him. No. It was not a demon.

It was Spain.

It was hard to recognize him, with that beard he had now, his rich armor and, most of all, that look on his face.

France gasped as he buried his sword deeper into him. His legs couldn't sustain him, so he fell. Spain grabbed him by the collar before he touched the ground.

"You didn't listen. You made me do this. I know you'll recover from this, but next time I see you lay a foot on Italian ground, I'll make sure it will be the last. Never. Touch them. Again." He croaked.

He recovered his sword and sent France to the floor with a kick and let him agonize there. Someone would find him sooner or later and he would survive, of course, he knew, but he would feel the pain at least, and he hoped it taught him a valuable lesson.

Spain then looked at Veneciano.

"Are you alright?"

The teenager nodded. He thought he was still shocked. He didn't suspect he was afraid of him.

And it seemed he had reasons to be scared, because when everything was over, Spain's soldiers expected to be paid. But he did not have enough money to pay them all, and that made them furious.

"We have spilled our blood for nothing?!"

"We deserve a payment, after all we have done!"

"And you shall be paid, but, please..." Spain tried to appease them.

"We don't want excuses! We have been scammed!"

"Are you going to let us die of hunger, after this?!"

"I want a compensation!"

"Listen up, boys, this city is full of treasures! Look everywhere and you will find jewels, and gold, and silver!"

"Yes, we earned all of this!"

When Spain realized, his men had gone crazy. They burst into palaces, markets, churches, even, and stole everything they saw.

"Stop! Stop right now!" Spain tried to control them, but it was thousands of hungry, fierce soldiers. He just couldn't.

"I know where there is much more to take! Rome!"

"Yes, let us go to Rome!"

"Rome is ours after all!"

"Yes, we won!"

Spain and the duke were forced to take the troops to Rome. Spain tried to resist, threatened to punish all of them for this insolence, but there was nothing he could do alone. He was outnumbered and he couldn't help thinking...Weren't they in their right? Didn't the code of war say that the winner had the right to take what he liked from the loser? It hurt him to see Veneciano's desperate face, but there was nothing he could do...

Romano tried to assemble an army to protect his city. The Duke died because of a shot during the fight. But the Spanish were angry and hungry, and Rome could provide so much. The stairs of St. Peter's basilica became filled with corpses of the Swiss Guards—the survivors managed to get Vatican and the Pope through a secret tunnel, ending at the Castle of Saint Angelo. They were intercepted and captured. Except for the Spanish churches, no religious building was respected, being looted and destroyed. They did not respect God's house and not even the property of those who were on Spain's side. The prince of Orange, substitute of the fallen Duke, tried to make the Spanish cease, but they didn't listen to their own nation and surely very few listened to him.

Fearing a greater damage, Vatican accorded with the leader of the rebels a rescue of 400,000 ducats.

Everyone took advantage of the capitulations to earn as many territories as they could.

"Romano..."

"YOU DID THIS TO ME! YOU TOLD THEM!" The boy had been brought back to Spain's house, and even after such a long trip he still was in anguish, he still wanted to scream.

"I tried to stop them, really..."

"NO, YOU DIDN'T! YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE! YOU DID THIS BECAUSE YOU HATE ME! YOU HATE ME BECAUSE I AM THE TRUE HEIR OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE AND YOU WILL NEVER HOLD A CANDLE UP TO HIM OR WHAT HE DID! BECAUSE YOUR PEOPLE ARE SAVAGES, THEY'VE GOT MOORISH AND JEWISH BLOOD, AND SO ARE YOU!"

"We'd better leave him alone, so he calms down..." Charles muttered into Spain's ear.

Romano wanted to punch Spain; he was pushed back into his room and locked in there.

In spite of everything, Spain could hear his screams.

"JUDEI! PERFIDI! MARRANI! HISPANI! LUTHERANI!"

"Lutheran...Did you hear that?" Charles sighed as they walked away from the door.

Not surprising...Someone had engraved praise to Luther on Michel Angelo's Sistine Chapel...An abominable action, of course.

"He will understand. You will see."

Yes...Like Vatican had understood...That it was better not to anger someone who had so little to lose and so much to win...

Inca understood too.

While Pizarro and his men took advantage of the civil wars, Inca was forced to surrender. Her leader, Atahualpa, married his niece to Pizarro, who gave him children. Him and Inca had a cordial relationship, and it would stay like that as long as Inca did not revolt against the new leaders. Just like he had been fascinated about Mexica's particular beauty, he felt himself attracted by this tan-skinned woman who wore a cape over her shoulders and a diadem around her forehead. And just like it happened with Mexica, it felt convenient for both worlds to mix.

It was a ploy of distraction, Pizarro said to his men. For Spain, it was a relief. Mexica had fiery eyes but Inca would always live in his memory because of her sweet smile. The way she giggled when Spain sought relief in her curves. Her smell, covered in sweat.

It was by that time when her abdomen started to swell.

She had taken care of the emperors when they were children and was so happy to have her own children. Many humans had tried to legitimize and consolidate their power by taking her, but it seemed only a god like Spain, like herself, could make her conceive. Who would have thought it was the same nation who sacrificed little children to her horrendous gods? Even if things could turn ugly at any second, she hoped she could conceive strong children from a strong warrior. She seemed to accept the idea of marrying the victor and creating a family with him, just like Pizarro and the emperor did, but Spain did not feel the same way. It was not sure they were his children. She still had allies, he was sure. And he had translated old texts about the great dames Greece and Egypt back in his old Al-Andalus days. He knew they had conceived their children with no help from a man, like Virgin Mary did in her day. And it was a sign that the end was near for them.

And while Inca was happily expecting, Spain took everything from her, until the day when Indian troops approached the city of Cusco, trying to free the emperor and the nation. Pizarro had to take the difficult decision of executing his new friend Atahualpa.

The news made Inca's labor come sooner. A rainy night, after a long labor, she birthed six children. Three girls and three boys. They were given the names of Peru, Argentina, Colombia, Ecuador, Chile and Bolivia. More beautiful children Spain could gaze at for hours. Even if they were not his, they would still be his provinces, they would be added to his big family, he made sure they were baptized and would take care that they grew in their faith so their souls were saved.

He wanted to take care of the mother too. In order not to make Inca fear being dominated and stolen from, Spain made sure she had another emperor—a man of straw, obviously.

He did not let Mexica retain her barbaric customs, why would things be different with Inca?

1533

Spain thought England was still his friend, but he started to have a few doubts about it after he received a visit by Catherine—and she cried on his shoulder.

"She was lucky to be able to pay me a visit. It seems you have not treated my girl well."

England furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his lips.

"...Look, I understand that she is upset..."

"Upset?" Spain interrupted him in loud voice. "Your king has humiliated her! He has rejected her and married another woman, knowing very well that he can't anull their marriage! What is this circus about creating his own church anyway?"

"I know, but...What do you want me to do about it?" England insisted.

"Something! You can't let this pantomime go on! Vatican is extremely angry at you! And for a good reason!"

"Well, you are not being an angel to him, either..."

"We are talking about you, not me."

"You came all the way here to meddle in my business."

"I came here to defend my queen, who, in spite of your friend Enrique says, is still the queen of you."

"I'm sorry, Spain, but I don't think you have a say on the matter. It is my choice what Church I belong to and what I say to my kings and queens. I assure you that Catherine will be well treated here. I can't convince Henry to let her stay at the Court with us, but she will be fine in Kimbolton's castle. I appreciate her deeply, and..."

"Yes, I can see that..." Spain grunted.

England glared at Spain.

"Now seriously, Spain. Don't tell me what to do. Not everything needs your approval."

"I am not going to keep my arms crossed and let everyone do something harmful and stupid. There is a big difference."

"I am not sure if you can tell what it is."

It hurt Spain having to be hostile to someone he had appreciated so much in the past. But it hurt him even more that Catherine died three years later—poisoned, evil tongues said— and England's king and queen celebrated her death with no shame whatsoever.

In her testament, Catherine asked her nephew Charles to take care of her daughter Mary. Spain knew Charles couldn't go against the last will of his mother's sister, but, in any case, if he didn't, Spain would.

1547

More worrying letters from Holy Roman Empire and Austria. Charles still held them in his hand, while the other rubbed his temple. It seemed three more princes had joined the new faith. Now they claimed the Church's possessions in their territory were theirs, since the Pope had no authority over them anymore.

"They are questioning us, Spain." The emperor sighed. "They never wanted me to hold so much power. Now they have found an excuse to attack. They do not want to be under the Pope's rule. They do not want to be under your rule..."

"Am I such a bad ruler, Charles?"

Charles shook his head.

"You are the best they could have, my good friend."

"Then why do they want to escape from me?" Spain asked, looking through the window, where raindrops slipped—his darkened reflection.

"Greed, I'm afraid. That plague called Greed."

The emperor got up from the armchair and walked around the room, with the papers still in hand

"Austria also brings us worrying news: these rogue princes are assembling."

Spain looked down at his feet, and Charles approached to place his hand on his shoulder

"Spain. The legacy of my family is in danger. The souls of our people are in danger. I need to be completely sure that I can count on you to do what it takes to preserve them both."

Spain closed his eyes and let some seconds just pass. Then, he raised his intense Green eyes to Charles.

"They made a great mistake threatening them."

1555

The traitors had been crushed. It was Romano's first war experience and many doubted his loyalty but he was brave, so brave Spain felt his chest swell with pride. The two of them, Belgium, Hungary, Holland, Holy Roman Empire and Austria fought against the insolent princes and won. Their leaders were captured and confined in Halle. Duke Maurice of Saxony was paid for his services with the post of Elector, Charles was triumphant. Even Spain was in ecstasy, proposing digging out the corpse of Luther to scatter his remains, which Charles honorably refused ("let him rest, he has met his judge. I fight against the living, not the dead").

But then treason found a new way to bite Spain.

Spain got a letter from one of his emperor in which he told him that Maurice's election was a big mistake. That snake, that son of a bitch attacked him at Innsbruck and forced him to escape to Italy, humilliating him.

Then, the Otoman demon attacked, taking advantage of what seemed like a moment of weakness.

But the biggest snake of them all was France.

The veil fell from Spain's eyes. France was a demon he had to fight because he never had enough. He always wanted more. He didn't seem to stand seeing others being more powerful than he was, so did everything in his hand to cause their fall. He never let any victory over him be left without proper revenge. His hand was behind the princes' victory.

"Everything will be alright, you will see."

Spain did not return the smile Belgium was showing him. He had brought that Indian custom, tobacco, and now smoked it by the window. It seemed to be the only thing that could calm his nerves. Charles was not with him anymore. Tired, depressed by the death of his wife Isabel, whom he had neglected in favor of all those campaigns, sick because of the beer and meat he ate, he decided he was now only a burden to Spain. His son Philip was now in charge of his destiny. He, he would retire to the Monastery of Yuste, in Cáceres, where he would rest peacefully the rest of the days the Lord had conceded him.

A long moment of silence passed until Spain seemed to realice Belgium was there.

"They have questioned me. They have done nothing but question me and my intentions."

But it almost seemed like he was talking to himself. Belgium's smile disappeared. Spain didn't look like himself. One hand held the pipe, the other caressed the rosary around his neck. She hadn't seen him smile in a long time, and it felt so wrong, so unnatural. The emperor had resulted damaged by what happened and it seemed it had affected Spain too, even in his looks.

"They were right, all of them. The world is full of people who will use your weaknesses against you, who will betray your friendship and forget what you've done for them...But not anymore. I make you my witness, Belgium: they will never steal what I love from me."

The only lively thing in him was his eyes. Gleaming green. Like the eyes of a beast.

"Never. Again."

Note: Inca's children being those precise nations is an approximation. Peru is for sure: the others correspond to areas where the Inca empire was, even if it did not comprehend the complete territory or the influence was not that determinant. I apologize for the likely inaccuracy.