(AN) I will try keeping this sweet and simple. Cardeverse, as it said in the summary, and there will be multiple pairings. I'm sorry if you disagree with any pairings, but that's how it is. It's rated M, because, well pairings for one, and also because I don't want to hold back any gory details. I will try to make this story work, but it will be hard because it's Hetalia, there'll be a lot of different perspectives and stories, and it's a war story. Please go easy on me, and I hope you enjoy. Bye~ :) Oh, and I don't own Hetalia.
War has always been a part of mankind. Whether they were small or large scaled, man has always had it by its side. Some were started out of greed, some out of misunderstanding, and some just for power. In the end, all war has ended in blood and tears. A never ending cycle of peace and war to peace again, this is humanity's curse. And though all wars start differently, one thing is certain; even in the most peaceful of times, to begin the carnage of war, all it can take is a little push.
. . .
Winter air swept across the streets in a quiet wail, and it was the only sound that took over the night. Lights in every house were blown out and all life were long asleep. Nights were always quiet, but this one was especially dead. All houses were quiet, as well as the alleys.
One alley in particular was silent. There was nothing but trash, rats, and a young boy. The boy was curled up tightly under a pile of loose trash, being his makeshift blanket. His nose bright red, and his fingers trembling. He was certainly close to death under the pressure of winter air. This boy, no more than a child, couldn't have noticed the powerful force that slowly made its way down toward him.
It was a shapeless form, invisible to the naked eye, and it fell from the sky as gently as a feather in the breeze, but as precise as a bullet through the barrel. The boy was aware of his aches and pains, but he was still casted into a dangerous sleep, one he would certainly not be waking up from, if the situation was normal.
This force, that no one else could ever notice was there, fell onto the boy's face, as though it were kissing his cheek. It slowly absorbed into his skin, and once it was completely taken in, a black mark-similar to a tattoo-took place on his cheek. It was a make up of curls and curves, beautifully done by seemingly careful hands, and it made out the shape of a crescent moon. Inside the moon, in all the curls and curves, the word JOKER could be made out.
This was the brand made onto the slumbering boy, and once it was there he was no longer shivering and cold. He would live to see morning.