Thanks to Ultrawolfie, mayday237892, Dragonfire78, Miss Akiyata and BloodLily16 for reviewing. I'm actually surprised that it reached the 50 review mark so fast.

Yes, in this chapter, the game is played. There's some torture – nothing graphic – of the physical and psychological kind. And I enjoy these types of scenes way too much. They're the easiest to write, for some reason. And remember when I mentioned South Africa has the magic touch? Well, it's somewhat explained to what extent.

As for Brazil's part… sometimes I don't work chronologically, so it's actually an hour or two later than suggested. It was for the purpose of breaking tension.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 12: Game On

The rules have been set.

The players assembled.

It is time for the game to begin.

…

South Africa sighed, driving to the airport. She had learned quite a deal from the two Canadas, and she had promised to keep quiet about it.

Frankly, she wanted to meet her own counterpart. There were a few things from Matt's explanations that she did not agree with, but she really wanted to see herself as a superpower. She was curious.

Something moved in the shadows, catching her eye. She stopped and stepped out of the vehicle, scanning the woods around her. She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that it wasn't an animal, and it wasn't a human. It was something else entirely.

She approached the closest tree and placed her hand on it. She heard whispers in a language that she did not understand, but she had heard it before. Somewhere.

An image of her mother came to mind, and she shuddered. She was the only one that bothered to listen to Southern Africa's stories, the others preferring to play. Lesotho and Swaziland weren't born yet, and Namibia, Mozambique, Zimbabwe and Botswana preferred to play by going hunting. She listened to the stories. She was the one educated in the ways of the shaman.

Southern Africa had told stories of those that came before any form of civilisation. Those that were neither human nor animal, but somewhere in between. Everyone from Sub Sahara Africa was descended from the first, the most fearsome of them all.

They could not be called Nations. They were something else.

She was gifted with the ability to see things that not even England could see. This often caused him to question her sanity. And in turn she didn't mention being able to see Flying Mint Bunny, or Hook, or any of his other magical friends. Did he honestly forget that she had the Flying Dutchman?

She had been to the ruins in Greece, Egypt, China… The so-called 'Cradle of Civilization'. There were others, but she wasn't exceptionally close to them. And in those ruins, she saw shadows that are not meant to be there.

It scared her, but there was one place that scared her even more. A part of her own land that she tried to avoid as much as she could.

The Cradle of Humankind.

…

Norway had offered that they stayed the night. It would be the least he could do after dragging them all the way to his home.

He just had to make sure the other Nordics stayed out of it. They don't need any conflicts, or worse: Denmark and Prussia going out drinking together.

He did not want to be responsible, however indirect, for any damage the two would cause to themselves, the others, whether physically or mentally, or to his home.

…

Oliver giggled in pure, mirthful glee. They would soon enough go to sleep, and then he would be able to play with the other version of him. He would see just how strong Arthur's mind can be.

Well, that's what he gets for avoiding mirrors, and consequently, him.

He does not like to be ignored.

And he knew that several of the others didn't like it either.

…

Greece couldn't understand what was happening.

He felt cold, and he felt wide awake.

Something was happening. Something bad. The instincts that his mother had passed on to him were on high alert. And they all screamed danger.

He didn't know what to do, and so he picked up the phone. There was only one Nation he could think of that he would be able to explain the feeling, and that might also be feeling something similar, if the instincts were correct.

He just hoped Egypt didn't mind the lateness of the hour.

…

"You should see your face, it's hilarious!"

Feliks didn't know why he was there. Or why he was looking at a somewhat younger version of himself.

But he knew where he was. And when. This was when Russia took Lithuania away. This was just before the first partition.

"A little harsh, don't you think, Feliks?" a voice so much like his own sneered.

Feliks whipped his head towards the direction of the voice, and he took a step back nervously.

Standing in front of him was someone he didn't think he would see.

Felic.

…

Toris was running. He was running through labyrinthine halls. Halls without end.

He heard footsteps behind him, slow and deliberate. He didn't know who was chasing him, but he knew that he couldn't allow them to catch up to him.

He turned down another hallway, and he stopped. His blood ran cold.

It was a dead end.

He turned back, and he gasped in surprise.

Standing behind him was Tolys.

…

Vlad struggled against his bonds.

He was once again in the forest of death, but this time he found himself tied to one of the stakes at the base. Luckily, the stake had no corpse attached to it.

"Don't bother," a voice so like his own told him.

Vlad stopped struggling as Marius came into view.

"What do you want?" Vlad asked.

"I liked the taste," Marius shrugged. "Now, I want more."

…

Lukas found himself in a frozen wasteland, in the middle of a blizzard. He had no idea where he was, or how he got there.

He only knew that he was freezing.

"Can't handle the cold?" a voice giggled.

Lukas turned around to face Sigurd, who looked perfectly at ease.

"I can handle cold," Lukas said. "I just like a bit of a warning."

"Too bad for you then," Sigurd said.

He took out a small dagger, but it was no less menacing. Lukas's eyes widened when he saw this, his eyes trained on the blade.

Remembering what Vlad told them about his dream, he did the first thing he thought of.

He attempted to run.

…

Arthur looked down at the shaking girl at his feet.

He was the cause of this. His stupid war. He had demanded that she surrendered, but like her people, she was stubborn.

She was covered in burns all over her body. Her body is thin from malnutrition and disease. This is what scorched earth did to her. This was what the concentration camps did to her.

The camps that were meant to be refugee camps.

She had collapsed, and it was hard to tell how much longer she could hang on.

"Aw, poor girl," a voice giggled.

Arthur whipped his head around, and he came face to face with blue eyes.

"You!" Arthur exclaimed, taking a step back.

Oliver giggled, turning his attention back to the girl.

"So, who is that anyway?" Oliver asked.

England sighed. She had hated him for decades after that. In fact, she still somewhat hated him. Before that, she was only annoyed with him, and just a little resentful.

He felt just a little guilty every time he saw the hurt in her eyes.

"South Africa," Arthur said.

…

"NEIN!"

He couldn't be here. No, not again. Anything but here.

In front of him was the very thing that separated him from his brother for years. The Iron Curtain.

"You sure act strangely because of a wall," a voice behind him said.

Gilbert spun around, glaring at the blue-eyed face of his doppelganger.

"Arschloch!" Gilbert shouted, lunging at him.

…

"Non!"

Francis found himself at a familiar place, with familiar cries filling the air.

Jeanne.

"Pathétique," a voice said. "Being attached to a human."

Francis spun around, drawing his rapier, if only to silence the other Frenchman behind him.

…

Antonio covered his ears.

He knew perfectly well where and when he was, and the screams that still haunt him are echoing, mocking him once again.

He didn't want to be back during the Spanish Inquisition.

He gasped when he felt someone grab his wrists, removing his hands from his ears. He turned his head to look into menacing brown eyes.

"Ola, mi amigo," the other said menacingly.

…

Brazil yawned, picking up the ringing phone. Who was calling him so late at night?

Checking the caller ID, he frowned. Why was she calling this late at night? She was only five hours ahead, so it should have been early morning at her place, and she was not a morning person.

"Ola," he yawned.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asked.

"Kind of," he admitted, rubbing his green eyes.

"Sorry. Anyway, I was wondering. Since I'm in the Americas, I thought I should come for a visit."

He instantly perked up, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

"No problem," he said. "Hey, we should call India and make it a party. Should we call Russia and China too?"

"Sure. We can have a BRICS reunion. I'll be there in a few hours. I'll call the others."

"Ok. And I'll go back to sleep."

"Jammer. Anyway, goeienag, Roberto."

"Bonne nuit, Anika."

…

Feliks was pinned against a tree, his dark twin's hand around his throat. Felic was smirking.

"You're weak compared to me," Felic sneered. "Must be because of those partitions."

Feliks glared, trying to think of a way to turn this around. He knew he wasn't the brightest, but there had to be something…

"Tell me something," Feliks said. "Like, what's with your name?"

Felic cocked his head to the side.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Like, Felic totally isn't a Polish name. So why…?"

"Oh. You see, I don't really have a name. No one bothered to give me one. I change my name every now and again, but I take Polish names and I give it my own twist. A decade ago I chose this name. It's a coincidence that the last name I chose was your name."

Feliks frowned.

"No one… gave you a name?" he whispered.

He gasped when the grip was tightened.

"I'm not the only one, you know," Felic said. "There are others that never got a human name. All they gave me was a surname."

Feliks gasped for breath, but it was becoming more and more impossible.

…

Toris screamed.

He was pinned against the wall, a dagger cutting into his skin randomly. Tolys smirked, a look of bloodlust in his eyes that seemed to rival a drunk and angry Russia's. Although, Tolys's eyes looked scarier.

"W-why are you doing this?" Toris asked.

"Why?" Tolys chuckled darkly. "Because it's fun."

…

Vlad screamed as Marius drank his blood.

This time, the darker Romanian had made a cut along the other's artery, drinking like the stereotypical vampire.

There were tears streaming down Vlad's face. If he was helpless before, it was nothing compared to now. The last time, he could run. This time, he didn't have that chance.

"Please, stop!" Vlad shouted.

"Nu," Marius said, voice muffled by Vlad's skin. "I'm far from finished."

He knew this was a dream, but it still changed nothing. His senses were heightened, and that unfortunately meant that his pain-receptors were sharper than they used to be.

He could feel himself growing dizzy, until everything faded to black.

…

It was futile.

He was too cold, and the snow was too deep. He didn't get very far before his counterpart caught up to him and managed to pin him to the ground.

He tried to struggle as best he could, before he screamed in pain.

Sigurd had somehow managed to manipulate the environment, creating a tree root. Lukas was on his stomach, so he couldn't see what the other was doing. His wrists had been taken and pinned by the dagger through the tree.

His face twisted in pain, but he refused to scream as Sigurd proceeded to tear off his skin using another dagger.

…

Oliver looked at him in surprise, before he turned his attention back to South Africa.

"I was curious," he said. "So, this is the South Africa from your world. She's pretty. What have you done to her?"

"It was war," Arthur said. "I might have burned down her farms and sent her women and children to concentration camps."

Oliver looked at him with worry.

"If any of us did that, Alida would kill us," he said. "She'll slaughter us!"

"That's not Anika's style," Arthur said. "She's a guerrilla fighter. She avoids direct confrontation, but she can keep a grudge for a long time. She's also one hell of a sniper."

"No," Oliver said. "Alida takes care of those that made her angry immediately, and she likes to torture you. At least, that's what we think. She's almost never anything other than calm."

"You're kidding, right? Anika doesn't do calm. Her mood is as unpredictable as her weather. Portugal was right to call her the Cape of Storms."

"Portugal called her Cape of Good Hope."

"She was renamed. Only a few Nations know what her original name was."

Oliver shrugged, before the sound of screams could be heard.

Arthur turned around, and behind him there was nothing but fire. The screams of children could be heard.

"Thanks for that bit of history," Oliver said, smirking. "Now, let's see how you like to receive what you give."

…

It had escalated into a fistfight. One that Gilbert was unfortunately losing.

It was strange, but once the fight began, the other seemed to be filled with a sense of bloodlust. He had proved to be quite a capable fighter.

A punch to the face sent him against the wall, hard. When his body made contact with it, it was almost as though he was being burned.

He jumped away, a small yelp escaping his mouth. He looked over to Gilen, who had a calculating look, otherwise looking bored.

There was also something else that bothered Gilbert. The other seemed… stronger. His strength was a lot like his used to be, before he was dissolved.

His eyes widened. He had wondered why he hadn't disappeared, now that his country was no more. If they were right, and the histories were not the same…

Gilen still had full Nation status.

And he would not let the other know about that difference anytime soon.

…

Francis had been pinned by his counterpart. He was blinded by his rage, and had easily been outmatched by the other Frenchman.

And to make matters worse, Francois had decided to light a cigarette while he had the other pinned.

"You shouldn't be so attached to a human," Francois said. "It makes you weak."

"At least I had someone I cared about," Francis spat. "Do you even know what it's like to care for someone, or to have someone care about you?"

Francois didn't answer, but his eyes narrowed. He took his cigarette between his fingers, making sure to blow the smoke in Francis's face.

Francis screamed when he felt a red hot sting against his neck. Francois had pressed the butt of his cigarette against Francis's skin.

"You shouldn't talk," Francois said, his voice taking an icy edge, different from the indifferent monotone. "You sound a lot better when you scream."

…

"No, no don't make me!"

Antonio was screaming frantically. Alejandro had bound his hands behind his back, making it impossible for him to block his ears. He was forced to listen to the tortured cries of the people that he had hurt during the Inquisition.

It became worse when he started to hear the screams of the other Nations.

And Alejandro grinned widely, enjoying both the screams and Antonio's reaction.

"No more, please!" Antonio screamed.

"No," Alejandro said. "I'm having too much fun."

The screams grew louder, and Antonio closed his eyes, tears escaping. He still struggled as much as he could, but the other had bound his wrists too tightly. He knew that the skin was most likely torn by now, but he didn't care.

He just had to escape from the screams.

…

Marius groaned, massaging his temples.

When Vlad had blacked out, Marius had been forcibly removed from the other's dream world. Something like that had a way of being quite painful.

He didn't expect the other to pass out. Did he really take that much blood?

Oh well, it didn't mean much. He could try again another time. Although, perhaps he should use another method of torture. He didn't want his prey to pass out again.

And he probably should have warned the others of the problem when they were forcibly removed. And he also should have warned them of the chance that, with multiple targets, if one of them woke up, the others could also.

…

They were awoken by screams. Since Norway didn't have enough rooms, they all had to share.

The magic trio shared a room, the bad touch trio shared a room, Poland and Lithuania shared a room, the Ireland twins shared a room and Scotland and Wales shared a room.

The four Kirklands came out of their respective rooms, looking concerned. They knew that it couldn't be anything good, so they split up.

Scotland had gone to the magic trio's room. He saw Norway's face scrunched up in pain, England had his hands on his ears, tears streaming from his eyes, and Scotland had to check to make sure that Romania was still alive. Romania was extremely pale, and his pulse was extremely weak. He also saw that Norway's wrists were bleeding.

Wales had gone to the room of the former commonwealth. Lithuania was screaming, and Poland looked as though he was struggling against something. Catching the metallic scent of blood, Wales removed the covers to see that Lithuania was bleeding.

The Ireland twins had gone to the room of the bad touch trio. Prussia looked like he was fighting, France was screaming in pain and Spain was screaming in anguish.

And what the four of them realised was that they could not wake the other Nations.

…

Feliks struggled, but it didn't really help him. The other grinned, enjoying the other's panic.

Come on. Feliks can stand up to Russia. It shouldn't be too hard to fight off himself.

And the other didn't go through being partitioned. He never went through the pain that he had to. He never had to build himself back up after being destroyed.

Feliks was the resurrecting phoenix, something that Felic never knew. He was stronger than people gave him credit for.

When Nazi Germany invaded, he refused to surrender. He kept fighting until the very end. He had proved his strength and resolve multiple times, as well as his stubborn streak.

It shouldn't be too hard to fight off himself!

Felic's eyes widened, and Feliks could feel heat surrounding him from behind. The other was pushed back by a wave of flames, leaving Feliks to widen his eyes.

The flames didn't burn him, but offered a sort of comfort. Feliks watched wide-eyed as the flames took form, resembling a beautiful bird.

The bird looked him in the eye before everything faded to black.

Okay, some explanations. In the beginning, it mentioned those that were partway animal. This is of course going with the evolution theory, and the 'out of Africa' theory. As it is, South Africa has a series of caves that are called the 'Cradle of Humankind', since most of the oldest human remains were found there. There are one or two caves in the neighbouring lands, but South Africa is still considered the birthplace of humankind.

Also, the oldest culture, the San, made their home in South Africa. They're actually the only ones that are considered ethnic South African, with the Khoikhoi coming from Botswana and the Bantu tribes coming from even further north, namely Cameroon and Nigeria. Anyway, the San managed to keep their culture alive for 40 000 years. And they still exist. In isolated parts, but they're still around. And a few DNA tests have determined that just about every human being has traces of San in them. And every three out of five men could become a shaman, and every two out of five women.

As to why England dreamed about South Africa, it's because the 2Ps have some control over what they dream, specifically what would haunt them. They're also worried about the Southern Powers in their world, and subconsciously are looking for reasons why Brazil, India or South Africa would hate their counterparts. South Africa naturally hates England for the Anglo-Boer War. England employed scorched earth to South Africa, and the women and children were sent to concentration camps that were originally meant to be refugee camps. Black and white prisoners were kept in separate camps. Believe it or not, the black prisoners were treated a lot nicer than the white. There were more white children that died than black prisoners in total. And the prisoners were kept in tents, if they were lucky, with one or two blankets for large families with small children. And South African winters, while the threat of snow is almost non-existent, can still be cold, and since the climate doesn't normally allow it, it's actually too cold for snow. If we do get a snow day, it's usually for one day, and it's once the weather starts getting warmer. So, long story short, many South Africans consider the Nazi deathcamps to be a little more merciful, since gassing them was a lot faster and more painless in comparison to the South African camps. And it was all because England didn't think things through. Prisoners of war were treated better than the women and children. And like I said, South Africans know how to hold a grudge.

Coincidently, this week in my history class we were doing the Anglo-Zulu War and the Anglo-Boer War. During one of the battles of the former, Britain suffered one of its worst defeats. It's actually known as the worst defeat a modern army has suffered at the hands of a native army. There were over 1700 British soldiers… over 1300 were killed. These include settlers and natives. About five imperial officers survived. And as for the latter war, if it wasn't for scorched earth and the concentration camps, we could have won. There were no sniper squadrons, since almost every Boer was a sniper. Employing the best guns at the time, courtesy of Germany, it was believed that it was impossible to have an accuracy beyond 800 yards. The Boers proved to be accurate at 1200. It was also Britain's most expensive war.

Also, according to lore, the place where the Flying Dutchman disappeared was at the Cape of Good Hope. It's also where it is said to be seen the most, and is considered South Africa's most famous ghost story.