Thanks to Dragonfire78, Miss Akiyata, BloodLily16, kayra isis and mayday237892 for reviewing.

Warning, there is more torture here. Some of them really are cruel, but aren't too graphic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 17: Dreams of Darkness

Black still has the advantage.

White is unprepared.

And for the interruption the last time, Black would retaliate.

…

India sighed in relief. The others had finally passed out. Now, he could enjoy some quiet time.

Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed spending time with the others. But when they were drunk, he wanted to enjoy his quiet time when they passed out.

Then he'll have to wait for South Africa to wake up so that he could ask what England wanted to ask.

While they were unconscious, he made himself comfortable in Brazil's kitchen. One of the best remedies when they were like this was a good dose of spice.

…

Egypt sighed. He and Greece had been conversing about strange feelings. At first he thought it was just him, but when Greece had called, he knew that something was up.

It was when Greece pointed out that it felt ancient that he managed to confirm. It felt as though it came from the era of their mothers. They had both spent enough time with their mothers and in their ruins to know when something ancient was around. Greece didn't have the magic touch, but Egypt did.

So now, he was deep inside the Valley of the Kings. Not even the humans of his land knew about this. As the land, he knew everything about it, and he knew where to go.

Then there was the fact that his mother had taken him there, just in case.

He entered a cave that was completely hidden. After a while, the cave walls were replaced with carved walls, with hieroglyphs warning intruders to stay away.

He knew all about his mother's curses, and he knew how to counteract them. So he ignored the warnings, and used them as a guideline.

…

It might have been late, but he had said that he would be here.

Romano sighed, knocking on the door. He was at Spain's house. He had called Portugal, and the other had said that Spain wasn't at his house, and that he didn't want to travel.

Portugal answered not too long after, and Romano could see why he didn't want to travel.

"What the hell happened to you?" Romano asked.

"I was attacked," Portugal said, stepping aside to let Romano pass. "By something that I couldn't see."

Romano frowned as he entered. It was more or less the way Spain always leaves it, and Romano could see that the other hadn't been there in a while.

"I think Spain's in trouble," Portugal said. "Something's happening. And Toni's involved."

Romano sighed.

"What about you?" he asked.

"Until we know what attacked me and why, we can only assume that it was random. And we should assume that it won't happen again."

"Pretty optimistic, aren't you? You're definitely related to the Tomato Bastard."

…

"No!" Spain shouted, struggling.

He was tied to what appeared to be a wooden table. He was once again in the era of the Inquisition. This time, he was a part of it.

He looked around him, and Antonio could clearly see each and every device. It was scary, to say the least, especially if you knew what each and every one of the devices did.

"Hola," a dark voice said, and Antonio knew that Alejandro was once again there. "So, last night you listened to the others scream. Tonight, you will be the one to scream."

…

Romania looked around him. It looked as though he was in his castle, but he wasn't quite sure where in his castle he was. Or how he got there.

'A dream,' he thought. 'That's the only explanation.'

A scream pulled him from his thoughts, and he jumped. He recognised that voice.

"Alexandru!" he shouted, running to where he thought the sound came from.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for him to realise that he was running through a labyrinth, and when he reached a dead end, it was confirmed.

He turned to double back, but found himself cornered by Marius.

"It would seem you were tricked by the sound of your own brother's screams," Marius chuckled. "Perhaps I should include him in our little game."

"Don't you dare hurt him!" Vlad shouted.

"As far as I can tell, you're not in the position to tell me what to do."

Vlad snarled, before he looked down, forcing himself to be calm.

It didn't work. He didn't undo the spell.

Which meant that they had to endure another night of torture.

…

Lukas found himself in a kitchen, tied to a chair. The chains that bound him were tight, and they cut off the circulation to his hands and feet. His wrists were in pain where they were bound by the chains.

"A lot simpler, don't you think?" a familiar voice asked.

Lukas froze when he realised who the voice belonged to, and also what it meant.

"Sigurd," he whispered.

The other Norwegian stepped into view, his smile giving Lukas shivers.

"We were interrupted last time," Sigurd said. "Now, let's continue where we left off, shall we?"

…

Gilbert stood with a sword in his hand, Gilen standing opposite him.

They were in the middle of a frozen wasteland, but Gilbert didn't mind it at all. It was time to teach that arschloch what he was capable of.

And a proper fight was the best way to do it.

…

Lithuania took a step back. He recognised this room all too well.

This was where he lived when he was a part of the Soviet Union.

He was in Russia's house.

"Where exactly are we?" another voice asked.

He turned and started trembling when he saw Tolys standing there, eyes cold and a sadistic smile on his face.

"R-Russia," Toris stuttered.

"I see. And why are we here, exactly?"

Toris didn't answer, but moved over towards the door. Locked. He was locked in a room with his psychotic double.

"Only a dream," Toris muttered. "It's only a dream."

"Dream or not," Tolys said, grabbing Toris by the back of the throat and slamming his face against the door. "We're following my rules now."

…

Feliks struggled against his bonds. He was tied to a chair in what appeared to be a torture chamber.

"Like, let go of me!" he shouted.

"Not going to be happening, Feliks," a familiar voice snarled.

Felic came into view, and Feliks paled.

"Like, what do you want?" Feliks huffed.

"First, I want to know exactly what the symbol of the phoenix means to you. Then I want to see you break."

Feliks glared.

"Like, you're not getting the second out of me, do you know why?"

Felic simply arched an eyebrow.

"I am the phoenix that will never die. You destroy me, and I will rise from the ashes. You hear me? I am the Resurrecting Phoenix!"

…

Seamus awoke, feeling a little dizzy. His shoulders were sore, and his face stung.

That was when the events of the previous day rushed at him. He looked around for his brother, only to find that he was all alone.

'Strange. Pat wouldn't just leave me alone if I'm in this kind of state. I wonder where he is.'

…

Patrick struggled. He was being held by someone he couldn't see, but he could feel. And whoever was holding his arms back was strong.

There was a cloth tied around his mouth, preventing a sound from escaping. The cloth tasted foul, like dust and mould.

His arms were pulled back further, making him grunt in discomfort. A cold breath on his cheek was the only warning he received that there was something in front of him.

One has already been injured, and now it's your turn.

He winced when a sharp pain met his cheek, just below his eye. The sting went downwards, and he knew that he was being cut.

The same thing happened on the other cheek, and judging by the trail it took on his cheeks, he could guess that the cuts looked like tearstains. Bloody tearstains.

So much for luck of the Irish.

And he let out a muffled scream as attention was turned to his chest.

…

Arthur ran along the familiar route, passing the corpses of soldiers along the way.

He knew that this was a fool's errand. But he couldn't allow Oliver to catch up to him when he's reliving that battle.

He was forced to stop when flames suddenly sprang up in front of him. He turned around, swallowing nervously.

Oliver was standing close by, a butcher knife in his hand, and a huge grin on his face.

"Nowhere to run now, poppet."

"Oh bugger."

…

Francis shrank back against the wall as the other placed his hand next to his head, cornering him from that side.

Francois exhaled the cloud of smoke, making Francis cough again.

"You seem really scared," Francois said. "Am I really that frightening?"

Francis closed his eyes, nodding his head slowly.

"Good."

Francois used one of his hands to force Francis's mouth open, and the other was used to place the lit cigarette in the noble Frenchman's mouth.

Francis didn't know what was worse: the horrid taste of the cigarette or the heat from the lit end.

And Francois placed his hand on Francis's mouth, preventing the other from spitting it out.

Francis turned his head from side to side, hoping to get an opportunity to spit the horrid thing out. This was stopped, however, when Francois grabbed his hair and pulled backwards, applying more pressure on the other's mouth.

Tears gathered in Francis's eyes. It was really starting to hurt, and he finally found something that tasted worse than England's cooking.

Most of the cooking, at least.

…

Wales awoke with a start. Something was seriously wrong.

He shook Scotland awake, who glared at him.

"I think something's wrong," Wales said.

"I don't hear any screams," Scotland muttered. "Go back to sleep."

"Let's at least check on them."

Scotland grumbled, but stood up anyway, glaring at the brunet.

And people told Wales that he was the grumpy riser.

…

Antonio struggled, and Alejandro chuckled darkly.

It wasn't lost on Antonio that he was tied to a rack. And he knew fully well that the other would probably know how to use the device.

"I want to know how you sound when in pain," Alejandro said thoughtfully. "Would you sound like Portugal, or like Romano?"

"What did you do to them?" Antonio hissed, forgetting his worry.

"Romano screamed shrilly, and then his brother found us," Alejandro said, showing a large scar on his forearm. "Portugal shouted quite a few curses at me. And then the next time he got even. The two of us are considered two of the most vicious Nations in my world, along with Italy and France, and America is catching up on our reputation. I'm not even going to start with Mexico. She makes me proud."

"And what about South Africa?" Antonio asked, remembering what Lithuania had mentioned.

Alejandro's eyes narrowed.

"She's vicious as well," Alejandro said. "She was raised by Portugal, a huge sadist, and Netherlands, the very definition of uncaring. She's cold, and is one of the scariest Nations. Right now, she's one of the three Southern Power Nations, and probably the most intimidating, Brazil coming in second, and then India. She's intimidating, and she knows how to torture you creatively. If you're a Northern Nation, then you should stay out of her way."

"She's really that bad?"

"What's she like in your world?"

"A bit intimidating when angry, but otherwise okay. She's not that bad, but she could definitely hurt you."

Alejandro narrowed his eyes, before placing his hand on the crank. Antonio's eyes widened, and Alejandro smirked.

"I think it's time for us to start," Alejandro said.

…

"Now," Marius said, stepping closer to Vlad, "what should I do with you now?"

Vlad didn't say anything, preferring to stay silent. He didn't want to provoke the other, or give him any ideas.

"I know," Marius said, an absolutely evil grin on his face. "How about I show you what your friends are going through?"

Vlad's eyes widened. That did not appeal to him at all.

Marius pinned him to the wall, shackling his wrists together. Vlad was then turned around and they stepped back. Marius buried his hand in Vlad's hair, the other hand remaining on his wrist.

And the wall lit up, as though it was a screen.

Vlad watched in horror as he saw England running away, an unknown number of corpses around him, a solar eclipse high in the sky. France was pinned against a wall, mouth covered, and there was a slight bulge that told Vlad that there was something in the Frenchman's mouth.

"I wonder," Marius whispered. "You see, France usually has a cigarette. Where is it now?"

Cigarette burns… Vlad's eyes widened when he realised exactly what was in the Frenchman's mouth.

Spain's screams met their ears next, and Vlad could see the Spaniard was in a torture chamber. Lithuania's could also be considered a torture chamber. He was in his old room at Russia's house, pinned to the door. Norway was tied to a chair, his shirt removed, face twisted in pain as the other was peeling his skin off of his upper arm.

"Please stop," Vlad whispered. "Stop this."

"Why?" Marius asked, chuckling. "This is far too much fun."

Vlad took a chance, and stomped on the other Romanian's foot. Hard.

Marius was startled and his grip loosened, and Vlad took the opportunity to get out of the other's grasp, running as he did.

"You'll pay for this!" Marius shouted. "And you're soon going to find what pain is!"

Vlad just hoped that he had stomped hard enough to impede the other's running ability.

…

Toris was shivering but not out of fear. It was as though the temperature had dropped significantly, and he was ill-prepared.

Tolys let go of him and Toris slid to the ground, curling into a ball as the temperature continued to drop.

He heard his counterpart chuckle, and he knew that he derived pleasure out of his sorry state.

He cried out in pain when the other's boot made contact with his back. One of the worst of his scars, to be exact.

"Come on," Tolys said. "Don't tell me you're that weak. I hardly put any effort in that kick. Or… Can it be that you have a scar there?"

Toris tried to protest when the other ripped his shirt off, and he moved so that he was sitting with his back to the door, shivering as his upper body was exposed to the cold.

He couldn't fight when the other grabbed him and threw him face first to the ground, exposing his back to the other.

Tolys let out a low whistle.

"Wow," he said, tracing some of the scars. "Looks painful. But these aren't battle scars. These look more like torture scars."

Toris sobbed as he curled up into a ball.

"You really are pathetic, you know that?" Tolys taunted.

Toris screamed when he felt the sharpness of a knife, digging into his back.

…

Lukas tried not to cry out as the other sliced off his skin. His wrists were tied to the arms of the chair, restricting his ability to struggle. But he held in his cries. He would not give the other the satisfaction of hearing his pain.

"There," Sigurd said, stepping away, taking away a strip of the other's skin. "You know, this isn't bloody enough. Ooh! I know what to do!"

Sigurd rushed off, putting the strip of skin in a bowl. He took the bowl, and another item that made Lukas pale.

A grater.

Lukas took the skin and bit off a piece of it, humming in satisfaction as he came closer with the two items.

"I wouldn't want to miss out on a chance to taste you," Sigurd said, as he put the bowl and grater on the table, moving Lukas's chair closer.

Lukas tried to struggle, but the chains were tight, and his already sore wrists protested against this.

Sigurd untied his left arm, and Lukas attempted to pull away, but the other grabbed his wrist, making him yelp in pain.

His eyes were clenched shut, tears brimming along the edge.

He winced when he felt his knuckles make contact with the grater, and though he tried to pull away, the other had a firm grip.

The first few times didn't hurt as much, but after a while, he started to scream.

…

Wales and Scotland jumped when they heard Spain, Norway and Lithuania scream.

The scream also caused Ireland to go into the hall, looking frantically at his elder brothers.

"Not again," Ireland groaned.

"Seamus," Alastair said. "Where's Patrick?"

"He's not in the room," Seamus said.

"We can discuss this later," William snapped. "We need to get to the others."

…

Patrick's eyes widened when he heard the screams. His face was bloody, as well as his chest.

Looks like the game is still going on. I think we've played enough. But know this: curiosity comes with a price. And those with the magic touch are the most curious.

Northern Ireland felt that he was now alone. Whatever that was, it was gone.

'I need to get going,' he thought, standing up and wobbling slightly. 'Slowly, perhaps.'

…

Alida sighed, keeping an eye on the mirror. She had hoped that she would be able to see her counterpart, but no luck. She was rather eager to meet her.

Two faces appeared in the mirror, and she sighed.

"What did you call us for?" India asked.

"Canada has accessed a mirror world," she said, turning to face them. "A world with a different history. If we can find a way to access that world ourselves…"

"I see," Brazil said. "We could attempt to gain more power from them. But how do you know the Northern Nations won't just help their counterparts?"

"Because personalities are opposite," she said. "As far as they're concerned, we're their evil counterparts. If we can play our cards right, we can convince them to help us. From what I heard, the other America has a bit of a hero complex. We can use that to our advantage, considering our America's personality."

"True," India said.

She turned back to face the mirror, as five figures briefly appeared. She smirked, seeing familiar golden strands.