Dro: Stupid long chapters. I intended to have this out by 4:00, but then I went and made it 3.4k. Bah! Anyway, have at it.

Chapter Summary: Germany struggles to fight off a clever and ruthless Feliciano. Meanwhile, Gilbert frantically flees from a merciless Lovino, only to end up dragging Spain into the fight. And all the while, Russia sits in his perch on the top floor, still playing his chess game.

Warnings: Violence, Language

Disclaimer: Dro will never own APH.

He whipped around a corner, dust flying as his boots slid across the concrete floor. The dimly lit hallway was completely still, the wooden beams along the wall causing eerie shadows to be cast in all the wrong crevices. Ludwig wouldn't be able to see Feliciano if he was hiding in any of them, and he didn't have a flashlight with him. In hindsight, that probably would've been a good thing to bring for a nighttime assassination plot. He waved the barrel of his rifle back and forth, ready to aim and fire if anything moved. Nothing did.

He was attempting to retrace his steps, as he hadn't been paying attention on the way down here. In all honestly, he was lost, and he was afraid he'd be trapped down here by Feliciano if he couldn't manage to find his way to the stairs. He shuffled forward slowly, hyper-aware of the world around him. Every little speck of dust, every flicker of the lights on the wall. This place looked more like the remnants of a medieval dungeon than the basement level of a modern mansion. It probably was a dungeon at one time. He thought grimly.

Nothing but his footsteps sounded off in the hallway. Feliciano certainly hadn't left the basement. No, Ludwig knew better than that. This Feliciano was obviously highly skilled in the arts of spying and assassination. He would know exactly where to hide, exactly how to evade Ludwig's sight and hearing until the very last moment. And then he would strike with more than enough strength and accuracy to kill Ludwig in one blow. And if anything was clear from their initial assault, the Italy brothers were not taking prisoners today. Personally, Ludwig wasn't sure what scared him more, the idea of Feliciano killing him or the idea of him killing Feliciano.

I can't do it. I know I won't be able to. Even if I get an opening, I might not even be able to shoot him. Ludwig wasn't even sure if he could harm Feliciano, much less kill him. Every time he thought of Feliciano, the only thing that popped into his was the image of his innocently smiling lover. Despite the fact that he'd already been acquainted with the ferocity and heartlessness of this version of Italy, he couldn't split the two Felicianos apart in his head. They were the same person. Just like Arthur and Antonio and Elizaveta and Gilbert were the same people. He couldn't make himself completely break them into two separate ideas, and that could very well be the death of him.

The light flickered. He froze, his eyes frantically searching for any other sign of movement, but none appeared. Where is he? He kept moving forward, one step at time, slowly and calmly. Feigning calmness, that is. He couldn't let the environment get to him. That was, of course, the idea here. He was in a dark, shadowy, dank basement with endless twists and turns and rooms and cobwebs and dust. Just the natural atmosphere of the place caused the hair on his neck to bristle. Feliciano would use that to his every advantage. He would try to psyche Ludwig out without even making a move to harm him. And once he had Ludwig thoroughly out of it, then he would attack.

Feliciano could've probably taken him in straightforward combat, hand to hand, and it still would've been a fair fight, Ludwig knew. But he also knew that Feliciano had been trained to strategize like this. He would make Ludwig's death as easy for himself as possible. He would be patient and clever and sneaky, and then he would strike like a snake and come away from his latest murder with perfectly clean hands. Tch, how the hell am I going to get out of this situation?

He rounded another corner, only to be greeted what looked like the exact same hallway. Okay, so this is creepy. Keep it together, Ludwig. He's probably watching you right now, looking for signs that your aren't prepared for him. He silently took a deep breath and kept moving. He made sure to glance around all the jutting wooden beams just in case Feliciano had pressed himself flat against the wall and was laying in wait for him to pass by. Spotting nothing, he kept moving, but as he surveyed his surroundings again (he was starting to be convinced he was a time loop now), he came up with even more apt details of the dungeon-like hallway. It was supported by those old, thick wooden beams that extended all the way to the ceiling. And then…crossed the ceiling…And they were close enough together that…

That someone could potentially use them to hold themselves on the ceiling.

He whipped his gun up just as Feliciano dropped, the knife sliding soundlessly into Ludwig's wrist. He bit back a scream as he wrenched the knife out of him and leapt backward, firing off two shots. Feliciano dodged with minimal effort, knowing he had just severely hurt Ludwig's aim. And he was right. Ludwig's wrist was no longer functioning properly, and it was bleeding profusely. Shit.

Feliciano came at him, wielding two knives this time. Ludwig dodged swipe after swipe, and Feliciano spun around on his heel and shot up a powerful kick that nicked Ludwig's cheekbone. He stumbled backward, and Feliciano came at him for the kill, but he manage to fire off another three rounds, and Feliciano was forced to drop to his knees, but his momentum kept him sliding forward, and he managed to bury one of the knives in Ludwig's hip, rip it back out, slide around behind him, and right himself as Ludwig began to fall. Letting a shallow scream break free from his lips, Ludwig purposefully let himself fall just as knife cut through the air where his neck had been moments before. A knife that would've sliced right through his spinal cord.

He rolled and pushed himself back up, his hip aching in protest. Now he was bleeding from two wounds, both of which had severely limited his mobility. With one properly working wrist and his right leg limited by the knife wound that had bit into his hip bone, he was now at a severe disadvantage. Feliciano was completely unharmed, and he was already swooping in for another attack. Merciless.

Ludwig managed to dodge several blows before the knife skimmed across the skin of his shoulder, cutting right through his coat. But he used Feliciano's startling momentum against him and shot out his hand, grabbing Feliciano's wrist and pulling him forward as hard as he could. The boy lost balance and ended up tumbling over. But he managed to correct himself, turning his fall into a somersault and ending up in a crouch, ready to pounce again. But the brief two seconds of reprieve was all Ludwig needed to break into another run. Feliciano would catch up to him eventually, but if could manage to find a hiding place, then maybe he could play Feliciano's own game.

He tore around a corner at the fastest pace he could manage, the sound of Feliciano's insanely fast approach echoing off the dingy walls with each step of his pristine black boots. Ludwig's lungs were burning now. He hadn't run this fast in decades. He frantically looked around for any hiding place. He could try a room, but if Feliciano followed him in, he'd be trapped. And then he really would have a problem. So he kept running. Despite the fact that he was bleeding and leaving a perfect trail of blood to follow. Despite the fact that he was starting to feel faint from a combination of exertion and blood loss. He kept running. Because if he stopped, his lover would kill him.

And then he spotted it in the distance. His salvation. The doorway to the stairs. The open arch of the doorway beckoned to him, and he sped up even more, hearing a growl somewhere behind him as Feliciano realized what he'd stumbled upon. As soon as his foot hit that first step, his determination was immediately rekindled. He was going to escape. He was going to win this. One way or another, he would fulfill his obligations to Arthur or the others. He had to. If he didn't, he would never be able to leave this place. He would either be dead or trapped here, and neither of those were options. He would take down this Feliciano. And he would do it so he could return to his own.

He reached the top step, a sense of triumph overcoming him. The well-lit first floor welcomed him back, and he made to sprint down the hallway, intent on searching for Gilbert so they could regroup and fight this battle together.

The knife sunk into the back all the way to the hilt. Pain exploded in his back, and he went down, falling against the wall and slamming his shoulder into it. Through the immense shock, he tried to make a grab at the intruding object but found he couldn't get a viable reach on it. Which was, of course, why Feliciano had aimed there. Damn it. Get up, Ludwig. Get up! But he couldn't. The best he could manage was crawling on his knees around to face his opponent. Feliciano was taking in silent, shallow breaths and slowly walking towards him, another knife at the ready.

"It seems this game of cat and mouse is at an end, Germany."

Germany held up his gun, wincing when the angle pulled at the knife in his back. Feliciano smirked. "You think you can hit me with that? You couldn't get a bullet in me even when you could stand, aim, and think straight."

Ludwig growled, low and dangerous. "Come on then. Let's see who's faster."

Feliciano's cold eyes narrowed. "Have it your way. I was going to make this painless, but if you insist on being obstinate about it, I just might hit you somewhere where it hurts."

"Bring it on." He took the deepest breath he could, feeling the knife pressing dangerously against several important things inside his body. He had one last shot at this. One last confrontation to decide whether he lived or died. Whether he ever saw his Feliciano again or not.

Feliciano charged. And he fired.

Gilbert ran for his life. And Lovino chased him. He dared to glance back at the boy just time to see him practically run up the wall and leap off of it, flipping over top of Gilbert and landing in front of him. Gilbert ground to a halt, his boots sliding across the carpet and dragging the material with him. He barely managed to dodge a knife that barreled just past his face. Why do they keep aiming for my face, damn it! He pulled out a handgun and aimed it to fire, but a boot swung around and slammed into his wrist, costing him his grip. The gun clattered to the floor several feet away. Shit.

He rolled to the left as that same boot came down, hitting the floor where he'd just been so hard that the wood beneath it cracked. That was almost my head! Lovino hissed as pain shot up his heel. "You…" he seethed. Gilbert managed to stand just as the older Italy started another barrage, fist and knives and kicks and knees and elbows coming at him from every direction. The boy was so fast that Gilbert almost couldn't keep up. The only thing keeping him from his imminent death was his intense focus on the glint of the knife as it reflected the bright white light beaming down from the chandeliers in the hallway. Finally, he managed to break away from Lovino's frenzied jabs and make a run for it. He pulled out another gun and fired blindly behind him, the bullet shattering a vase on one of the several wooden tables that littered the walls of the hallway. Lovino winced as glass went flying past his face, but he didn't stumble and he kept his increasing pace, quickly closing the gap between him and Gilbert.

Gilbert tried to run even harder, but his body, weighed down with several pounds of equipment, wasn't agreeing with him. Shit, this kid is going to kill me. He's going to kill me before I can avenge you, Roddy. No. No, he wouldn't let that happen. I swear to Gott, even if I die right here, right now, I'm taking this bastard boy down with me. And then…then I guess I'll be seeing you sooner than I thought, eh Roddy?

Resolved, Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, facing a surprised Lovino head on. He fired all the shots he had left in the gun, none of them hitting Lovino as the boy swiftly moved to anticipate each of their trajectories and dodge them all. Gilbert reached for another gun, ready for Lovino's assault. But the boy didn't slow down to stop or attack. He veered to the side, leapt onto a table, flipped off it and flew straight for Gilbert. He spun around to make a break for it, but Lovino soared over top of him, and before Gilbert knew what was happening, a pair of crossed legs had caught him around the neck. Lovino landed hands first on the floor, using both Gilbert's momentum and his own to pull Gilbert forward with a mighty heave. The boy's legs locked around his neck, Gilbert cried out as his world flipped upside down before he was slammed into the floor. Lovino followed him over, flipping himself back upright, releasing Gilbert's neck at the moment of impact, and immediately straddling Gilbert's winded form, pressing the edge of his knife into the soft skin of Gilbert's neck, right over top of his throbbing jugular vein.

"You lose, Gilbert."

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit, Roddy, I failed you. Gilbert glared at Lovino, determined to get one last jab at the boy. "Fuck you, you stupid Italian whore! Just remember who the good guys were when Russia throws your used up ass out on the street."

Anger flashing in his eyes, Lovino sneered and tensed his hand, preparing to slit Gilbert's neck open. Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. Holy shit, this is really it! He closed his eyes.

The click of a gun stopped time itself. Gilbert's eyes shot open, and he was met with the shock gaze of Lovino, who was adamantly refusing to turn around and look at the person who had come up behind him.

Antonio.

He was standing only a few feet away, his gun aimed right at Lovino's head. "Put the knife down, Lovi." Antonio's voice was steady, but Gilbert could still sense the pain behind it. He'd been so close to Lovino. He'd practically raised the boy. Antonio had considered Lovino to be the closest thing he had to family, and the boy had brutally betrayed him.

"How about you put the gun down, Toni?" Lovino's voice held that same, solemn calmness, but Gilbert could see the emotion boiling in his green eyes. He could try to deny it all he wanted, but he obviously still had feeling for Spain.

"Or we could both just drop our weapons and end this foolishness." Antonio countered.

"I doubt that would do much good considering we'd both just draw new ones."

"Lovi…just end this already."

"I was trying to when you interrupted."

"You know, even after all this time, I still can't figure out what you're trying to gain from doing this." Antonio chuckled.

Gilbert stared at Antonio open-mouthed. Antonio sounded like he didn't blame Lovino for a single thing. He sounded nothing but confused, like a schoolboy baffled by a shy girl's actions. He sounded like he had completely brushed off all the murder and death and betrayal and had just been waiting patiently at his summer home on the beach for his little lost Lovino to come back.

"You were always too dense to figure out such complicated things, weren't you, Antonio?" Lovino tried to sneer, but his voice had lost its edge, and he sounded close to stuttering and breaking down.

"That's hurts, Lovi." Antonio smiled.

"It should, you fool."

"Look at me, Lovino."

Lovino gripped the knife until his knuckles turned white. The next thing Gilbert knew, the knife was embedded in the wall and Lovino was standing in front of Antonio, who looked shocked. Lovino had pressed his forehead to the barrel of the gun.

"There. Now what, Antonio? Do you want me to tell you I was wrong? That I made the biggest mistake of my life and dragged my fratello down with me? That I'll forever have the blood of my former friends on my hands, including yours, and that it hurts me to look at myself in the mirror because all I see is a unforgivable wretch drenched in the blood of his comrades? Huh? You think I haven't thought those things enough? You think I need to say them out loud?"

"L—Lovi…"

"That's what you wanted, right? For me to admit I was wrong."

"No…I just wanted…I just wanted to understand why…Why would put yourself through this?"

"You couldn't understand even if I told you." Lovino pressed himself harder against the gun. "I betrayed you, Antonio, and I don't care how happy a mask you wear for everyone else. I can see right through you. I can see how much it hurts you to even look at me, to speak to me. You feel irreparably betrayed, and don't lie and tell me I'm wrong. Because I know you, and I'm not. So let's just end this."

"Lovi….what…?"

"Shoot me."

Antonio paled.

"You've won this, haven't you? You got the best of me. Isn't this what you came here for, to take down Russia's regime? I'm a major part of that, yes? So shoot me. And end this."

Antonio was trembling by this point. This wasn't how he'd thought this would go down. He'd been sure Lovino wouldn't drop his vicious, heartless façade so readily. He'd been sure the boy would keep on pretending. But here he was, standing in front of him completely exposed and willing to die, a tidal wave of painful emotions threatening to break free from his eyes. The most prominent was regret. God, Antonio couldn't even fathom regret that deep.

"Lovino…"

Lovino looked like man standing at the gallows, calmly waiting for the hangman to drop the floor out from under him. " I killed Roderich, Antonio. I killed a hell of a lot of your closest friends and comrades. I'm a part of the regime that has torn your country to pieces and massacred your people. I'm hopeless and stained and corrupt beyond any means of redemption. Shoot me, Antonio!"

The gun hit the floor.

"No."

Ivan sighed happily, glancing at his two little black knights on the chess board and then back at the screen, where Lovino was chasing after a terrified Gilbert and Feliciano was facing down an injured Germany. He let his eyes trail down to the countdown at the corner of his screen. 2.35.43.

From there, his contented eyes flicked back up to the lower part of his screen. On one side, Arthur and Francis were rapidly ascending to the third floor, slightly winded after a battle with several guards. On the other side, three armed and masked men were securing the second floor, one of them breaking off from the other two and heading to apparently catch up with Arthur. Ivan smiled as he eyed the three masked men.

"Now, who are you, I wonder?" Three men. But only two he could guess the identities of. He eyed his chess board. There was phantom piece there now that threw his careful alignment off. He smiled. He would need to do something about that. He leaned over and grabbed his pipe from where it sat against his desk. Standing up, he eyed his chess board again. A black knight aligned to take out a white one. The other knight taking on two white pieces at once. A white king drawing ever closer to the black one without ever realizing he had a black rook trailing right behind him. And this was an interesting development. A resurrected white queen who thought she was hiding in the shadows, coming at the black king from a different position than her king.

But he didn't have any more room for extra pieces. So, he would need to do something about that. He glanced at the screen again, where the two remaining masked men seemed to be conversing. Nope. No room for extra pieces.

Dro: Hm, so much suspense!

Next Chapter: Russia sneaks up on Alfred and Matthew, intent on taking out the two unwelcome "guests." Meanwhile, Arthur and Francis are surrounded by guards, and Francis finds himself in a major bind. Carry out his promise to Russia in exchange for Russia's promise? Or side with Arthur and practically assure his death?