-A short while earlier-

"Where's America?"

France walked into Canada's house. Canada was sitting in the parlor drinking hot chocolate with Kumajiro.

"He's supposed to be decorating for Thanksgiving with England. Is he not there?"

The two countries stared at eachother. Realizing England wasn't doing well, they knew something must've happened.

...

"Matthew, I'll go inside while you keep watch, ok?"

They were standing outside Arthur's home in London, England. France was going to walk in first since he was older and he felt the need to keep Canada out of danger.

Francis opened one of the windows in the back of the house and slid inside. The house was cold. A bad aura filled the home, giving France goosebumps. A sob could be heard from in the basement.

"Angleterre?"

-Present-

England knew that France had walked into the house. There's only one person that knows where he lives who has a ridiculous french accent.

Arthur steps away from America's fresh corpse, the pain growing in the back of his head. He locked himself inside the dungeon room. Throwing the key through the gap under the door. He didn't want to hurt France too. Tears were still spilling out of his eyes as he felt the wide grin cross his face. Now, his thoughts were filled of pain. He wanted to hurt Francis so bad. He wanted to kill. Finally take his revenge from centuries of fighting.

England picked at the lock on the door and crept up the stairs to meet his French lover. France was just about to open the door when the strawberry blonde Englishman jumped out into France's arms.

"Francis! I've missed you so much. I was trapped in this stupid house for nearly a month. Trying to reverse a spell that didn't do any harm to anyone. Hehe, well except Al."

France grabbed England by his hair and bent his head backwards.

"What did you do to America?!"

"Oh nothing, silly. He practically did it himself. One should not tempt me. And Al just was the best nation i controlled. It was disgusting how he just threw me under the bus like he did. But you. You have done even more than he ever has. Let me ask, how's Joan of Arc doing?"

England laughed and bit France's hand. France instead kicked the Englishman down the stairs, watching him flip and fall on each wooden step.

Francis walked slowly into the basement. England's chest was breathing raggedly, and a pool of blood spilled out of his mouth. France bent over his body, brushing orange hair out of his freckled face when his eyes jumped open and a hand clutched tightly on France's throat. A sharp needle pierced into the side of the Frenchman's neck. A clear and pungent liquid injecting into his bloodstream.

...

The blinding light blurred his vision. As he looked around the room he could see he was in England's dungeon. With England standing on the far side.

France blinked at the blinding spots in his vision and realized he was tied to a chair and was gagged. A small circular table sag in front of him with a pink tablecloth and an empty porcelain tea set.

"Good, you're awake."

England was still being possessed and the blood that was falling out of his mouth was now just a dry spot on the side of his lip. A small silver knife was being twirled in his hands.

"I'm glad you could make it to the party. I even made some red velvet cupcakes." England began to lift one to France's face, "Oh, that's right. You can't eat with that rag in your mouth. What a shame."

Francis struggled at the ropes tied around him.

"America struggled too." England said smiling gleefully, "You should've seen his face. His own father figure killing him slowly. I must say, ur would make an excellent documentary."

England stood behind France's chair and moved it to the left.

There France could see the pale corpse of the once great nation. Francis whimpered through the gag and tears dripped down his cheeks. England pulled the chair back to the table and saw the hatred burning up in France's eyes.

"No need to be so bitter. He wasn't doing that good recently as a country anyway."

More steps could be heard upstairs. Canada walked around the first floor calling to France. France tried to yell but choked on his gag.

"Oh, why is everyone bothering me today? I guess I'll have to make this quick."

England turned to the tied up Francis and kissed his cheek. Grabbing the back of the long wavy blonde hair, pulling the captive's head back.

"From now on my name will be Oliver Kirkland. Goodbye, my love."

The sharp blade in Oliver's hand cut through the front of France's neck. Blood squirting out into the white tea set. France flinching under the knife, his teeth digging into the gag. Until he stopped moving. But his blood continued to pour out.

England took one of the tea cups and brought it up to the blood falling. Filling his cup and bringing it to his lips.

Canada began to walk down the stairs. He walked to the doorframe and saw his dead father and brother.

"Mattie! Nice to see you, sweetie. But I must say I have to go now. Let's meet again soon."

England took a small handful of powder off one if the shelves in the room and threw it at his feet. A tornado of purple smoke and dust flew around him, and he was gone.

Canada felt his knees buckle under him. He ran to France's body first, untying him and carrying him upstairs. Then ran back down to get America. Poor Matthew began to hyperventilate and clutched hard onto America. As he began to climb up the stairs, he saw, written in blood, "Oliver", sketched into the table.