Disclaimer: Hetalia is the intellectual property of Hidekaz Himaruya. I'm just a regular person writing a fanfic for it.
Thank you guys for the wonderful reviews! You're all sweet! :)
This was a long chapter, but I definitely feel it was worth. And now, here's where the fun starts! I bet some of you were clamoring for those jerks to get a little punishment! ;)
Stages: Prelude
In psychology, there is a model known as the Five Stages of Grief. It describes the grieving process a person goes through when faced with a loss or some other life-changing event for the worse. It begins with denial, giving way to anger, followed by bargaining, then despair, and finally acceptance. The steps don't always go in that order, but it illustrates a simple truth, grief is no walk in the park.
If Matt had to describe the pain he was in right now, it would be like a dull and constantly throbbing ache that he would just have to learn to live with now.
Everything was just so uncertain now too. What would happen to the United States without a personification? Could he even be able to pick up the pieces his brother left behind?
Could he even be able to live with himself?
Matt washed his face, and looked at himself in the mirror. He really didn't like to now, since his own face just reminded him too much of Alfred's. So similar looking...
He had to stop himself from punching it.
Oh well, tomorrow was going to be a big day, and Matt would need to be as well-rested as possible. He hit the pillow and let his sleep lull him in.
"Help me!"
Matt looked around wondering where the voice was coming from.
"Help me! Please!"
It sounded like a little girl! Matt saw the stairway before him, and it looked like it was just going on forever. But he just knew somehow that he had to find that child. He didn't know why he felt the compulsion, but it was there, and he started running.
There seemed to be no end in sight, and the girl's crying and pleas for help only became louder and more desperate. And yet, Matt kept running.
Finally, he reached a door, and everything became eerily quiet. With shaking hands, Matt opened the double doors, and was immediately sickened and horrified by what he saw next.
A young girl was curled up into a fetal position, sobbing, covered in white fluids and blood, and her clothes were crudely torn. She then looked at Matt.
And she said, "You promised him..."
Matt awoke with a start, feeling more than a little green around the gills. He clutched his chest, trying to steady himself with several deep breaths. He checked his alarm clock, seeing he had about twenty minutes before it was supposed to go off. He had a craving for a certain something. Not food, but rather, a different cure.
Matt went out back in the patio, took out a lighter and a cigarette, and lit up. Ever since Alfred's death, he went through at least half a pack every day. It helped to calm his nerves a bit and a little quiet time to think as well. And being a Nation, he wouldn't get cancer from it either. Coffee (or anything with caffeine in it really) was also needed right now too.
Matt's mind couldn't help but go back to that nightmare though. Why was he seeing visions of a little girl? And more importantly, who was she?
The trip back home was like hell for Arthur. In between pretending like nothing was wrong and the intense worry he had for what would go on in the future (no doubt many of his former friends and other Nations he once considered family would shun him entirely), he was utterly exhausted.
He swallowed his pride, something he was pretty adept at, and soldiered on nonetheless.
As soon as he was home, Arthur hit the sack, and sleep overtook him very easily.
Arthur shivered in the snow covered landscape. The chill overtook him. It was more than just the regular cold he felt when it was chilly out. No, this cold penetrated his bones, his heart, left him feeling awful.
And then there the only sound he could hear. A little girl sobbing her eyes out. She sounded genuinely miserable. He couldn't help but want to find her.
Arthur finally found her. She had light brown hair, and wore a white coat, pants and shoes, and she was curled into a fetal position, just continuously crying. It was just heartbreaking to watch, and Arthur couldn't help but reach out to her.
"There now, it's going to be fine."
As soon as she saw him, she screamed in horror and backed away, yelling, "No! Get away from me!"
Arthur reassured her, "I'm not going to hurt you!"
But she didn't believe him. She shook her head wildly and responded, "No, you're lying! I know you are! You're going to hurt me, just like you hurt him!"
She was pointing to something, and when Arthur turned around, a wave of nausea hit him. There was Alfred, clothes torn up, red and white stains all over his body, and the words "guilty" and "slut" written over his forehead and chest, respectively. He clutched a gun in one hand.
"I didn't mean to," Alfred choked out, sobbing, as he placed the barrel against his head and pulled the trigger.
Arthur screamed, and desperately ran towards Alfred to grab him and tell him he was sorry, that he was wrong, something, anything, but as soon as the body hit his arms, it dissolved away into dust.
Arthur again screamed in pain and horror, crying as he punched the ground underneath him. He really felt guilty, he really was sorry. Would this sin ever be washed from his hands?
He turned around and gasped when he saw the little girl, glaring at him with nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred. If looks could kill, Arthur would be brutally maimed and tortured before she finished the job herself.
The little girl then snarled, "A real man does not go back on his word, Arthur! You promised him that you would be there for him, look after him and protect him! You called him your best friend, and the person you loved more than anything in this world! And you broke your promise! You turned your back on him! You killed him!"
Arthur was taken aback by her. Despite her size she looked truly threatening, and her blue eyes blazed with a desire to destroy him. She walked towards him, and for every step she took forward, Arthur took one back. Why was he letting this child intimidate him like this?
Arthur then realized she had him cornered. He stood right at the edge of a very steep looking cliff. Arthur had to deter her somehow.
"I know what I did was wrong! I know! I'm sorry! I really am! Please, you have to believe me!"
The girl's face only twisted in more disgust, as she sharply replied, "Oh really? You're sorry? You had six months to realize what you did was uncalled for. It wasn't until Alfred died that you did!"
Before Arthur could say or do anything else in his defense, the girl suddenly shoved him off the cliff. And as he fell, he could still hear her taunts ringing loud and clear.
"Liar! Murderer! Rapist!" she screamed.
Before he hit the ground, reality set in.
Arthur's eyes snapped open and he bolted up from his bed, feeling a hard punch of nausea in his gut. He ran to the bathroom and barely made it there in time to heave what little was in his stomach.
He had nightmares before, but this was in a class all of its own. And between Alfred and that little girl, he didn't think that was a nightmare he would forget anytime soon.
But who was she? Why was she there? Why did she have such a personal hatred of him?
Could it be...?
Francis didn't expect to sleep well tonight. Every part of his body worked against him – the nausea, the mind-crushing guilt, grief...
But he tried nonetheless.
Francis woke to find himself in a dark and dingy place. It stank of mildew and that characteristic dungeon smell. His own clothes were tattered and stained with filth. And they looked old, something from centuries ago.
Suddenly, two burly and menacing figures kicked the door open. They didn't bother with the courtesies, unceremoniously grabbing Francis by his arms and dragging him out, ignoring his protests.
"What is the meaning of this?!" he cried out. "I'm your nation, for Christ's sake!"
"You don't deserve any love or loyalty, you backstabbing insect," one of the men spat viciously.
As they dragged him along, Francis saw a sight that still ran a chill up his spine to the present day. Crowds of ragged looking peasants booed and jeered at him, clearing a path as the men escorted him to an all too familiar icon of his darkest period in history.
A guillotine.
And at the blade were four figures, three of whom he recognized.
"Jeanne?" he asked with bewilderment.
To say she was angry would be an understatement. Standing next to her was Alfred, looking just as he did when they had finished their horrific violation of him that fateful day. And there was Matthew, who looked on with nothing but shame and hatred. And the fourth figure was the most confusing.
A young girl with light brown hair and blue eyes glared him down with a rather psychotic smirk on her face. As Francis was forcibly put on the guillotine's platform, he did what everyone said he did best – beg.
"Jeanne, please tell me what is going on?!"
She replied in an uncharacteristically vicious tone, "I gave my life, my honor and dignity for you, sacrificed it all so that you could have a future. And you squandered it away when you destroyed the trust these innocent souls had for you."
She pointed towards Alfred, whose dead-eyed gaze pierced into Francis, and Matthew, who took a scroll from his pocket.
Francis was desperate, screaming, "Jeanne, please understand it was for the greater good!"
"What good would've come from doing a deed so evil that even the Devil himself would want nothing to do with you?!" she asked angrily, tears flowing freely from her eyes. "I will be taking the poor child you violated to God's kingdom, where he will be safe from the likes of you."
She then took Alfred into her warm embrace, and together, they were engulfed in a pillar of light, ascending to the skies above. And as they disappeared, Francis felt a sudden cold emptiness take hold in his being, indicating Joan had abandoned him.
The little girl spat, "Serves you right."
Matthew began to read from the scroll, "Francis Bonnefoy, you've been found guilty on counts of rape, murder, and betrayal. For your crimes, you will be executed. Proceed."
"Mathieu, please!" Francis pleaded, "I never meant for this to happen! Please, listen to me!"
But he shut Francis away, and the little girl took hold of the rope holding the blade up. The crowd's cheers grew louder.
The girl then asked, "What is it about money troubles that make men lose their heads anyway?"
She then pulled down, releasing the blade.
Before it could cut Francis' throat, reality set in.
"NON!"
Francis woke with a start, and his hands reflexively went towards his neck, desperate to make sure his head was still attached to his body.
After he was convinced he wasn't dreaming anymore, he fell back into his bed, taking several deep breaths to calm himself, trying to process everything. He still felt that emptiness in his heart. She really had turned her back on him.
And the vision of Matthew, so coldly allowing for his execution, was another sign that he was alone now.
And the little girl...
He didn't know what significance she held, but he knew she couldn't have been there without a reason. Could she be...?
Feliciano didn't know what to do anymore. Sure, he felt a lot of guilt over his contribution to the events of the last few months, and grief over Alfred's death. But what could he do about it? He was just weak little old useless Italy. A joke.
He slumped into his bed, hoping to calm himself and maybe tomorrow would be better.
Maybe.
Feliciano had to blink several times to adjust his eyes to the bright spotlight that shone right on him. The opera was in full swing, and immediately stage fright took over him. What were his lines? What was he supposed to do? Hell, was he even supposed to be here?
Another spotlight came on, focusing on something else. From a bunch of pulleys, suspended in the air, was none other than Alfred. He wore a tattered white tunic and white pants, covered in blood. And then, he started to sing.
"Once, a long time ago,
There lived a little bird,
He had friends, he had it all,
And then they took it all away.
Ripped asunder,
Torn to pieces,
All his love and all his pride,
No room for forgiveness,
Only sorrows, only the darkness
Left behind under their boots."
Feliciano fell to his knees, and despite every apology wanting to jump from his throat to Alfred's ears, he remained silent as tears ran down his face.
"Dragged into the dirt,
And all they wonder is,
Why did this happen?
And all I say is,
I would rather be
DEAD!"
And then, Alfred grabbed two of prop daggers from the belt of his tunic, and in one swift motion, plunged them right into his eyes. At the same time, the ropes holding him up broke, and with a sickening crack, he landed on the wooden floor.
Immediately Feliciano ran to Alfred's side, screaming in horror and sadness. He didn't know any medical procedures and turned to the audience.
"Someone, anyone, call an ambulance! Is there a doctor here?! Please, he needs help!"
But not one member of the audience budged or even took out their phones, even as blood pooled around Alfred's still twitching body. It was as if they were treating this like it was really all part of the show.
Suddenly, from stage left, a young girl wearing white robes, surrounded by a choir, began to sing.
"Look at him,
This little clown,
This little weakling,
So stupid, so gullible,
What a perfect little fool he makes.
A doormat,
Covered in footprints and tracks
Look at him,
This stupid clown."
Feliciano felt something rise within him. An ugly side of him that hardly anyone ever saw. That part of him that managed to beat up Turkey as a child, that part of him that allied with Germany and Japan during World War II. A horrible, primitive rage overtook him and before he knew it, he lunged out at the girl, grabbing her by her neck and lifting her into the air with surprising strength.
"No!" he screamed, "I am not stupid! I'm no one's fool! I'm not..."
And then, out of the corner of his eye, Feliciano saw a mirror, and his reflection. He was horrified by what he saw. He was dressed up in the outfit of a court jester, with the brightest and gaudiest colors imaginable. His face painted white, lips red and blue circles around his eyes. And the top half of his outfit was open to expose a bit of his chest, and written across it was a single word.
Doormat.
"No, no, I'm not a doormat," Feliciano said weakly, sobbing as he let go of the girl's throat, stumbled back, and fell to his knees, desperately trying to wipe the paint from his face.
Meanwhile, the little girl, audience and the other actors circled around him like ravenous vultures, and began to laugh at him. He could feel it vibrating in his bones, a shrill chorus of never-ending humiliation. And worst of all, Feliciano knew it was justified; he deserved no sympathy.
"How about thinking for yourself every once in a while, doormat?" she asked viciously.
And with that, the lights went out, and the curtain closed.
Feliciano's eyes snapped open and he gasped desperately, trying to confirm to himself that he was back in reality. No malicious opera patrons. No dead bodies. No demonic little girl. He wasn't sure if it was from the lingering pain of the nightmare, or happiness that it wasn't real, or a mixture of both, but he couldn't help but cry.
That little girl wasn't actually a demon. She was simply disgusted with him, and for good reason. But why was her disgust of him on such a personal level?
He didn't know, and since there was no way he could get back to sleep after that nightmare, he decided to just stay awake.
Lovino sullenly went about the day trying to get through all of this. But between the fallout and Antonio cutting off all ties with him, he found no enjoyment in any of his usual hobbies. Nothing could take his mind off of this.
In hindsight, sleep shouldn't have been any different.
Lovino walked around the destroyed city, horrified at the carnage all around him. Burning buildings, corpses littering the streets, destroyed property. It was almost too much to take in.
He couldn't help but feel like he was being watched. He turned around, and found her.
A young girl, couldn't have been any older than ten years old, stood in the middle of the street, curiously unaffected by what was happening, just stared at him.
She looked ordinary as day, with short light brown hair, creamy beige skin, and wearing an outfit of white pants, a shirt and slippers. But what got him were her eyes, a blazing and familiar shade of blue that bore into him, piercing and gazing straight into his soul.
Her voice held an unmistakable American accent. She simply said, "I see you for who you are, Lovino Vargas. You're nothing but a petty little manchild who pushes everyone that gave a damn about you away with your obnoxious whining. You never even care to think maybe the reason no one likes you is because you're a bratty little nuisance. You hurt an innocent just because it made you feel strong and important. I know you very well, Lovino. And your soul is damned into the darkest pits of Hell itself. Even Dante would shudder at your punishment."
As if on cue, every corpse on the street suddenly was reanimated, groaning in pain as they shambled and struggled to get up. They all began to walk towards Lovino, clearly intent on doing something to him.
"No! No, get away from me!" Lovino cried out in fear as he tried to run away. But when he turned a corner, there were even more of them – undead legions from the pits of Hell itself, all of whom were out for his blood.
And leading them was Alfred.
He was in a similar state – his body was just starting to show signs of decay, and he was continuously vomiting blood.
Lovino was scared stiff and it didn't take long for the hordes to overwhelm him. They all restrained Lovino, being surprisingly strong for being shambling, reanimated corpses. They began to tie Lovino's legs and wrists to something all too familiar for him.
As the cross was raised upright, Lovino was even more frightened. This perversion of the Lord's sacrifice offended his Catholic sensibilities, but that was the least of Lovino's worries, as the hordes began to boo and jeer at him, throwing various objects at him. Rotten food, garbage and even human feces were among those items.
"Heathen!"
"Rapist!"
"You call yourself a Christian?!"
Alfred then walked up to him, looked at him, and began to spew blood out with such force, he drenched Lovino. But this was no ordinary blood. It was hot and burned through Lovino's clothes and skin like acid.
Alfred and the girl then both smirked and said in unison, "This is only the beginning, Lovi."
And then, a portal in the ground appeared under Lovino. A portal to a pit of fiery torment sucked him in to punish him. Forever and ever.
Lovino immediately shot up out of bed, shaken to the core. He angrily shook his head, trying to get the nightmare out of his mind. But it was no ordinary nightmare; this was something truly in a league of its own.
He didn't want to and certainly couldn't go to sleep again. Not after that horrifying trip. He stomped down the steps to the kitchen to brew up a strong cup of black coffee, along with some pain relievers for his migraine. It would probably wreak havoc on his stomach later but he didn't care at this point.
As Lovino waited for the coffee maker to finish up, the phone began to ring. Lovino almost jumped out of his skin, the obnoxiously loud noise having startled him and only worsening his headache. He angrily picked up.
"Ok, whoever you are, you have five seconds to explain why you're calling this early!" Lovino snapped.
The other side of the conversation was filled with blubbering sobs, and a familiar voice. Feliciano.
"Oh fratello, it was horrible!" Feliciano cried. "I was trying to sleep, but then I had this horrible nightmare. It was the worst thing ever. I felt like it was my own personal Hell or something!"
Lovino's eyes widened.
"Are you serious?!" he asked, curiosity piqued. "I had one too!"
It was now Feliciano's turn to be surprised. Both of them having horrible nightmares, on the same night no less? It couldn't have just been coincidental. He figured it was a long shot, but asked his question nonetheless.
"Did you happen to see Alfred, and a little girl in there too?"
Lovino slowly answered, "Yes. Both of them. Did she have brown hair and blue eyes?"
"Yes!" Feliciano replied, happy to know he at least hadn't gone crazy.
After some time, the Italian brothers had finished explaining their nightmares to each other. However, Lovino couldn't help but feel a little gypped.
"Seriously, fratello, you're crying over being laughed at during some bastardization of Pigliaccio?! I was crucified by zombies, had shit thrown at me, got vomited on, and then dragged into Hell! You had a cakewalk!"
Feliciano cried again, "But it was horrible! That girl just made me so angry! You know me – I never get mad! But she pushed me to do something that scared me!"
Lovino groaned as he chugged a second cup of coffee. Aside from Feliciano's incessant blubbering and the nightmare, he also had a nagging feeling this was only a preview for what was to come.
What it was though, he had no idea. And it frightened him.
Ludwig was not a robot like Feliciano jokingly called him, but he did his best anyway to swallow the guilt and grief over what he did all those months ago. He was still a man of routine though and as he crawled into bed, hoping to get a solid eight hours of sleep, he tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him nothing would ever be the same anymore.
Ludwig felt cold.
The building looked abandoned, unkempt and gave off a feeling of utter dread. He couldn't see the outside. Just a long hallway, with several doors lined over it. He tried to enter a few, but they were all locked. He couldn't help but get the feeling that maybe the one at the end of the hallway would be open.
He entered.
It looked like a morgue. Several dead bodies were neatly laid out on the tables, covered in a plastic wrap, and a disgusting stench of decay hung through the air that even the ventilation system couldn't completely filter away.
A single table with a body covered by a sheet sat right in the center, and against his better judgment, Ludwig walked towards it, the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach growing stronger and making him ill.
With a shaking hand he pulled the cover off.
It was indeed Alfred, lying there dead as a doornail. The wound in his head was still there, staining his hair red, and his skin was deathly pale and greyish. But what unnerved Ludwig the most was how utterly serene Alfred's expression was.
Suddenly, Alfred's eyes snapped open and he began to smirk. Ludwig stumbled back in shock as Alfred sat up and stretched his arms. He looked straight into Ludwig's eyes and laughed.
"Yes, Ludwig, it's me. I'm dead, just like the rest of them. But then again, when you have the blood of 11 million innocents on your hands, what am I but just a drop in the ocean you've made?"
Ludwig retorted, "I know what I did was wrong! I've done everything to atone for it! I know what I did and I'm sorry! We all make mistakes; why can't mine be forgiven?!"
A new voice, completely alien to Ludwig interjected, "Because you still haven't learned anything."
He turned around to see a girl with light brown hair and blue eyes standing before him, her face etched in disapproval. She couldn't have been older than 12 years of age, but she gave off an aura that made her seem older than that.
"So, Ludwig," Alfred hissed, "if you're really so sorry, then how about you tell that to the people you've wronged in the past?"
Suddenly, every dead body in the morgue reanimated itself, coming right for Ludwig. He immediately began running, pushing the girl out of the way in the process. He desperately tried to get out of the building, but found that outside was even worse.
Millions of people, as far as the eye could see, were all chanting, "We want Ludwig," over and over again. Some looked like Alfred, corpse-like. Others looked like ghosts, and then there were normal humans, carrying torches and pitchforks. They clearly wanted the one same thing.
Retribution.
"Please," Ludwig pleaded, "I'm sorry! I didn't realize what I was doing! I was just following orders!"
An old man replied, "And because of that, I lost my entire family."
The ghost of a little girl added, "I was killed before I could even fulfill my dreams."
The walking corpse of a woman asked, "How can you even sleep at night with so much blood on your hands?"
Another corpse, a young man, taunted, "Hey Nazi, let's see that salute! I bet you'd bend over your desk and let the Fueher fuck you up the ass if he told you! Oh, wait, he wouldn't because homosexuals were also persecuted!"
As the hordes closed in on him, the last thing he saw was Alfred and the little girl leading them.
The girl said, "Guilt is not an adequate apology. You can apologize all you want, but when the damage is already done, there is nothing you can do to ever fully make up for it."
She then took a large metal rod with backward letters on its end. It was steaming and red hot, as she pressed it against his forehead while several people restrained him. He screamed in pain as the searing branding iron burned his flesh. And yet, all he could hear was cheering from the hordes as he writhed in intense pain.
As he looked into a mirror provided for him, the word NAZI was spelled out over his forehead. Like the mark of Cain, it would always be there to remind him of his sins.
"Your mistakes will always be there, Ludwig. Whether you'll learn from them or not is your choice, and you alone will suffer the consequences."
Ludwig woke up with a shock, right after thrashing around in his bed and clawing at himself. He quickly turned the light on to see red scratch marks all over himself from where he tried to shake off his attackers, where that little girl branded him with the heated metal like an animal.
An animal...
He felt sick to his stomach, as the vicious taunts of the crowds from his nightmare and from former friends went over in his mind over and over, until he couldn't hold it in anymore. He grabbed a nearby trash bin and emptied the contents of his stomach, trying to block the voices from his head. But it was impossible.
The girl, whoever or whatever she was, was right. His sins and mistakes would always be there, and he really had learned nothing at all.
Gilbert simply brushed off everything. Or at least he tried to. Yeah, being called out by Matt for his part in the incident wasn't fun, but it wasn't like it was his own idea. And he had years on that brat (who was probably now secretly rejoicing at being noticed for once). He wasn't worried.
He tried to ignore that nagging feeling in his gut that said he should be.
It was nighttime, but Gilbert could still see the sky illuminated by the eerie orange and red glow of flames. The fire engulfed an entire city, and Gilbert only then noticed that he was wearing his armor. It quickly dawned on him what was going on. This here was a particularly ugly period of Europe's history.
The Crusades.
Gilbert ran as fast as his legs (no longer used to carrying the heavy armor) could go. He didn't know where, but he didn't like the feel of this place. He felt it in the air; a sense of darkness, foreboding.
As if out of nowhere, a young girl with brown hair appeared before him. She wore a simple white dress that flowed eerily in the wind, making her look like a ghost. Despite himself, Gilbert reached out to her.
"Hey, kid, we need to get out of here! The war is no place for you!"
But the girl's expression merely soured as she looked at Gilbert with contempt. She said, "Why should I go along with you? All you know is how to hurt, destroy and kill!"
Gilbert indignantly retorted, "Watch your mouth, you little brat! I'm the great and awesome Prussia, and you better learn some respect!"
But the girl only shook her head, her face now taking on a bemused grin. She replied, "How ironic. I was about to tell you that you're the one who should learn some respect. Because you've done nothing to earn any from me with how disgustingly low you sank, all that time ago."
As soon as she said this, another, all too familiar figure from Gilbert's history appeared. An imposing monarch with white hair and wearing an elaborate royal blue coat decorated with medals and other accessories stood in front of Gilbert, with a look of utter disappointment.
"Old Fritz?!" Gilbert asked, shocked.
"That's King Frederick to you, you monster," the great monarch scolded. "What have you done Gilbert? Why did you tarnish the name of the good people of Prussia by your atrocities?"
"It was for the greater good!" Gilbert blurted out, yet he knew this excuse wouldn't fly.
"You don't deserve this title anymore, Gilbert. Words cannot even begin to describe how utterly disappointed I am in you," King Frederick venomously spat, as he reached towards Gilbert's neck, and tore the iron cross pendant from his neck.
Gilbert felt like the world just shattered around him. Not helping matters was the fact that the young girl was now hysterically laughing at Gilbert's misfortune, singing maliciously taunting songs celebrating his downfall from grace. Tears began to water his eyes.
"Aww, what's wrong?" the girl asked in a mocking tone. "Is little Gilbert crying?"
But before Gilbert could just slash her throat to make her shut up, a bony, partially decomposed hand clawed out from the ground, and grabbed Gilbert's ankle. He screamed and tried to escape but it was too strong, holding onto his leg as the hand's owner slowly clawed his way out of the ground.
He came face-to-face with the last person he ever wanted to see. Alfred, who now looked partially decomposed, skin grey and peeling off, lips shriveled and dried. He smiled, revealing rotted teeth and black gums, and his voice raspy but still piercing Gilbert's heart.
"Everyone dies Gilbert. Even awesome people like us will kick the bucket eventually."
"NO!" Gilbert screamed as he awoke. He immediately went to turn the lights on, hoping to God that he was awake and there wouldn't be any apparitions of scary girls, zombie Alfred or Old Fritz.
Old Fritz...
Gilbert wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed or not. That appearance of the old king had to be just a figure in that dream, a metaphor for his guilty conscience.
Right?
But it felt way too real. He could feel a new emptiness within his being. He couldn't deny it no matter how much he wanted to – Old Fritz had every good reason in the world to be disappointed with him. He was alone, the nation he had embodied no more, his people no longer his anymore, and he simply mooched off his younger brother, barely really living. And then there was what he did seven months ago...
Old Fritz had abandoned him.
And he was frightened to the very core of his being.
'What do I do now...?'
Kiku really didn't feel tired so much as he was drained. He couldn't pin down why, but he felt nauseous and uncomfortable all over. He carried on with his day without a hair out of place though.
It was a mask, and one he have to get used to wearing for a long, long time.
It was one that even sleeping wouldn't allow for removal of.
The entire house was very eerily silent. Kiku wasn't sure what to make of it. He usually liked having a calm quiet environment, but this was just chilling, scary even.
Any small noise, be it a dripping faucet or the wind outside, was amplified and Kiku felt on edge. If this was a horror movie, he was sure a knife-wielding serial killer would pop out and stab him to death.
And just like a horror film, the television in the living room unexpectedly turned itself on. Kiku nearly jumped and gasped before walking towards it. The screen was static and it emitted the annoying white garbled noise. Kiku reached for the remote and desperately tried to turn it off. When that didn't work, he pushed the power button on the TV. That didn't work either. Finally, he grabbed the power cord and yanked it out of its electric socket.
The TV was still going. The static was changed then, with a scene of a well in the middle of an open grassy field.
He was now starting to get a very bad feeling about this.
Like an all-too-familiar movie, a hand crawled out from the well, and the rest of its owner surfaced, and began walking towards the screen. Towards Kiku.
Kiku, stumbled back, falling over a table as he desperately tried to crawl away from the screen, but he was also frozen in fear, and possibly even some outside force compelling him to stay here.
The person in the TV started to emerge out from the box and Kiku, despite his honor and tendency to not be outwardly emotional, couldn't help but start begging.
"Please," Kiku said, voice starting to shake, "don't do anything to me! I haven't done anything!"
Suddenly, a girl's voice, one he did not know, shot up from behind him.
"Oh really?" she asked venomously. "I don't think he would agree."
Kiku looked at her, and she couldn't have been older than 12 years old, with her light brown hair and very familiar looking blue eyes. He then looked back at the figure that stood before him, and felt what could only be described as a punch to the stomach.
In front of him was Alfred, who certainly looked far worse for the wear. He had dried blood and semen stains all over his body, which itself looked horribly decayed and rotten. His hair was dull and stringy, with a gaping hole in his head from where he shot himself. And when he opened his mouth to talk, it turned out some of his teeth fell out and were rotted like the rest of him, and his gums were black and bloody.
"Tell me Kiku," Alfred said, "am I frightening?"
Kiku remained silent, at a loss for words. The girl laughed.
"Come on Kiku," she said, "what's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or do you just want to spare Alfred's feelings?"
Kiku replied, "No, it's not that, I just..."
Alfred bitterly said, "Come on, trying to spare my feelings? You know, being polite isn't the same as being nice. Now tell me the truth – do I scare you? Do I horrify and repulse you?"
Kiku didn't want to answer. Yes, Alfred was frightening and looked disgusting, being a walking corpse and all. But he couldn't say it. Something kept the words stuck in his throat.
"That's the problem with you Kiku," the little girl spat. "You're so concerned with being 'polite' that you forget to be honest. If you'd just let Alfred know your concerns and worries and actually communicate, instead of raping him, then he would still be alive."
Alfred's mouth twisted into a sick grin, his mouth almost looking too large for his decomposed face. He snarled, "And since you're so afraid to speak up, I'll make you a little present. A little reward for being sooo polite."
He snapped his fingers and immediately, Kiku felt his whole face start to tingle. First, his mouth started to feel numb and his lips began sticking together. He tried to scream. First he screamed in horror and pain, before he tried to apologize to Alfred, that he was wrong to do what he did, anything. But then the girl began to put a mask over his face. As if on cue, the wooden mask began to fuse with his skin, painfully.
"Since you're so used to wearing masks in your plays and in public, we only thought it was fitting Kiku."
He desperately tried to tear it off but the mask quickly overtook his whole face, embedding itself into his bones like some kind of tumor. He knew it was futile, but primal gut instincts overtook him as he kept trying to scream, but the mask was set into his face so much so that it was now his new face.
And his new face had no mouth.
Kiku awoke with a cough, feeling like he was suffocating. His heart rate had jumped to what felt like a thousand beats per minute, and he desperately tried to catch his breath. He steadied himself with several deep, calming breaths as he tried to push that horrifying nightmare out of his mind.
He touched his face, relieved it was really just a dream. And dreams couldn't hurt you.
But everything felt so real, so visceral and painful. It really felt like everything there actually happened to him. He could even recall the painful sensations of the mask fusing with his face.
But what really unnerved him were Alfred, and the young girl. He could understand why Alfred would be in this sort of dream, but he had no idea just who that girl was and why she was even there. And the cruelty in her voice and actions... it was very clear she had a very deeply set personal hatred against him.
But why?
Yao tried to go on about his day, behaving as dignified as possible, despite the numerous phone calls and e-mails from the other Nations. Each one dripped with such venom and hate against his actions, and vows that they would start up plans to withdraw their outsourced factories out of his country. The (semi-truthful) official reason was that outsourcing cost more in the end, and to bring jobs back to the home front.
But his own economy was the least of his worries.
His siblings all hated him. Even Yon-soo... no, especially Yon-soo.
He wanted to sleep. That should be a quick and easy (albeit temporary) escape from his problems.
Right?
Yao didn't like this place at all. He walked through a hallway in a building he didn't really quite recognize. He continued on despite the heavy feeling of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He knew he had to come to this place. But why?
As Yao entered one of the conference rooms, he saw a group of very familiar nations. Arthur, Francis, Ludwig, Gilbert, Feliciano, Lovino, Kiku, Ivan, and some young woman he didn't recognize all stood there, having previously whispered things to each other.
They all glared at Yao as soon as he came in, before the young woman began smirking. She quipped, "Well, well, well, look at what the diseased feral cat dragged in."
Yao asked, "What is the meaning of this, aru?"
Arthur angrily growled, "You know the stocks, Yao. Your economy may have shot up faster than a firework, but it couldn't sustain itself for very long from your frivolous spending and construction! You've dragged us all down!"
Yao took a step back, completely confused. "What are you talking about? I've had nothing to do with this, aru!"
Ivan, wearing the same dissonantly serene grin on his face as he always did, then replied, "Deny, deny, deny it all you want, comrade. You've been a very naughty boy. And naughty boys need to be punished, da?"
Now Yao really didn't like where this was going. The young lady's grin only grew wider and crueler as she spat, "I thought you would've at least learned better than that, Yao. I'm an embryo compared to you, but for all your age, you still haven't learned a thing. Boys, I think you all know what to do."
The others nodded and began to close in on Yao. Ivan, being rather fast for his large size, quickly restrained Yao as Arthur and Ludwig began to tie his hands behind his back and legs together. Now Yao was very, very frightened.
"What are you doing?! I didn't do anything wrong!"
His pleas and screams went on ignored however, as Francis took out some scissors and started cutting up Yao's pants and the young woman just simply smiled through it all.
It seemed to go on forever. The pain, humiliation and degradation were never ending, and utterly merciless. Each nation in the room, except the woman, all had their way with Yao, and all he could do was helplessly lay there and take the abuse. They wouldn't listen to reason, anything.
Once Russia was finished, he cut the restraints on Yao's legs and arms, and simply left him a mess on the floor, covered in blood and semen. Yao brokenly sobbed and trembled, unable to comprehend just why his friends stabbed him in the heart like this.
The woman then got up, laughing. She took a cigarette out and lit up, taking a few drags from it with indifference to Yao's agony. She crouched down and looked into Yao's eyes.
"It's not so fun or pleasurable when it's you on the receiving end of things, huh, Yao?"
Yao glared at her, actually being able to muster anger at the woman who blatantly was rubbing salt into his wounded dignity.
"Why?" he coughed out. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"Tell that to him," she simply replied, as she pointed to a cage in the corner of the room. Yao's eyes widened.
It was Alfred, though very different looking. He looked like a waking corpse, those zombies that he apparently loved watching in movies, with his body bony and decayed, and a clear hunger for flesh. Yao's flesh in particular. Alfred growled and thrashed around in his cage like a rabid animal, restrained only by a chain and collar around his neck.
The woman only smiled again and pressed the burning end of her finished cigarette against Yao's cheek, causing him to scream again. She seemed to relish watching him in pain as she threw the butt away in a nearby ashtray and started to drag Yao's weak and broken body to the opened cage and leave him at Alfred's mercy. Ludwig, with a large scissor like tool then cut the chain, setting Alfred free.
As Alfred pounced on Yao, he smiled and whispered, "Don't worry Yao, I understand completely. Such is the curse for those of us at the top."
And then he growled again as he messily devoured Yao's flesh.
Yao screamed in horror as he tumbled out of his bed tangled up in the blankets. He was drenched in cold sweat and utterly shaken to the core. This was, hands down, the absolute worst nightmare he ever had in his life. Seeing his friends utterly betray him like that, Alfred cannibalizing him, and that horrible, evil woman only adding insult to injury...
Her horrible words echoed in his mind.
"It's not so fun or pleasurable when it's you on the receiving end of things, huh, Yao?"
As they did, Yao felt another horrible realization hit him – his economy may have been said to be poised to exceed that of the US, but economists had expressed skepticism if he could keep up the momentum. Hell, any day, that nightmare could come true. That one day, it could be him lying on that floor, raped physically, mentally and emotionally by the people he trusted.
"What have I done?" he sobbed to no one in particular. "Gods, what kind of monster am I?! I haven't learned anything at all! No matter how long I've lived, I've never learned anything! No wonder my siblings never respected me..."
He knew he deserved this as well. He had let his anger and frustration consume him, and never even once stopped to think that he had showed a truly ugly side of himself that day. And he would pay for it for the rest of his existence.
Ivan didn't expect to get any sleep. In fact, he couldn't recall the last time he actually had a good night's rest. So why expect it now?
Still, the room was dimly lit, it was late out and he was tired. He slumped into his chair and closed his eyes.
The motel room was dark, dingy and reeked of mildew. He could hear dripping pipes and the leaky faucet. And worst of all, he was tied up, chained to the bed and naked.
A feminine voice sharply said, "You know why you're here, Ivan."
Ivan looked around the room, trying to decipher where the voice came from. Out of the shadows in a corner, she stepped out. A young woman, young teenager at least, appeared before him. She had beige skin, short brown hair, and piercing blue eyes that looked very familiar.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am your punishment for your sins, Ivan. And believe me; I have a long list of things I can get you for. But one in particular stands out," she replied coldly.
Ivan's eyes widened as she pulled a remote control out and turned the TV on, the picture revealing to be a video detailing The Incident. The particular scene playing on the screen was of Ivan forcibly thrusting his cock into Alfred's mouth as he sobbed and begged for it all to stop.
The girl's expression only twisted with absolute disgust and hatred.
"You didn't give a shit about the economy," she snarled. "You didn't care about teaching him some lesson. All you cared about was getting the chance to humiliate him over an incredibly insignificant grudge. You brought your own misfortunes on yourself. You are a disgrace to the people of the country you embody. All you ever care about is hurting others and making them miserable, because you are so childish and petty that you can't stand to see anyone else happy. You make me sick."
Her words dripped with venom, and Ivan started to feel scared. And it wasn't like how he was sometimes scared of Natalia; no, she was doing this because she despised him with every fiber of her being. He hated feeling helpless like this, and tried to struggle his way out of the binds holding him to the bed.
"Save yourself the trouble," the girl spat as she opened up a suitcase. "Since you seem to love doling out punishments, I'll give you exactly what you deserve. You're familiar with the notion of karma, correct?"
She held a very long and very thick phallic shaped object in her hand, and Ivan grew more frightened as she walked towards him with a rather sick grin on her face. She started to push the dildo against Ivan's resistant hole.
She growled, "Stop squirming so much. Or are you not as strong as you brag to be? What's wrong, Ivan? You can dish it out but you can't take it?"
It was difficult at first, since she was shoving it in there dry as a bone, but eventually, she was able to push the dildo into Ivan's body. He screamed as white hot pain seared through his body, and something told him that this probably wasn't all she had in store for him.
The girl nodded, looking rather pleased. She then went to the suitcase again and took some other things out.
"Now, this is the first time I've ever done this, so I can't guarantee it'll look nice," she said as she took out something that looked like a tattooing gun with a jar of black ink. She then got on top of Ivan, mounting him as she dipped the pen into the ink and turned it on, a slight electric hum radiating from it.
Ivan desperately tried to squirm again and throw her off, but she was much stronger than she looked. Anytime she looked like she was losing her balance, she only dug the tattoo pen in harder. Blood and ink dripped everywhere on Ivan's torso, and the pain was hellish. He had been through his fair share of pain, but this was on a whole new level.
Finally, after what felt like days, the girl was finished. She got off of Ivan and wiped his torso down with a cold wet cloth, admiring her handiwork.
"Quite beautiful if I say so myself," the girl said. She reached down and picked up a large mirror so Ivan could see it.
Although the words were backwards in their reflection and somewhat jagged, he could still read them clearly. Scrawled all over his chest and stomach was the phrase, "I AM A LYING PIG AND A RAPIST."
"It will always be there, like your sins, Braginsky," the girl maliciously spat. "Even if the others forget, I never will. And if you even try to pull anything on me like you did to Alfred, I will not be as kind to you like I am right now. And if I ever catch you even thinking of touching me, I will. RIP. YOU. TO. PIECES. Believe me, this is only a taste of what I'm truly capable of. I will torture you physically, mentally and emotionally in ways you could never imagine, that even the Devil himself would shudder at. I can, and will, make you regret the very day your whore mother gave birth to your pathetic, useless existence, until any semblance of dignity you have leaves, and leave you to die a wretched, humiliating death, like you fully deserve. Are we clear?"
Ivan began sobbing and he nodded desperately, just wanting her to go away and leave him alone forever. He pitifully answered, "Yes, I understand completely. I won't ever touch you; I won't even come near you in fact. I will leave you be, and never hurt anyone else. I swear that to you from the very bottom of my soul."
The girl was silent for a moment, and then she smiled. She simply said, "Good."
She then drew her leg back and with a hard kick, drove the dildo in deeper, the painful jolt bringing Ivan back to reality.
Ivan snapped awake, shaken to the core and drenched in cold sweat. Immediately and reflexively, his hands first went towards his buttocks to make sure there wasn't anything in there. Next he looked at his chest, relieved to see no tattoo etched into his skin. Just pale, milky white skin with numerous scars acquired over years of his country's harsh history.
That girl... Good God, that girl was absolutely terrifying. He had seen, been through and done many terrible things over his life. And his sister Belarus was a perfect example of frightening. But Natasha only did these things out of a hunger for her brother's love (a love that he only reciprocated in a familial way, not the romantic/sexual way she would've liked). This girl however, did this for no other reason besides hating every last part of his being with every fiber of her own.
Frankly he couldn't blame her.
He deserved no sympathy.
He did his crime, would face his punishment, and would have to live with it for a long, long time.
She came on a calm, warm and beautiful sunny day. In the middle of the forest, untouched by human hands, she emerged from the earth, air and water, surrounded by the local flora and fauna. She had light brown hair and beige skin, an indication that she was an embodiment of a more diverse population than her predecessor had been. However, she did inherit his eyes – blue like the skies and the shining seas. And strangely, but not much so, she was born clothed, donning a pure white outfit of a shirt, pants and simple slippers.
She lay in a soft bed of grass and leaves as she awoke to the soft first rays of the morning sun and greeted by the kind animals that knew she was a child of the land, just as her predecessor was.
As the girl awoke, panic quickly gripped her. For she shouldered and inherited a lot of things from her predecessor, including his memories, she could recall his last days and what lead up to his passing play in her mind with frightening clarity. She screamed and sobbed in pain, clutching her head as she tried to sort through them. The strain proved to be too much, and she keeled over, violently vomiting acid from her stomach.
For almost an entire hour, she was curled up into a ball, crying uncontrollably. The animals all cuddled next to her to comfort her, letting her know she wasn't alone, that they would not fail her. Eventually, she was able to get a grip on herself, wiped her nose off and let some of the smaller animals (a pair of rabbits as well as a skunk) into her arms, hugging them as thanks. She then got up on her feet and finally spoke.
"I know what I have to do, guys. Will you help me find him?"
The animals nodded.
And so the girl, the new America, began to run, the animals surrounding her and guiding her. She would not stop until she found the one person in the world she knew could help her; the only one in the world she could trust.
'I'll find you soon, Matt.'
Yes, I really love zombies. And now New!America has appeared! I promise I won't make her into a Mary Sue (I utterly detest them), so if anyone has good tips on how to avoid making her a Sue, let me know! What did you all think of this chapter? The reviews are always a lovely help!
With love, Kizuna!