Here we go everyone ! We've reached the top Eight Tributes ! Now stuff can start to get exciting !
Germany gulped as his brother went still, followed by a deafening canon shot. Prussia had been hit by some sort of sharp projectile, but by whom? Japan had scouted the entire area afterward, but found no one. Whoever had killed Prussia was obviously a fast runner. Was it England? After killing Italy, something Germany just couldn't get over, he'd been keeping a stragnely low profile. It didn't seem like many other people in the arena could just kill so easily and evade capture.
Belarus or Russia? That seemed a bit less likely, and as far as Germany knew they didn't have any long range weapons, and they preferred to slowly torture their prey to death, like Leichtenstein. They'd taken a couple hours and lots of blood curdling screeches to finish her off. That left Sealand and Hungary, and Germany hadn't been keeping tabs on them. Regardless of who it was, Germany was going to have them dead when he won. Because Germany was going to win...he'd promised Italy that.
...
"Germany! Germany!" The man's blood went ice cold. He'd heard that scream so many times that it was only second nature to respond to it. His sword in hand, Germany sprinted out of the forest and back into the Cornucopia field, ignoring Prussia's cries of protest that he was giving up on chasing France. The soft, wet green grass squished underneath his boots, and the dark night air slammed against his skin, but he would reach Veneziano.
The small nation lay on the grass. He looked fine, his smooth skin blemish free, and his chesnut hair flat against his head, with one stubborn curl sticking up. But his his stomach told a whole different story. Beneath the ripped blue fabric, red, oval shaped stains were embedded in his skin, a horrific river of bright scarlet seeping from them, spreading to his chest and down to his trembling legs. Moreover, crimson blood pooled from his mouth, standing out against his white teeth.
"No...NO NO NO!" Germany roared in anger and sadness to the merciless black heavens above. The brightly twinkling stars kept shining, indifferent to Germany's despair. A lump forming in his throat, Germany turned to the convulsing Italian. He couldn't just let Italy ferment on the ground. Out of the corner of his blue eyes, the German man saw a small peak of blood hair dissapearing down the hill leading to another section of the arena. Bending down, Germany took Italy's small hand, trying to ignore how cold it felt against his own.
"Shhh, shhh," Germany whispered softly, stroking Italy's hand. Upon seeing the Italian, Germany melted from harsh, cold iron to a soft, gooey copper in a splatted puddle. "It vill be okay."
"G-Germany. It...it hurts, ve! Make it...make it stop Germany!" Italy sobbed, crystal tears cascading down his cheeks in a dream like motion. If only this whole ordeal was a dream, too. The petite man gulped, more blood oozing out of him. Germany placed his hand behind Italy's head, and awkwardly rubbed it in a soothing motion. A protective feeling overcoming him, the man then lifted up the anguished Italian and layed him across his lap. As he settled in closer to Germany, Italy relaxed somewhat, his shoulders drooping. "Germany...the stars are so pretty tonight, ve."
The larger nation gulped. "Y-yes, Italy. They're for you. Especially for you and nobody else." He held his ally's hand tighter, as if determined to keep the life in it. Say what one will about Italy, but he had been a loyal friend to Germany, despite some frequent vices. He'd made Germany delicous dinners of pasta and pizza, and decorated his austere house with his ornate drawings, even though Germany'd taken them down. He felt especially bad about that now.
"Ve, Germany. You know what? I just wishe I'd eaten more pasta now." Italy exclaimed, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier as the steady lifting and falling in his chest slowed down.
"Italy..." Germany's voice cracked, and he flet thick, hot, tears brimming in his eyes. "You'll all the pasta you want now."
The Itaian's warm brown eyes that looked like melted chocolate widened. "You mean it? That sounds so cool! And pizza too!" Germany nodded, still stroking Italy's hand and hand, a horrible run of chills zooming down his spine as Veneziano's cooled down, his molten chocolate eyes starting to harden into the solid sweet. Even in death, Italy would still be delightfully sweet and youthful.
The large German nation fought back tears once more. "Italy, I just want you to know that I pushed you in training, made you work way too hard. And I'm sorry. You...you were always a worthy person. Always an honor to be...friends with. Friends." Saying the latter words, Germany's stone heart softened and lifted slightly. As he stared at the hardening chocolate, he was absoloutly certain that Italy and him had been friends.
"Germany...thank you!" Italy exclaimed in delight, more tears tumbling out of his eyes. "You were the best friend I've ever had. I know it now! Even better than Japan." The small nation's voice softened considerably, his eyelids drooping further down, and his breathing coming to almost a complete halt. As a warm and fuzzy feeling Germany had never felt before coursed through him, he bent down, clutching Italy's hand and pulling the golden band he always wore around his left hand middle finger as a symbol of of being single, not married, off his finger and slipping it onto Italy's left hand middle finger, the tears, so long hidden, making an appearance now.
"Feliciano Vargas, vill you marry me?" He announced in a clear, strong, voice. Italy's eyes fluttered open, the chocolate almost solid.
"Ve...yes of course." A hot feeling of delight filled Germany, something he'd never known before, Italy's pale blue lips moved in one last word. "Paaasssstaaa...Germany...please win, for ..." And all went silent, the serenade of crickets filling the dark night once more. Italy went completely limp, the golden band shining like a beacon of love on his finer, and a canon fired.
"Yes," Germany said, "Yes! Italy I vill win for you!"
...
The low hum of an approaching hovercraft tore Germany out of his thoughts. In silent grief, he watched as a black rope hoisted Prussia's albino body into the air for one last time. Germany uttered a silent farewell as the doors closed, and Prussia disspared from the world forever. Japan raised his head. The scarlet sun was peeking across the pink horizen, and birds started tweeting amongst the tree branches. Germany and his allies had hunted throughout the duration of the night, but hadn't found a single thing. Instead, one of them ended up dying...this wasn't good. Not only was the competition still a firm threat to both Germany's and Japan's lives, but the Capitol sponsers would clearly lose interest and favor in them now.
"Shall we return to camp?" Japan suggested. "We have been up all night."
Germany sighed. "Ja, that should be the best thing to do...we'll find more prey tonight." The two silently walked back to the Cornucopia, exhausted and feeling glum. Japan tucked himself under a blanket at once as Germany took first walk. He twisted his sharp sword in his hand, thinking of the promise he'd made to Italy. His golden ring was buried with the Italian man, their deathbed marriage still firmly in place.
"Germany san?" It was Japan. "I can take over now."
"Alright." Germany yawned, crawling under the golden Cornucopia horn where he would get some peace and quiet. As the muscular nation began to nod off, his closing eyes caught another figure in the golden horn...one that was not Japan.
...
Belarus and Russia bounded through the forest in the early morning light, looking for more victims to torture. They knew they'd come to the top eight, meaning the betting in the Capitol was now warmer than ever. Each of the remaining Hetalian tributes would have some sort of special feature done on them.
"I just hope the person who died in the night was someone insignifigant to us," Belarus said. "After all, it won't be any fun for us if all the good tributes are taken."
"Da," Russia agreed, holding his spear over his shoulder. "Hey, why don't we head to that old mountain area? I feel like we've combed the woods too much to find anything at this point." Belarus consented, but she didn't know if anyone was even left there. China and Taiwan had stayed there earlier, but they'd both died, and Japan was gone from there, either dead or hiding in some other area.
The now crumbling and rocky hill rose slightly above the trees below. It seemed dead, just like the many tributes that had died here due to a rather powerful earthquake. "It doesn't look like there's anyone here, Brother," Belarus sighed, feeling a sharp, icy breeze press on her skin. She frowned. That was odd...the climate in the arena was usually quite temperate, this cold was out of place. Beside her, Russia showed no qualms about the dramatic drop in temperature, in fact he seemed more comfortable than not with it. Well, he may have lived in a harsh winter wonderland for all his life, but Belarus's home had a normal climate, thank you very much. Her narrowed eyes scanned the forelorn hill. Right at the moment, she noticed the white storm, a swirling tornado at least fifty feet tall, radiating frigid air and pure ice. Russia just smiled right at it.
...
Hungary was on her side, snoozing gently while England sat on his haunches, whipping his head from side to side, deep in thought, and more dread passing through his veins at every second. He was almost certain that Sealand was dead. There just simply wasn't another logical explanation. He'd been with them just moments before, then dissapeared. Likely the ravaging tidal wave had taken him out, it wouldn't take much force to shatter his small body, after all.
The only thing on England's mind was regret. A stupid wall of water had ripped apart his vow to get Sealand out of this horrible place.
To let Sealand take over the British Commonwealth.
Yes, England had not realized that was what he wanted until now. There wasn't any other good candidates, at all.Not America...most surely not France, that thought made his stomach twist inside out. Besides, Sealand had plenty of British blood in him, and he was created from old English territory to boot.
Only, the innocent twelve year old boy might be dead, bled white, and transported back to the Hetalian village...England actually teared up at that thought.
...
Special Honors to the Top Eight Hetalian Tributes.
Germany
England
Hungary
Japan
Russia
Belarus
Belgium
Aaand Sealand...but where is he?
Also, in honorable memory of those that died.
Wy, Seychelles, Sabarga, Poland, Finland,
Italy, France, Taiwan, China, Monaco, Luxembourg,
Leichtenstein, and Prussia.