NOTE: Hong Kong is... a very impressive place. Just got back from vacation.

Hungary would have met the snow had it not been for Austria. She faltered and almost lost consciousness in his arms. The damage done to her was severe. Austria brought her back to her knees. But so was he.

The animated Teutonic knights made no attempt to wipe the blood off their blades. The Undead warriors closed the gap around two. Their weapons were alight with a bright blue and coated itself in frost. Both nations cast a bitter look at their innumerable powerful foes. Hungary knew her strength had gone—Austria, the same.

Hungary shut her eyes and braced herself, gripping hard on Austria's arms as the latter embraced her widely.

"I wish we could have gone down differently," Hungary whispered.

"Ja. If only… Hungary…"

She looked up and her lips were greeted by Austria's. It was short but blissful. She pressed hard against him as she felt her surroundings melt into spring. The walls clambered upward and the aristocrat's classical music replaced the raging winds. It lasted long enough.

There was the sound of the inevitable thrust—of steel piercing through flesh, muscle, and bone. The world was swiftly painted with white and the warmth of summer dissipated into the cruel temperatures of the battlefield.

However, there was no pain. They did not feel the absence of any more blood nor any numbness groping at their bodies. It took them a moment to open their eyes and realize why fate had spared them.

Austria leaned back and felt the shockwaves of the display.

The Teutonic swordsman tilted its skull as its bones shattered at the strength of Prussia's grip, all the while the Plague-bearing sword wrenched deep into his stomach. Prussia's winter uniform was slowly being overcome by a growing mass of crimson and ice. The other knights paused. And attacked.

Prussia stammered as he struck down the raging warriors. By the time bones littered the field around the three, he felt a strong numbness steal away his legs. He tilted and fell, assuming a fetal position in the snow.

"Scheiβe…"

"Prussia!" Hungary screamed, breaking through Austria's lock and collapsing over his pale body. "Prussia!"

She turned him over making him face upward. Frost began to accumulate and spread around his abdomen. His ruby eyes seemed to fade. He coughed out blood and tried to move.

She couldn't believe it. She did not want to believe it. She did not want to grasp the reality that Prussia was (dying) ending. Just like that. A sword through his midsection and already he was in a heavy struggle for life.

"Prussia, you idiot!" She tried to illicit a response from him. He shifted his gaze to her and coughed some more—no words. "Prussia! You can't just… go away like this!" "Die" was such a strong word.

Austria, too, could not fully grasp the situation. He had seen the demise of many nations, some of them under his hand. But looking at Prussia—a foe who had been as much as a friend at times—whose antics he grew accustomed to, he felt the same emotions as his former wife.

Tears formed around Hungary's eyes, gracefully strolling down her face. It should not have gone like this. Regardless of how much she despised him, there was always that soft spot drilled into her a thousand years before.

"Prussia…" she sobbed, cupping his head in her hands. "Why… why did you…"

General Winter's menacing chuckle reverberated all around them.

Austria greatly disliked Prussia. That and he also respected him. Their numerous wars had seen to that. He sometimes satisfied himself with the thought of Prussia ceasing to exist. But if he did not come around, Germany wouldn't. And he had great respect for Ludwig than most nations despite having to go through the Anschluss.

"We have to stop the Plague!" Hungary wailed, pressing her hands on Gilbert's stomach. "Prussia, don't go out on us!"

How in the world are we going to stop this accursed disease? Austria lent in his aid. "Come on, now. Don't die out on us!"

"I…" Prussia managed before letting loose another red spatter.

Hungary hushed him. "Don't talk, now. It will only make things worse." Prussia could see Hungary's face—the look in her eyes and the sweat that covered her face. Wait, that wasn't just sweat, right? There was no blood. It was not melted snow. She cried for him.

Prussia smiled at the thought. Hungary cried for him. That was something he never expected. For being such an ass, he didn't think of this kind of reaction from his favorite victim.

"Listen, I'll stay. Go find Germany!" the aristocrat ordered.

"No!" Austria looked at Hungary. "I'll stay!"

"But—"

"I know him more than you do! We've known each other long enough to know each other's strengths and weaknesses! Right now, he needs me!" she declared.

Seconds ticked before Austria arose and rushed off into the distance leaving the two nations in the middle of the white field.

By the time he disappeared, the remains of a surviving knight edged closer to them from behind. Its groans were masked by the gale.

"Shit, this is nasty!"

Alaska was under a blanket of snow that was twice thicker than its normal coat. Fighting a supernatural enemy on something that acted like some dense flood forced the coalition of American and Canadian forces to resort to digging trenches. This further reduced the efficiency of their mechanized divisions. Even the Abrams crews were having difficulty aiming the cannon despite being trained to fight entrenched.

America pressed the receiver button hard. "Hey, Britain! Can you hear me over there?"

"Loud and clear!" There was that annoying scratch of static on the line but no one was bothered by it this time. The enemy was pushing them back rather quickly.

"You keeping up?"

"I've had worse."

"No shit. I lost three tanks out there. And Canada's having a rough time over at his." There came that feeling again. Why now? It refused to be silenced. Well, I guess I have been putting it off… It continued to resonate in his mind. Gah! Alright, already… just give me a sec. America breathed deep. "Uh, Britain?"

"Yes?"

"I guess, uh… well, thanks." There! I said it.

"Huh?"

America pressed his forehead into his hand. "Thanks."

"For what?"

Don't rub it in. I know you know. "For kicking me back in shape."

There were a few seconds of static. Followed by a loud laugh on the other end. "No need to be so humble, America!"

Shut up. I already gave in. "Look, I wouldn't have pushed the red button had it not been for you two guys. So don't push it, alright?"

"You learned your lesson?"

"Yeah."

He was sure he heard Britain snort. Or was that a smirk? "But I'm keeping the nukes just in case."

"Same here. Use them only"—there was heavy stress on that word—"as a last resort."

"I hear you."

"Do I have to say it again?"

America whined. "'Nukes are for the lightheaded', I know already!"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. But now is not a desperate time. At least, not yet."

"Oh, look, a burger!" Hopefully that changed the subject.

"You bloody git."

It did. "Alright, I still got a few more big toys left. The Navy's in good shape and I got a carrier battle group hauling ass over here."

"And I only have an SAS unit along with some of your chaps… friggin' exodus." How cynical. Well, he did lose his islands.

"Take care over there, okay? They're pushing us back." It was grim now.

"I know."

"Hey, how's France with the big ray-gun?"

"I haven't had a look at any progress reports lately but I hear that he's reached a milestone, somewhat." Good thing the CERN facilities were stripped and evacuated.

"Whatever."

Is that git munching on his fast food sandwich again? "America, are you eating?"

"Yeah, you want one? I can have a cargo plane drop you a crate."

"Er, no thanks."

"Suit yourself."

The conversation ended. It was back to the situation at hand. He raised his binoculars. Sure enough, General Winter's goons were in eyesight of Juneau where their headquarters were located. They'd have to move if the Army couldn't hold them off. America cringed when another Abrams erupted in a ball of flame. Damn you, Snowball.

Japan plowed through the snow. To his right was a line of Japanese riflemen, some of them conscripts. The strain of war had taken its toll and his government had decided on drastic measures. Young boys and girls, given guns and swords and hasty training, to fight their own fathers and mothers—Japan loathed the thought and continued his inspection of his troops.

An officer ran up to him. "The artillery batteries are in place. Everything is set."

The nation nodded. "Any sign of the enemy?"

"None, so far."

"Very well, then. And of our reserves?"

"High command has dispatched—"

There was a distant whistle followed by a plume of snow and dirt rising ten feet high. Everyone within the blast radius felt the earth give way.

"Chikushō!"

More explosions rattled the defense line along with the cackle of gunfire and the screams of wounded soldiers. Japan crawled on his belly and over the remains of an infantryman. Added to his burden was the ringing in his ears. The mortar shell landed a bare six feet from them.

"Enemy tanks!" A conscript screamed. Japan picked up the dead officer's binoculars and peered through. An entire mechanized column began blasting holes into their defensive line. For a moment, he was puzzled. A second later, it ticked.

Japan wheeled around just in time to avoid a bullet. He scanned the area behind them and growled. He found the communications man less than a minute later. They radioed in the question that was now on everyone's minds: "Where the hell is our armor?"

Thereafter came the response of his generals: "Armor temporarily disabled near Shikoku. Reinforcements on the way."

Shikoku? We are in Shikoku! "Unless…" Japan grabbed the binoculars and ran to the sandbags. Underneath that mass expanse of snow was a frozen river. If the enemy's tanks (wait) pushed through (those are), the weight of the armor (our) would send them collapsing (mechanized divisions!) into the freezing waters.

Japan ran back and gave a rapid succession of orders centered on a single objective: hold the line at Shikoku.

China limped into the temporary command field office. Underneath his armpit was a crutch and a pale white leg. This surprised his general but not the liaison officer who witnessed the doctor's improvised operation.

"Anything?"

"Good news and bad news…" the liaison officer coughed.

"Good news?"

"Sichuan is still in our hands." The general attempted to smile but drew no reaction from the country he served.

"Bad news?"

"It may not last."

China raised a brow. The situation on his leg was draining him of his energy and he was exhausted when he clamored off the gurney. "The People's Army?"

"Is strained. Our active personnel are loosing morale and we are throwing everything we can at them. Even our reserves are having problems of their own."

"Such as?"

"Well," the liaison officer began, "considering the fact that the People are fighting their own dead, it would be quite difficult on their psyche, no? I mean, killing one's own father or mother or daughter or someone whom one has known for quite a long time is tormenting enough." He kept his face impassive despite the pride in his heart. He thanked his brother for convincing him to study psychology in college.

China nodded. "Very well, I guess I should head to the front."

"Wait!" The nation turned to face his general, a look of worry on his face. "You can't go out there… at least, not yet."

"Do not worry about my leg…"

"You are evidently stressed, xiān shēng," argued the liaison officer.

"But the People—"

"Should not be your concern. Let yourself rest. You need to recover." Besides, I can't risk sending out whom I serve, battered and wounded and tee tottering all over the place.

China winced. He was right. Another round on the battlefield could worsen his condition (and hasten this ailment!). But he could operate the artillery.

Two hours later, Sichuan was peppered with snowy craters as munitions from both sides converged on what remained of the region.