Hi guys, sorry it has been a while. I don't really have an excuse other than I sort of lost the will to write, I found it again though.

A lot of you guys felt bad for England, which made feel bad as he wasn't his turn yet, it was Prussia and Wales I sort of tortured last chapter. I did bomb both Scotland and Ireland, they will pop at some point...

Any way, it is England's turn now.

I do not own Hetalia and enjoy

They were coming in waves. Too many for the Canadian to count, but not so many that he needed to wake the sleeping Leon. Unfortunately Matthew was all too used to fighting against such a large number, most nations were. The scenario brought a sense of deja vu.

He had been ordered to scout ahead to see if he could find a patrol who'd failed to report in. He eventually found them, though he wished he hadn't.

The whole patrol was dead, their bodies riddled with bullets, their blood staining the ground. The woods had been eerily quiet around him except for some wheezing to the left of him. That's where he'd found a barely holding on Arthur.

He couldn't remember much of what happened in between helping the Englishman up and getting safely back to the camp, except opening at the group who'd ambushed Arthur's group, when they came back looking for any information.

As the Canadian reloaded his gun at a near impossible speed, he couldn't help but think of how similar the situation felt to him. This time though he didn't have to carry Arthur into a tree to keep the pair of them safe. This time he had Kumajiro helping him, the white bear's fur turning red as he slashed at the ghosts.

Canada was glad that the ghosts' blood evaporated after some time, or they'd be knee deep in the stuff by now. Still they continued to come, all of them desperate to possess one of the Kirklands. They didn't even seem to notice the presence of the country and the bear, these phantoms were focused entirely on England and Wales.

The Canadian swore under his breath, he may need to wake the sleeping nation soon as the ghosts kept forcing him to take a step back. He was seriously considering waking Hong Kong about now.
Dodging to his right, he narrowly missed getting slashed across his face and smacked the butt of his gun into a ghost's face, bringing his knee up at the same time, slamming into its stomach.

Kumajiro dived across his master, burying his claws deep into the torso of a ghost that almost got pass Matthew. The white bear went to dive at another but halted when the ghost he was about to attack, attacked another.

Canada didn't really recognise the helpful ghost but as he was aiding them he had to be on their side. Quickly his mind raced through the list of names that England had mentioned were friendly ghosts, before giving up and focusing on the fight.

"Frederick, though you may know the name Old Fritz better," the ghost called from over his shoulder to the Canadian, whilst retracting his sword from the ghost in front of him.

Canada grunted in response, a small smile on his face to show he was grateful for the help, and also that Fritz had told him who he was.

"I originally came to inform Arthur that Minty and Sunbeam are helping his brothers, but I think you may require some help," he spoke smoothly, as if he wasn't having an intense battle with a horde of savage spirits but was instead having a nice hot beverage.

More focused on the current battle, Matthew paid the Prussian's odd behaviour little attention. He did however notice when the ghost calmly stepped to the side, allowing another to speed past him. Too slow, Matthew could only watch in horror as the ghost dived into Japan's body.

"You bastard," the Canadian growled, seriously considering shooting Fritz in the head but holding back, knowing that England trusted this ghost for some reason.

Still, to be on the safe side, "James, a ghost just went into Japan. You might want to inform Arthur and Dylan, I don't know if it was a friendly or not."

"Right? Ok I will inform them, thanks Matthew."

The New Zealander hung up causing Canada to relax by a fraction. The Canadian kicked a ghost back giving him time to reload, whilst sparing a glance at Old Fritz.

The old ghost was fighting furiously to protect the Kirklands, actually putting himself in harm's way for them. Surely he wouldn't let something that could injure the pair join them in a battle if he could stop it, would he?

"Who did you let past?"

"Arthur! Arthur! Verdammte Scheiße (fucking shit) I can't phase through! Arthur!" The albino drummed his fists against the glass, his throat already raw from screaming.

The Prussian felt useless as England stubbornly stood, a determined look on his face. He was in pain, it was obvious. The blow to Scotland had affected England more than the Prussian had anticipated and it was only due to pride that England was not screaming due to the pain. The blonde coughed up blood a few times into his palm, but otherwise acted as if nothing was wrong. Though he did cough into his left hand rather than his right, as the hand that he mainly used was hanging uselessly at his side. Judging by the blood dripping from his fingers, his arm was bleeding heavily.

Still pounding, Prussia paid the Welshman no attention, too focused on the panting angel that was out of reach. He would have noticed that the Welshman was trying to get information out of New Zealand about the ghost that had joined them and a status update on Scotland.

The usually calm Kirkland was reaching breaking point. His family was getting attacked, he was on a different continent from the majority and just out of reach of the other. The British Isles were breaking apart, and he would be next to fall.

With his nerves getting to him, he started to hum softly under his breath but found that it did little to nothing to help. He felt like he was going to be sick. Usually when his nerves started to take over, he would snack or sing to himself to make him feel better, but now he couldn't.

All he could do was listen to what New Zealand reported to him, unable to do anything about anything. He had tried magic, but it had failed him. This ghost had somehow figured out how to block their abilities. No, it wasn't the ghost, it was the dagger.

The dagger was now strong enough to recognise their energy signatures and try to block them, according to Northern Ireland the dark side of England was the same as the energy in the daggers. The same energy had been trying to take hold of England every time he had unlinked a country, giving it the opportunity to learn his energy signature and therefore Wales's as they were extremely similar.

Gilbert was different though, why couldn't the ghost phase through? Was it because of how close he was with Arthur, he was wearing the necklace the Englishman had enchanted. The Prussian didn't have any magic to be blocked though. Although all nations held some form of magic not all of them could access it, this meant that it couldn't be accessed by anyone else unless they had great skill.

The ghost had to have something that used to belong to Prussia, that must be how it was blocking the Prussian. This arsehole had planned this the whole time, he wanted Prussia and England and he even had a way to weaken them. He must have found out that England had a dark energy in him similar to that of the daggers from wherever he got the dagger from.

Dylan didn't know how they were going to beat this, their chances at coming out on top were dwindling.

His panic then turned to pure rage as the possessing ghost's voice resonated around them, "It appears that you have lost another brother England. Then again you were going to lose him anyway weren't you? His people were going to vote to leave you.

"I've saved you from seeing the vast amount of people who don't want to be with you leave. You're used to that though aren't you? Losing people you thought cared? Are you not dubbed as the king of losing things? Are you not always letting things slip from your grasp?"

The French ghost's laugh echoed around, just as several balls of light encircled the Englishman. They slowly grew in size until they were each the size of a full grown adult, all the while taking on certain features. As the first set of glowing orbs began to take shape, more appeared around the angel.

Arthur's breath hitched in this throat as he recognised who stood in front of him. His colonies, all of them. They were standing in front of him, their expressions pained or blank.

Directly in front of him was a slightly transparent America holding a musket, but with his back turned to the Englishman. The lookalike said nothing as it started to walk away, never looking back, its outline becoming more potent, more solid.

The further he got away from England, the stronger he became.

Then the rest started to follow. All of them turned their back on him and walked away, never sparing him a second glance. They all differed from America though.

Each step they took, their clothes changed. Every step a new outfit adorned the nation, ones that England recognised, ones that he had seen them in whilst under his control.

Some were just casual clothes that they had worn when they were young, an outfit worn to a particular event or occasion. Some, however, wore military uniforms, some of which were worn when fighting with and against him.

They all wore a similar, mostly blank expression, though their feelings could be seen in their eyes. India had rage in his eyes and wasn't the only one, though he was the closest to the Englishman whose eyes held such an emotion. It hurt the Brit to see such anger and hate shown against him.

Although none of the nations said a word, flickers of the past played in the back of Arthur's mind, each flicker showing a memory of a country who had turned their back on him and walked away.
He tried to scream, only for no sound to escape. He watched Jamaica turn around as he clasped a hand to his throat, silently screaming the name of each nation who left.

His heart felt heavy in his chest as he was powerless to stop the retreating figures of South Africa, Egypt, Tanzania, Seychelles, Malaysia, Papa New Guinea. It hurt.

Each one who left the Englishman caused him to remember the pain of losing a colony, losing part of himself. To be reminded of all of them in such a short space of time was agony.

Every nation cursed phantom pains that were connected to the memories of their bloodied pasts, but only a few understood the pain of losing a colony.

Prussia's chest felt tight watching the Englishman, he knew what the Brit was feeling. He wasn't sure if Wales understood the pain however, he was part of Britain so did he feel each of the colonies leave? He knew that the blonde was having trouble handling this, it hurt him to watch.

England covered his eyes with his left hand, and Prussia could tell that it was his attempt at blocking out what was happening - the angel had had enough, he didn't want to see the last leave. Even Gilbert didn't want to see the disgusted faces on Australia, New Zealand and Canada as they left, their eyes holding no positive feeling whatsoever towards the Englishman.

Beside him, Wales was desperately pounding his fists on the glass, trying to grab his brother's attention. The Prussian shook his head, knowing that it was useless, but fully understood why the Welshman was doing it.

Dylan's eyes shimmered as tears pooled inside them. He was furious with himself for being unable to help. His brother was like a caged animal being constantly prodded by sharp sticks, he was trapped and at the mercy of his captor. Or so he thought.

A strangled sob escaped the Welshman as the angel turned to face him, his left hand falling away from his eyes, and actually looked at him. His little brother looked broken, but not shattered.

A small sigh of relief passed through Gilbert's lips as Arthur looked to them. Although his eyes screamed that he was in pain, England gave them a small smile as he tentatively stepped towards them.

He could see them, he wasn't alone, but how did he pull that off? Even the ghost didn't seem to understand as all the lookalikes froze momentarily.

"Brawd!? How are you doing this? I'm so sorry, I can't get you out. He is stalling, buying time. I'm going to be hit next brawd and then he will go after you. Don't let him beat you. Don't pay any attention. Focus on getting out. We'll try and find this fucker."

Dylan pressed his palm up against the glass, willing his hand to go through. He could see how tired Arthur was, not failing to notice the strong glow that hugged his brother's form. He was struggling, so his angel form had given him a boost in magic, making him strong enough to fight against his cage but lose his energy rapidly at the same time.

At his brother's words, England's eyes widened in fear and Prussia could immediately tell that it was fear of being left alone, but why? He could usually face things on his own, why was now any different?

As these thoughts ran through the albino's mind, the figures once again started to move. All of them slowly disappeared, all except one. This one grasped hold of the Englishman's shoulder.

As England's head snapped round ready to attack, both the Prussian and the Welshman gasped. Staring at the angel was Hong Kong. The young nation's face was void of emotion, all except his eyes. His eyes held pity.

No man of pride could accept such a look. Not once a strong Empire, he couldn't stand seeing it from eyes that used to hold such warmth towards him.

It was a punch to the stomach.

Shaking his head in disbelief, England shakily stepped back away from the Hong Konger until his back was against his cage. His hands were pressed against the glass, his glow growing even stronger, it was as if he was trying to break through.

"Don't look brawd! You know this is fake, remember what Leon's true face was like. I was there with you, so you weren't alone. He hugged you brawd, he cried, told you that he would always come back if you needed him."

Arthur looked over his shoulder to his brother, his eyes bloodshot from unshed tears. He raised his hand so that it was over the Welshman's and he stared into his eyes, looking for an answer. Swallowing hard, the Englishman nodded and mouthed the word 'go' to the elder.

It fought against all his instincts, but Dylan complied. Although he was worried about how strong the glow his brother was giving off now was, he knew that it was best to attack the source of his brother's suffering. Regrettably, the Welshman slowly turned away, glancing at Gilbert before he went, and ran in the opposite direction.

Gilbert watched the retreating Kirkland but found his attention quickly fell back onto the angel. Arthur was mouthing the words to go to the albino, but Gilbert was having none of it. The Prussian folded his arms stubbornly and sat down crossed legged in front of the barrier. The action was enough to cause a flicker of a smile on the blonde's face, which quickly turned into a wince.

Concerned at what could have caused such a reaction, Prussian leant in closer to the barrier, only to wish that he hadn't. It was faint at first, all sounds coming from England's side were slightly distorted, but grew louder with every second.

People were screaming, Prussia couldn't make out who exactly, but they were all screaming England's name. Each voice held a different emotion, but all of them affected the Englishman equally.

He was being called out to by desperate people for help.

People screaming his name in fear of him.

Yelling his name in disgust.

Screaming his name in anger.

It was deafening, even to the Prussian and he wasn't the intended target. The blonde fell to his knees, burying his head in his knees, trying to block out the voices. As his right arm was useless, the blonde attempted to block out the sound by pressing his right side against the barrier, and used his working arm to block his left ear.

Trying to help his friend, Prussia pushed his side up to the glass and knocked it hard. The blonde flinched as the sound of the albino's fist hitting the clear surface vibrated into his ear, then looked up to the Prussian.

'Make it stop'.

Prussia felt his blood run cold, there was no misreading the Englishman's lips. He could see the pain in those emerald orbs and could almost hear the hurt voice of his friend. England recognised the voices and knew the story behind each one. Too many memories were being brought to the surface, it was overwhelming.

"Listen to me Arthur, focus on my voice. Gott Limey, how do we get into these situations? You know, I blame you. I think you're cursed with pech (bad luck) Birdie, you should probably talk to Paddy about fixing that for you." The ghost tried to laugh, only to find it die before it even left his mouth.

He watched the blonde closely and, seeing the desperation grow in the Briton's eyes, Prussia tried to change his approach. The blonde was in no state to pay attention to Gilbert's jokes, nor would he be able to pay any attention if the albino flirted with him. Prussia needed to calm the Englishman down, needed to soothe him.

Taking a deep breath, Gilbert leant his back up against the glass, turned his head so he was looking at the Brit and began to hum. Getting a feel of the familiar tune, Prussia's humming then evolved into soft singing.

Somewhat surprised by how normal it felt to be singing to a fully grown nation, Gilbert continued his song, unaware that the screams were fading. The Prussian continued to sing gently to the Englishman, finding that the act was calming his nerves as well.

"It seems that that little trick wasn't enough for you, little England, I may have to step it up a notch. I would like to see you try and calm him down from this one, dear Prussia." The ghost's voice was laced with hate, practically dripping poison as he spoke.

Both Prussia's and England's eyes widened, neither expecting a shadow version of Prussia to yank England's arms harshly, hauling him to his feet. As quick as a flash, the shadow slipped both arms under the Englishman's armpits and locked its hands, pushing down on England's neck, effectively putting him in a nelson hold.

The shadow laughed in the angel's ear, impersonating Prussia's laugh flawlessly, using its elbows to dig into his wings. Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in pain, but he refused to voice his discomfort (not that he could anyway). He started to fight against his captor's hold, however, as he saw the familiar looking green of his own land.

The clanking of armour rumbled like thunder, the marching soldiers could be heard before they were seen. Hidden amongst the forest surrounding the open field the native army crouched behind their leader.

Harsh whispers floated amongst the concealed army as the Roman soldiers became visible once they reached the peak of the hill, stepping onto the flat green. Their leader held a strong fist in the air, effectively silencing her people.

Blazing emerald eyes studied their surroundings, quickly calculating the odds for the outcome of this battle. They had the land in their favour, all of them used to fighting on this terrain, and the will to protect their home. The opposition had numbers, although numbers did not usually deter the native fighters, these ones were skilled as well as large.

It looked even at a first glance, but as a nation, Britannia knew that no battle had a definite outcome.

"He is to your right," a man in his early thirties whispered to the nation. He knew of what she was and she had his upmost respect, just as he had hers. Lele was her right hand man.

He had many scars which he had won in many battles fighting alongside the woman he'd known since he was able to walk. Dark brown hair that was kept in some sort of control with various small braids covered his head. His eyes were dark as well but sparkled in a certain light, having somewhat extraordinary midnight blue colour due to him having the 'sight'.

The proud and beautiful woman's eyes followed where her friend had indicated, her eyes burning with a new fury as they landed on her enemy.

Rome was mounted on top of his stead, a chestnut coloured palfrey horse, riding alongside his men, smirking. The Roman knew that the other nation was near, he could feel her strength. He could feel her anger. He could feel her, protectiveness?

Growling much like a wild animal, Britannia looked to her friend and informed him of the battle plans, all the while, keeping her eyes on her target.

Doing as he was asked, Lele quickly told a group of men of the plans, who then spread the information amongst themselves, before returning back to Britannia's side.

"I have a feeling that there will be one less nation in the world by the end of today," she muttered quietly, mainly just voicing her thoughts, but the other heard.

Not really knowing what to say, the man stayed silent. He took in how pale the woman's skin had become, not yet sickly looking but close. Her usually radiant eyes that were normally so full of life, now looked ordinary. She was tired.

Lele opened his mouth, about to speak his concern for his leader, when another voice beat him to it.
"Mum?! What's going on? Why are you hiding in the trees? The Fae told me not to come, but they looked worried, why are they worried?" A young boy weaved easily through the armed men, none of them noticing the boy until he had already passed. Although most couldn't see, Sunbeam followed the boy closely, panic etched onto her face.

Flinching at the sound of her youngest's voice, a look of fear flashed across Britannia's face, but quickly faded as she turned around. A motherly smile graced her lips as she knelt down so she was eye level to her approaching son.

The bow wielding boy ran up to his mother, pulling down his hood as he got close. His glittering emerald eyes looked up to his mum, filled with concern.

Lele knew who this child was, he was one of the nations he saw the most, other than Britannia. His mind could never get round how skilled the child was with a bow, though not quite as able as the one who'd taught him, who was only physically a few years older, but still much better than himself.

However, at the same time, it seemed completely normal to him, as well as the strong connection he felt with the child. He wanted to protect this child, to fight for this child. He felt as if he was a father to the child, but also felt as if the child had a duty to protect him.

"I'm sorry, we all tried to stop him, but he is incredibly stubborn. There was no way we could deter him unless we used force, which we didn't think you would appreciate," the small yellow figure apologised, bowing her head as she spoke.

It was clear from how she apologised that the magical creature respected Britannia. Usually no magic folk would display such a thing to something that wasn't of their kind. Britannia was different though, wasn't she?

The older nation studied the Fae's face, before sighing. Her tired eyes then fell upon her precious boy who was looking up to her for answers.

"You need not apologise Sunbeam, I know my son. Arthur dear, why did you not listen to your friends?"

"They are scared mummy, they were trying to hide something. That means something bad is happening, what's happening?

"I can feel it mum, something bad is happening, someone is here. You are fighting, aren't you? Let me fight with you, Dylan has been teaching me to use a bow. He said I was good. Let me help you mummy, let me protect you," the boy pleaded, his eyes wide. She smiled lovingly at the boy, ruffling his hair affectionately. Sniffing, the boy looked up and didn't miss the sorrowful look in his mother's eyes, why was she sad?

Quickly glancing over her shoulder to see the enemy army settling into their new formation, Britannia missed the questioning looks aimed at her. Most of the men were wondering who his child was and why the child was wielding a bow; those who knew who the young blonde was, wondered why he was there; Lele and Sunbeam wondered what Britannia was going to do, and Arthur just wanted an answer.

Looking back to her men and her child, Britannia's face turned expressionless as she turned to Lele.
"Make sure he stays here."

The man's jaw dropped in shock, his gaze quickly turned to the child, whose eyes were filling with tears. Albion grabbed hold of his mother's dress, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"Mother, no. Please don't leave me behind, I have a bad feeling about this. Let me help you, please!" the young nation pleaded desperately, bowing by his mother's feet. He still wanted to show her respect even though he was disobeying her, although she hadn't actually ordered him he was going against her wishes.

Whilst Sunbeam was doing her best to soothe the young nation, Lele tried to understand his leader's orders, "You don't want me to fight?!"

"No, I want you protect the future. This task is more important than fighting in this battle."

"I am a warrior, it is not my duty to look after a child."

"Lele, this is not a normal child and what is it you fight for? You fight to protect your people, to protect children. You will protect my son, your country."

"I fight to protect you, you are my country."

The woman sighed, her shoulders slumping. The usually proud woman looked defeated, and this scared the man she was talking to. When she spoke again, it was barely above a whisper so that only Lele could hear, "A nation will die today, it will be either Arthur or myself, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that it won't be my child.

"He may not look it now, but he is strong, all of my sons are. They have the potential to be great, which they won't be able to do if they die.

"That Roman bastard does not know of my sons, if he was to see my baby, he would kill him. He would search for more, he would hunt down the rest of my sons and I am not strong enough to fight for all of them.

"I hate to admit it, but he is taking over this land, its strength is failing. It is not strong enough to provide us with its strength. My sons are young and weak enough to be overpowered by an empire, a fatal wound from another nation at this stage of growth would paralyse them for years perhaps, but with us losing territory, they could be killed by receiving a wound from another nation.

"You know that my strength is weakening, it is due to them that I am still here. Their faces give me strength.

"So if you allow my source of life, my angels, my medicine to die, you have failed to protect me. I cannot continue to fight knowing that my life was for the sake of my little angel."

The warrior was speechless. Rome didn't know about the brothers? He supposed that was why he hardly saw the others himself, Arthur being the one he saw the most.

Wordlessly Lele bent down and scooped the child into his arms. The child struggled greatly in his hold, reaching out for his mum, crying for her, "Please mother, let me help you! I can do it. I will stay hidden, shoot from the trees. Please don't leave me!"

Britannia tried to keep her face from showing her emotions as she gently stroked her child's cheek for what would be the final time. Tiny hands grabbed hold of the woman's, nuzzling his cheek into her hand, tears flowing freely.

"Don't say it," the child croaked, causing the older nation to blink on surprise.

"Say what my dear?"

The child sniffed, looking up at his mum with red eyes. "That you will be fine, don't lie to me. Lies always lead to pain."

She froze momentarily, surprised at how grown up her boy was. She did always forget that her son was older than he looked. She felt her heart shatter at her son's broken face.

"I love you my little angel" she whispered and with that she walked away from her son and her most trusted follower. Putting on a brave face, she turned to her men and gave her orders, never looking back.

"Apparently the man that is holding dear little England still feels guilty to this day. He gets quite talkative when drunk, and likes to reminisce.

"To think he told me, trying to clear his conscience and I use it against the very person he felt he'd wronged. His guilt being the thing that is holding him back, keeping him from passing on.

"Look at him Prussia, he is no longer with us, he is reliving this very memory in excruciating detail. Apparently that fairy had blocked this memory from his mind, ever since he was freed from Rome. Too much pain was attached to it and if he was ever to have a 'flashback' of this time in public, he would succumb to his suffering and change into an angel.

"I no longer need to show this re-enactment, but I want you to suffer too. Watch your friend in pain, and be powerless to stop it."

The ghost's voice felt like sandpaper grinding against Prussia's skin. The ghost was right, he noticed how painfully still the Englishman had become in the Shadow's grip, he was having a flashback.
The Shadow stayed perfectly still, so not to disturb the Englishman, therefore not interrupting the memory. Still Prussia was trapped behind his glass, powerless to aid his friend.

When the ghost spoke again, the albino paid him little attention and tried to focus on the still England, rather than the memory England fighting to reach his mum. It was pointless, as much as Prussia didn't want to see a painful experience a friend had lived through, he couldn't fight his curiosity.

"I would like to tell you that there may be some things that are not correct, but Lele did go into a lot of detail so this is as close as you are going to get. England's cloak may have been a darker colour."

The ghost laughed again, and Prussia felt his blood boil at the thought of how disrespectful he was being. Mocking that there were flaws in such a memory, even the one that he'd shown Prussia, and no doubt Wales. It was like a kick in the gut.

All nations had something from their past that plagued their memories, Prussia had plenty, but they were private. Most of them thought that talking about their pasts was weak, so usually kept quiet on the matter. This ghost though, he was using what nations kept under lock and key as a form of torture.

Prussia felt as if he was invading his friend's privacy, watching the scene play out in front of him. Nations only told each other things of their past if they felt comfortable around them. Yes, you could just look up a country's history to find out about their past, but you wouldn't get it from the nation's perspective.

Although the Prussian had heard about many things that have troubled the Brit when drunk, and vice versa, he still felt guilty watching this re-enactment of a painful memory. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away.

The army stepped out of the bushes with Britannia taking point. The strong woman stood defiantly, staring down at the Roman nation, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. A few painful seconds passed where nothing could be heard except for the wind teasing the trees.

Then the bloodbath began.

War cries from both sides were carried by the wind throughout the land, catching the attention of three other nations who were in search of their mother. The clanking of armour sounded like thunder as the troops stormed forward at each other, yelling, their weapons raised. The clang of metal hitting metal fractured the very air around them.

The sounds of the battle were deafening, the sight was blinding.

So much red.

The once beautiful and peaceful green was soiled by the blood of its people and those who'd tried to claim it. Broken bodies were thrown across the grass, lifeless eyes never seeing the grey sky above them.

Focusing on keeping the child from making any noise and joining the scene, Lele didn't think to cover the boy's eyes. Covering Arthur's mouth was a waste of time as the young nation found himself speechless.

The small nation's mouth hung open as he gaped at the horrifying sight. His bright emerald eyes were filled with fear, fear of knowing that this wasn't going to be the last time he would witness such a sight.

Every scream seemed to shake his very soul, every wound the men received left scars in his mind. He was stuck in a nightmare, one that his mum couldn't comfort him from and tell him that it wasn't real. She was part of it.

His mother was currently engaged in battle with a man the boy didn't recognise, but could tell was strong. The man's thick, curly brown hair fell in the way of his furious chocolate eyes but it didn't deter him. Despite his heavy armour, the man moved effortlessly, practically dancing with his blade.

His mother knew the dance well, enough so to keep the foreign man on his toes. He had never seen this side of his mother, so much anger. It scared him to see his usually gentle mother looking such a way.

How did she know how to fight like that? She ducked under the sword that slashed towards her throat and, twirling her blade in her hand, she swiped at the Roman's feet. Rome easily jumped over the sword, dodging the attack, and brought his sword down, aiming for Britannia's back.

There was a clash as the two nation's blades collided. Both of them put all their force behind their attacks, their eyes meeting. Their feet began to sink into the ground as they pushed against each other's swords. They were even.

Until Britannia's foot slid to the side only a fraction. It was such a small movement but enough for the Roman to make his move. Quickly adjusting his hold of the hilt of his sword, Roman put his full body weight behind his attack and, due to her slightly weaker stance, Rome managed to disarm the woman.

The world became silent, everything halted. Britannia's body became rigid, the back of her royal blue dress turning black. The tip of the Roman's sword had ripped through her dress, only to disappear as the man withdrew his weapon.

With the blade out of the female nation's chest, Britannia fell to her knees. Rome looked down on the woman, panting heavily, and said some words to the fallen nation before walking away.

Following their nation's example, the Roman army began to retreat. The land had already lost its nation, they would give the land some time to mourn.

Lele was glad he had his hand covering the boys mouth as it muffled the boy's screams for his mother. Desperate to escape the boy clawed at the man's hand in attempt to break free to rush to his mother's side

.
The man was fighting every urge not to do the same, but he'd been instructed by Britannia to keep her boy safe, and so he would. He could feel his heart being squeezed as he felt the tears from the child's eyes flow over his hands.

His tiny frame trembled as he cried but he continued to struggle in the man's hold. Biting down on the man's hand, Arthur was finally able to escape from Lele when he let go in .Without missing a beat, Arthur bust out of the trees, Sunbeam following close behind him, telling him to turn round.

Sprinting across the graveyard, Albion withdrew his bow, firing deadly arrows at any Roman within his range. With every arrow that left his bow, he screamed out, not knowing if it was fear, grief or rage. His mind was in too much of a state to recognise that he had just made his first kill.

Surprised at the deadly accuracy of the boy with his bow, both the Celts and the Romans turned to watch the boy. The men, now his own men, who were surrounding Britannia, gave the child a wide birth, though not entirely sure why.

Once close enough, Albion threw himself onto his mother's chest, paying no attention to the blood that now stained his face. Recalling what he had learnt from his older brother, Alba, the blonde discarded his bow, ripped off his cloak and pressed it onto his mother's bleeding heart.

"You should have let me protect you. I could have helped! Don't leave me please. I don't want to lose you. Mummy, please open your eyes! Please mother, please. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Using the last of her strength, Britannia grabbed hold of her son's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She managed a smile, before she let out her final breath. Her hand went limp and fell, only to be caught by the young nation.

Albion held his mother's lifeless hand to his own cheek, seeking the warmth that it used to bring him. Finding that the warmth had been sucked out of his mother's hand, the child broke down. The toddler openly sobbed into his mother's palm, half expecting her thumb to wipe away his tears.

The men now understood who exactly this child was and hung their head in shame. None of them knew how to soothe the mourning orphan, or what to do with him. Most couldn't see the fae that was trying to hold back the tears as she talked to the child, and those who did, felt even more at a lost. If she didn't know what to do, then why would they. All they could do was watch the child as he repeatedly apologised to the corpse.

"Whot is goin' on 'ere?"

"Sasanna, what was all that noise? And where is you cloak?"

"Brawd?"

The men turned around to see the rest of the Kirklands, all of them too shocked to do anything but gape at the trio. The three nations' curious and worried faces quickly changed to ones of disbelief as they registered why their brother was crying.

"MAW!?"

The memory suddenly shattered when a loud crack sounded, loud enough to shake the ground. Prussia watched in shock as a blur fell from above, landed on the floor, then dashed over to the Briton. Before Prussia could fully understand what was happening, the blur took out the shadow keeping England subdued and stood in front of the angel.

Gilbert was stunned (and slightly disappointed as he wanted to know what happened next, he'd just ask someone about it later).

England blinked a few times, attempting to get rid of the tears that blurred his vision. Once his vision had cleared, only to see a well-built muscular man, with brown hair and eyes, wearing a Hawaiian T shirt, England did the only reasonable thing. With his face full of hurt and frustration he punched the man right in the face.

The man wheeled back, rubbing his sore nose, with a pout on his face.

"Si, I probably deserved that. Sorry I am late, I couldn't find you. Thought that you would be with Japan, so I followed the tug that was pulling me to him, but you weren't there, obviously. I then passed your fratello and he told me where you were, are, so I smashed through this cage, while he found the ghost." The man spoke rather quickly and happily for a man who'd just been punched in the face, it was a mask though, one that England saw right though. The man was feeling guilty, he could see it and knew that the new arrival had witnessed the 'memory'. The man usually would have hugged him by now, but was holding back.

'You tied up God again didn't you?' The Englishman mouthed, receiving a shake of the head from the other.

"No, Germania is keeping him distracted for me. I said to just show him a pretty signora (lady), give him a friendly push in the right direction and let nature take its course, but apparently that wouldn't work. I think it would have, God knows how to have fun if you know what I mean."

"Mein gott‼ You're the Roman Empire‼"

"Si, your padre (father) say ciao."

Yeah Rome has now entered the fray...Surprise!

I don't think I have much to say...

Oh, if any of you follow me on tumblr and see that I have been on there for a while, tell me to get off, I get distracted way too easily.

As always reviews are welcome and other stuff..yeah and thanks for waiting