"Oh, Dieu!" France ran his hand through his hair, not knowing what to do. He tucked his arms under Belarus, lifting her up and carrying her into one of the rooms. He placed her on the bed, stepping back.

What was he supposed to do?

Belarus had just died in his arms! He had no idea what to do.

He turned away, heading out of the room to find someone.

"Dude, I'm really starting to hate this place." groaned America, rubbing his aching shoulder.

England raised an eyebrow. "You liked it before?" he asked, pausing in his steps.

With a sigh, America turned to face him. "Well, at first I... I thought it was kinda cool, y'know? Like the set of a horror movie or something." he admitted, tapping the toe of his shoe against the polished wooden floor. "But I just keep getting these... awful feelings..."

The Brit frowned. "Yes, I do too." he replied.

"And The Game Master... 'Russia has reached Platinum Tier'... 'Belarus has lost The Game'... I wanna know what it all means."

They were both silent for a while, bother searching their brains for a possible explanation.

"We could... ask it..." England suggested, looking at the frosted window.

Rude!

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

I am The Game Master, England. I do not appreciate being called an 'it'.

England instantly felt sick at the sound of that voice. If it could be called that.

America, on the other hand, seemed unaffected. "Game Master," he started, staring up at the ceiling. "Explain to us what Platinum Tier is."

All was silent once again.

America and England were starting to believe that The Game Master had no intention of answering them, when—

I have an announcement to make.

The voice rumbled throughout the entire house.

I assume that every single one of you is wondering just what Platinum Tier is.

Just like that, The Game Master had everyone's attention.

Allow me to explain. Platinum Tier is akin to what you may call Heaven. It's a chance to reinvent yourselves. You will leave this world forever, but will begin anew elsewhere.

As soon as the word "heaven" had been uttered, a shared sense of dread came over all those in the house. After all, heaven meant death.

However, some of you will lose The Game. Your minds will be twisted by The Madness and you shall become The Corrupt. Eventually, The Corruption will suffocate your mind and you will fall. You will loose The Game, and your soul will simply blink out of existence

The entire house stood in silence, save for the few shuddering, frightened breaths that fell from the lips of the more docile nations.

It took a moment for it to register in China's head, but when it did, his gaze instantly dropped to the floor. "So," he whispered, his voice weak and quivering. "Russia is dead..."

Japan gave a simple nod. "Hai, as is Belarus-san, it seems."

With a frustrated groan, China turned to face the younger nation, eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "Can't you show just the least bit of emotion?" he hissed. "Two people are dead and you don't feel the slightest bit of sorrow? Where is your heart, Rìběn?" He turned and hurried away, hoping Japan didn't see the tears gathering in his eyes.

Giving a quiet sigh, Japan followed after his former carer. He wasn't quite sure what China expected of him. He hadn't known Russia or Belarus well enough to consider them friends. They weren't allies of his, nor did he see them ever becoming such.

The again, maybe China's outburst was a feeble attempt to cover the grief he was feeling at this moment. That was probably it. After all, China and Russia had been quite close.

You can reunite them.

Japan whipped around. There was that whispering again. What did it want of him?

Reunite them, Japan.
It's the right thing to do.

Reunite them? Surely this voice didn't want him to—

They were so close.
It would be such a pity to keep them apart.
Do it.
Reunite them.

Japan shook his head. No. He couldn't kill China.

China, who had cared for him when he was too small to care for himself. And in terms of physical strength, China was superior.

Your katana.
He has no weapons.
Even if he is stronger than you, he couldn't possibly stop your katana.

A shiver went down his spine when he realised that he was actually considering doing what the whispering voice was suggesting.

Could he really do it? Could he kill China?

He briefly wondered how it would feel, slicing into the elder nation's flesh, watching rivers of scarlet fall from deep wounds.

He shivered again. Such morbid thoughts.

No. He couldn't do it.

Even if China was occasionally obnoxious and thought he could still get away with telling him what to do, he was still the man who took him in and cared for him when nobody else would.

He is also the man who tried to control you.

Japan cast a glance to his katana.

It would have to be something classic. Maybe a bisection, or even a decapitation. Something simplistic. He wasn't really up for a messy disembowelment. Yes, a decapitation would do nicely.

Increasing his pace to catch up with China, Japan unsheathed his katana. "I'll make it quick." he whispered. He was mere millimetres from the elder nation when he pulled his sword back.

"Make what qu— ?!" China turned just in time to dodge Japan's attack, gasping when the very tip of the weapon nicked his throat. "J-Japan?"

The younger of the two glared up at the other through his fringe, and China gave another gasp.

"Japan... what happened to your... eyes?"

Japan blatantly ignored his question, dashing forward and swiftly slicing his stomach open.

With a loud yell, China fell backwards, knocking his head on a table ledge as he went down. He tried to get up, but the pain rendered him immobile. He panicked when Japan approached, standing over him with his katana raised.

"While I was growing up, you always wanted me to address you as my brother." Japan recalled. "I only have one thing left to say to you." His mouth curved into a sickly sweet smile. "Sayonara, oniisama." With a final swing of his katana, Japan ended the life of the oldest nation.

China has reached Platinum Tier.

France just couldn't take it in. Russia. Belarus. And now China. How could such powerful nations have fallen so quickly?

"France?"

That was Spain's voice. He was sure of it. His eyes were blurry and he was still in a shuddering, panicked state. He couldn't rid himself of the feel of Belarus' hair running through his fingers, her warmth on his chest, and the empty blackness of her eyes as her life slipped away.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his back.

"Fr-France, calm down." Spain's voice again.

France shook his head, grabbing hold of Spain's wrist and dragging him back to the room where he'd placed Belarus' body, not saying a word.

"Oi!" Romano. That must have been Romano. "Don't you bastards leave without me!"

France didn't—or rather couldn't speak until they were outside the room's door. He took a shuddering breath. "B-Belarus... She... She's..."

"Dead. We know."

"I... I didn't know what to do, I just... I just left her here!" France began shaking his head again. He let go of Spain's wrist, placing his hand on the doorknob and opening the door.

The room was totally empty.

"Wh— No, this isn't possible!" France stumbled forward into the room, falling over himself. He placed a hand flat on the bed. "I put her right here." he stated. He replayed the moment in his head.

He was holding her. She was crying. She was in pain, so he was holding her. He thought she was beginning to calm down, but when he looked at her, she was dead. He was shocked. Shocked and frightened. He carried her into this room and placed her on the bed.

That's exactly what happened. So where was she?

Spain stepped into the room, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "France, breathe." he said. "Maybe one of the others found her and moved her. Y'know, gave her a kind of... funeral or something..."

Luckily, France was in no state to argue back. He just took a deep breath and nodded, willing to believe anything at this point.

"Now come on," Spain held his hand out. "We were on our way back to the main hall."

The silence was almost deafening.

Germany and Italy hadn't said a word since The Game Master's announcement. Each wished he knew what the other was thinking.

Italy was the first to speak.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

However, Germany heard it perfectly clearly. "Of course we aren't!" he snapped.

Italy flinched at his harsh tone. "The Game Master said that those who reach Platinum Tier go to heaven and those who lose The Game cease to exist." he reasoned. "Either way, we die."

Germany frowned. "The Game Master also said that we can win The Game." he countered, grabbing hold of Italy's shoulders. "If we win, we survive. That has to be how this works. We just have to make sure that we win." With that, he released Italy's shoulders and laced their fingers together.

"I'm not very good at winning..."

"Italy, stop it!" Germany had to stop himself from yelling. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to let anything happen to you?"

Italy pulled away, turning to face the other way.

"I can't stand seeing you so... so negative." Germany continued, wrapping his arms around Italy from behind. "It doesn't suit you. You're Italy. Hyperactive, happy-go-lucky Italy. What happened to your ever-optimistic attitude?"

With a quiet sniffle, Italy turned back to face the German. "And what good did optimism do them? Russia, Belarus and China?" he countered, fists clenched and tears rolling down his cheeks.

As much as Germany hated to admit it, Italy made a fair point. But still, he shouldn't be this way. "And what do we have that they don't?" he asked, in a desperate attempt to bring the Italian round to his way of thinking.

Italy frowned. "...what?"

Germany caught hold on Italy's wrist, pulling him closer as he whispered; "Each other."

Romano fiddled with the zip on his jacket, chewing his bottom lip. He, along with everyone else, wanted to know just what was going on in this house, but more than that—more than anything—he wanted to know exactly where his brother was.

Three people had died already and he was getting worried. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Veneziano. Why the hell didn't he demand he go with him instead of the potato bastard?

"Roma?" Southern Italy glance to the side, his frown deepening when he saw the worried look on Spain's face. "What's the matter?"

Romano scoffed. "Nothing." he lied.

Spain was often accused of being unable to read the atmosphere. He could, however, read Romano like a book. Giving a soft smile, he draped an arm over the Italian's shoulders. "We'll find him, Romano." he promised.

"I'm not worried about that idiot, Veneziano!" he grumbled, shrugging Spain's arm from his shoulders.

With a quiet chuckle, Spain replaced his arm. "Then how did you know I was talking about him?" he asked.

Romano glared, picking up speed to leave Spain behind.

Meanwhile, France was still freaking out over Belarus' missing body.

Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe Belarus wasn't dead after all. No. The Game Master announced her death. Not only was she dead, but she'd lost The Game.

Wait!

If Belarus had lost The Game, then her soul no longer existed, right? So maybe, because her soul no longer existed, then neither did her body. That must be it!

France looked up, opening his mouth to tell the others of his theory. He swallowed his words when he saw how close the two were.

He glared.

Spain was your best friend until that Italian came into the picture.
You should get rid of him.

Almost against his will, France took a step forward.

You'll be doing Spain a favour, really.
Getting rid of that brat.
Spain never really wanted him in the first place.
He should die.

With a gasp, France stopped himself from moving. "No! I don't think that!" he hissed, fisting his hands in his hair.

His seemingly random outburst caught the attention of the two nations in front of him.

"France?" Spain rushed towards him, grabbing his arms. "What's wrong?" he asked.

France bit his lip, shaking his head. "Kill me." he whispered.

Spain blinked, taking a step back. "Wh-What?"

"Kill me, Spain! Please!" begged the Frenchman. "Belarus told me that she killed Russia because a whispering voice told her to," he explained, hoping to whatever deity was listening that the Spaniard believed him. "I couldn't hear it at first, but now I can and I... I don't want to hurt either of you..."

The three stood in silence for a while, before France spoke again. "Spain, please, just do it!" he muttered.

Spain sighed, shaking his head. "I... I couldn't possibly... I can't kill you, France." he responded.

France opened his mouth to beg again.

"I can."

Both France and Spain looked over at Romano, who was staring at the two, fists clenched.

"Roma, what are you—"

"Look at him, Spain." Romano interjected.

Spain glanced back at his friend, taking in his appearance. The whites of his eyes had started to turn grey and his face had lost all colour.

"There's a reason he wants to die."

France tumbled out of Spain's hold. "So you'll do it?" he asked.

Romano nodded. "My gun is in the room I woke up in." he said. "If you follow me..." he trailed off, not really needing to finish that sentence. He turned and led the way to 'his' room.

It only took a matter of seconds before the three of them were stood in the room Romano wad woken up in. Romano walked over the the dressed, pulling open the second draw and retrieving his gun.

France took a deep breath, trying his hardest not to look at the shiny metal in Southern Italy's hand.

"Stand against the wall." Romano's voice shook.

France did as he was told and stood against the wall. "Do it." he uttered when Romano aimed.

"For what it's worth," Romano couldn't contain with tears that were swelling in the corners of his eyes. "I never truly hated you."

Giving a sad smile, France nodded and squeezed his eyes shut as Romano squeezed the trigger.

With a loud bang, a bullet shot through France's head, splattering his brain over the previously white wall.

France has lost The Game.

The gun fell from Romano's trembling hand and clattered to the floor.

Romano grit his teeth as a sob tore from his throat.

"Roma," Spain grabbed hold of his former charge, holding him close. "It's okay. You... You did the right thing." he whispered, not sure who he was trying to convince, Romano or himself.

End Note: And now China and France fans will have my guts for garters.
Translations:
Dieu – God (French)
Rìběn – Japan (Chinese)
Sayonara, oniisama – Goodbye, big brother (Japanese)

Sneak peaks

"I'm in so much pain all the time, America."

"Trying to be the hero again, huh?"

"An eye for an eye, you bastard."

"You're not going to die! I won't let you!"

"I need you to calm down, or you'll make yourself sick."