Chapter Five: Camaraderie Betrayal
The night soon crept in; the hallways even more threatening as the world outside the castle walls began to fall into its daily slumber.
The young Italian was rundown and withdrawn from the minimal conversations that surrounded him; he just held onto the blond German as his legs began to ache from the consistent walking. Germany kept the Italian close by and watched him carefully, making sure that he didn't fall behind.
China and Japan then stopped and looked up. "I think we've reached the exit." The elder Nation spoke.
"I hope so…I'm starving." America complained, desperately wanting a hamburger.
So, the two Asian countries walked forward and opened the door; only to their surprise, and it was quite ironic, they had found a kitchen. There was a copper pot of water hanging from a metal bar over a pile of logs; and other pots and pans were scattered around the place.
"This is medieval, and British… yet they have all the major cooking supplies necessary for making delicious food-aru?" China spoke, taking in the multiple pots and pans.
"I never even knew Brits used proper cooking utensils to make the disgusting food that they, somehow, like to eat." France spoke; clearly confused yet he had a taunting tone of voice. England growled at the Frenchman and went to grab his throat, but America took the Brit's hand and shook his head.
"Well. Since there is food here, and it looks fresh, should I make something delicious to eat? It has been a while since we all ate last, right?" China smiled.
"Hell yeah it has! Like I said, I'm starving! Make hamburgers!" America laughed, outrageously. The remaining Nations all rolled their eyes at the American and all agreed that they should grab a small bite to eat.
China and Japan began to prepare some vegetables with the Swiss' knives; the blades in the kitchen were all corroded and damaged.
Russia was sitting down with Latvia on his knee, the younger Nation was shivering violently in his arms; he was seeking comfort…but not from Russia of all people. The older Nation smiled, sadistically, down at Latvia and gently patted his head, running his gloved fingers through the soft blond locks. Raivis was a little stunned at Ivan's likeable nature but for now he accepted it, the adolescent was still traumatised from the loss of the Estonian and the Lithuanian.
"Oh ho honh. What have we 'ere?" France laughed as he was kneeling down and peering into a cupboard. The Allies and the Axis crowded around him and looked down; the Frenchman then pulled out two bottles of crimson wine. "These look very vintage do they not?" France beamed at the prospect of getting a free drink.
"Don't touch any of it Frog! That's the last thing we need to deal with; some arsehole getting drunk." England sighed, in aggravation. The Frenchman scoffed yet put the bottles on the rotting table in the middle of the room.
The scent of the Chinese's cooking filled the room, which made everyone sigh in content; even England who is generally so apprehensive of the other Nation's food. Traditional home cooking, it eased the Nations, and made them feel like they were welcome in this dank castle; despite the deaths.
Unfortunately, the warm, homely feel did not last…
"They're back again! Does this never end?!" Switzerland yelled; pulling out a gun. And, he was right…once again, the ghosts of Pirate England and Pirate Spain had brought their ongoing swordfight to the group. The great door splintered as the two pirates burst through; constantly swinging their blades and fists at one another.
"Ay! England, you're cheating!" Pirate Spain yelped as Pirate England shoved him back.
"HA! I'm not cheating! What are you going to do? Get your Armada on me?" Pirate England cackled; his eyes glinting with sadistic ideology.
The Spaniard Pirate growled at the Brit and lashed at him; England dodged and perched on the table. "Really? You are so pathetic, Spain! It's quite unbelievable how you have protected that brat Romano for so long!" The Brit grinned evilly, his teeth seemingly fang-like. The Spanish pirate snarled; his emerald eyes darkening in pure hatred of the English captain.
The Spaniard's ghost was standing right beside China… who was near a fireplace; the apparition pulled out a gun and shot three rounds at the British spectre. The bullet chambers caused sparks to fly, landing on the primitive wooden blocks…setting them alight.
"China-San!" Japan cried, the generally emotionless male, now fearing for the elder Asian country's life.
The fire began to roar viciously as it crept up to the hem of China's uniform jacket; the fabric began to burn and soon, the elder Nation's upper body was enveloped in the flames. Hollow screams and cries were the only sounds leaving Wang Yao's lips.
"We need to find water!" England demanded. The group then began to rush around, trying to find some water.
"Don't worry! I have the solution!" France called; holding two open bottles.
"Francis, don't-!" England snapped, but too late. France began to douse the Chinese male with the cherry coloured alcohol. The Frenchman quickly jumped back as the flames began to burn more vigorously. The harsh glow of the blaze engulfed China… soon his cries of pain and fear began to die away… but before his voice disappeared completely, he said one last sentence.
"Francis… you drunk bastard…" Wang Yao's voice disintegrated as well as the crackle of the fire, as America had grabbed the copper pot of water and doused the Chinese male.
The fire died down and sizzled to a clear silence; as well as the insults between the ominous spectres, as they disappeared through the walls yet again.
"Ch-China-San..." Japan cried, his dull eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
The Frenchman stared in horror at the Chinese male's body, which was burnt and scorched from the raging flames; his face was pale and his sky-blue irises had shrunk within his eyes. He glanced down at his hands, tarnished with ash and soot; his heart was racing after what he had just done.
"France… you really fucked up this time." England growled, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.
"I-It wasn't my fault! I couldn't find any water and I thought using the wine would be a good idea!"
"It just proves that you're a useless drunk, you goddamn frog!"
"Iggy! Chill out!" America cried; worrying as a dark green aura appeared to emanate from England; while his emerald irises shrunk in pure hatred of the Frenchman.
France was shaking violently at the presence of the Chinese male's burnt body. Meanwhile, Japan, the male who usually senses the mood and refrains from speaking, ran to France and began to shout at him; his ordinary emotionless face now awash with anger.
Italy, despite being weak, went to Japan and began to comfort his comrade. France sighed sadly, his heart clenched with guilt; aching as he peered over to the Asian nations one at a time; the Japanese male in tears, whereas the Elder was burnt…dead, because of his stupid actions.
"Brit… what are you doing?!" America cried as England dashed at France, with a pan and corroded blade in his grip.
The Briton's face was scrunched up in a frightening snarl…low growls escaped his throat with each breath. "You're… a moron… I knew that. But… now I want to end it; you've made a huge fucking mistake!"
"Britain! I-I didn't mean to! Please, have mercy!" France yelped in fear of his fellow Ally; he had never seen the English gentleman so angry before.
"Because of you… China is DEAD! Do you NOT understand that?!" Arthur yelled; closing the gap between him and the Frenchman.
Francis backed away, until the Brit had forced him into a corner. England shot his hand out, quick as lightning and grabbed the Frenchman's neck; "You…YOU BASTARD!" The green-eyed male tightened his grip on France's neck, causing him to go purple in the face as he struggled for air.
A crazed glint shone in England's eyes as he threw the blue-eyed Frenchman away from the wall, before making a swing with the pan in his hand…
"Arthur, stop!" America yelled, but Prussia stopped the American.
"Birdie, wouldn't want you getting hurt! I don't give a shit about you because I'm the awesome Prussia...but I care about him. If things get worse, we'll grab England and get him away from France. Got it?" Prussia yelled at America; causing him to stop, despite his racing heartbeat. The Nations all, suddenly, looked to the Englishman…who had knocked the Frenchman to the floor with one solid swing of the pan in his hand; the dull clang of the metal meeting Francis' skull.
"Please… Britain…have mercy." France panted, as he lay on the icy stone floor; a small pool of crimson liquid drenching his once-perfect blond locks.
England knelt over the Frenchman, his legs on either side of his stomach; "Mercy? What's 'mercy'?" The Brit's lips curled into a manic grin, his teeth seemed to be fanged. "FUCK THAT!" England raised the rusty carver which he clutched in his right hand, before…
"ENGLAND, STOP!" America escaped Prussia's tight grip and dashed to the Brit, but… he was too late.
England had stabbed France in the stomach, before swiping the tarnished blade across Francis' throat, slitting it, warm blood spurted from the wound and sprayed across England's face and clothes. But, the Brit never stopped laughing maniacally, his eyes wide in extreme insanity, he gasped for air between each cold-hearted cackle.
America grabbed England's shoulders, but the Brit pushed him away, swearing and cursing the American… Everyone was shocked; no one had ever seen this side of Britain.
The next sound terrified all the Nations, as Switzerland shot a round into England's shoulder. The Briton reacted to the hit and came out of his trance; he looked to his blood-soaked hands and gasped. "O…Oh god…" He raised his hands to his face, smearing the blood that stained his skin, only to be picked up, and held by America.
"I've got you…" America hushed England, consoling him; he peered over his shoulder and glared at Switzerland.
England let go of America for a moment to look back at France's now motionless body. His head had tilted back and fallen to the side, eyes glazed over, small streams of blood and saliva ran down his stubble lined chin.
The Spaniard and the Prussian walked to their comrade's body and took his jacket off, placing the stained royal blue jacket over his upper body. Antonio held back his tears, as did Prussia; they hugged one another before going back to Italy and Germany.
"Goodbye Francis," the two remaining members of the Trio spoke as they walked away from the Frenchman's corpse. Prussia shot a dangerous glare to the Briton, who was still shivering in the American's arms. He couldn't believe what he had done.
So, France had been murdered…but not by the consistent brawl between the ghosts of England and Spain's past... But by England himself. There had been severe Camaraderie Betrayal…
Author's note:
Sorry this chapter isn't super long, there wasn't much I could really add/change about this.
Did you enjoy the plot twist? Not being mean to any fans of France out there, I really like him, but it made sense in the story that he would be the one Arthur would actually do something to after that dumb mistake. Maybe the scene was a little over the top, but I really liked it when I read it back, so I thought I'd keep it.
Anyway, updates for LYGS will continue as normal from now on and may finish before Finding His Queen since the extra chapter has been put up.
Reviews are always valued; thank you everyone, and see you next week!