Chapter Eight: Message in Blood

"Keep moving! We're almost there!" Britain called out, his green eyes shining with panic, fear, and anger. The spectres had taken too many of them, they were weak if they needed to fight. That was why they all simply ran; there was no way they were going to defeat ghosts, no matter how many people they had.

He remembered what the Pirate spectre of himself had said when Japan died, causing sweat to bead on his forehead, and make his blood run cold. 'In here…you are nothing but a mortal. Your Nation powers will not work in here; hence why so many of you have died.'

It made so much sense! They were all so panicked about finding a way out, and protecting their loved ones, that no one seemed to question why they, as Nations, were able to die. Pirate England had confirmed suspicions that England had been questioning since Lithuania died; in this castle, there was no chance of survival. No immortality. No regeneration. You were not a Nation; you were a human.

The realisation made Arthur tremble, almost losing his footing, but he was recovered by a pair of strong hands; undeniably, America had helped him regain his balance, running alongside him, almost in sync.

"Brit! Don't lose your head! We're gonna' get out; then you can hang with all your magic friends, right?" His blue eyes shone with determination, and strength; a will to survive. Arthur reflexively nodded and grabbed America's hand, continuing to run with him. They were around ten metres away from the door, until a cry.

America reflexively turned around, realising that Britain's hand had slipped from his clutch. The green-eyed male was in the clutches of his spectre self; he wriggled, squirmed, and tried to wrench himself free. But, his captor held him tight in his clutches.

"Let him go! We've done nothing to hurt you; yet all you've done is take those we love away from us!" America cried, baring his teeth, gritting them tightly; he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

"You appear to forget that the Frog's death was caused by your own precious Britain…" The spectre laughed darkly, noticing how his prisoner tensed in his hold. Arthur's eyes had widened, and focused on the floor; he trembled at the memory of France's face, tinted with a violet hue, from where he had strangled him with his own hands.

"They've also forgotten how they trespassed on our premises… I mean, we've been fighting in this castle, every so often, over the past hundred years or so," the Spaniard Captain spoke up, placing his hand onto the hilt of his cutlass. "We had no warning; therefore, you are trespassers! And we don't give any mercy to those who trespass!" The spectre of England nodded in agreement; despite all the fights that the Nations had seen between the two ghosts, the remaining seven were surprised to see them agree on something for a change.

America stepped forward, reaching to Britain, "Please… we didn't mean any harm! W-We were only here to explore, nothing more. We had no intention of removing anything from its rightful place; please, just let Artie go-!" He was then struck by the English pirate, knocking him aside, making the American clutch his cheek.

Emerald eyes glistened with anger, "Not a chance in hell! He appears to be your ringleader! We're going to enjoy this and kill him slowly…" This caused Britain to tense, his eyes growing wide with panic, he turned his gaze to meet with his other self. "What do you think, Antonio? Break his fingers first?"

The Spaniard pirate nodded, a sadistic smile on his face; "Vicariously, when you hurt him, you're hurting yourself, which is a very good idea to me, since I hate you…" A dark chuckle left his throat, which frightened the modern-day Spain to his very core.

Arthur whimpered and trembled in his captor's hold, trying desperately to escape, but his hand was grasped, tension grew in his index finger as it was being tugged at. He yelled out loud as his finger escaped its socket; this caused his hands to shake with incredible pain. The male was beginning to sink to his knees, gritting his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in an expression that only showed pain and torture.

America, being the Hero, tried to steady himself, shaken at the other's piercing scream. He clenched his fists, dashing towards his comrade, with the backup of Switzerland and Prussia. The Spanish spectre lashed out at them, but the Nations' speed and stamina didn't let them down; the German-speakers kept the Spaniard distracted, whilst America continued to dash to Britain.

He grabbed at the spectre's arm, despite being translucent they had some physicality, tugging at it to free his comrade. The Pirate growled, grabbing a dagger from his weapons belt, and thrust it into the American's shoulder. A cry of pain left his mouth, as well as a cry of terror from Arthur, but he tried to push the pain aside, concentrating on Britain's freedom. He grasped the spectre again, digging his nails into his arm, trying to forcefully pull Britain out.

The Pirate raised a hand, but Arthur managed to escape… however, not without consequence. The Briton and American toppled to the ground; Arthur lying diagonally across Alfred, his head on the other's shoulder. Alfred sighed in relief, reaching round to comfort the Briton, but his blue eyes widened as he felt moisture on the other's shirt. Hesitantly, Alfred pulled his hand away, shaking intensely, realising that a ruby fluid had stained his sun-kissed skin. Arthur's ragged coughing brought Alfred out of his trance, as he quickly lifted Arthur off him, in a panic, and glanced down at him. He noticed five stab wounds in the other's torso, blood dribbling down Arthur's face in the most unattractive manner.

"N-No…-! Britain! Y-Ya' can't die on me, man!" Alfred yelled, agony and dread evident in his voice. It was odd, normally it would be a boisterous laugh, or bright exclamation, that would leave his lips; but not this time. The American clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles turning white, blood seeping through the miniscule wounds his nails made in his palms, as he rested his face against the Briton's chest; clearly distraught.

A shaky, yet kind touch was felt on his shoulder and the back of his head, blood sinking into Alfred's golden locks, but right now he didn't care. He glanced up, sapphire irises obscured by the overflowing tears.

"It's alright, Alfred… You've done your best. Just get everyone else out…" Arthur coughed, but the smile refused to leave his face as he spoke to Alfred.

"D-Dude! I can't leave you here, not a chance! I've lost Mattie, and Lithuania… I can't lose you too, please Britain!" He sobbed, lifting Arthur up, removing the knives from Arthur's back, causing the British male to writhe in pain. The American apologised continuously, still weeping, and cradling the Briton to his chest, rocking him carefully. "Don't leave me alone…"

Arthur laughed, "How ironic… concerning you were the one who wanted to leave me in the first place… back in 1776…" A certain fondness, tainted with slight sadness, crossed his face as he relived memories of the Revolutionary War. The American stiffened at the other's words, looking down at him with a pained expression.

"I said I'm sorry about that… can you drop it…" Alfred pouted, unamused by what the Briton had said. "Arthur… there's just one thing I have to say. I promise, that I will protect your country, as much as I protect mine. You're so special to me, that I can't bear the thought of losing you now… You're my hero; you always have been!"

The American was suddenly calmed, by Britain's hands cupping his face. "Alfred… It's alright. Thank you for looking after my people, in advance." He carefully pulled the other toward him, blushing softly as their lips met in a soft, tender embrace. Although, this moment was not exactly how Arthur had initially envisioned it; this would suffice. If Alfred knew how he really felt; Arthur felt peaceful and had no more regrets in the world. "I love you, Alfred F. Jones… I always have done…" A soft chuckle left his throat, it was dry, and rasping, as his life began to disappear.

Alfred's eyes widened, and he pulled Arthur close to him, feeling the other's hands rest against his arm. "I love you too… Arthur Kirkland… I love you!"

The five spectating Nations hung their heads in pity, remorse, and sorrow for another fallen comrade. Prussia and Spain were relying on one another for comfort, since they had lost practically everyone they cared for. Russia and Poland also sought support from one another, surprisingly, since Poland didn't favour the Russian all that much. Switzerland remained solo, neutral, just how he liked it, but he turned his glance to focus on the Austrian's body, gritting his teeth; he was all alone, despite not getting on with Roderich very much, he'd miss him dearly.

"Now, Alfred… no more tears. Run… escape. Live your life to the best of your ability, you understand me?" Arthur pleaded, nuzzling his face against the soft cloth of Alfred's shirt. He was getting weaker, and the American noticed, his grip tightening on the other.

"A-Alright, Britain… but one more thi-!" Alfred looked down to Arthur, but his eyes were shut, his lips slightly parted, his pale skin seemed to go white. He rested a hand on Arthur's cheek, turning his face to look at him; when he realised that he wasn't responding, Alfred grit his teeth, stifling more tears. Some slipped past, splashing against the lenses of his glasses, and against Arthur's cheek, mingling with the blood that had leaked from the corner of his mouth. "Rest peacefully, Arthur… You're safe now…"

Author's Note:

Writing this chapter killed me! As you can probably tell USUK is an OTP of mine, and England is my favourite character; I am British after all!

Well, this concludes the main body of the story. However, over the next two weeks, I will put out two different endings to this story; the one I had initially planned, and another that I came up with while writing this story now. You guys can choose which one you prefer!

Thank you everybody so much for reading, your support, and lovely reviews!

See you next week, for the first finale!