Hallelujah, this chapter is DONE.
Warning: Violence, threats, mental torture, gore, weapons, sensitive material, character death.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA. I have fun manipulating their characters, though
"Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light."
—John Milton, Paradise Lost
Morituri te Salutant
"Nnn, shit…"
Arthur opened his eyes into the blackness that had swallowed him. He lay there for a moment, taking in the miraculous fact that he could breathe. He attempted to move, but the instant he flexed his muscles, pain ignited his nerves. He went limp once again, panting. Bloody hell. It felt like he had taken a tumble down a rocky mountainside and hit every outcropping along the way.
It was then that he remembered the little girl he had promised to get back to her mother and forced himself onto his elbows with clenched teeth. "Little girl, are you all right?" he called breathlessly. His lungs were still recovering from the fall, which meant that he hadn't been unconscious for too long. Although he wasn't quite sure whether or not that was something he should be grateful for. He could have done with postponing the inevitable for just a bit longer.
"Hello? Little girl?" Just as Arthur was reflecting on how he should have asked for her name earlier, his eyes settled on a crumpled form sprawled a few feet from him across the floor. His heart plummeted.
"I'm sorry." Arthur dragged himself over to her, ignoring the ache that pervaded his body. He reached out and took her hand in his. It looked so tiny and promising. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you." Another promise broken, Arthur mused. He observed the girl's broken body, the black pool rippling beneath her that couldn't be anything but blood. He knew he should be crying, should feel sick and breathless and, fuck, shocked. But he wasn't.
He made me this way, the Overlord, Arthur thought, staring and feeling more disgusted with himself than grief-stricken for the girl. He made us all this way. He put people in front of us so we could watch them die, so that we could hear how they screamed and writhed and begged for mercy. We've seen too much death and hurt to grieve for something as common as a little girl dying. We want to mourn, but that bastard took that away. One of the most powerful human emotions—gone. And all he had to do was strip us of our control. He brushed the girl's bloody hair out of her face. Even as he touched her cold skin, nothing stirred within him. His unbidden apathy made him ill. He discovered our weakness. We have seen slaughter before, but we have always had some sort of control or reprieve to rely on. Now we are mortal and helpless. And the killing seems much more intimate, much—closer. Sitting on Death's doorstep every day for months on end really does make one indifferent to it. Arthur gave the girl's hand one last stroke and gathered his legs beneath him, pushing himself to wobbly feet. He took a step and his ankle gave out, sending him falling sideways until he threw out an arm and found a wall. A wall that was not curved and damp, but flat and cold. Icy cold. Like the little girl's dead body. He saw a reddish light flickering up ahead and shuffled along the wall toward it, step by unsteady step.
We were fools. Blasted, bloody fools. Did we really believe that we could live forever? Did we truly think that we could never be harmed like this?
Arthur paused for a moment, his knees weakening just a bit at the image of Christopher, his first mate, his ship sinking in the distance as he watched, alone, from his dingy. He still remembered his dream, the one conjured by Agramon. How Christopher's skin was white slime, wicked away by every swish of water. Before, he had the urge to be sick. Now he could only want to be.
Did we really think that captains don't always go down with their ships?
The flickering disk of ghostly red that swelled with every step he took was more than ominous, and Arthur knew that someone must have made the floor beneath his feet disappear for a reason, just as he knew whoever did this must possess powers he had never bothered to imagine, because how could it be? The Overlord wanted Arthur to find him. He wanted to lure Arthur into his lair, make him take the low ground and fight his way up while the bastard bloodied him as much as he could along the way.
And Arthur was glad to fall into his clutches. Because blood may stain, but it always faded. Pride, however, was something that would always be with him, as strong as its beginning. The Overlord had foolishly presumed to take it from him. Arthur would show him that a former empire could not be so easily extinguished. Not when he himself had held the world in his hands and found that it was too vast for any one person, however powerful, to own.
He would be glad to teach the Overlord such a lesson.
His mind flashed back to all those times he and his brothers had fought. They had done everything imaginable to each other—wrestled, kicked, punched, screamed, cursed, threatened. There had even been an argument during which Arthur had hurled a lamp across the room. He remembered the clattering thump the lamp had made when it met Lennox's ribs. He also remembered seeing the bruise he had caused across his brother's chest afterward, when he had let himself in to Lennox's house to berate him for not answering his calls. He had stood and stared for nigh on ten minutes, at the devastation of blue and purple and sickening yellow the lamp had painted across the older man's chest. The lamp Arthur had so recklessly and thoughtlessly thrown.
He remembered thinking that he was sorry. He wished that his sympathy had lasted longer than three seconds. And that he had woken Lennox to apologize before he left.
I told Sean that I never wanted to see him again, Arthur mused, nearly tripping over his own feet. Bryce told me that he wasn't my brother. I told him that I didn't want a brother who fucked sheep anyway. Arthur laughed hollowly, a rapid exhale of breath that hurt his lungs. Ian gave me a black eye in a bar fight over who allowed Sean to get hurt. I had it for weeks. When Sean saw me next, he laughed and said I'd gotten less than I deserved. Lennox told me I was a shit brother who had no responsibility running a kingdom that I barely knew how to hold together. I'd yelled at Lennox. Said that if he wasn't such an ass all the time, maybe we'd get on better. And I threw a lamp at him. Then I called him a cancerous prick and almost wrenched his door off its hinges when I slammed it shut. Arthur's eyes stung and his face felt very hot. He paused only a moment to cough up the prickly feeling from his throat. Sean would come over to my house for a hand of cards and pretend it was the liquor that made him so boisterous and happy. I would wake up to see him passed out on the couch, and I wouldn't mind him being there. Arthur swallowed his regret. There was no room for it where he was going. There was only here and now. I'd be hungover and I'd ask Bryce to read to me. He would. Every time I asked, he would. His voice was a lullaby. Arthur looked up, saw that the red light was growing closer, sending flickering fingers creeping toward him along the wall. Ian would pull me into a round of Fiddler's Green and bugger all who complained. And Lennox hugged me, the great prat. A wisp of a smile crossed Arthur's face for just a moment, and for a moment everything seemed to be a little brighter. He hugged me and called me 'little brother'. And I hugged him back.
"Tell him what happened to us is not his fault and that any of us would have done the same for him," Feliciano had claimed Lennox had said.
I would have as well, Arthur thought, his eyes burning again. I wish I could have had the sense to tell you.
Other memories flashed through his mind—of Alfred crying and losing his wits enough to beat a man to death; Matthew screaming on his knees in front of what he thought was Francis's grave; the empty look in Francis's eyes as he recounted how he had been gang raped, the cigarette burns and scars and bruises that littered the man's bare torso; Kiku's withdrawn demeanor, how he seemed like a shell whose only purpose was to exist; the fear in Yao's eyes when he saw that Kiku had disobeyed him and put himself in danger; the bandana which was all that was left of Sadiq, tied around Matthew's arm; Ivan writhing and screaming like nothing Arthur had ever heard as he was cut open and sewn back together; Gilbert's body lying in a pool of blood, his head massacred; Ludwig stooped over his brother, tears rolling down his face with no effort left to hold them in; Lovino's body swinging limply from the braided rope noose, pale, listless, dead eyes staring at something far, far away; Feliciano's sobs as he took his brother in his arms and told him how much he loved him; Lennox shot in Arthur's arms, abandoned in front of his home, where everything began and ended at once.
He hurt us. He hurt every one of us. Arthur clenched his fists and ground his teeth so hard his jaw became sore. Now I'll hurt him.
The reddish light overtook him. It swallowed him and spit him out into a room drenched in an intense, bloody tint. It had high concrete walls that looked thick and impenetrable, lined with nothing that offered the reassurance that there was any sort of life within. But there was. Someone had obviously given an identity to this room—something that was eerie and unnatural. A large screen stretched along the wall, casting a surrealistic hue to the walls and cutting through the red haze like bestial eyes glowing in the dark. Beneath it extended a large board littered with an assortment of winking buttons and glinting levers. The bare red walls danced with white light projected from the screen as figures moved across the scope of the cameras in the tunnels. Arthur would have liked to further examine the screen, to confirm that their offensive was working, to count their losses, and, most importantly, to perhaps catch a miraculous glimpse of someone whose fate had been gnawing at his mind. But, as glaring as the brightness was of the technology that was spread before him, he noticed something that begged his attention against the farthest wall. Something that was sprawled on the floor, back against the wall, shaking, breath rattling, coughing—alive. Just as Arthur was contemplating whether or not he was still indeed lying unconscious in the tunnel, dreaming up this especially vivid scene on the heels of a brain hemorrhage, he realized that someone was speaking. That it wasn't just the buzzing and beeping of the control board that was penetrating his ears.
"Pathetic." The voice was coming from a large rolling chair whose back hid the speaker, cold, high, and riddled with derision. "I'll make you realize that. I'll—" The chair shifted a little, just enough for Arthur to see the gray, elongated fingers that gripped an armrest. "Ah, I think we have company." The man against the wall lifted his head. Arthur squinted, the light distorting the stranger's features.
Then the man in the chair hissed, "We meet again, limey bastard."
The insult was familiar and the tone was definitely inhuman, but his logic was lost to him as he finally identified the man who sat bleeding and gasping against the wall. He opened his mouth and no words came out.
"No," Alfred rasped. His breathing picked up and his limbs began to shake that much harder.
The sound of his voice squeezed all the air from Arthur's lungs, leaving him free to fill them. "Alfred," was all he could say, because suddenly everything seemed so real and his heart was pounding so hard it left little room for his lungs to expand.
"Just the man I need. How kind of you to deliver yourself to me so willingly." The chair swiveled, and Arthur's jaw dropped. The thing in the chair laughed, its absent mouth adding a sinister edge to its presence. " 'Welcome to my web, said the spider to the fly'. A fitting phrase, is it not? Oh don't look so surprised, England. I thought most out of everyone that at least you would possess capacity enough to identify the Overlord. I had my hopes… but then again you humans are truly obtuse creatures. I don't see my sense in believing you would break that streak. Still, it would certainly have been more interesting if you had happened to fulfill my wishes. Oh well. We can't all have what we want. But I'm sure you understand such a concept, after—" He spread his arms in a gesture that referred to the entire world and all the suffering that came with its death throes.
I refuse to fulfill any wish of yours, Arthur wanted to remark, but all that came out was, "Y-you're… Tony, that… the alien?"
Tony rolled his red eyes, which seemed to glow in the red light, as if projecting it. "Oh please. You shouldn't be so shocked. You converse with fairytale creatures that don't nearly possess the capacity of thought to achieve what I have."
Arthur ignored Alfred's woozy, "They're real?" to snap his gaping mouth shut and narrow his green eyes. "No, they don't possess the sinister drive to do what you have done. No one has except for you. All this time, you've been behind everything. I should have warned Alfred about you from the start. There was always something off."
Tony shrugged. He looked oddly smug for someone without a mouth to sneer with. "Don't try to explain away your ignorance. You merely disliked me. Suspecting me is a whole other matter that you barely even considered, judging by how stunned you looked upon seeing me."
Arthur's hands balled into trembling fists. "All this time, it was you. You killed Sadiq, and Gilbert, and Lovino. You killed Austria, Hungary, the Nordics, South Korea, even Sealand—all of them." Arthur's muscles bunched, ready. "You killed my brothers."
Tony threw his head back and laughed, only his eyes giving away his derisive mirth. Then he fixed his ruby eyes on Arthur once again. "Your ignorance is glaring, yet again. Your world was already half broken by the time I arrived, war-ravaged and politically divided. And it only got worse. In the end, it only took a little push to make it all crumble. Like blowing on a house of cards, really." He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes arching into slits. "And who do you think stacked those cards so thoughtlessly? Who do you think helped facilitate the downfall?"
Arthur suddenly stopped trembling and his fingers unfurled. He blinked, his heart sinking into his stomach and churning it up. No, he thought. He's playing with me. Then he fell into his stance again, fists raised just a bit higher than before at his sides. "You're a liar." It was a lame comeback, but it was better than nothing.
Tony shook his head. "Now, I will admit that I am a liar. After all, I wouldn't have gotten to where I am without lying. But you can't ignore how obviously factual it is that you and your fellow nations were the ones who got all the dominoes lined up for me to knock down. On this note, I must thank you. I couldn't have done this without your help." Tony sat back and steepled his long fingers. Behind him, Alfred shimmied up the wall, arms splayed and quivering against it. "But, seeing as I have reached my goal, you nations are no longer useful to me. To become all-powerful I must eliminate all opponents, no matter how incapable they are of resisting me. You know how the dictatorial process works by now, I'm sure. Experience and all that, not enough it seems. Anyway, I need to get rid of everyone—except you." At this, Arthur stiffened. He didn't like the predatory way Tony was staring at him. "Oh no, you're important. As of yet. Allow me to explain."
The creak of the chair turning cut through Arthur's mind like a knife. Tony was redirecting his attention to Alfred, and Arthur seized his chance. He lunged forward, arms outstretched, prepared to spin the chair around and gouge out those hateful, mocking eyes, but something shifted in the air. It became heavier with a quickness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He caught the almost indiscernible twitch of a long, gray index finger before Arthur was flung backward. He slid halfway across the room before he could stop himself, too busy struggling to catch his breath, which had been crushed from his lungs. He landed on his back, his head snapping off the floor for the second time that day, and he forced himself to lay still long enough for the black spots to fade from his vision before rolling over and getting shakily to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping. He was alarmed to find that he was rasping with every breath, and he winced, biting through his bottom lip as he inhaled and was met with a piercing sting in his chest. He wanted to fall to the floor and curl up, but he braced his other hand against the floor and remained on his knees. He wouldn't give Tony any reason to think of him as too weak to oppose him, even though the alien had broken a couple of Arthur's ribs by barely lifting a finger.
Tony cleared his throat and completed his swivel in the chair. "Ah, you're up, I see. Good," he went on, as if he hadn't been interrupted. Alfred's face twisted into a scowl, and Tony chuckled. "Fearsome. That look would certainly intimidate me if I knew you had the power to act on it." He sighed. "But you're so weak without your title as a country. Shame. It would have been more enjoyable to spar a bit. Now you're far too fragile to offer any sort of entertainment. Humans really are dull, useless creatures." Alfred didn't waver in his scorn, bloody and unsteady as he was. The chair creaked again and red eyes peeked around the back of it to lock with Arthur's for a brief, chilling moment. "Now, limey, watch closely." And his finger twitched again.
Arthur's heart nearly burst from his chest as Alfred screamed. His left arm was held out as if suspended on puppet strings. The bones were twisting beneath his skin to the point that Arthur could see them moving. On and on, until two of Alfred's fingers were pushed to an impossibly skewed angle, and there was an audible snap. Alfred howled.
Alfred's arm was released and fell limp and rubbery to his side. He settled into barely-suppressed whimpers, his expression flickering in and out of agony. His body crumpled, legs giving out, but Tony forced him to remain standing. Alfred slid halfway down the wall before the alien yanked him upward by his broken arm. The American's mouth dropped open in a scream, and although nothing came out, his wide eyes reflected enough pain to have Arthur scrambling to his feet. His muscles bunched up again, legs ready to propel him to the chair. He took one step, then two. "You bas—"
"Ah-ah," Tony chided, and suddenly Arthur's ankles were caught, sending him face-forward to the floor. Arthur struggled to catch himself but ended up putting the bulk of his weight on his wrist, straining and snapping it. His forehead ricocheted off the concrete, and he lay there, biting back groans of agony as he cradled his wrist against him.
"Now, you know better, Arthur," Tony went on. "Surely you are wise enough to know that challenging someone of superior strength and intellect is a pointless venture." Arthur shifted on the floor, stretching out and lifting himself up with his good hand, his whole arm shaking. "Then again, you were always a stubborn one. Really a pain. But still, I must use you, so stay there." The air became heavy once more, as if a blanket of lead was being slowly laid over top of Arthur. He grunted and did everything he could to hold himself up, but his shaky arm gave out and he was pressed flat to the floor. The feeling was unlike anything he had ever felt before, but he did sense, through all of the confusion, that Tony was using energy to hold him down and perhaps torture Alfred. Arthur recalled the way the alien's finger had twitched before every horrible action. His eyes wandered down to his own fingers and lower still, to where bandages were loosely wrapped around his palm.
Magic? No, it couldn't be. Arthur had been alive for far too long to come across any sort of earthly magic he couldn't identify. But Tony wasn't earthly—and it certainly was energy he was using, just not his own. It was too different from Tony's own aura to be his own. So what the hell was the source of his power?
Tony could sense Arthur's power humming and collecting at the core of his being as the alien turned halfway around in his chair and stared pointedly at him. "Truly stubborn. Your predictability never ceases to amaze me. You can go on trying to resist me, and I can break one of Alfred's bones for every threatening move you make. Try me. You won't win."
Tony's cold glare and threatening tone wasn't what made Arthur disband the magic from his center. It was the fact that he had felt something like Tony's energy before. At least, what he now identified as Tony's energy, or rather the energy he wielded, the source of which was still in question.
It was the aura he'd sensed whenever he'd touched that doorknob for a split second that led into the room where Feliciano seemed to be talking to himself back in the bunker. He'd sensed it in that house in Chicago. But what the bloody hell is it?
Arthur ground his teeth together. His chest was being pressed into the floor to the extent that breathing was a difficult task, but using his magic was out of the question. It just wasn't worth it, especially if he didn't yet know how to properly fight Tony. His eyes flickered to Alfred, who was still dangling by his broken fingers, head down and quivering.
"Now, where was I?" Tony continued. He turned all the way around to face Arthur. His eyes bore into Arthur's own. "Ah, yes. I was getting down to the explanation. I apologize for my digression, but I just wanted to make the boundaries clear." His eyes flashed and Arthur choked as the weight pressing him down suddenly became heavier for just a moment. It was enough to send his heart into a frenzy. "Well, as I was saying, I can't kill you, Arthur. At least not yet. You see, I need you. Because you're special, Arthur. Not in an idolizing sort of way, no. Certainly not. You've helped me so far and produced dazzling results. Now you have one more task. One, but definitely the most important. You, Arthur, are a very powerful man. You have lived long enough to know many things, but then again so have the other nations. What makes you unique is the fact that your presence is quite… different from the rest."
Arthur's heart seemed to stop. He swallowed. "The rest?"
"The rest of your species. Instead of being completely oblivious to what limited abilities your poorly-structured bodies have, you have managed to sense what others can't. You possess enough experience using these abilities to be especially skilled. Which, as I assume you have come to understand, is a problem. At least when it comes to me." If Tony had a mouth, Arthur was sure that he would be smiling wickedly. "But one can't just waste power like yours, even though it does somewhat threaten my position. That foolishness would be on par with human logic. No, Arthur, I have other plans for you. Big plans. You understand my position, don't you? You have enough power to be troublesome, but you also have enough power to be useful. So what should I do?" Arthur imagined that smile stretching wider. "I'll just take all that you have to offer."
All that I have…? He can't mean…
"I expect obedience," Tony said, releasing Alfred's arm and allowing him to slide back down the wall. He hit the bottom and launched into a coughing fit. "I expect cooperation." He flicked his finger and Alfred's head was pulled up and back against the wall. The vulnerable way his throat was exposed made Arthur's stomach somersault. "I expect nothing less than complete and utter subservience. It is, after all, what I deserve. My hard work has paid off. I won, and I will enjoy the spoils. But before that, I plan to have a little fun. Jeanne."
Both Arthur's and Alfred's eyes snapped to a door just across the room that the Briton hadn't even known was there. And yet it was opening and someone was stepping out of it, someone frighteningly familiar. And another someone Arthur was absolutely sure he knew.
"Jeanne," Tony repeated, swiveling around to greet her. "And a friend."
Arthur's eyes widened. "Feliciano."
"Each man has his appointed day: short and irreparable in the brief life of all, but to extend our fame by our deeds, this is the work of mankind."
—Virgil
"Do you hear him screaming?" Jeanne hissed in his ear. "Listen closely. Can you hear the rest of them dying?"
Feliciano jerked his head away, biting his lip to keep the whimpers in. He was still strapped up to some kind of vertical device that could be wheeled wherever Jeanne pleased, like some sort of grotesque trolley. At the moment, Jeanne had brought him here, to the end of a dark corridor lit only by the red light pouring in from beneath the door. Feliciano didn't know exactly what was happening on the other side, but there were obviously two people fighting—and one was losing very badly.
Worse than even the screaming and sneering from outside was the looming presence of Jeanne, leaning over him and breathing down his neck.
But that was before the whispers began.
They hissed worse than Jeanne. Said things like, "You're not strong enough," and "You can't do anything," and "They'll all die because of you." The words jabbed into his ear, twisting and twisting, until Feliciano's head was on the verge of bursting.
Feliciano ached to cover his ears, despite knowing that it would do no good. His temples pounded and his heart jumped at every shriek. Suddenly Jeanne's presence beside him was incredibly suffocating. The closer she was to him, the better he could feel her distended, wriggling belly. And the more he felt her belly, the more he was reminded of Jeanne's promise.
"You'll watch me give birth to what you and your bastard friends never bothered to give two fucks about, even when you saw the signs."
I did see the signs, Feliciano thought, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt yet another ripple of movement cross Jeanne's belly. We all saw the signs. When Ivan had interrogated her, told her to lift up her shirt and show him firsthand her misfortune. The Russian told everyone who hadn't been in the car afterward that he had seen the remnants of Jeanne's pregnancy. Supposedly, nothing had been out of place. That didn't mean that it hadn't been suspicious. We should have examined her more. But most of all, Feliciano regretted not mentioning to anyone else what he had seen on the side of the road, when Jeanne had volunteered to remove the bullet from Ivan's side. The way she'd cut into him was obviously well practiced, but her expression was something completely different. While everyone had been watching the knife carve through Ivan's flesh, Feliciano, too sickened to observe, had instead directed his gaze to Jeanne's face. And he had been shocked at what he saw.
She was smiling. Feliciano's stomach twisted as a new voice joined the two in the other room. The door was so thick, he could hardly understand anything they were saying. But it was thin enough for him to hear the screams that soon resumed. Feliciano flinched. She wasn't even trying to hide it. With every slice her grin got wider. Even when he was screaming she was still smiling like his agony was the best thing in the world. Feliciano hadn't told anyone afterward, had thought that he had just been seeing things. How could he have let himself dismiss it so easily? Jeanne was practically rejoicing in Ivan's pain. Right then, Feliciano should have realized that Ivan's screams were Jeanne's vengeance. The Russian had probed too deep with his questioning. Jeanne's main objective was not only healing Ivan; the real intent was much greater and more sinister than that. She was putting Ivan in his place, showing him how much she could do if the need should arise.
Suddenly the whispers seemed much more meaningful. I should have said something. I should have said something. Why didn't I say something?
He jumped when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. The fingers curled around him, clutching like claws. "Shall we join them? You seem excited."
Feliciano's stomach lurched at the possibility, but he barely had the time open his mouth to express his dissent before the hand disappeared just long enough to flip the latch and push open the door. Then it was back again, digging into the tender skin between his shoulder and collar bone.
Feliciano was pushed forward, blinded by the red light he was met with and glad for it.
Breath puffed against his ear. "Open your eyes." Feliciano whimpered and bit his lip. He couldn't. He couldn't see what he had been hearing for the past half hour. He had heard those kinds of noises before—made by animals dying on the side of the road. But Jeanne would have none of that.
"Open them," she hissed, grabbing Feliciano's chin in two iron fingers and directing his face toward the sounds. "Or I'll cut them open."
Feliciano whimpered and did as he was told.
"You and I have a rendezvous with destiny. We will preserve for our children this, the last best hope of man on earth, or we will sentence them to take the first step into a thousand years of darkness. If we fail, at least let our children and our children's children say of us we justified our brief moment here. We did all that could be done."
—Ronald Reagan
"Feliciano."
Alfred lifted his head from his place curled against the wall. He followed Arthur's gaze until his eyes met the pale and shivering Italian. "No," he breathed. Not again. This was supposed to be my responsibility. Why did you get caught? Why are you so stupid? A sickening mixture of fear and frustration twisted his stomach into painful knots, and his head throbbed all the more harshly. Arthur was there, and now Feliciano. Two nations, two friends, were now in danger. This was not what he wanted. This is not what he had planned.
"You… goddamn bastard." Tony turned to him, eyes mocking and challenging. Alfred's conscience screamed at him to shut up and Arthur's stare urged him to do the same, but he needed to protest. He needed to keep all of Tony's attention and rage on him. It was the only way. The way he had planned.
Tony's eyes filled with something that could have been glee. Alfred's heart felt like someone had reached in and squeezed it. "Ah, have I struck a nerve? I have simply been pressing buttons before, but now I've stabbed at something sensitive. I bet you would writhe and beg if I made your friends scream and bleed. Shall I? It sounds like an interesting experiment, don't you think?"
"No!" Alfred shouted before he could think. When he saw Tony's eyes flash, Alfred's scowl wavered just a bit and his voice lost its bite. "No. Please."
The smile was back in Tony's eyes again. "I see. So this is what you've become. One little threat, and you crumble and plead like a helpless child. I hate people like you, who pretend they're strong and all-powerful to stoke your own ego. I, on the other hand, am power incarnate. Power does not come instantly nor is it bestowed to an individual at birth. One must wait patiently for power to come and groom oneself to receive such power. That is where you and I differ, Alfred. You and the rest of your fellow nations are arrogant to assume that you were so apart from the rest of your kind as to be imbued with free, limitless power. You're so arrogant that you assume you are above every other living thing. But look at you now, groveling at my feet. You are no different than other humans: dimwitted and feeble. No more than blood bound in skin. No exoskeleton to protect your insides, no defenses to speak of but your boasted, inferior intellect—humans were made to be dominated. Slaughtered. Of all the missions my fellow scouts were assigned, mine was by far the easiest. At first, I was offended. However, after witnessing all of the absurdities and ceaseless vanity that comes with your species, I began to look forward to killing you. And I had many years to plan how.
"Allow me to explain in detail all that I've wanted to do through decades of suffering your boundless idiocy: I will have you watch the birth of my hybrid offspring and how it will slowly devour Italy. Then I will painfully extract every bit of power from Arthur before I give him the death of a thousand cuts—a little something I learned from my time on your stinkhole of a planet. And, finally, I will break every bone in your body, Alfred, until you're a useless sack of skin and blood and broken things. But I won't kill you. Oh no. Once my men capture every one of your fellow nations, I will have them brought in, one by one. And you will watch them suffer. They'll die and be fed to my offspring. You will watch it grow and grow, until it is old enough for you to see the superiority of my genes. And then it will eat you, just a bite every day. You will heal, and it will consume your flesh again. You will spend the rest of your life as a renewable food source until I give you permission to die." Tony's long fingers drummed with sinister intent on the arm of his chair. "Oh yes. I have been waiting a long time for this. I will enjoy it thoroughly."
Alfred was sure he hadn't heard right. He sat there, heart pounding, and stared. He opened his mouth to ask Tony to repeat himself—every grisly detail, because he needed to know it wasn't true, it couldn't be. But he forgot how to breathe just long enough for Arthur to ask for him.
"Offspring?" the Briton said. No, such a thing… it's impossible. But the more he thought about it, the more he couldn't deny that an alien-human hybrid could be a very likely phenomenon. After all, he didn't know much about Tony or his race, and from the way the alien was talking it sounded as if his people were ages ahead of earthly science. If Tony possessed powers that Arthur could barely explain, then it was very likely that he could have facilitated crossbreeding between his species and humans. He chewed his lip as he pondered this and heard someone whimper a few feet away. He turned his head and looked up to see Feliciano trembling in his restraints. Only when the Italian's eyes trailed to the side did Arthur realize that Jeanne's hand was moving—moving over something large and round and sickeningly natural beneath her stretched shirt. Arthur's heart felt like it could have tripled in size. That… that thing, it's in…
Alfred's gaze followed Arthur's until he too was staring at the suspicious mound of Jeanne's stomach. Okay, so the crazy bitch went and got knocked up again, so what? But the way Arthur was looking at the bulge, how he appeared as pale and still as a marble statue, devoid of life, was enough to foster doubt in the pit of his stomach. It was only then that Alfred knew Tony's words were dangerously real.
Tony chuckled and Alfred's eyes returned to him. "Good, good. You are finally connecting the pieces, I see. Miraculous, considering how primitively your minds function. Jeanne, here, has been one of my most loyal allies. A human, like yourselves, raised within a horribly misguided society, one of your own lawmen, ironically—so easily turned in my favor. So much so that she is willing to bear the first hybrid child, something your race could never have hoped to achieve in this century or the next. In a way, I am doing you a favor. I am enhancing the human race. But I trust you have enough knowledge to be aware of how evolution goes: once a newer, better model is created, another must be extinguished. Of course that would be a long and inconvenient process, so I will speed its course along until I weed out all the rebellious ones. You should be familiar with the laws of breeding as well. Two subservient beings will undoubtedly produce more subservient beings." Tony fingers drummed on the arm of his chair, as if itching to enact all that he was saying that instant. "And thus will begin the real era of humankind: serving. The remaining, useful, few will toss away the foolish idea of superior human intellect and acknowledge the fact that they are lowly, despicable creatures whose lives were spared only because they finally realized their inferiority. They will be indebted and grateful to their masters. Some might even come to enjoy their place. After all subservience is the true nature of humans. Human science is just denial, and ignorance besides. They will be much happier living in the state they were meant to live in once the colonization has been completed."
Colonization? Arthur thought with alarm. Perhaps it was a code word for something imminent? He caught Alfred's eye and noticed that something was moving at his side. He lowered his gaze and identified Alfred's remained, unbroken fingers as the source. His hand rested limp on the floor, but two fingers were curled upward, moving in a beckoning motion. Arthur didn't hesitate. He didn't know how he knew to extend his consciousness, but the next second he could hear Alfred's voice as clear as if he was sitting right next to him. Alfred's mouth didn't move and he kept his gaze locked with Arthur's.
"The bastard plans to call his mothership. They want to take over the planet. Turns out the whole time he was here he was scouting and waiting to strike when we were weakest."
Arthur's heart skipped a beat. You've got to be… how?
"That switch. The silver one on his left. He'll summon—"
There was suddenly a rough hisss, hisss sound that Arthur eventually construed as Tony's laughter. The chair swiveled once again, the back of it to them both. "Ah, I forgot how woefully thick-headed humans are. Did you not hear me say that your minds are primitive at best?" Arthur tensed, disliking the way Tony was speaking to them without looking at them. It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. "I suppose not, else you would have understood that a telepathic exchange would be just as audible as if you had two shouted across the room at each other. It's a good thing that I don't expect much from you. As for your question, Arthur, yes, colonization means colonization. With a flick of this—"—Tony's fingers ghosted over the knob of the switch—"Earth will no longer be in the hands of creatures so mundane, and I will have my fame."
Arthur bit his lip and Alfred swallowed. Feliciano, on the other hand, was utterly terrified, not at Tony's words but at the fact that he could feel the thing in Jeanne's stomach nudging him. Now it wasn't just the harmless kicks of an infant, but the sinister grasping of a hungry monster. At one point, Feliciano could even feel each of creature's fingers hooking around his bound arm and nearly jumped out of his skin. At this, Jeanne smiled at him and said to Tony, "I believe it is time, my Grand Overlord."
Creeaak. The chair turned again. Tony steepled his fingers in his lap, waiting for the show. "Oh, is it? Excuse my waffling. Is the child growing hungry?"
Jeanne nodded. "Definitely. And he knows who his first meal is going to be." Jeanne laughed as Feliciano flinched and whimpered, her hand tracing the obscene bulge of her stomach. It looked almost too big to be real, but as Arthur studied it further he could see something move. His lip split beneath the abuse of his teeth.
"Go on then, my dear," Tony spread his arms in welcome, "give the child what he wants. We wouldn't want all of our hard work to go to waste, now would we?"
Jeanne didn't say a word, though her smile seemed to get wider. She turned to Feliciano and proceeded to unstrap him. She kept his hands and feet bound and let him drop to the floor once he was free. Feliciano, with his hands tied behind his back, was unable to catch himself, and ended up breaking his nose on the cement with a cry. Blood poured from him, pooling beside his head, and he continued to whimper and snuffle as Jeanne hastily disrobed and positioned herself before him. She placed her hands behind her and spread her legs so that the abomination inside her would have clear access to its prey once it was born. Feliciano lifted his head and rolled over so that he lay on his side, facing her. He knew he should look away, that if he didn't he just might throw up, but he couldn't. His ambivalence was a mix of shameful responsibility and morbid curiosity. Jeanne flashed him a wicked smile, and Feliciano blubbered.
"Get away from him!" Alfred yelled. He wouldn't allow anyone else to die for his oversight. He hadn't seen Tony for who he really was, had welcomed him and treated him like a friend while the alien plotted mankind's demise. He had to right what he had failed to notice. "You said you wanted to make me suffer most? Have it feed on me!"
Tony sighed and shook his head. "Yet again your ignorance has proved abundant. Did you not hear me say that you will be eaten in due time? Aside from that, you do not have to be eaten alive to suffer."
Alfred didn't know what to say to that, and he feared that if he continued to protest that Tony would find more ways to hurt Feliciano and Arthur to fuel his suffering. He looked to Arthur, whose green eyes cut through the red gloom as they flashed in panic. This was it. Their time would be over with the birth of the hybrid. Alfred wanted with everything in him to pull Feliciano away and gouge Tony's mocking red eyes out, but every time he so much as twitched, he could feel what he suspected was the alien's power holding him back against the wall. All he could do was sit and watch, waiting for the thing that could have been prevented to unfold. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.
Barely a minute passed before Jeanne let loose a high, piercing scream. Feliciano tensed and screamed with her. He made to roll backward, deciding that he wasn't all that curious to see what would soon devour him, but invisible hands forced him down. His cheek pressed against the cold floor and his eyes pried open, he had no choice but to watch a flood of fluid burst from between Jeanne's thighs, sluicing toward him and bathing him in foul-smelling, opalescent green slime. The Italian gasped and sputtered, answering with a retch just as foul. He looked up and could have heaved more if his stomach wasn't empty when he saw Jeanne's stomach rising and falling more violently than before, continuously moving like waves on water. Feliciano hadn't known skin to be so durable and thought that the creature might tear Jeanne's stomach open with the force of its kicks. Its movements were powerful, enough for Feliciano to already cower, but Jeanne's black-veined stomach remained intact. Jeanne shrieked throughout, her eyes bulging, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead, blood issuing in thin, dark slivers from her nose and mouth. Everything was so shocking and frenzied that Feliciano didn't realize he was also screaming until Jeanne's belly stopped moving and Jeanne stopped yelling.
Feliciano, shivering and confused, stared unblinkingly at Jeanne's stomach as it rose and fell. Everything was silent, vacuum-like, and then there was a murmur. At first, Feliciano thought that someone is the room was talking, or—terrifyingly—the thing that was in Jeanne's belly. But the voice grew louder and more abundant, until Feliciano knew this was something far less innocent.
"The bloody head is coming."
The words were followed by a sharp jab to his head like none he had ever felt before. Agonized, Feliciano wailed and sobbed, bound to the floor by Tony's immense power. He wanted more than anything to crawl away and find a safe, quiet place to endure the voices or to at least curl up into a ball to weather the episode. But Tony held him down, and the voices escalated. Arthur and Alfred watched, helpless.
"Feliciano!" Alfred yelled and launched into a flurry of swearing and fruitless writhing. Tony paid him hardly any mind, choosing instead to indulge in the torture of the screaming Italian.
"It's coming, it's coming."
"No!" Feliciano cried, squeezing his eyes shut. "No! Stop! Go away! Go away!"
Arthur instinctively reached out to Feliciano with his mind without thinking and found himself forcefully repelled with a harsh stab to his head. Arthur returned to himself, discovering that he his mouth was filled with blood and soon after concluding that he had bitten his tongue in his pain. Through the pounding in his skull, Arthur realized that, for the split second he had access to Feliciano's thoughts, he had felt what was, unmistakably, Tony's energy. Arthur's anger flared. "Get out of his head, you sadistic bastard! Isn't getting eaten alive enough torture for you?"
Tony turned to look at him, his eyes glowing with pleasure. "No."
One of the alien's fingers twitched. Something inside Arthur stung, and he coughed up blood.
Alfred wrenched so hard that he broke free of Tony's snare for a moment. He had enough time to make a futile reach for the alien, but he was quickly pinned back in place, this time his arms stretched out against the wall. "Fucking hurt him again, and I'll—"
Tony gave a dismissive wave. "I have no interest in listening to your idle threats. This is a momentous occasion none of you have yet to see in your long lifetimes: accelerated human evolution. I'm providing a real treat. Besides, your efforts are wasted. Watch and witness the extraordinary product of real science. I daresay you might learn something, though I have my doubts."
"It's coming. The bloody head is here."
Feliciano screamed.
"Let go of him! Let go of him!" Arthur shouted, not caring if it would do no good. He wanted Feliciano to know that he wasn't alone, that somehow they would save him. They had to. "You goddamn monster! Let him go!"
Tony's red eyes flickered to Arthur and flashed maliciously. "As you say." And he snapped his fingers.
Feliciano felt Tony's energy lift from him, and his bonds snapped, freeing his limbs. The Italian's hands immediately shot to his ears, fingers ripping out chunks of hair, nails leaving deep gouges in his scalp. "Go away! Get out! Please, go away!" he sobbed, blood trailing down his face.
"Bloody head. You can't stop it"
Tony roared with laughter. "Well, go on, Feliciano. What are you waiting for? I have freed you. You can run."
"You know you can't. You're a weak fool."
Arthur stared in shock, guilt churning in his belly. Alfred writhed all the more, close to tearing his shoulder out of its socket. "Feliciano, don't let that sonofabitch get to you! He's a liar and a cheat and a fucking scumbag!"
Tony tsked. "Now, now, we can't have the lamb bleating on the altar, can we? Especially not when the last rites are being said. You understand." He flicked his finger. Alfred's head cracked back against the wall and all he could do was gasp.
"A weak fool. You know nothing and you can do nothing. You're a terrible excuse for life. A sniveling, pathetic waste."
Feliciano's fingers lowered in an attempt to shred his ears. "No! Stop! Please!" It hurt too much, like a stake was being driven through his head over and over again, going deeper every time. All he could do was lay there and writhe. So consumed was he in his agony, that he didn't notice that Jeanne had started to scream once more. Alfred and Arthur watched her distended belly bulge and ripple more violently than before. The black veins thickened and throbbed, bursting as the hybrid made its way down her abdomen, turning the flesh around it a bruise-like black. Blood rushed from her in gushing waves.
"It will be born and it will devour everything you care about. And what will you do? Lay here and wait to be eaten yourself, like the useless piece of prey you are and always have been."
Tony leaned forward in his chair, gripping the arms in anticipation. "Yes, my dear, you are doing well. But I'm afraid that I forgot to mention one thing when we made our little agreement. That hybrid is so big that it has been half starving since its conception. It has been hungry for six long months, and now it's absolutely ravenous, which is bad news for you. My kind's offspring eat their mothers. It's all for health reasons, of course. I trust you will fulfill your duties until the end, Jeanne. That was your promise. And I kept mine. I gave you a baby, didn't I?"
"They'll all meet the same fate, all of your friends. The hybrid will needneedneed, and it will feed until it gets its fill. Its human emotions were bred out of it, leaving a superior mind and a form that other humans will foolishly trust. It will be a monster, nothing like this world has ever seen. A monster of human shape. Almost like a cannibal. A whole race of cannibals will be born."
Jeanne's scream reached a pitch higher than humanly possible, blood streaming from every orifice on her face. The thing in her belly was moving so roughly that Arthur thought he caught a glimpse of a hand, starkly detailed, just beneath the surface. And it was big.
Then Jeanne arched off the floor. A sickening crack echoed across the room, and the woman fell limp to the floor, tongue lolling and spittle bubbling at her lips.
Everything was quiet, even the voices in Feliciano's head. The Italian opened one eye—and saw something red and round straining at the skin between Jeanne's lifeless legs. Black veins pulsed under new, thin flesh. Feliciano's heart nearly burst from his chest, his muscles paralyzed with shock.
A single voice in his head whispered, "This monster will end everything, and you're too much of a coward to stop it. It will devour them all."
No, it will not, Feliciano thought, muscles tensing as the thing squirmed in its struggle for freedom. Something snapped in Jeanne, and more blood surged out from around the head. Because that's what it was. The crowning of a cannibal. The birth of their end. It won't feed, I won't let it. No, no, I'm not weak. I'm not weak, I'm—
"NOT WEAK!" Feliciano roared and launched himself toward Jeanne.
Tony let out a bark of laughter, but quickly frowned when he flicked his finger and nothing happened. He lifted his hand and examined it, flicking his finger a few more times just to be sure. "What? What the hell is this?" He looked up to see Feliciano reaching for one of Jeanne's outstretched legs. "Well, someone lost their temper." He snapped his fingers with a resounding, electric crack, and Feliciano plunged to the floor as if a giant weight had suddenly been dropped on him. The Italian's body strained, shoulders lifting shakily before being pinned back down again.
Arthur felt Tony's hold over him waver for just a moment, possibly because of an adjustment of the alien's power as he transferred some presumably unneeded energy from his other captives to the suddenly rebellious Feliciano. As clever as the alien claimed to be, he had made one mistake. He had presumed.
"Come on, Alfred," Arthur whispered low enough that only he could hear. "Follow my lead for once."
Arthur gathered all of his power to his core and struck out with his mind.
Bloody hell, I hope this works.
Tony had been so preoccupied trying to subdue Feliciano's unexpected burst of power that he only sensed Arthur's mental presence seconds before the Briton's attack reached him. The alien snapped his head around, red eyes flashing, and the next moment Arthur had hit a brick wall of solid energy. Arthur clenched his teeth and pushed back, the weight on him lessening and allowing him to crawl to his hands and knees. His muscles ached with the effort to hold himself up and fend off the alien's mental jabs at once. Arthur struggled to maintain his offensive as he probed for weak spots in the alien's barrier, but every crack he came across was quickly filled in as Tony concentrated his energy more and more into his defense. It was only then that Arthur realized how immense the alien's power was. Arthur's only conclusion was that Tony had been hiding much of his energy from the Briton's senses, but as the wall grew higher and began to push back, Arthur knew that Tony could not possibly contain that much power. But how?
Arthur was so lost in his thoughts about Tony's power that he didn't notice a surge of energy striking out toward him. He pulled back and began to build a barrier of his own, but Tony's reflexes were sharper. The alien's power sliced through Arthur's consciousness like a knife, leaving his energy in tatters and making his head throb so much he thought it would burst. He curled up on the ground as the power ripped through him, surging like a bullet deeper and deeper into him until he felt a pressure on his heart. The delicate organ fluttered frantically as it was caught in a clamp, choking and sputtering as it was squeezed more and more. Soon Arthur could hear and feel his strained heartbeats throughout his body. And someone was screaming, screaming so loud he feared his eardrums would burst along with his heart—
And then the weight lifted from his chest, the pressure fled, and he realized the screaming he was hearing was his own. Dizzy and winded, everything in him went limp and shivery. Gasping, he managed to move his head just a bit to see what had caused Tony's sudden retreat. What he saw made his weakened heart pulse painfully behind his ribs.
The energy devoted to pinning Alfred to the wall had subsided significantly when Tony devoted the bulk of his power to fending off Arthur's attack—and the American had seized the opportunity. He was hunched over the back of Tony's chair, his white-knuckled hands wrapped around the alien's neck. Tony's eyes were bulging but otherwise calm. Arthur, though weak, could sense the alien gathering his power to him. He wanted to shout for Alfred to get back, but Tony lifted his finger and it was too late.
Alfred was thrown across the room, his gut contracting inward, as if he had been punched. He hit the floor was a heavy whump, limbs flailing, boneless, as he slid across the icy cement. "Alfred," Arthur croaked, but Tony didn't spare him a glance as he turned to confront Alfred, who was turning over and pushing himself to his knees. His glasses were gone, but he didn't seem to notice. He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, panting and staring Tony down with eyes as cold as chipped ice. It was the same look he'd had when he had beaten Higgins' face to pulp. Arthur wondered where the Alfred he knew had gone.
Tony seemed unimpressed with Alfred's attack and subsequent glare, however brutal they were. The alien didn't appear harmed or even intimidated. Instead, his eyes took on that gleeful glint again and he said, "Well, I suppose I should have expected your stubbornness to rear its ugly head. Although it's not something that can't be fixed. You'll just need a little… convincing." Free of Tony's restraints, Feliciano began to reach out for Jeanne again, but the alien pinned him down once again and snapped, "Don't you move! I'm offering you prime entertainment, and I will have you watch." He twirled a finger and Feliciano was turned so that he had a full view of Alfred. Arthur stared, a million thoughts as to what Tony meant buzzing through his head, and then he saw the alien reach over to his control board and press a button.
A few seconds passed, Arthur's heart counting every one with consuming throbs. And then there was a hisss, and a door slid open behind Alfred. Two Organization soldiers stepped out. Tony steepled his hands again, looking quite pleased with himself. "You are far too weak to fight me, but you're too stubborn to realize. If you think I'm wrong, fight my men. After all, they are only human; they should be nothing for the powerful hero America. Prove to me that you're a worthy opponent instead of the harebrained oaf I've known for decades. Go on, be the hero you claim to be."
Alfred remained where he was, his glare unwavering. One of the soldiers walked forward, his footfalls echoing off the empty walls. He grabbed Alfred's shoulder.
Alfred's hands shot up, grabbed the man's arm, and pulled him over onto his back. The soldier lay there for a second, twitching and gasping, before the other soldier sprang into action, jumping at Alfred with fists raised and ready and receiving a kick to the shin that sent him to his knees. Alfred launched himself onto him, straddling the soldier's waist as he dealt a hard blow to his jaw. He wound up for another when Tony said, "All right, boys. You let him have his fun."
What? Alfred just had time to think before the man he had flipped onto his back grabbed him from behind. Alfred's rage disappeared for a moment as an arm wrapped around his neck and dragged him off the soldier he was sitting on. He was pulled to his feet, the man holding him crushing his windpipe. The other soldier got up, wiped his face of blood, and drove his fist into Alfred's stomach. Alfred let out a sound like a deflating balloon before he was released, dropping to his knees and clutching his stomach, eyes disbelievingly wide and staring at the floor bathed in ghastly red light.
What? But how? Alfred's heart kicked into overdrive. I… thought I had them… they—they were only…
… toying with me?
He received his answer in the form of a kick to his side, sending him sprawling to the floor. Both men stepped up and began to drive their heels into his body, Alfred writhing to avoid them and hearing a couple of his ribs crack. Arthur was shouting and swearing, but Alfred couldn't be bothered to listen. He had managed to pull himself away only to be grabbed by the ankles, flipped over, and dragged back so that the soldiers could harm the more tender parts of his body. One man attacked his pelvis while the other plunged his heal into Alfred's belly.
Alfred felt as if his stomach was being squeezed up into his throat. He scrabbled at the floor, just barely turning himself over before he vomited. In the red light, it looked like he was retching up his insides.
He gathered his arms under him and tried to push himself up, but was pinned by a boot sole between his shoulder blades. All the air was knocked out of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his broken ribs were strained. He heard a scoff and opened his eyes to see Tony sitting on his throne, chuckling and watching the men beat him bloody. Tony was the king and Alfred was the animal dragged into the ring to be tortured for the alien's pleasure. The image made him sick. Tony had reduced Alfred to an insect. Rage coiled within him.
He refused to be stomped into the ground like a common pest.
So the next time a foot came down to hurt him, he grabbed the ankle and twisted. Screaming in pain, the soldier fell onto his face as his feet were pulled out from under him. Alfred heard him mutter a thick, "Damn," and felt a shred of his confidence return.
Tony guffawed. "Regained some fight, have you? Well, this might give you some more encouragement." The alien reached over to the control board, where his finger found the silver switch and flicked it. At first, Alfred thought that he meant to call more guards in for him to fight and braced himself for the upcoming attack. Instead of hearing the door slide open behind him, a reverberating, electronic voice boomed throughout the room.
"MESSAGE APPROVED FOR TRANSMISSION. TO BE SENT TO CONTACT 0253477KR IN 5 MINUTES AND 0 SECONDS. COMMENCING COUNTDOWN…"
The menagerie of camera shots disappeared from the projection screen to be replaced with a large set of numbers. The seconds were counting down with resounding ticks. 57… 56… 55… 54… 53… 52…
Alfred's eyes widened as he watched the clock. Tony drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Do be careful not to hurt yourself too much. I would love to show you to my brethren when they arrive. You are so very entertaining to torture, after all."
Something inside of Alfred snapped. He pushed himself to his feet and bowled the standing soldier over. The man hit the floor on his back, groaning as Alfred planted himself on top of him. Alfred wound up his fist and hammered it downward, growling as his knuckles met cement and not flesh. The soldier smirked up at him, Tony's presence clear in his eyes, his neck craned just enough to be out of Alfred's range. The American attempted to punch him again and once again his knuckles were bruised by the floor. Alfred huffed. The soldier wasn't nearly as slow as before.
Having had enough, Alfred grabbed the man's face between his fingers and held it still, ignoring the ache of his broken joints. "You better stay there, you bastard." He balled up his hand and drew it back to his ear, packing all the power he had behind it. He made to swing it forward, but found he couldn't.
The other soldier had recovered and had caught Alfred's fist in his hand. Alfred attempted to wrench it free but received a bone-crushing squeeze in return. He bit his lip as he felt the delicate bones in his fingers grind together and looked down to see a fist hurling toward him. It caught him on the chin, and he was knocked backward into arms that tightly restrained him. The soldier who'd punched him jumped at him, arms outstretched, intent on grabbing him and pinning him down again. But Alfred wouldn't allow it. He managed to wriggle one of his legs out from under himself soon enough to kick the man in the face. The soldier gave a cry and was jolted backward, clutching his nose and mouth, blood dripping out from between his fingers.
The soldier behind Alfred kneed him in the back of the head, sending black spots exploding across his vision. He swayed and caught himself on his hand before he was snatched up by the collar of his black turtleneck and pulled to his feet. Choking, he barely had time to lift his head before an arm wrapped around him like a brace and the man he had kicked punched him in the face. Alfred could feel his eye swelling and could taste blood running down the back of his throat from his broken nose, but the soldier gave him little time to recover, holding his own bleeding nose while he dealt a barrage of blows to Alfred's face, chest, and midriff. The American sputtered and gasped, feeling as if his internal organs were being sliced in half with every hit. His vision flickered and his head felt light and fuzzy. If they hit him anymore, he would pass out and would wake up in a world he hoped never to see, if he ever woke up at all.
"That's enough," Tony said. "I still want him to watch the show, although you did do a great job of making him uncomfortable."
Alfred was released and dropped onto all fours, his head pounding and body aching. His arms strained just to hold him up. The clock boomed, "3 minutes and 0 seconds. 2 minutes and 59 seconds. 58…" and Tony laughed.
"Well, go on then, America. Don't tell me your strength has worn out? But I thought you were a superpower! And you say I'm a liar." Tony tsked. "Oh, what would Russia say? But I forgot, you're his bitch now, aren't you? I'm not surprised. The submissive position suits you."
Alfred felt anger burning inside his chest, but it was quickly disbanded when Tony continued, "But I could easily make him submissive. Would you like that? I bet you'd gain a little pride back seeing him brought in and beaten until he passed out. Don't tell me you've never wanted that for him, America. I know you did. You have wanted him dead before many times. Surely allowing me to do the honors wouldn't move you in any way? You are, after all, indisposed."
The soldier gave an oof as Alfred reached up and took fistfuls of the man's shirt, tugging him down with all his might. He used the soldier's body to pull himself upward and kneed the man in the stomach when he hit the floor. He made to kick him when he heard the shuffle of shoes behind him and whipped around to face the other soldier. Pain bloomed in his belly and he looked down.
The man's fist was pressed to Alfred's stomach, and at first Alfred couldn't pinpoint the source of the pain. Only when the soldier gave a twist, sending a blinding spark of agony through his system, and pulled away did Alfred see the cause.
Liquid warmth spread across the skin and through his shirt. He looked at the soldier in shock. The man only smirked and wiped his hand on his pant leg.
Arthur felt like all breath had gone from him, and he didn't refill his lungs until he saw Alfred clutch his stomach and fall to the floor. "Alfred!"
Alfred's belly was on fire and he could still feel the blade's path through his abdomen. He curled up on the floor, examining his hands. His palms were covered in a dark red that, under the light, was rendered almost black. More blood joined that already flowing from his stomach when a cough had him hunched over, retching up streams of it along with horrible, gelatinous clots he sincerely hoped weren't part of any vital organ.
Arthur exploded with rage. He pulled himself into a crouch and braced his hands against the floor, not caring that they ached like hell or if the bones of his broken wrist screamed in protest. "You goddamn bastard!"
Cracks rippled out from between his fingers, zigzagging across the floor as a surge of energy the likes of which he had never felt before burst from him like an animal that had been straining to get out since the Uprising began. It punched a gaping hole through Tony's mental wall, and within moments Arthur was exploring the depths of the alien's mind, unhindered. It was a strange, empty place, all white and endless. The Briton was confused. Usually minds were riddled with thoughts and memories shooting in every direction. Tony's however was… devoid.
What the hell?
"… Fuck…"
Arthur whirled around at the voice that faded in and out as if it were carried on the wind. He braced himself. Who knew what he would find inside the alien's foreign brain? "Who's there?" he demanded.
"… I can't move. That guy really stuck me good. Sonofabitch. If he thinks he's gonna kill me that easily…"
Arthur was dumbstruck. "Alfred?" How can I hear him? He moved toward the sound. "Alfred! Can you hear me? Where the hell are you? Alfred!"
But as deep as he delved, he could never reach wherever the voice was coming from and it eventually died out. Then he heard another.
"I'm not weak. I'm not weak. I can't let it live. I'll crush it. I'll crush the bloody head!"
"Feliciano?" His voice. I've never heard him sound like—
"WRONG MOVE, LIMEY RAT."
Arthur was shunted out of the whiteness, pulled back until everything turned black again and Tony's mind was no more than a speck of light in the distance. The force with which he was being expelled had his energy flickering, struggling to remain intact without being swept away. He clawed at the recesses of Tony's mind as he was yanked through the hole he'd made. But he took hold of the wall and held himself inside, his consciousness straining. It was only then that he found a moment to collect his thoughts and realize something extraordinary.
Tony possessed powerful energy, but not all of it was his own. The alien was stamping the energy with his seal, that was why he hadn't noticed it before, that was why Arthur didn't realize that—
He's channeling it.
The more he considered it, the more it made sense. The alien had said he was planning to use Arthur's power to increase his might. How else was Tony supposed to obtain another's energy if not to wring it out until there was nothing left? Arthur had heard theories of such abilities, but they had only been theories, produced by sorcerers far less experienced than himself. He had lived for centuries and had concluded that developing a power so complicated was impossible, even for him. But, somehow, Tony had cracked the code, perhaps was born with it—whatever the case, the alien intended to use this ability to enhance his power and was essentially a leech. He stole without regret, not just others' power, but others'choices and lives. He was the worst kind of parasite: one that could think.
Voices reached Arthur's consciousness, screaming, whispering, from every direction. He heard voices he knew and voices he didn't and some… that didn't even sound like voices at all. With every speaker, he sensed a surge of energy, many kinds so very different from Tony's own, being drawn in and siphoned off. Like blood to a leech.
He's taking from everything, Arthur surmised in horrified awe. From animals, from plants—all of it. And Tony was reckless with that power, though Arthur doubted greatly that the alien cared what happened to anyone or anything he drained completely of power. Voices began to rapidly fade out of existence one after another, soldiers whose souls had been smothered by Tony's control slipping away to hopefully, finally, be at peace. Indeed, Arthur could feel his own energy wicking away under the immensity of Tony's filched power.
But Arthur refused to be a vessel for him to use and would certainly not stand by until he heard the last voice of a fellow nation extinguished. He had identified the source of Tony's power: essentially, everything. As intimidating as it sounded to oppose power so vast, Arthur knew there was a way to stop it. There had to be.
Frustration flooded through him as he allowed himself to be thrown from Tony's mind, but he had to take time to build his strength. Tony appeared miffed about Arthur's intrusion, although his smugness overpowered it. He stared Arthur down, extending teasing tendrils of energy to brush with derision against the Briton's meager defense.
"You've discovered the source of my strength," the alien said. "That should frighten you. The fact that it doesn't only proves how boundless your idiocy is."
Arthur ignored him and continued to focus on concentrating his power. This wouldn't be any easy task. He needed all the focus that he could muster, and for that he needed time. "Feliciano!" he yelled. The Italian didn't respond, hunched over and trembling, held back by Tony. "Feliciano, listen to me. You need to abort that message. That message can't go out. Do you hear me? You can't be weak now!"
Arthur had expected the anger in Feliciano to roar to life with his words like it had before, but the Italian remained how he was, as if he hadn't even heard him. Tony laughed.
"There's no going back once a man becomes weak. Once he throws away his pride, he has nothing left to protect him." Tony sat back in his chair, as cocky as ever, eyes flashing. "And human pride is so easy to break. Prove to them that their foundation is lacking, and everything crumbles. So pitifully fragile—glass could scarcely compare."
Arthur was prepared to try again, but there was a whump across the room. Alfred had collapsed.
And just like that, all sense and scheming fled Arthur. His defenses began to waver. He yelled for Alfred to look at him, to get up, hurled curses at a pleased-looking Tony, and would have continued in the same manner—if it weren't for Alfred saying, "Arthur," in a reassuring sort of way. The American rolled to his knees, hands still grasped over the handle of the knife in his stomach. His eyes connected with Arthur's.
"Artie," he said, understanding in his gaze. "Now."
Many things happened at once.
Alfred pulled his hand from his stomach in a great arc, a trail of dark blood following the path of the blade. More gushed from Alfred's belly, and Arthur yelled, "You blasted idiot!" But Alfred ignored him and, as the Briton extended his mind to magically bind the wound, he shouted, "Feliciano!" The Italian turned just in time to see something sharp and metallic glinting in the red light, spinning end over end toward him. Feliciano knew he couldn't catch it, had never caught anything like this in his entire life, but his arm seemed to know what do, and in an instant he had a knife and it was just what he needed, all he needed. Tony's energy was so focused on Arthur and weakened by Alfred's sudden outburst that Feliciano could tug himself free and finish the task of dragging Jeanne over to him by the legs. The woman was dead, but the monster inside her certainly wasn't. He could see it squirming, scratching, the head twisting and pushing with violent haste. It seemed like it could sense Feliciano's intent and wriggled all the more furiously, blood spilling out around it. An awful squelching sound met the Italian's ears when the creature managed to squeeze its head free.
Suddenly aware of what Feliciano would do, Tony swiveled around. "Hold it right there, you brat!"
The alien flicked a finger and flicked it again, and again, and again. But nothing happened. Only then did he notice Arthur's presence pushing against his defenses. The chair swiveled again. "Now, Arthur, where are your manners? Don't you know it's not polite to interrupt?" Tony enunciated with a harsh jab to Arthur's consciousness, making the Briton fall back just a bit in his siege. But Arthur kept pushing, kept enduring, refused to be beaten. Because this was his last chance—his only chance.
He drew back and let Tony believe that he was weakening, buying his time until he had enough strength to pierce the alien's formidable wall again—then, he struck. Tony was not ready for this. He scrambled to cover the most intimate parts of his mind. Before, Arthur hadn't known what to look for until he was too far out of Tony's mind to search. Now, however, he had a plan. He rooted around, trying to ignore all the pleading, agonized voices coming at him from every direction as more and more energy was drained from them, tried to ignore the fact that more and more voices were disappearing every second. He was pulled back many times, as if Tony had a grip on his ankles but not enough leverage to move him completely. Arthur clawed his way defiantly deeper, in, in, in, and then he found—
This is it, Arthur thought with awe. He had come to the center of Tony's consciousness, barely hanging on by a thread. He had not saved up enough energy to last so deep in the alien's mind—that, at least, was helpful information. But all the more helpful was the thick ball of energy Arthur had finally come across. He could not see the energy Tony was drawing from others, but he could feel it to the extent that he had no trouble envisioning it: Tony's stored and stolen energy was a writhing sphere at his center, composed of several ribbon-like strands of energy, all of which had certain features that set them apart. Although Arthur could not see it, he could sense a sort of funnel drawing more ribbons in and adding them to the squirming mass and another siphoning off strips of energy to fuel Tony's power. The level of sound here was deafening; the voices shouted as if they were speaking directly into Arthur's ears, their very souls being slowly but surely drawn from them, their sense of being disappearing with the loss of each strand of self. Once Arthur had the image ingrained in his mind, he let himself be extracted, returning to himself to see Tony looking more murderous than the Briton had ever seen him. But Arthur didn't care. He had all he needed. He knew what he had to do.
Arthur's heart did a backflip at the thought, continuing to amass his power nonetheless. He needed everything he had for this. There was a moment during which he hesitated, his nerves getting the better of him, and his conscience screaming for him to back out, to come up with something else. He saw one of the soldiers drive his fist into Alfred's head, knocking him to the floor. More blood spilled out from between the fingers clutching at the wound in his stomach, and Arthur forgot his doubts and fears. This was for Alfred and Feliciano. This was for everyone.
"Do not do it, comrade."
Arthur's determination broke for a split second. Ivan?
"You do not know if it will work. It is not worth—"
It will work, Arthur assured him, saying it as if he was also trying to assure himself. Ivan sounded weak and far away, but the fact that his consciousness could reach Arthur was enough to tell the Briton that he was in decent condition. It will work. I don't care what it's worth. I have to do it. There's no other way.
For a moment, it sounded as if Ivan would protest further, but the Russian merely gave a thoughtful pause and said, "Do what you must."
Ivan's tone indicated that he knew nothing he said would stop him, and Arthur respected such consideration, almost expected it from his time spent with Ivan. What he wasn't expecting was an aura of warmth emanating from the Russian. Warmth for Arthur and everything they had shared.
Arthur felt his throat tighten, but he maintained his resolve. Thank you, Ivan. Look after Alfred for me, will you? Lord knows he needs a stable disciplinarian somewhere in his life. Take good care of him. Then Arthur added after some thought, And don't you ever hurt him.
There was a note of amusement in Ivan's voice when he next spoke. A sad sort of note. "I will not let anyone hurt him, just as I will not allow myself to hurt him. You know better than anyone how long I have loved him."
I do, Arthur admitted. But don't let that be your excuse.
"It will not. Is there… anything you would like me to tell anyone?"
Arthur knew what Ivan was insinuating, and, as horrible as it was, he was glad that they had reached a mutual understanding. Yes. Tell Francis… tell the frog that I said 'I do.' Arthur's voice broke, and he couldn't believe this was happening now, when he needed as much strength as he could muster. But somewhere deep down, he couldn't bring himself to care. A thousand times over, 'I do.'
If Ivan had any clue what Arthur was talking about, he didn't mention it. And Arthur was glad for that. "До скорой встречи, comrade."
You will, mate. Someday. Hopefully a long time from now.
"I shall await that day with anticipation."
Arthur felt his audacious side reemerge for the first time in months. Perhaps the last. Of course you will.
No more needed to be said between them. They both knew it was time.
Alfred was still curled up on the ground and bleeding. Arthur extended a tendril of his mind and sewed up the wound just enough to alleviate the blood flow. Tony attempted to wriggle further through his defensive wall, and Arthur was forced to retreat. Having felt something peculiar happen with his injury, Alfred sat up, pulled his hands away from his belly, wondered at the lack of blood, and looked up at Arthur.
"Go!" Arthur yelled before breaking through his own defenses and engaging Tony's power head-on.
Alfred at first was confused about what Arthur wanted him to do, his head still swimming with his beating. But then he heard the clock say, "2 minutes and 0 seconds. 1 minute and 59 seconds. 58… 57…" and something in him clicked.
"Feli!" Alfred shouted, and this time the Italian looked up. He was ghostly pale, his hand white-knuckled around the knife. "You can do it!"
Feliciano at first had the instinctual urge to ask, "Do what?" because for all of his life he had been completely incapable. But when he saw Alfred struggle to his feet, wound still dribbling, to meet the soldiers still hellbent to break every bone in his body, saw Arthur, fingers digging into the cement, veins standing out in his head and neck, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched in an agonized attempt to thwart Tony, he couldn't bring himself to hesitate like he usually would. All those accusations came rushing back to him—his incompetence, his obliviousness, his helplessness, "You're weak. WEAK." And that was all he needed.
He looked at the knife in his hand, sharp, serrated, still dripping blood. Alfred's blood. Something coiled inside him the likes of which he had never felt before. Like a snake preparing to strike.
Looks like this knife needs some new blood on it.
Just then, the monster tore from Jeanne—ugly, red, its skin so translucent the veins and arteries beneath were visible. It looked the same as any ordinary human, except for the fact that it was practically a medical model. It peered up at Feliciano and gave a piercing shriek, tongue snaking out to wet its lips at the sight of its first meal. A sickening squelch, more blood, and one of its hands was free, grasping, clawing, trying to pull itself out. And then it did something peculiar.
Its head began to grow paler, until it appeared as if it was frosting over. Feliciano watched the paleness spread, all the veins and arteries and elaborate array of muscles disappearing beneath it. It reminded Feliciano of something. Butterflies, as stupid as it sounded. Perhaps he really was not fit for this…
The monster screeched so loudly that Feliciano could swear his ears were bleeding. But he had expected a protest when he had driven the blade into the hybrid's neck. He pulled it free, watching the blood spurt out and the thing writhing, plunging it back in before he could even think of what he had done. Because he wasn't stupid. He had figured it out: the butterfly had emerged from its cocoon. And now it's wings were drying.
The skin had ceased to harden, the monster's body burdened by the constant pain coursing through it. What skin Feliciano could feel brushing against his knuckles with each downward stroke was as hard as diamond.
Ten stabs, twenty stabs, and still the thing screamed. It was the most horrible, wretched sound Feliciano had ever heard. Buckets of blood seemed to burst from it, puddling on the floor, turning Feliciano's shoes red. Thirty, forty… it just wouldn't die…
"Get off me you fucking sonofabitch!"
Alfred rammed himself against the nearest soldier as hard as he could, sending the man stumbling. He ran toward Tony's chair, fists clenched and ready to end it, but an arm curled around his neck and he was yanked backward. Choking and struggling to maintain his footing, Alfred twisted, clawing at the arm, swearing. He bit down until he tasted blood, the soldier giving a pained wail and kicking Alfred's feet out from under him as he loosened his grip. Alfred had been pulling away so hard that he nearly fell face-first into the floor, catching himself just barely. He pushed himself into a crouch, clutching his throbbing wound as the soldier he had shoved came at him once again. Alfred groaned and snagged the man's ankle. It was obvious that the soldier hadn't expected Alfred to grab him, hesitating with his punch just long enough for Alfred to roll onto his back and aim a kick at the soldier's kneecap. Alfred bit his lip when he felt the bone cave inward, and the soldier gave a harsh, withering cry before crumpling to the floor in agony.
Alfred lay there for a moment, catching his breath, but it was a moment too long. A burst of pain rattled his skull and made him see white, but dizzy though he was he made it a priority to roll out of the way of the other soldier's next kick. Alfred tried several times to get to his feet, but the soldier's attacks were coming so fast that it was an effort for him just to dodge.
"Is… this what it means to have power? Huh?" he yelled, frustration eating at him. He was determined to make that fucker in the chair react if he couldn't get near enough to knock him out. He glanced at Tony. Nothing. The alien's eyes were closed, fingers steepled, looking far too comfortable, considering Arthur appeared to be fighting his way uphill with a half ton boulder strapped to his back. It made Alfred sick and angrier. Another kick. Alfred promptly scuttled to one side. "Power means—that you can have—guard dogs—fuck—defend your scrawny ass? You said you were—all-powerful—motherfu—well, show me! We're too much for you—t-to handle, and that's why—goddamn, you bitch—th-that's why you called two more guys in. Where's—urgh—that control now, huh? You claim to know a lot, but obviously—you don't know that power can be deadly. It can make someone—shit—careless!"
Alfred jumped out of the soldier's range and managed to scramble to his feet in the time it took for the man to turn and aim. He grabbed the soldier by the ankle and twisted until he heard a pop. The man yelped and, in his attempt to wrench himself free, slipped and plummeted to the floor.
Alfred crouched down and held the man's arms down with his knees, straddling his chest and punching him in the face. His fist came away bloody and stinging, but before he could deal the next blow, something thin wrapped around his neck, pulling backward. Alfred was forced to follow, dragged from the soldier as the other attempted to garrote him. He thrashed and gagged, but he was yanked onto his back, caught by the throat. Twisting and clawing at the wire that was slicing into his neck. The soldier he had punched pushed himself up and bore down on him, limping, but Alfred flailed his legs and he kept his distance. Alfred continued to struggle, turning his head, feeling warm blood drip down his neck. Then the soldier choking him dug his heel into Alfred's wound.
Alfred howled, the pain such a shock to his body that all he could do for a minute was lay there. His muscles on temporary shutdown, he could do nothing as the garrote was pulled from his throat, blood trailing, and he was flipped onto his stomach and held down. Alfred grunted as a knee was pressed between his shoulder blades, grimacing into the floor. Damn. The fucker must have popped his knee back in. Boots clicked beside him, and the next second he was snatched up by his hair. He felt the cut in his neck ooze more blood.
"Watch," the soldier ordered him, the other sitting on Alfred's back. And Alfred did watch. He had no choice.
Damn—it's so bloody dense…
Arthur pushed his way through Tony's mind, finding himself met with intense barriers. As white and empty as the space seemed, it was buzzing with energy. It was like walking through a windstorm. Arthur was pushed left and right as he struggled to find the spot in which he had seen the funnel. The voices seemed louder now, more desperate. It was deafening, and Arthur thought he would be thrust back out just from the force of their despair. Tony's mind was an endless expanse with no definable features to guide Arthur to his destination. Five minutes in, and he cursed himself for letting Tony expel him when he'd had the funnel in sight. And the more he rooted around the more immense Tony's presence became. Every now and then Arthur would feel a tug, just a small one. But it was obvious that there was more power behind it. Tony was playing with his food, and it was only a matter of time before he decided that he was hungry.
Where is it—where the bloody—hell—is it? His frustration and panic began to outweigh his resolve. He could feel the tugs growing harder, Tony's presence swelling to the extent that it was difficult for Arthur to even move. All at once, the voices surrounding him seemed to fade a bit, and Tony's voice boomed into existence, nowhere and everywhere at once.
"YOU ARE A PATHETIC WASTE TO YOUR KIND. YOU THINK YOU ARE BEING NOBLE BY GOING AGAINST ME, BUT YOU ARE MERELY FEEDING YOUR OWN NEED FOR REVENGE. ALL YOU HUMANS CLAIM THAT IN TIMES OF TROUBLE YOU UNITE, BUT IN REALITY YOU SCATTER AND BITE LIKE THE VERMIN YOU ARE. YOU EXIST TO FULFILL YOUR OWN NEEDS, SO BLINDED BY THE URGE THAT YOU CAN'T SEE HOW INSURMOUNTABLE AN OBSTACLE AS LARGE AS I MAY BE—FOREVER SLAVES TO YOUR EMOTIONS. HERE, YOU SHOW YOUR WEAKNESS: UTTER STUPIDITY."
The tugs became harsher, to the point that for every step Arthur took forward he was pulled three back. Tony's words rumbled through him, seizing his heart and locking it in a vice grip hard enough for him to feel every heartbeat pumping through him, as if his whole body was one huge vein ready to burst.
"GO ON, THEN. HAVE YOUR REVENGE. LET IT CONSUME YOU LIKE THE MUNDANE CREATURE YOU ARE. BUT IN THE END YOU WILL SEE THAT YOUR DESIRES HAVE TRUMPED YOUR SENSE, AND BY THEN IT WILL BE TOO LATE. JUST ANOTHER INSECT LOST AMONG THE CARCASSES, IDENTITY AND ALL. NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU AND NO ONE WILL MOURN YOU. THE WORLD WILL GO ON, AND THE HUMANS THAT WILL SURVIVE WILL EVENTUALLY FORGET MANKIND'S PRETENTIOUS WAYS. THEIR CHILDREN AND THEIR CHILDREN'S CHILDREN WILL ONLY KNOW THE PROPER PLACE OF HUMANS AND ABSTAIN FROM REVELING IN HUMAN ARROGANCE AND FOOLISHNESS. HISTORY WILL BEGIN AGAIN, ONE IN WHICH YOU AND YOUR FOLLIES WILL NOT BE MENTIONED. IDIOTS, AFTER ALL, DO NOT DESERVE SUCH REVERENCE. I AM SURE YOU AGREE WITH THIS NOTION."
Come on, dammit, come on. Arthur continued to push, trying to keep himself together as Tony picked at his energy, caressing and teasing, like a black widow disguised as an enticing lover. Arthur could feel the alien's power swelling, a tsunami building at sea. He knew that another good yank would do him in, that he would be sucked out and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. That would be it. He knew he could not let that happen.
And he wouldn't.
Sixty, seventy, eighty—still alive, it was still alive, gushing rivers of red and shrieking like nothing Feliciano had ever heard. By now his whole front half was soaked with blood. It had a strange, pungent odor and was as thick as snot. The hybrids neck was nearly sliced through, and for a few frantic seconds Feliciano feared that he may never kill the thing, that it would crawl out and devour him with its head hanging by nothing more than bloody sinew. Then everything just… stopped.
Feliciano just stared, blade still embedded in the creature's neck, anticipating. Blood dribbled. The body twitched. Feliciano waited for it to stop moving. When the muscles finally gave out, he slowly slid the knife free, more blood bubbling out. He lowered his eyes to inspect his hands, the red blood on them eerily resembling water in the equally red light, when he saw something jerk out of corner of his eye and looked up.
A liquid explosion, not unlike that of a massive bubble of tar bursting, blinded Feliciano. Sizzling pieces of flesh and globs of blood clotted by heat adhered to his face. It was hot, almost burning hot, and it took a great effort for Feliciano to peel his eyes open due to the amount of sticky goop cementing his eyelids together. He could taste it on his lips, the hybrid's remains mixed with Jeanne's. He was too relieved to be sick. The monster was dead. Finally.
Stunned, he sat there, his mind blank. He had long dropped the knife he had been holding, and his muscles felt like they had melted. His heart was sore from beating so hard and so fast. It hurt to breathe too deeply.
"Abort it!"
Feliciano whipped his head around to see Arthur, gritting his teeth and grimacing, muscles bunched, fighting the contortions that were attacking his body. The Briton's eyes were screwed shut, but somehow his gaze was piercing through him. "The message! Stop it!"
Feliciano just stared, feeling like he was floating. Everything depended on him, everything. That had never happened before. How could they ask for something so risky? They knew he couldn't do brave stuff like that. Why were they asking him to? Why did they think he could ever—
"Goddammit, Feli!" Alfred yelled. "Stop sitting around and stop that fucking clock!"
That was when he heard it: "1 minute and 0 seconds. 59… 58… 57…"
Feliciano didn't think anymore, he just did. He didn't think about what the consequences would be if he got to his feet. He didn't think about the possibility that Tony might throw him onto his back. He didn't think about the slime dripping down his face nor of the acidic taste it left in his mouth. He didn't think about the soldiers holding Alfred down, one of which was preparing to stop him. All he knew was that the numbers projected were counting down far too quickly and that he would see Ludwig again. The man's smile was simply too bright to leave behind. If Feliciano died then the world would be devoid of that smile, and then what kind of savior would he be?
"49… 48…"
Feliciano arrived at the control board and one of the soldiers made to attack. But Alfred threw out his arms and grabbed what he could. It was enough. The soldier went tumbling down, twisting and kicking. Alfred got a heel to his face, but he only tightened his grip. "The switch, Feliciano!"
"The switch… the switch…" Feliciano bit his lip, his hands fumbling over the flashing buttons and glinting knobs. His fingers trembled as they sought out their quarry, brushing against several switches before he found the one that jump-started his memory.
"43… 42…"
The soldier on Alfred's back seized his hair and slammed his face down into the floor. The shock should have been enough for Alfred to release the other soldier's ankle. But Alfred's fingers locked in place, squeezing hard as his head throbbed. The soldier yanked on his hair again, intending to smash him into the floor again, but Alfred jabbed him in the back with his heel, knocking him forward. Before the man could regain his balance, Alfred wriggled until he had freed enough of his body to turn onto his side. The soldier astride him grabbed him about the neck and wrung it few good times. Alfred choked and soon found his hands empty and the soldier he had been holding onto flying toward him. He threw out his arms and caught the soldier by the leg, using all the strength he had to pull him down. The man had been running so fast that it wasn't hard to unbalance him. He went flying into his comrade, effectively bowling him over and freeing Alfred's legs. He scrambled to his feet and didn't take the time to catch his breath before he aimed a kick at the closest man's chin. The soldier's head snapped back and without warning the other sprung at him like a spider. Once again, Alfred was pinned to the floor. Hands shot to his throat, where he could already feel bruises forming. He snatched up the man's wrists before he got the chance to strangle him, gritting his teeth as his broken fingers sent stabs of pain coursing through him, holding the soldier at bay as best he could while he caught sight of the other recovering out of the corner of his eye. The soldier he had kicked pushed himself to his feet and cut a furious path toward him, something glinting in his hand. Shit!
"35… 34…"
Feliciano flicked the switch. The clock kept counting, bellowing out the numbers: "33…32…"
Why?!
He moved it back and forth feverishly, frantically. "It's not working," he muttered. He flicked it again. "It's not working!"
"REQUEST TO ABORT RECEIVED."
Feliciano's heart nearly stopped as the voice boomed and the ticking stopped. The numbers had disappeared from the screen, but they were soon replaced with—
"REQUIRED SECURITY QUESTION."
WHY?!
Words appeared onscreen, by far the most intimidating Feliciano had ever seen:
"Long before time realized
Born was I from Heaven's eyes
Swept along by Fate, I flew
All spitting fire and icy dew
Through brooding dark and empty plains
Soon in life I found my bane
Colliding, pushing, breaking, storming
A new generation thus was forming
A piece of me and a piece of them
Scattered was I, root and stem
But the seed I left made to grow
The pieces together began to sew
Giving birth to life and death as one
The race for perfection brutally won
I am You
You are Me
I am Near
I am Far
I am Old
I am Young
I am Sight
I am Sound
I am Taste, Touch, Winter, Spring
I am small, but I am Everything."
Feliciano's heart leaped into a harsh tattoo again. A riddle? How am I supposed to… I don't think I can…
A thumbnail of the clock popped up in the upper right corner of the screen and continued its steady boom of, "26… 25…"
Where? Where? Arthur used his last great burst of energy to propel himself out of Tony's grip. He flew forward, and Tony laughed.
"THERE IS NO REASON FOR ME TO STOP YOU. THE HUMAN RACE WILL DESTROY ITSELF. IT ALREADY HAS. YOU CONDEMN 'CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY.' SO YOU HAVE CONCLUDED THAT THERE IS A JUST WAY OF KILLING EACH OTHER? YOU HAVE SPIRALED SO FAR DOWN, THERE IS NO HOPE FOR YOU. IN A WAY, I AM DOING YOU A FAVOR—KILLING YOU OFF BEFORE YOU HAVE THE CHANCE TO SUFFER ANYMORE. I AM SURE YOU WILL AGREE THAT THIS IS A JUST METHOD?"
Where? Where the bloody hell is it?!
"PITIFUL, ISN'T IT, THAT THE GREATEST ENEMY HUMANS HAVE ARE THEMSELVES?"
Where? WHERE?
Something flickered in the corner of his vision, and he shot toward it without a second thought. If it was a trick, his efforts were wasted—there was no time to reorganize now.
"CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUND OF YOUR WORLD COMING TO AN END?"
Ticking as loud as thunder roared through the endless recesses of Tony's mind, cutting through Arthur's body and shaking him to his core.
"20… 19…"
Voices met him, echoing from up ahead. Arthur kept pushing, his heart pounding to the pace of the clock. He could sense energy, a lot of it, jumbled yet distinguishable. And something was swirling, sucking more power in before spitting it out…
The funnel!
Goddammit… mother… fucker…!
Alfred ground his teeth as he finally succeeded in grabbing the wrist of the soldier sitting atop him. He wasted no time sinking his teeth into the man's hand. The soldier yelped and wrenched his hand away, Alfred spitting blood in his direction. The soldier recovered and reached for him again. Alfred was ready for him. He linked his fingers and bashed the man in the head. The blow could have been made by a cannonball, Alfred was so determined to get away so he could carry out what he came there to do. No way had he traveled this far, gone through so much hell, seen two of his children die, just to be taken down by a pair of brainwashed, zombified cronies.
The soldier clutched his head, groaning. Alfred pitched him to the side and the man fell, his head cracking off the hard floor when he failed to catch himself. Before Alfred could confirm that his opponent was incapacitated, another kicked him in the back and sent him flying onto his stomach. Alfred's hands shot out, and he pushed himself up just in time to dodge a blow from the remaining soldier. Alfred responded in kind, but he forgot his mortality—he didn't possess as much endurance as he usually did—and was too slow to catch him, even though the man was injured. Another swipe… yet again, a miss. The fucker was dancing circles around him, and the clock was still counting down, louder than ever, "15… 14…"
Feliciano's felt like his stomach was made of lead. He read the poem over and over again, but each time he did it seemed as if it was written in a language that he had never seen or heard of before. It might as well be cuneiform for all he could decipher.
Think, think… you've done this before. Feliciano wrung his hands nonetheless. Beads of sweat gathered and rolled down his face. Your country's history is rich with this kind of stuff. Sphinx riddles from Papa Rome, poems during the Renaissance—there's no excuse for you not to know this. You know this, Feli. Come on, think!
His eyes locked onto the poem, and he forced himself to look at it like he was taught to look at poems: each line was a metaphor, an expression of great emotion, a piece that, when combined with others, created a puzzle the proportions of which could encompass the universe. As intimidating as that seemed, however, there was always a way to figure it out. It just required a different rhythm of thinking. Once Feliciano caught onto that rhythm, he would be able to decipher the riddle as easily as walking down a familiar road to a destination he had been to many times but had never recognized as special. His eyes scanned the first line of the poem, muttering the words to himself under his breath, letting them roll around in his mouth, getting a feel for them.
" 'Long before time realized…' "
Before time… did time realize something? No, that doesn't make sense… 'time realized'… 'realized'… 'Long before time realized'… long before… long before time was created… before it was recorded!
The scope of the poem had been revealed—and, fuck, was it a big one. The riddle was about something that dated back billions and billions of years. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the ticking of the clock pounding against his eardrums.
" 'Born was I from Heaven's eyes…' "
'Heaven's eyes'… 'Heaven's eyes'… They had to be key words, they had to be. They seemed too metaphorical, to choicy, to be anything else. They had to have something to do with that enormous scope. 'Heaven's eyes.' It reminded him of old Italian poems that referred to something natural as divine. What is it describing. In older days, the sky was called 'the heavens.' Maybe… but eyes… eyes in the… sky…?
It was as if Feliciano's head was a bell, and someone struck it, sending realization ringing throughout his body, making his hair stand on end and the tips of his fingers tingle. His lips formed into a single word:
"Stars."
Now he was onto something.
"13… 12…"
Reach that… bloody… funnel… goddammit!
Tony hadn't bothered to catch up with him. As far as Arthur could sense, the alien was deliberately sending content signals in his direction just to put him in a state of unease. But Arthur knew as soon as the alien realized what his intentions were, he would have only a few seconds to act before he was thrown out for good. This was the only chance he would get. He took a deep breath.
Well… here goes everything.
"11… 10…"
It's talking about the universe and stars. Feliciano groaned. Please let the answer be something smaller…
" 'Swept along by Fate, I flew,' " he muttered, mind whirring. " 'All spitting fire and icy dew.' " Whatever it was traveled, and it was obviously destined to end up somewhere. So it must be part of history somehow. It was also composed of 'spitting fire' and 'icy dew.' What spits fire in space? And 'icy dew'…? How can something be on fire and icy at once? Feliciano plied the churning waters of his mind, hoping that he'd had the sense to save something about space matter in his memory. Then again, he did always forget things…
Hot and cold at once… hot and cold… and it flew… The only thing Feliciano knew that flew in space were meteorites or asteroids or some other bit of space rock. At that, he instantly dug up a long-buried memory about a world meeting… Alfred had been bragging about how NASA had found water on meteorites… "Yeah, totally! I know, it's cool, isn't it? I mean, how does a flying piece of space junk have water on it when it's on fire?"
Arthur had rolled his eyes and said, "It only catches fire when it flies close to a planet's atmosphere. The force at which it is pulled by gravity increases it's velocity, and—"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. The point is it's fucking outta this world, right?"
"America, shut up before we lose anymore braincells."
The air that he had been holding in his lungs longer than he had known rushed out in one, enlightened breath. "A meteorite."
" 'Through brooding dark and empty plains, soon in life I found my bane.' " So the meteorite flew through space—that was definitely dark and mostly empty. And at one point it found an enemy… but what could possibly oppose a gigantic, flying rock? It reminded Feliciano suddenly of diamonds. How the only way to scratch them was to use another diamond… It hit something… another meteorite! Of course! The next line was, " 'Colliding, pushing, breaking, storming.' " That had to be it. 'A new generation thus was forming'… ? Now, what does that mean?
"10 SECONDS TO LAUNCH. 9…"
"C'mon, you fuckin' pussy!"
Alfred swung again, but his efforts produced the same result; imbuing more confidence in his opponent. The soldier wasn't doing anything but dodging, and all too late Alfred realized it was wasting his energy to maintain his attacks. All he needed was for the man to hit him, to get close enough so that Alfred could grab him and do what he had been wanting to do ever since they began this dance. He decided to give it one last shot.
He kicked instead of swiped, and that caught the soldier off-guard. The man wobbled as he moved out of the way, giving Alfred just enough time to grab him by his vest and push him up against the wall. The soldier raised his hands, sinking his nails into the skin on Alfred's arms and pulling. Alfred clenched his teeth, giving a frustrated growl as the man twisted, almost hard enough to escape. Alfred jammed the toe of his boot into the back of the man's knee and he staggered. Before he could find his balance, Alfred turned the soldier around and shoved his face into the wall.
"This is where it ends," Alfred said, digging his fingers into the man's scalp. He grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked the soldier's head back, then slammed it into the wall.
"8… 7…"
A new generation… generation… but if it was before time, it was before life, right? Then how could a generation even exist? Feliciano chewed his lip. It can't be anything living, then. If two meteorites crashed into each other all they could create would be… rocks. A generation of rocks…? What? He read over the next two lines, hoping it would help him solve the one above them.
" 'A piece of me and a piece of them, scattered was I, root and stem.' "
The meteorites broke into pieces and scattered… okay… what next?
" 'But the seed I left began to grow, the pieces together began to sew.' "
Something new was created. I've already figured that out! What is it? The skin broke beneath his teeth.
"6… 5…"
The funnel… yes!
Arthur reached the spiraling energy, the voices ringing in his ears. His heart was pounding far away in his body across the room. It was pounding so hard he could feel it even while deep within the boundaries of Tony's consciousness.
All right, then… Arthur anchored himself and used all the energy he brought with him to form a small funnel from his consciousness to his body to transport more power. He could only hope that Tony wouldn't notice what he was up to until he was at half power. Any earlier and he would be vulnerable to attack. But, of course, this was Tony's mind. He would be able to sense Arthur's energy flowing through his system. It wouldn't be long. Arthur would have to be quick.
"4…"
Come on, come on, think! The meteorites crashed together and broke apart. Then together they formed something. Something out of rock… 'Giving birth to life and death as one"…? But nothing was alive! And how could life and death be one thing? Argh, think, Feli! 'The race for perfection brutally won.' Perfection? Two rocks crashing together makes something perfect? No, that can't be it… it makes… it makes… a planet!
"3…"
Alfred slammed the soldier's head into the wall a few more times before letting him slide down the wall, leaving a bloody smear in his wake. "Feli, stop that goddamn thing already!" He made to run toward the control board, but hands pulled him back. At first he thought it was the soldier he had just smashed against the wall—No goddamn way—but he twisted out of the man's grip long enough to turn around. The other one! They're like fucking roaches!
Feliciano read the next eight lines, his heart feeling too big for his chest. 'I am Taste, Touch, Winter, Spring. I am small, but I am Everything.' But nothing is everything! What kind of riddle is this?! He forced himself to take a deep breath and cleared his mind. He told himself to ignore the clock ticking down, but there was no ignoring its booms pounding through his body. Okay, let's start at the top: the meteorite flew through space and crashed into another meteorite. They broke apart and created a planet. And life. Earth! And there's also death on Earth. Life is very rare in the universe, so it had to be a perfect sequence of events to make it happen. Of course, um… but the earth can't be everything. Wait, what was that thing about stars…?
"2…"
'Born was I from Heaven's eyes.' Stars. The meteorites were born from… stars? No, that can't be right… did the meteorite have something on it? Something from the stars?
"Dust."
Feliciano stiffened. "L-Lovino…?"
"Dust," Lovino whispered. Feliciano could feel his presence, his hand on his shoulder. "Stardust, Feli. Goddammit, it's stardust!"
That's right! Feliciano recalled what Ludwig had said long ago, when Feliciano had dragged him out to go stargazing.
"Stars release gases constantly from their surfaces," the German had said. Feliciano remembered him appearing annoyed when first brought out the field in the middle of nowhere when he'd had 'work to do.' Right then, though, he had a look of awe. "When they die, all sorts of elements are blown through the universe, sometimes for light-years. They can end up on all sorts of space rock."
"Whoa. Really, Germany?"
"Ja. It's called stardust. And it's a part of everything in the universe."
"Even us?"
"Ja, Italy. Even us. We are stardust."
Such a tiny substance, Feliciano thought. Even though it's small, it changed everything.
"1…"
"FELICIANO!" Alfred shouted.
"Flip the damn switch, fucktard!" Lovino howled.
"LAUNCH INITIATED. ACTIVATING BOOST—"
"No!" Feliciano shoved the switch over with his entire hand. There were a few moments when the clock turned to zero and the screen flashed red and a blinding white. Then the screen returned to its original hue. Big, bold letters appeared.
"LAUNCH TERMINATED."
Feliciano was so relieved that he couldn't hold himself up. His bones turned to rubber and he slid down the control board until he sat shivering and staring on the floor.
I… I did it… thank you, Lovi.
"I didn't save your ass just have it killed," Lovino said. His presence swelled around Feliciano. "And if I see you up here any time soon, I'll kick that ass up over your shoulders. Hear me?"
Feliciano didn't answer. He just laughed breathlessly and took comfort in his brother's warmth until it faded away.
Hearing Feliciano divert the message gave Arthur the boost of confidence he needed to pull all of the energy from his body. All of his being was now in Tony. If the alien attacked him too much, it would be extinguished, his body would be an empty shell, and he would be sucked into the Void.
Nothing I've never encountered before.
"OH, SO YOU THINK YOU CAN BEST ME?" Tony's voice bellowed. "YOUR ARROGANCE KNOWS NO BOUNDS."
Arthur was still drawing energy from his body, the last trickles trailing through his makeshift funnel. Tony's energy pulsed around him, but he was only jostled slightly. It seemed that the alien was too vain to realize how dire his situation was now. Apparently he underestimated Arthur's abilities. Arthur planned to use that to his advantage.
"AS MUCH AS I ENDORSE ETIQUETTE, I HOPE YOU WILL UNDERSTAND IF I PLAY WITH MY FOOD BEFORE I EAT IT."
The jostle turned into a hard nudge and then a definite shove. Arthur's anchors were uprooted, and before he could build up his barriers, the some of his energy stores were exposed. Tony's energy went from derisive to infuriated.
"YOU DARE TO MAKE A STAND AGAINST SUCH A SUPERIOR RIVAL? WELL, I HAVE BEEN IN NEED OF SOME ENTERTAINMENT. ALL OF THESE REBEL RATS HAVE BEEN TOO EASY TO FINISH OFF, BUT YOU ARE ESPECIALLY TROUBLESOME. I WAS GETTING BORED."
Arthur didn't answer. He would waste too much energy doing so, and it wasn't worth his breath anyway. The more Tony talked, the bigger his ego got. And egos were huge distractions. Arthur needed Tony as distracted as he could be.
Now that he knew Feliciano had stopped the message from being sent, Arthur could focus on killing Tony. He knew he wasn't nearly strong enough to attack the alien when he had so much power, but if he cut off his stolen supply he may just stand a chance.
Tony shoved him again, almost breaking his barriers. He knew Tony could very well shatter his walls, but as long as the alien was receiving an immense amount of energy from foreign sources he wouldn't be quick to finish Arthur off. He did, after all, have the upper hand and planned to utilize it as much as he could. Arthur knew how fuckers like him worked. Tony was almost too predictable and he didn't even know.
"I REALLY MUST THANK YOU FOR COLLECTING ALL OF YOUR POWER FOR ME. NOW I WILL HAVE LITTLE TROUBLE TAKING IT FROM YOU. FOR BEING THE MOST STUBBORN HUMAN I HAVE EVER FOUGHT, YOU CERTAINLY ARE THE MOST ACCOMMODATING."
Almost there… Arthur mused. He was readying his energy for a strike. He would have to be accurate on the first try, and he could only predict how much power he needed to sever Tony's exterior lines. He had one chance, and concentration was key.
"NO COMEBACK? NO DEFIANCE?" Tony sneered, "I REALLY HAVE BROKEN YOU, HAVEN'T I?"
Almost… almost… NOW!
Arthur held his breath and struck out with all his might. It was fast—like a lightning strike. And it was just enough.
As soon as the thread was cut, the voices disappeared. Tony seethed.
"YOU IDIOT LIMEY. YOU JUST MADE A BIG MISTAKE."
Shit! Arthur dodged Tony's first attack, but he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid the alien forever. At some point, he would have to stop and focus his energy in order to take Tony out in a few, decisive strikes. For now, however, he could sense that the alien still had what was left of his stolen power in his reserves. Arthur would have to keep moving and allowing Tony to expend his energy until they were at a somewhat equal level. It was only fair, and it was his only shot.
Come on, come on, keep coming at me. Arthur kept careful track of Tony's power, feeling it go down with every hit he dealt. The more time that passed, the more accurate Tony's strikes became. The development was bittersweet; Tony's strength was depleted enough not to cause as much damage as it usually would at total power, but they were still painful and weakened the Briton's defenses. Arthur was concealing most of his power. If Tony broke down his walls and sensed how much power he was packing before the alien's own power was low enough for him to fight, everything would have been for naught.
Just when Tony's power was getting close to Arthur's goal, the alien made a direct strike at a crack in Arthur's defenses that made part of it crumble. Instantly, the full scope of Arthur's energy was exposed to Tony's senses. Arthur had only seconds to respond before the alien's temper exploded. Seconds to concentrate. Seconds to aim.
"I CAN'T WAIT TO FEEL YOUR ENERGY COURSING THROUGH MY VEINS. COME AND LET ME DRAIN YOUR POWER!"
Arthur granted his wish. He released a bolt of energy that sliced through a portion of Tony's consciousness. The alien remained where he was for a moment, as if staring in disbelief. Apparently, he hadn't counted on Arthur's aim being so precise.
"OH, IT'S EASY WHEN I STAND STILL," Tony sneered. "BUT LET'S SEE THAT CONFIDENCE OF YOURS HOLD OUT WHEN I SHOW YOU THE TRUE EXTENT OF MY POWER."
Do it, then, Arthur mused, and he knew Tony could hear his thoughts. The Briton's intentions, however, were buried deep and even then quite ignored by the alien. Tony's strength may have been brought down a few notches, but his arrogance still persisted, which was more than enough incentive for Arthur to take him down.
Tony struck out, and Arthur countered, both dodging and preparing for another attack in the short span of a few seconds. Tony was fast and he knew how to utilize his energy in ways Arthur had never seen before. Previously, Arthur had used his experience as an immortal figure to his advantage in magical duels, but now he was unable to predict Tony's next move, his techniques were so foreign. His most dangerous feature was his incredible recovery time. It seemed that every hit was almost immediately followed by another, and by the time Arthur began to heal himself he would be scrambling out of range of another full-power hit.
Arthur tried to dodge as best he could and throw in his own hits, but Tony was simply too fast. It's no use, Arthur thought after another strike sliced through a large part of his defenses and severed a substantial portion of his energy. A few minutes in, and there was nothing he could do but try to get out of the way. As each strike sliced more and more of his energy apart, grew closer and closer to his core, the less and less Arthur was able to gather that severed energy back together. A few more well-aimed hits and Arthur was scattered, nothing between him and Tony's killing blow. Arthur's heart jumped into his throat.
Bloody hell.
Tony laughed. "YOU MAY HAVE CUT ME OFF, BUT EVEN THEN I AM STILL TOO MUCH FOR YOU." Arthur could feel Tony's power swelling, surrounding him, humming with anticipation. "A NOBLE ACT WORTH NOTHING IN THE END. YOU TURNED OUT JUST AS EXPENDABLE AS THE REST OF YOUR RACE. ARE YOU PROUD?"
"Yes."
"HA! I THOUGHT SO. STUBBORN TO THE END. EVEN IN THE FACE OF DEATH YOU REMAIN DEFIANT, NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU ARE SCREAMING INSIDE."
Arthur's heart seemed to stop beating altogether. "Yes. You are right. I am screaming inside." He could feel the alien's energy churn with satisfaction. "But I have reason to be proud."
"IF YOU THINK THAT I WILL GIVE YOU THE CHANCE TO GIVE YOUR PARTING WORDS, I DON'T BELIEVE IN THAT KIND OF LOWLY SHOW OF SENTIMENT YOU HUMANS LIKE TO INDULGE IN."
"I will say my parting words whether you want me to or not," Arthur snapped. "And you will listen."
Tony flared with anger. "TERRIBLY SORRY, BUT I HAVE NO INTEREST IN MUNDANE HUMAN LOGI—"
"Stop your pompous waffling and check your perimeters, will you?" Arthur shouted. He could feel his physical form shaking across the room. This was it. "You're surrounded. You were too engrossed in demeaning and hurting me that you failed to notice my energy is no longer centered."
"YOU—"
"Listen! You have no room to insult me now. Either shut up and let me kill you quietly or keep on talking and I'll make your death as slow and painful as I possibly can. Which is it, then?"
Tony was silent for a moment, almost thoughtful, his anger ebbing. It put Arthur on edge. Then the alien said quite calmly, "YOU ARE WILLING TO OFFER ME MERCY FOR ALL THAT I HAVE DONE TO YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR FAMILY… THE WORLD? EMOTION DRIVES WHAT YOU HUMANS DO. MY SO-CALLED TYRANNY SHOULD BE NOTHING TO YOU. HUMANS ARE CONTROLLED BY SYMPATHY. IT'S PATHETIC, EVEN MORE SO THAT YOU FAIL TO NOTICE.
"NOW, YOU LISTEN. YOU MAY HAVE ME CORNERED, BUT IF YOU THINK YOU WILL END THIS YOUR WAY, THINK AGAIN. YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT YOUR EXPERIENCE IS ONLY LIMITED TO EARTHLY KNOWLEDGE. I, HOWEVER, POSSESS KNOWLEDGE YOU COULD NEVER HOPE TO OBTAIN. YOU CAN MAKE THE FIRST MOVE, BUT I GUARANTEE THAT I WILL HAVE THE LAST. GO ON. GIVE ME A REASON."
Arthur was shaking more than ever now, but he managed to keep his voice steady. He didn't come this far to back out now. "All right. Here's your bloody reason!"
Arthur launched his attack. His energy closed around Tony, effectively corralling him and pinning him in place. For a miraculous second, Arthur thought that he had Tony right where he wanted him. Then Tony laughed.
"WRONG CHOICE."
Arthur was propelled backward as Tony threw up his barriers and unleashed his energy. He was everywhere at once, jabbing at Arthur from all directions in every way he could imagine. Before he could get himself together and construct an appropriate attack, Tony just… stopped.
What the…? Arthur cautiously raised his walls and looked around. All he could see was white. Where the hell is the bastard? This couldn't be good…
Arthur had the instinct to keep moving—he felt more exposed staying still. Quiet was all he was met with, and, as calm as it seemed, he was even more tense than before. He knew Tony was lurking somewhere in the empty expanse; it was his consciousness after all. The fact that he could hide his energy so easily and emerge whenever and wherever he wanted scared the absolute shit out of him.
Am I really doing the right thing?
"A HUMAN'S FAITH IS SO EASY TO SHAKE."
Energy was surrounding him before he could react, and Arthur just barely slid through a gap before he was encircled. He turned and faced the seething, churning mass that was Tony.
"THERE IS NO ESCAPE," Tony said. "YOU ARE MERELY PROLONGING YOUR DEMISE. I HAVE SEALED OFF MY MIND. KEEP RUNNING, AND YOU WILL ONLY BE MET WITH WHITE."
"I have no need to run," Arthur said. "I've done my running. You can't chase me away anymore. It ends here, Tony. It all ends."
It unnerved Arthur that he could almost feel Tony's smile. "GOOD. I WAS GETTING BORED WITH THE CHASE ANYWAY."
They both released flares of energy that met with a blinding flash of light. Tony pushed with the force of a freight train, slicing through Arthur's energy as clean as a knife. Feet became inches, and Arthur's panic ignited.
Then he remembered Bryce's passion when reading him poems, Ian's drunken voice when he sang at the pubs, Sean's wiseass comments that made Arthur stifle laughs, the feel of Lennox's embrace just before he was stolen away by gunmen, gunmen probably, even then, working for Tony.
Austria was stolen. So was Hungary. Switzerland and Liechtenstein. Ukraine and Belarus. South Korea and Hong Kong. Australia and New Zealand. Sadiq. Prussia. Romano. All of them, stolen from the world, and Alfred and Feliciano the next possible victims.
No more. No fucking more!
An inch, two inches, five. Arthur was pushing Tony back, little by little, slowly but surely. In no time they were evenly matched.
"I CAN DO THIS FOREVER," Tony mocked. "I CAN RENEW MY ENERGY THE LONGER THIS GOES ON. BUT YOU… YOU'LL JUST RUN OUT. AND YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THEN. IT MEANS I WON'T GET TO KILL YOU THE WAY I WANT TO, AND THAT'S NO FUN."
"As superior as you—claim—to be—you forgot—one thing."
"I HIGHLY DOUBT THAT. BUT I'LL HUMOR YOU."
"You forgot the one thing that—makes us different—" Arthur growled through clenched teeth. No turning back. No running. "That makes me—the stronger one—"
"OH? AND WHAT IS THAT?"
Don't forget my message, Ivan. Or your promise.
The shaking stopped. His rapid heartbeats ceased. Everything was clear. "I have emotions. I care. And that's something you will never know."
Arthur gave an almighty push—and it traveled all the way to Tony's consciousness. Splitting energy as thin as spider's silk, Arthur's power cut through until all that was left of Tony's energy was shreds and then flakes. Arthur arrived at Tony's core and paused.
"YOU'RE AFRAID," Tony sneered, cocky even on the end of destruction. "YOU HAVE KNOWN YOU WOULD MEET THIS END THE MOMENT YOU WALKED INTO THIS ROOM. AND NOW, AT THE EDGE OF GLORY, YOU HESITATE. YOUR EMOTIONS CONSTRAIN YOU AGAIN. I TOOK EVERYTHING FROM YOU, AND STILL YOU FEEL FOR ME. HUMANS— WHAT WEAK CREATURES YOU ARE."
"I suppose that depends on your point of view," Arthur said. "And from where I stand, you took the low ground. I will never forgive that. Maybe now you finally understand human nature—all too late."
Arthur pierced the heart of Tony's being with a resounding crack. An ear-splitting screech rent the air, and there was a rush of wind somewhere in the distance. Within seconds it had reached Arthur, whirling like a hurricane and sweeping him up in its currents. The wind swept away all the white like dust, leaving a deathly black in its wake. It closed in around Arthur, squeezing him down, down, down, folding him in half, in thirds, into the smallest particle. There was a moment when he felt as if he were being sucked inside out, and he lost his ability to breathe. Then he opened his eyes and slowly filled his lungs. Tony was slumped in his chair, limp and hollow. He was dead. It was over.
I… did it… Arthur mused with a weak smile. Now I can… rest…
"Arthur!"
Alfred saw the man shudder across the room, having seemed caught in a trance, stock-still, for the last five minutes. Now his arms had suddenly given out, his body unmoving on the floor. "Arthur! Let me—go—goddamn you—!" Alfred ground out as he wrestled the soldier into a chokehold. The man struggled, gagging and clawing, but Alfred refused to be toyed with any longer. As soon as the soldier became too weak to struggle, Alfred worked one hand under the man's chin and wrapped another around his forehead. The soldier seemed to know what was coming and gave one last, futile kick before Alfred snapped his neck. The soldier jerked hard before going boneless. Alfred let him drop to the ground with a whump and stepped over him. He wasn't taking any chances. The soldier would not be getting up again.
"Arthur," Alfred cried and ran toward him. He couldn't see the man breathing, and his knees weakened. He fell and slid across the floor the rest of the way, leaving smears of blood behind him. He could hardly feel it.
"Artie." Alfred put his hand on Arthur's shoulder and shook him almost cautiously. When he didn't respond, Alfred's stomach dropped. "Artie. Artie, are you okay? Artie?"
When Arthur took a deep, albeit withering breath, Alfred felt like crying. But he knew Arthur would be disappointed in him if he did. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand as the Briton slowly turned his head to look at him. His eyes opened. They were sleepy, heavy with exhaustion and something else.
"Alfred," Arthur rasped. His lungs wouldn't allow him the air to speak normally. "Damn… is he…?"
"Yeah," Alfred said. "He is. You did it, Artie. You fucking did it." He felt like he should smile then, but instead his eyes stung. He didn't want to admit to himself that he knew why. "You saved our asses, bro. We're gonna be okay now."
Arthur's gaze took on a sad hue that made Alfred's breath catch. "You're going to be okay. Both of you… and everyone else…"
Alfred swallowed. He knew where this was going, but no way in hell was he going to let Arthur get there. "We're all gonna be fine. We're gonna leave this goddamned place and start over."
Arthur smiled. It was the saddest smile Alfred had ever seen, and it made his heart plummet. "Yes, you'll start over. I wish you well."
Alfred didn't care if Arthur saw. He hiccuped, and then he couldn't hide the tears any longer. "Don't say… Artie, I'm taking you with me. I'll carry you out of here. I'll get you to a medic—"
Arthur made an almost unnoticeable movement that Alfred perceived as a shake of the head. "Medics… can't help a damn."
Alfred blinked. Sticky warmth rolled down his face. He took Arthur by the shoulders and lifted his upper half into his lap. "Yes… yes they can, Art. They can. You just have to let them try. You… have to hold out until we get there. Please… don't let that bastard win. Don't let him… don't…" Alfred couldn't say the word, his throat contracting at every attempt. He wrapped both arms around Arthur and held him.
"He didn't win…" Arthur said, almost annoyed. "Stupid… yank… he's gone, isn't he?"
"But…" A tear rolled down Alfred's nose and he wiped it away. Tony's elimination somehow wasn't enough. "You're—"
Arthur sighed tremulously. "Yes, I am," he confirmed. The look on Alfred's face tugged at his heartstrings. He had the appearance of a lost child. Alfred's lower lip quivered and he lowered his head, hiding his grief behind his soiled fringe. "Alfred," Arthur began in a firm tone, the firmest he could manage, "don't you… dare quit. Don't you give up. That's… an order."
Alfred sniffed and looked up again, his eyes swimming. "Y-yes, sir." And he wiped his nose on his sleeve.
Arthur made a soft tsking noise. "Do remember… what I taught you about etiquette… guh… and manners… you won't be taken… seriously otherwise, ah." He screwed his eyes shut as his insides churned. The Void is calling. It's taking me back… the debt is due…
"Artie?" Alfred said, startled. He pulled Arthur closer to him and took his hand. The fingers were bony and cold. A sob escaped his chest. "Artie… I lo—"
Arthur scoffed. "None of that… cliché Hollyw—wood shite. At least let me… go… nngh… honorably."
"Okay, Artie," Alfred breathed, his voice shuddering. "Okay."
Arthur peered up at him with his hooded, hazy green eyes. "You're… a right sappy git… you know that?"
A sob was working its way up Alfred's throat again, but it somehow turned into a weak laugh and a lopsided smile. One corner of Arthur's lips lifted in a content half grin.
"Now… there's a smile." Arthur felt his insides churn again. It felt like they were being sucked out of his body. His head spun and then suddenly cleared. He felt the last of his energy run dry, and he closed his eyes. All he could feel was Alfred's warmth, the man's hand clutched tightly around his own.
Just like sleeping.
His lungs managed another shallow breath, and when he exhaled he couldn't feel anything anymore.
Somewhere, through the smoke and snow, mud and ash, through pools of spilled blood, hills of cut flesh and splintered bone, Ivan was staring.
"Arthur," he mumbled forlornly.
"Non, ami. It's—"
"Nyet," Ivan said, shaking Francis's comforting hand from his own. "Arthur. He's…"
Francis went dead silent. Ivan reached out and took his hand again.
"Спасибо, Francis," he said. "I am not leaving."
Francis didn't speak and neither did Ivan. They merely watched the gray, snow-specked horizon where HQ was cresting over the ruins of distant buildings. And, even though Ivan knew it was over, that the hell they had gone through for so long was finally extinguished, something still wasn't quite right in the world, because a certain someone was no longer there.
Thank you, comrade, Ivan mused. Thank you and farewell.
Translations:
До скорой встречи-See you soon
Спасибо-Thank you
Morituri te salutant-Those who are about to die salute you
"Stardust" poem (c) ME, so DON'T STEAL!
A Word From the Writer: Holy balls, this was long! Again, sorry for the late update (how long has it been? 2 weeks? Wow, it feels much longer than that...). But, brace for the excuses, I still have family over. My aunt and her two kids left, but now my cousin, her husband, and their baby are here. I have had my house occupied for five months. Five months. And they don't do shit! They don't clean up after themselves, they don't cook, they let their kid make a mess everywhere in the house, they don't take their dirty diapers out to the trash bin, hell, they don't even take care of or walk their dog! They hardly take their kid outside, poor baby! Ugh, having them over has made me truly appreciate the values my parents instilled in me about cleaning and courtesy. My dad is at the end of his rope, and their move out date has been pushed from September the 5th to the 12th! They're NEVER GONNA LEAVE! And on top of all this, I've started college and I'm looking for a job, so I've been busy lately. *sigh* So, there are my excuses, and I think they're pretty goddamn valid. I would have liked to give you an author's note to verify that I was still writing this thing, but I hate author's notes. They make you believe there's an update, and then when you get there it's just a "I'll be finished in a week or so" sort of bullshit.
Now, to the chapter content. England is dead. Yes, really, he's gone. It was so hard for me to write him dying for real, dammit, because he's one of my favorite characters! But I knew that I had been killing off characters that I didn't have such a huge attachment to all throughout this fic, so I decided to really hit home by killing off a character not only I but a lot of fans love. It was between England, America, Italy, and Germany, so I flipped a mental coin and decided to off England. It's a terrible thing, but it reinforces the reality of the fic. England gave his life to kill Tony. I believe that's a pretty noble way to go, and one that England would have chosen with little hesitation. Goodbye, my British gentleman, you will be missed. But I can tell you now, this isn't the last time you will see England. He'll be back... just in a different sort of way. TT^TT
So... Tony's dead, the message is aborted, and the battle is done. *Patrick voice* That's what you think, but it's not over yet! There are still some loose strings to tie up and an ending to compose, so, yes, there will be more updates! I don't know if I will be able to manage an update each Saturday, but I will try to be consistent as much as humanly possible. For now, though, I must say goodbye and "До скорой встречи." (again, please, correct me if I'm wrong. I don't Russian and Google is a crap translator).