America stared at England and France as they argued in the middle of Dark Englands. Honestly, America didn't know how the two could be fighting at a time like this, but then again, it was England and France, and when you put those two together into a sentence, it's usually not a good thing.
What they were arguing about, America didn't know either. He only knew that England and Italy returned to them ('them' being America and France), England brought up that the fakes couldn't heal.
And thenn France mentioned something about how England was implying that they'd all attack and see which is the real one, and that process was suicidal. And then England snapped at France, saying that he wasn't implying that at all, not really.
"Not really, he says." France had groaned. "I'm not implying that at all, he says."
And the rest was history.
"Hey, dudes..." America said weakly, not really wanting to get involved with England and France's heated argument. "Can't we win the game first and then fight? I mean, I dunno about you but we need to get out of here quickly."
England sent a final glare to France and then he huffed, "Fine. But like I said, I'm not saying that we should openly attack. That's a mistake we can't afford. Instead, I'll have my own set of clones to attack for us."
"You're cloning yourself?" America asked excitedly. "Dude, that's gonna be awesome! But, uh, how?"
England sighed. "My doppelganger isn't the only one who has magic, you know." He swept their surroundings with his eyes, meeting several suspicious Dark Englands' gazes. England grinned at them; they didn't say anything about him not using his own magic, and mind you he was anxious to get out of there.
England was particularly relieved that his doppelganger wasn't too much of a fighter; he was able to relax and think things through instead of being forced to think upon the moment. When given time, England was sure he knew what to do.
And so he cast his spells and one by one, several copies of himself-all of which have the same green eyes he had and not the dark, sinister red. The Dark Englands scowled at the Englands, and the Englands smirked at their scowls.
America, France, and Italy had never felt so out of place before; they would have asked England what he planned for them to do (because standing around doing nothing didn't seem very heroic according to America) but they couldn't remember which England was the real one.
That is, until one of them spoke. "Alright men," England said, a cunning smile tugging at his lips. "Let's find the real bloody bastard, eh?"
The Dark Englands were no longer leisurely enjoying the early morning. They all turned towards the Englands, America, France, and Italy. The ones who were sitting down stood up. The ones who were lying stomach down on the ground rose slowly, eyeing the Englands, America, France, and Italy. They were all surrounded, and they were surrounded rather tightly.
"There's no room to move." Italy whispered to an England. He wasn't sure if it was the right one, and chances are he wasn't, but that England told Italy that he didn't have to worry.
"Besides, you don't have to do anything but stand there." that England said. "Although there might be a few ducking and dodging; I can't babysit you all the time."
At first, it was silent. America could barely hold his eagerness in. It was exactly like a scene in a movie. The air was filled with tension, and you could just feel like something big is going to happen. Long, aggravating seconds passed and America feared that instead of tension, awkwardness will take its place. Maybe that 'something big' was just England exagerating, even though England really never said anything about 'something big'.
Then something big happened.
The first few blasts of brightly colored lights flew across the air and singed America's Nantucket. Hasitly patting his Nantucket to put out whatever embers might be left over, America grabbed onto Italy's wrist and pulled him to the side and out of the crowd of Englands and Dark Englands.
France did a small double take before linking arms with Italy, not wanting to be alone in the swarm of Dark Englands and Englands. That was a nightmare France did not want to partake in.
Several bolts of magic shot past their heads, narrowly missing them by centimeters. One stray blue one nearly nailed Italy but an England slid in front of Italy and yelled something that America couldn't catch, but whatever that England yelled, the offensive blue bolt was instantly deflected by an invisible force.
"If only I can get this on film." America said wistfully. "I'd so post this on the internet." Then he cocked his head thoughtfully. "Yo England! Need any help?"
The Englands stopped attacking, eyeing the Dark Englands for a moment. The Dark Englands kept their promise and kept at bay, but they never took their gaze off of the Englands.
"No, I can take care of this myself." one of the Englands said, probably the real one. Quite a bit of the Dark Englands were bloody, but not very. England said that he didn't want to waste magic and overdo things when a simple scratch that was deep enough for a Dark England to bleed would suffice.
"Narrowing them down, oui?" France asked for confirmation. "Pas mal, mon ami."
The Englands glanced at each other, grinning maniacally. It seemed as if England and the other Englands had realized how much easier this could be, and there was nothing that the real Dark England could do about it. A few of them faded into the air; England had released a few of them to preserve his magical powers. For once, America wished he could have something of the sort as well. Just for a minute.
The process started over again, but the Englands carefully sought out the Dark Englands that hadn't been hit. America, Italy, and France merely sat on a near by bench, waiting for England to finish the elimination process.
But after the majority of the Dark Englands were marked with their blood and only a few left unscathed, the three started to worry. Where was the real one? What were the odds of the real one being the last one England hit and they wasted so much time trying to find him. And then there was that pesky question about what the real Dark England would do if they did find him.
America glanced at Italy, whose empty yet worried expression was fixed right at the remainder of the Dark Englands who were unscathed. Then America glanced at France, who had his arms and legs crossed impatiently, but his lips were pulled into a deep frown.
"America..." France said slowly. "You don't think...ah, but I may be wrong...but moi, wrong? But then again...ah..."
"Let me guess," America said, interrupting France's mini self-conflict. "The real Dark England isn't here, is it?"
France was grave. "Oui."
America sighed and leaned back, throwing his hands behind his head and keeping them there, watching as the last few volleys of bolts and spells rebounded off each other, clashing in mid air to create a series of little fireworks.
England could feel his magic seeping away as he gritted his teeth with five of his other copies he kept around. The last two Dark Englands kept on successfully deflecting their spells, and once the Dark England on the left had summoned some sort of mischievious sprite-pizie thing. It flew over him and his copies, sprinkling them with some sort of dust. All of them had suddenly felt weakened, but luckily one of his copies hit the sprite-pixie thing with a spell and the thing exploded into flames.
Even though England had summoned many things, one being Russia, he had never seen such a creature as that...thing. It made him wonder what other unknown magic his doppelganger could have up his sleeve.
So when England went over that Dark Englands, making sure that they had an open wound, and narrowed them down to two Dark Englands. By now he was anxious for two reasons; one, after going through so many Dark Englands and still not hitting the right one made it seem as if the real one wasn't even there. And two, he had spent quite a bit of time playing the game and he still suspected Dark England was delaying them for a reason.
The spell flinging ceased for a while; there was no use in trying to hit them when they kept on deflecting spells and bolts and whatnot. England would only be wasting magic if he did pushed on.
"Only two left..." one of England's copies hissed. "And to think that it would take this much effort."
The Dark Englands were silent, giving each other a sideways glance. Then the one on the left spoke. "What is a villain?"
England and the other Englands stared at the Dark England that spoke. "What?" they all asked dumbly.
The Dark England that had spoken forced a hollow laugh. "Ay me, the hatreds were right."
"A thought, a thought...A thought unwelcomed but a thought that is true. Villains are we, t'is not? What ho! What sorrow! Contradicting us, oh terrible thought, oh wretched statement. The other hatreds are right. What men are we?" the other Dark England groaned.
"What do you mean?" England asked coldly. "What did the other doppelgangers tell you that you refuse to accept?"
The Dark England on the right scowled. "Peace, peace. Thou art an anxious hare."
The other Dark England snickered. "A hare? How is it that he is a hare? Think ere thou speak."
"If he isn't a hare, then he is a bawd." the Dark England on the right proclaimed.
"A bawd without hares!" the other laughed uproariously.
England's eyebrow twitched in annoyance. How dare they! "You gits have a horrible sense of humor." England growled.
"What ho! The bawd speaks!" the left Dark England said.
One of England's copies snapped, "Stop fooling around, you idiots! What did the other doppelgangers tell you?"
The Dark Englands stopped laughing and then their mirth faded from their faces. "What men are we to withdraw ourselves from our words? My word is false; the rules, changed." the right Dark England said in a low voice.
"Ay, ay. Once approached, many times defended."
"Defended and defended until thou can not play. Behold, gentlemen, that is a villain. A man so cold, so dishonorable, to fairly play. A man who plays ill, foul, so that he attains his goal."
"Do forgive," the left Dark England said with a small sigh. "By and by, though wilt encounter many villains so tricky and crafty to fool other fools. But t'is not the time."
All of a sudden, all the Dark Englands, even the ones wounded, faced the Englands. England glanced around for a second and then his gaze landed on America, Italy, and France, who were standing up now, alarmed at the broken promise. A hiss escaped England's lips as the Dark Englands started to glow with their-no, his- magic.
"Good sir."
England turned to the right Dark England, who was watching him. The right Dark England looked dissatisfied with going back on his word but he was going to anyway.
"Many times sorry, but goals are ne'er reached unless we play foul; villains we truly are, not worthy of being called a man, for a man stays true. Gentlemen..." The right Dark England addressed England, the other Englands, America, Italy, and France. "Have at thee."
Not necessarily a history lesson, but more of an English lesson here.
According to my Literature textbook, a 'hare' meant a prostitute back then and a 'bawd' was someone who owns or manages them.
Now do you get why the Dark Englands were laughing at their own jokes?
Correct me if I'm wrong about it (because I too believe that some of my textbooks are quite wrong, especially my math textbook) and I'll try to fix it.