Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[DAY 1:]

Something was wrong, Prussia could feel it. And it wasn’t just the fact that he saw no one else, even though he felt like he was being watched. He was in a cold, concrete room, and there was a single lit candle in the center of the room. As he looked around, he noticed that the shadows were large, and the candle was the only source of light.

Where is everyone else? What is this place?
…I’m definitely not alone here.

Prussia tried to stand up, only to fall back down to the cold concrete ground. He looked down at himself.

Prussia’s normally charcoal and ink black wings, now a dirt brown color, were tied and pressed to his torso. He knew that if he tried to move his wings too much, he would sprain them. And it already hurt.
His right foot had some sort of metal clamp around the ankle, and when he tried to lift it, he found out that it was heavy. Probably lead in it. The clamp was to probably keep him from going far.
Nothing around his left ankle.
His left wrist had the same style of clamp, just a bit less heavy and smaller.
Nothing on his right wrist.
Both of the clamps felt cold, as if they have only been on for a few minutes.

He heard sounds of movement, like someone or something was moving towards him.

From the small light of the candle, he could tell that he wasn’t alone. For the other person in the room with him, was a fellow personification of a country, Napoleonic France, also known as the First French Empire. France

Napoleonic France looked down at him.

“Ah, it’s a shame to see the great Prussia so helpless, unable to ask for help. Now, how have you gotten into this situation?”

“Stop talking and get me out of here.”

Napoleonic France chuckled.

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Stop saying nonsense.”

“I am just saying. I already helped to take out your eye, with your brother’s help. Remember the Battle of Jena–Auerstedt? Do you?”

Prussia’s face must have showed something, because Napoleonic France spoke again, his voice sounding smug, but calm at the same time.

“Ah, so you do remember it. You remember how your army failed to help you? Or how the Grande Armée defeated your army?”

Prussia looked down, the two metal clamps feeling colder than ice on his skin.

“Well, Prussia, I am just here to finish the job of what you and my army started.”

Napoleonic France started to walk towards Prussia as he looked up.

“No, don’t come closer, you French monkey.”

Yet, Napoleonic France continued to advance towards him, a knife in hand.

And then that knife was in Prussia’s stomach.

He tried to move away from Napoleonic France, but that didn’t do anything good. It only made the wound larger and more painful. But the only thing in his mind is to get away from France. Napoleonic France’s hands were no longer clean, no longer the colors of his flag, just a dark and reddish-black from Prussia’s blood.
And after a few seconds of the knife being in, and blood coming out, Napoleonic France pulled the knife to the side, ripping the wound even larger.
You could have seen his insides, or the look on his face when he realized what Napoleonic France was doing.

But it was too late.

With a shriek of pain and fear from Prussia, France reached inside of the wound he had just caused inside of his enemy, and pulled out part of his small intestine. It was wet and squishy, yet it somewhat held its shape as it was pulled from the place in which it belongs. Napoleonic France then played with it between his fingers for a moment before he took the knife to his enemy’s rope-like organ, both things covered in blood, and cut the organ in half, and then into smaller little pieces, earning more loud noises of pain from Prussia.

After France reached back inside of the bloody wound to presumably cause Prussia more pain and damage, he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“CAN YOU STOP?!”

Get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get away get awayGET AWAY .

Napoleonic France chuckled and took his bloody hand out of his wound.

“The pain is too much for you, oui? Knew that you wouldn’t be able to bear it for some time. Here how about we just…”

Napoleonic France put the knife above his chest, hovering just over the Iron Cross pinned onto Prussia’s uniform. Before Prussia could react, he punctured his chest too, and pulled the knife towards the main wound, making funny sounds whenever it hit a rib, as well leaving a bleeding gash on his chest. France then pulled out another organ, still attached, and destroyed that one too.

After a few more minutes, no one knows how long exactly, mostly France playing with him and his organs, Prussia fell silent.

As Napoleonic France left the scene, he didn’t bother to remove Prussia’s blood from his clothes. Or the knife in Prussia’s throat.

Chapter Text

“Come on, it doesn’t hurt that bad, sir.”

Prussia winced as it was pulled again.

not safe get away get away geT AWAY GET AWAY ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ…

“It DOES hurt.” He snapped, but regretted it as even more pain shot from the wound on and over his stomach area and neck. To make matters even worse for him, Napoleonic France had also torn out chunks of stuff from his wound, making it even more painful than it already was.

“Just… be quiet, sir. I am holding a needle that can stab you, after all.”

He looked at the person that was almost literally stitching him back together. Even with the quick healing that he had, his body still needed help with a wound that deep and severe.

The person had an in between chest. Not flat, but not exactly big. But, by the size of it the person was obviously a woman.

Like women could ever serve in the army. They are just for house work, like dishes and laundry.

He looked back at the ceiling with a sigh.

“If there was anything I could get you to make you not feel the pain or have you go to sleep, I would, sir.”

He chuckled slightly but ignored the pain as he did it.

“You could always knock me out by hitting me, you know.”

“I don’t think that that would be wise for your health, sir.”

He looked down at his stomach area.

The blood His blood, the same reddish black from before was glistening in the light from the candles. But, the blood that came out first, the dried bits flaked off with a purplish black color. The needle was both reddish black and purplish black, having both dried and fresh blood on it.

And it HURT. He knows that his fast heading will stop infection, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. He can somewhat tolerate the pain, but sometimes he would clench his fist and dig his nails into the skin of his palm to distract himself from the pain. Or he would wince.

coward. weak. disappointment. worthless.

He hated the little noises his skin would make as it was punctured by the needle, or whatever the thread was when it passed through his skin. He could feel it move too, under his skin, or when the person would pull it tightly to make sure that the stitches worked how they were supposed to.

Chapter Text

[DAY 3:]

He turned his head to look at the creature. It was… magnificent yet horrifying. It had an ungodly amount of teeth that look like it would tear into your flesh without a second thought.

Those red eyes seemed to stare into someone’s soul and see who they truly are, and what they think.

Of course, this thing had to have tentacles. Every person who wants to create some sort of new experiment just had to put tentacles on it. Either tentacles, bug legs, or wings. Or it just defies gravity and floats.

One of the scientists who helped create this monster, came towards it.

The second he turns himself to face away is the second that that scientist decided to become the main character in those stupid American movies like High School Musical.

The scientist tried to pet the creature.

Of course, he should have fired that scientist long ago, but who cares.

The second he turned his body to face away from the creature, there was a shout of fear.

“Сэр, это существо-!” “Sir, this creature-!” The shout was cut off suddenly. He spun back around to face the scientist and creature. Instead there was only half of a man, red spilled on the ground and all over the creature’s pale skin and teeth. Bits of flesh and fat in the creature's teeth, some on the ground, and some bits were still connected to what was left of the body.

Complete silence for a moment. You could have heard a pin drop.

As soon as the smell hit them, though, that is an entirely new thing. The scent of acid and blood, of raw meat and of wet dirt. As the meme says, sh*t went from zero to one hundred real quick.

Two scientists ran for the door, one scientist ran for the spare smaller room that has a few Mosin Nagants in it, another scientist just about froze in fear. One scientist ran up to him instead.

“Сэр Советский, вам нужна помощь, чтобы выбраться отсюда?” “Sir Soviet, do you need help getting out of here?” roughly. The scientist looked up at him as he spoke. He looked down at the scientist, as he was taller than the man.

“Убедитесь, что это существо умирает.” “Make sure this creature dies.” That was all that he said as a response, not scared enough as to flee from this place. Yet. After all, he had seen worse.

The scientist nodded and hurried away. He wasn’t afraid that the scientists couldn’t aim the rifles, he just thought that they would be too scared to take the life of the creature that they helped to create. It was fine, he would just punish those who disobeyed his direct orders. After all, he was… better than them to put it simply.

By now, the creature had realized that it wasn’t supposed to have eaten half of the first scientist, so now it wanted to remove what things it found threatening to it. And the tallest, strongest, and most menacing looking thing in the room was him. The creature moved on its tentacles, which made slapping sounds as they hit the ground one by one, heading for him. But, as it started to move to him one of the scientists tossed a rifle to him.

Turns out, the scientists also know how to use guns. Capitalists, be scared of these Soviet scientists.

He pointed the Mosin Nagant rifle at it and pulled the trigger. Several times, each shot hitting its target. The noise from the shots was loud and sudden, and he felt the rifle push backwards a little each time he shot the rifle.

When he was finished, all that was left was a bloodied corpse of the creature, with holes bleeding from the gunshots, its gray blood oozing out.

Chapter Text

[DAY 4:]

“So, you come here often?” She made her voice louder, as she was on top of a smaller hill, holding something behind her back. The hill had both alive and dead grass, which crunched if one were to have taken a step on it.

“Enough with that. Get down, colony. Get off of that hill this instant.” He snapped, disapproving of her actions. He glared at her as she stood.

“No, I don’t think I will. You need to learn to control your manners sometimes, Father.” She stood boldly, seemingly unafraid of the man at the bottom of the smaller hill. He started to walk up the hill, and he had a whip. And he wasn’t afraid to use it. That’s when she revealed what she had behind her back.

A spear. Its shaft was a reddish colored type of wood, and the pointed tip was some sort of shiny metal, probably silver or iron which was shiny in the cloudy sunlight. The spear looked as if it was recently polished.

“Father, take one more step closer to me and this spear is going to strike its first target.” She held the spear out in front of her, the point aimed at the man.

He chuckled slightly before he spoke. “Now, now. You wouldn’t want to harm me out of all people, would you? After all, it was me and the King who protected you from the French.”

She continued to hold the spear out, trying to not have her arm shake from the weight of it. “You just wanted the land, and that’s what you got. You have the post French colony now, yet you blame the war on the French. You then taxed the f*ck out of me and my people because you couldn’t afford to pay back the debt from the war that you started.”

He said nothing for a moment as he narrowed his eyes. “Thirteen. The French were a threat, but I neutralized them. That is one of the things that me and Prussia can agree on. Now get over here before you do something you regret.” His voice was demanding and cold.

She glared at him. “Don’t bring Prussia into this. He just wants to gain power and ‘unite the german lands’. Plus, don’t you even try to sweet talk me out of this. I already have my mind made up, and some of my people agree. Now go back to London, or to Berlin so you can cry into Prussia’s shoulder.”

“What? You d-” Oh. He did the uh oh move. He took another few steps towards her and she threw the spear as hard as she could, aimed directly at him. The spear had no rope attached to the second end of it, so it flew as well as aerodynamics and air friction would allow. That and as much energy as she had thrown it with.

The spear flew through the air and hit its chosen target.

The force of the impact from the spear sent him back a few steps. Already, he could see his wide eyes and seemingly surprised face. The place where the spear entered was bleeding, his red blood leaking out. The blood was glistening, just like the spear was shiny. The spear had hit him in the chest, most likely puncturing a lung.

After he had gotten weaker from the impact and wound, only about a minute later, that's when she approached him this time. His face purple from the lack of oxygen and yet pale at the same time, his blood still coming out of the wound, his pride wounded in a way.

“I hope you die, Britain.”

Chapter Text

[DAY 5:]

He opened the door, leading into Poland’s room. The air in the room tasted stale, old, and a slight hint of blood. Poland was lying on the floor, a metal clamp around his ankle, as well as a clamp around his neck. Both clamps had chains connected to the ground. The skin under and around both clamps looked scraped raw and red.

Why would he care about Poland’s state? Both France and Britain said that if he attacked Poland, the both would declare war. Poland’s land came from parts of his father’s land, it was rightfully his. He should take it. He wouldn’t care what Britain and France did.

He kicked Poland’s shoulder with his foot, not hard but not softly at the same time. A slight whimper came from Poland a moment later.

“Up off of the ground, coward, now.” As Poland struggled to get up, he grabbed him by the clamp on his neck, which was still cold. He looked into Poland’s eyes, but there was nothing caring about the way he looked at Poland.

Poland mumbled something, but it was not understood by him.

“Speak up! Don’t mumble, I can’t hear you.”

Maybe I should put him in Auschwitz, and put one of those bracelets on him.

Poland looked at him, even though it hurt to look at his red eyes. “Why… why you do this?”

He said nothing, before he let go of Poland, causing him to drop back to the floor. And only then did he speak. “For the Germans suffering under your control, and as Brother wanted too, your land.”

Poland seemed a bit confused at the word ‘brother’.

“I mean Weimar, you idiot. He may have wanted to annex some lands, but he was too weak and too much of a pushover to do so. Thus, I had to let myself have control, and I killed him with my bare hands.” He then shoved the heel of his shoe into Poland’s torso, and smiled slightly as he made a sound of pain. He did find pleasure in Poland's pain for some reason.

He pushed his heel in a little harder, and a few moments later he heard a satisfying crack as Poland made another noise.

The sound of a second voice slightly startled him, but he showed nothing. “How are you doing, Poland? Good day… a nice day in September, yes?”

Chapter Text

[DAY 6:]

He walked through the halls, getting glances and looks from the short humans.
Humans, always pathetic. They stare without realizing that I know that they see. Father displeases the humans that stare, too.

Yes, he was taller than your average human. He wasn’t human, but right now he blended in as one of them. He walked past a particular group of people who he had a strong urge to slap them right off of their feet.

Once he arrived at that particular building however, is when all of his formal composure disappeared. He walked through the halls, not bothering to look nice.

After all, what he was about to do was the opposite of nice.

He opened a door to see France lying on the ground, her body limp. She was alive, but… let’s say that she wasn’t fully awake. He picked her up, holding her as she made a noise of protest. But what could she do?

He was taller, stronger, and more physically prepared to fight than her.

He ended up putting her into a different room, one with a more concrete like floor, one that can be washed easily. He then locked the door, left, and came back a minute or so later with… a few meat hooks? And a chain…?

He first sat down and then picked her up by the shoulder to drive the tip of one of the meat hooks through her other shoulder. That sent her back to reality fully in an instant.

The noise the meat hook made when it went through her shoulder isn’t a sound that the people who get squeamish easily should hear. In her case, it sounded like a wet pop.

Her blood, which is a purplish reddish color, was already starting to bleed out through the entry and exit point of which the hook entered.

She shouted in protest and tried to fight back, but that only earned her another meat hook in the same shoulder, the same wet pop sound. He then grabbed the metal chain, and connected it to the two meat hooks that are currently in her shoulder.

He then got off of the ground and stood up, holding the chain high enough that she had to be on the tips of her toes, mostly held up by the meat hooks in her shoulder. Holding the chain up a little more higher, however, would have her hanging from the hooks, which he knew, but had not done yet.

“Va- va te faire foutre.” She managed to speak, even though her voice shook a little.

And what will saying that do? Make me feel bad? Nice try, it’ll take more than that, frog.

He yanked on the chains, which tugged at the hooks, earning him a shout of pain from her.

Her older brother had caused his Father so much pain, but he wasn’t around now. But, her and her brother were both French, and they both deserved to suffer.

He shoved another meat hook through her, but this time it wasnt in the shoulder. She made a noise of shock, pain, and fear all at once as she felt it go through part of her neck. He could faintly smell the sound of rust, which meant that he could smell her blood.

All of a sudden he grabbed one of the meat hooks in her shoulder and pulled it as hard as he could. She let out a screech of pain as he saw her blood flow out of the widened wound. Because the hook was under one of her collar bones, it was sticking out, it’s white color easily noticeable against the purplish color of her blood.

He silently chuckled.

He enjoyed this.

.-.-.

When he had finished with his fun, he put the meat hooks back into her body, reattached the chains, and hung the body from one of the walls of the castle.

And she wasn’t even alive to see the view.

Chapter Text

[DAY 7:]

She walked. She knew that if she was spotted and found out, she would most likely fail and get sent back.

But she would just come back.

She passed on as a Russian, keeping the fact that she was a personification secret until the moment she found his office. She kept her head low and her pace quick.

As she was walking through the building she passed by someone that looked as if he would rather be somewhere else. He was definitely a human, an actual native Russian, but there was something about him that just… felt different than all the other humans. And it wasn’t just the way the other people acted around him or the air of authority.

She came across the room that she was looking for after a few minutes.

She opened the door slightly and saw him. The personification of the Russian Federation. His human name is Nikolai. She walked into the room.

He looked up from what he was working on, presumably something to do with a map.

“Да? Вам что-то нужно?” “Yes? Do you need something?”

“Подумайте о том, что вы делаете сейчас в Украине.” “Think about what you are doing now in Ukraine.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Как раз для их денацификации, а также демилитаризации Украины.” “Just for their denazification, as well as the demilitarization of Ukraine.”

“Но на Украине нет нацистов, Владимир Зеленский имеет еврейские корни.” “But there are no Nazis in Ukraine, Volodymyr Zelenskyy has Jewish roots.” She tried to sound firm.

He was a bit annoyed by this, so he looked down at the map.

To his confusion, it had mold on it. He looked back up at her.

“Что- кто ты? Ты сделал это?” “What- who are you? You did this?” He pointed to the bits of mold on the map.

She said nothing, but she let her human disguise slip.

He suddenly stood up. “Я знал, что с твоей внешностью что-то не так.” “I knew there was something wrong with your appearance.

The mold on the map in front of him spread slowly, still faster than what normal mold would grow at, and one of his hands was still on the map.
As the two of them seemed to be locked into a staring contest, the mold eventually grew up against his hand… and started to grow on his hand.

(screw the correct biology i make mold hurt and get rash and eat cells + skin)

He almost immediately took his hand away from the map as the mold started to grow on his hand. He tried to rub it off, or even pull the mold off, but from the pained expression on his face it looked like the mold was growing into and under his skin.

She noticed that the normally white color of the mold on his hand was slowly changing into a reddish color.

With his not moldy hand he grabbed one of the pens from his desk and pushed it along his skin to seemingly try to scrape the mold off. It partly worked, and she could see how it already started to eat away at his skin.

I have to do this. If he causes pain to us, I have to cause pain to him. It’s only fair.

…but is it fair?

He grabbed at the thin mold and pulled it. As the mold was pulled, she saw that the skin underneath was mostly gone, and the blood was what was staining the mold red. His blood dripped down, getting both on the map and the mold on the map. The air now smelled like metal and wet dirt, as the scent of blood and mold passed through the air.

The mold made a funny sound as he pulled it.
I'm not saying that the mold can speak or make sounds in that sort of way, but instead that pulling mold off and out of skin when it’s connected makes a noise.

The noise is sort of like two wet things being pulled apart, in a way. A sort of sound that’s a bit unsettling.

The mold continued to grow only on the map as the blood from his hand dripped down.

Chapter Text

[DAY 8:]

We both walked, you were right next to me when I had stopped walking.

I had turned to face you. “What do you think it would be like to be blind?”

You had thought for a moment before you replied. “Probably just seeing the color black all the time.”

Your reply had me pause my talking for a moment. “But you can’t see anything- including color, when you’re blind. And black is a color.”

You had smiled slightly. “If you're so curious, I could just stab your eye out.”

I must have looked panicked for a moment because you laughed.

We were best friends, our fathers were fighting a war against each other as we talked.

But nothing good lasts for long.

-----

It was Sunday, June 22, 1941. The day you decided to destroy the friendship, but I hadn't known it then.

You had a knife in your hands. I hadn’t known how it got there, or why you had it, or that it was even there. I knew that you had killed your brother, I had promised to not tell anyone. 

As far as they all had known, he died in his sleep.

It was a warmer day, just like any other day. The leaves bright and green, the plants prepared for the summer.

We were walking along the same path, just years after I had wondered what it would be like to be blind.

I was talking about how good my factories were doing, and how I kept on saying that I was better than my father.

You had made a growling noise, so I paused walking to look at you.

You were looking at me, knife in hand, your eyes angry.

I already was mistrustful of you, but I didn’t know that you were going to attack so soon.

You jumped at me, like an animal, and the sudden added weight surprised me, and I had fallen over. You jabbed the knife at me multiple times, which I tried to shove away each time it happened.

You eventually got the knife in my right eye, causing me to bleed, and what other fluids that were in my eye had come out.

The blood didn’t look nice on the cobblestone path, gray against red with traces of gold.

You eventually ran, after I had broken your arm.

I wish I hadn’t done that.

-----

It was on the battlefield that you took out my eye.

You had damaged it, but it stayed in.

But not that time, it didn’t

-----

I watched as you crumbled and fell, like your father. As he fell to the Entente Powers, you fell to the Allied Powers.

I watched as your child was split, just as you had split Poland with me.

I watched as the Curtain and Wall fell, and as two became one.

I watched as that Capitalist saw my death with glee, finally having to not keep me restricted.

I watched, I saw, I cried, I laughed, and I fell to the void in the end, as we all do.

I am seeing what’s after as you read this.

See you soon.

Chapter Text

[DAY 9:]

“Look at it.”

“He looks dreadful, glad you restrained him.”

“How does one manage to tame it?”

“What do you think? Let’s get away from it.”

Britain chuckled. “Be careful with what you say Oz, he doesn’t seem to fancy you either.” He then pulled on the chains, causing the tall personification to stumble.

He decided to glare at Britain instead. Britain said nothing this time as he continued to pull on the chains.

Stop it, British wreck.

Britain pulls on the chains one more time, and that’s when he’s had enough.

Something in his eyes must have said something because several people, most humans, took a few steps back.
One of the personifications, which he knew only he could see, took a step forward.

“Calm down, Reichtangle.” The one which he knew as ‘Deutsches Heer’ spoke, trying to keep him calm. But calming him back down is like trying to stop a mosquito making that annoying noise when it's already taken to flight.
It’s just impossible.

It was Reichtangle who pulled on the chains this time. Even the strong steel chains couldn’t resist breaking.

By now, almost everyone in the room was a bit of steps away from him. Except for Deutsches Heer, of course.

He stood up to his full height, the chains no longer pulling him down, his white eyes scanning the crowd.
Then he saw her. The French monkey in which he hung from the meat hooks.

The crowd had already smartly parted slightly wherever he looked.

He yanked the rest of the chains from Britain.

I’ve known what human tastes like, but is the meat of personifications any different?

He narrowed his eyes, thinking. The longer he stood there, the more worried and thick the tension became.

No one moved, or even breathed for a moment.
Dead silence.
You could have heard a pin drop.

I'll master hell, so what do I need heaven for?

All of a sudden, he ran at her, through the shorter crowd.

But, halfway there, someone got in his way. A black haired, brown eyed human. Shame the human couldn’t have thought of better. He grabbed the person by the neck, one hand on torso, one hand on neck, and pulled apart as hard as he could.

There was a pop, a snap, and then the human’s structural integrity gave out with a sort of wet ripping sound mixed with a wet pop sound.

Red spilled to the ground, red now coated his hands, the inside of what was the man exposed to the air, bits of his organs poking out. Something that must have been a smaller organ fell to the ground with a splat sound.

The man was dead, he wouldn’t want the meat to go to waste…

Now that he thought about it, he did want a snack, as he was hungry.

As the crowd of both humans with personifications speckled throughout watched, he lifted up the top half of what was the man to his head to look at it. Smelled like blood and sea water. Maybe even hints of steak too.

Bite by bite, chunk by chunk he started to eat the top half, but threw the brain at anyone he didn’t like, including her.

.

When he had finished, his hands and forearms coated in blood, as well as his mouth and the areas near that. The blood kept on dripping from his mouth and hands, making little pitter patter sounds like rain when it hit the floor each time
Don't mind the state of the floor. It’s a lost cause.

Deutsches Heer and the other personifications were staring at him in horror, the humans trying to slowly escape from here.

He looked at her, at France.

He may have just eaten, but his stomach wasn’t yet full.
It would take more than a snack to fill his stomach, you know.

Chapter Text

[DAY 10:]

German Empire was sitting on the sofa, his father Prussia next to him. He was drawing something on a sheet of paper, his father reading a book. About what? He didn't know.

He fiddled with the pencil for a moment before he continued sketching. His father turned a page in the book.

His father coughed a few times.

“You good, Father?”

His father coughed again, just once this time though. “...I am okay. Is the water jug full?” As his father finished speaking, he knew what he meant by ‘water jug’.
When Prussia had his own house, he had a container somewhere in the house that stored water. He would have the servants fill it, and once it was full he could get water from it.

His father is very different from the others. Maybe it was just him who used the idea of the water jug. Maybe he wasn’t just him.

But he still got up, and came back to the sofa with a cup of water. He passed it to his father. His father nodded slightly and took a sip of the water, nodding his head as a thanks. He sat back down onto the sofa and continued his sketch.

Another minute later, another few coughs from his father.

He thought nothing of it.

Another minute later, you guessed it, another few coughs. He looked at his father as those coughs were slowly turning into those coughs that shake your chest and make it feel hollow.

After a few more coughs he looked at his father. “Are you sure that you are okay? Those coughs don’t sound too good, Father.”

His father nodded slightly but continued coughing.

After a few moments he returned to his sketch.

You’re fine, he’s fine, Father is fine.

…don’t think Father is actually okay.

After a few more moments his father stopped coughing and he heard the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric.

He looked at his father. “Are you absolutely sure that you’re okay?”

As his father nodded and continued to read his book, he noticed that a bit of the sofa, which his father must have rubbed his hand against, was reddish black, the same color as his father’s blood.

Come on, my turn.
You’ve already had your turn.
I’m the most wanted.
No, you’re the most hated. One, it’s my body. Two, Father isn’t okay, obviously. Three, you’re just like a void demon with a stomach that could eat practically anything.
You would die from Kuru, I can’t, and that’s a bonus for me.
Yes, that is true, but you shouldn’t have even found out that you can survive through Kuru.
Hmph… but you can’t say what flavor Britain is.
I- I don’t want to know what flavor he is!
Sea salt, crackers, beans, and tea.

He sighed inwardly before he spoke. “Father, are you sure that you’re okay?”

His father nodded and waved one of his gloved hands slightly, the light from the weakening sun caused small drops of blood on the glove to glisten. “Yes, I am okay, stop asking already.”

Chapter Text

[DAY 11:]

You had aimed the gun, and I still looked at you.

“Come on, Leopold, think about this.”

“Call me by my real name.” You had snapped, still aiming the gun at me.

“What German Reich would backstab an ally?”

You narrowed your eyes and shifted your aim slightly, from my chest to my right eye. The one that was hard to see through already. “The kind that knows what is right for the Fatherland.”

That was one thing that I wouldn't miss. You were always about the Fatherland or how about the Aryans.
I guess I was like that in some ways, comparing me to my father.

I still tried to remain calm as you pointed the gun at me, your hands shaking ever so slightly. Barely noticeable against everything happening around us.

“Calm down. Put the gun away. Halt your troops and take them home. Get them out of this frozen wasteland.”

“No. You get out of here.” You put your finger onto the trigger. Any major movement from me would have you pull the trigger, ending my right eye…
At minimum

“This is my land, дурак.”

“The Aryans deserve this land.”

I held my tongue for a moment. I had almost said something that would have left my eye gone.

I was running out of ideas on what to say.

“Опустите пистолет.”

“Enough of that damn garbled language. Speak correctly, dog.”

I narrowed my eyes. No one calls me a dog. I started to move but you spoke.

“Watch it, your eye might accidentally go bye-bye.”

I contemplated my choices for a moment. Lose an eye that was already terrible or move fast enough that you couldn’t shoot the gun quick enough.

I took my chances, and what did I do exactly?

I had run at you, faster than you had expected, but you still knew.

HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WOULD DO?

HOW DID YOU?

As soon as I moved, you fired the gun. It indeed hit my right eye, going right through the pupil like an archer getting a bullseye.

I had fallen to the ground, putting one hand up to my eye and pressing against it.

You knew how much it had hurt me, but you barely even cared.
I could feel the blood flowing slowly through my fingers, the red with flecks of gold standing out against the crystal like snow.

Snow. Beautiful yet deadly.

The blood glistened among the glare of the sun on the white snow.

Chapter Text

Ignore this, I can’t write out an entire chapter in a day and make it good and descriptive.

Chapter Text

[DAY 13:]

She walked over the debris. Too much debris for an explosion. Even if it did cause a part of the building to get blown into the air. It crunched under her feet, it bent, it broke.

The most unsettling thing about walking on this debris was that it sounded like bones, like she was walking on the corpses of the fallen.

Crack, snap, pop, crunch. Various grinding noises.
A puddle of some shiny liquid that she resolved not to inspect.
Several metal wires in concrete that must have been used to make the walls or ceiling.

She paused walking for a moment and looked up. Sky. She should not be able to see the sky. There was supposed to be a ceiling there.

She looked back down and continued walking. What looked like it was a button on the ground. She stopped walking again to pick it up. It was a smaller button, one that could be used on a panel, with the words ‘відкрито’ put onto it in little lettering. She turned it over a few times before she put it into her pocket. Might as well keep it, you know.

-----

She returned home.

“Вы, как я понимаю, были в отъезде?” “You've been away, I take it?”

She hesitated before she nodded.

The voice said nothing, so she replied with nothing.

-----

She walked down the streets, not walking over debris this time. She had a small container in her hand, it was made to resist the acid, but break if thrown.

He won’t do anything.

He said that he would. But he found a way around it, like always.

Covering up his mistake. Brother agrees with him.
Even though the wind has blown the radiation from me and Belarus to him, he still doesn’t care.

If it’s only my problem to deal with then so be it. I will make it his problem too.

Brother will take the punishment for him.

-----

She opened the door, as quiet as humanly possible, and saw Russia at his table, a vodka bottle in hand.

Just like Father.

She quietly walked up to him, the container firmly in her hand. She would not want to drop this acid onto the floor. The acid had cost her some, but Father’s hostile actions would have made it seem like it cost her a fortune.

She was right behind Russia after some time, but he hadn’t noticed her, so that’s a win.

Now, let’s see what pure Fluoroantimonic acid does to a personification.

She held the container above his head for a moment.

Did she really want to try it?
Was it worth it?

Yes, it-

She dropped the container onto his head and almost immediately took a few steps back.

You know those girl screeches that people sometimes make? The high pitched ones?

That’s what he sounded like.

He screeched when the container was dropped onto his head and it broke, spilling the acid all over his head and shoulders.

A funny and disgusting smell filled the air as the acid started to dissolve his skin, revealing what’s underneath.

His blood that didn’t react to the acid dripped to the floor, crimson against gray.

A slight hissing sound came from the acid as he tried to use his hands to wipe it off. Funny thing, that only made it worse, getting it onto his hands too.

It started to eat away at the skin on his hands too.

Meanwhile she just watched. After a few moments she started to see bone and muscle where the fat and skin had dissolved, the bone looking impossibly white and clean as the acid dissolved everything except it.

Chapter Text

[DAY 14:]

Ha. Stupid Communist. Thinks that he's the best.

She put down another bear trap as the cold metal seemed to freeze her finger tips.

Blasted snow.

The sun was setting, its orange glow only lasting some time before it would disappear.

Once she had set the last bear trap, she started to walk back to where she came from.

Unfortunately for her, she had not memorized where she had put the bear traps. And covered them with snow to make them look normal.
Delightful.

As she was walking, she suddenly heard a snap. She fell down onto one knee, and it took a moment for the pain to register in her mind.

It hurt, it hurt.

She looked back at her right leg.

The spiked metal from the bear trap's clamp was around her ankle, and her blood dripped down from it, staining the snow.

She gasped with pain and tried to separate the two clamps from her leg.

Spots were already appearing in her vision as she continued to struggle to open it.
After a few moments of her struggling she managed to open it with a creak sound.

She lay on the snow, still bleeding, leg maybe broken, just wanting to ease the panic in her mind.

Chapter Text

Oof sorry no chapter here, I’ve been busy doing many things

Sorry

Chapter Text

[DAY 16:]

He walked into the tent.

Another wounded soldier. Damn Union should just let us go. Sad that she only thinks of her.

He looked at the soldier.

Bullet wound to the knee cap. Most likely a destroyed nerve or two in there. Poor him. Guess the nurses will have to perform an amputation on him.

He stood watching as the nurses went to the soldier and gave him some brandy.

Soon enough, the tent was filled with shouts of pain. Blood came to the floor and on the table, blood on the knives,

The nurses were taking the bone saw to the soldier’s knee. The soldier’s pained cries became even louder as the bone was sawed in half. Sounded like a small tree being cut.

Once the bone was fully cut, the leg fully taken in half, the nurses started to tie the veins shut.

Crimson still leaked out, still on the floor, on the nurses’ hands, blood on the saw and knives, and blood still on the table.

Chapter Text

[DAY 17:]

He tapped his fingers on the table. Too many questions were going through his head faster than the rivers during the rains.

The door creaked open. He looked up at the door to see Britain and China enter, as well as a few others that he couldn’t name as of the moment.

And then another one entered, and the country personifications moved out of his way.

The new one had a paler blue background, and on his flag seemed to be a circular white map, with a white olive branch beneath that. He had white wings and a white halo that seemed to glow.

As he looked around at the countries that had entered, there were a few that he recognized. There was the USA, and the USSR…

…they weren’t members of him…

…why are they here then…?

He looked at them all. “Hello? Why have you guys come here?” He motioned to the personification in which he had not found out the name. “And who is he?”

Several of the country personifications muttered to each other, but Britain spoke out loud first. “He is the personification of the newly formed United Nations.”

“...but why is he here?” Now he had started to fidget with his fingers, worried for the answer that he would be given.

Britain paused for a moment. “You failed to prevent the second World War, thus he is your replacement.”

He looked down.

He could hear some of the country personifications whispering- he caught someone say “he’s only twenty six, of course he would fail”.

Someone else spoke out loud, he couldn’t tell who. “But, wouldn’t that make League the father of United Nations?”

“It doesn’t matter. League failed to do the one thing he was made to do. Keep the peace. How hard is that?” Britain snapped.

It’s hard to stop the Germans from doing anything that they want to do, snob.

He looked back up at his successor.

The two were about the same height, League was a bit taller though. United Nations looked at him, his teal eyes seeming… a bit sad?

United looked behind him, and he looked at Britain. Except… Britain wasn’t there?

He looked behind him to see Britain there.

And then Britain spoke. “I assume you know what happens if the country or organization if the country that it represents stops to exist?”

He said nothing.

Britain continued to look at him. “Well, said personification will last anywhere from a few seconds to a few years after the country ends. And it's been a few months for you. Said personification will also lose the immortality that they got, meaning that they could die to a blade.

But, we don’t want you here anymore, do we? You failed at your job, didn't you?”

He still said nothing.

Britain put the tip of a dagger onto League's chin, causing him to freeze and tense. “Which means that you are no longer needed.”

Britain took the dagger away from his chin. He heard United Nations begin to shout “Wait-” before Britain stabbed him with the dagger, right through the neck.

He tried to make a pained noise, but it only sounded like a gurgle as his blue-gray blood started to come out, and go in, into his lungs and such.

His blood continued to drip out, falling off of the dagger onto the floor, and down his shirt.

A few moments later, he fell to his knees, struggling to breath through the blood.

He coughed, which caused the blood to splat to the floor with a wet slap noise.

The last thing he ever heard was Britain saying

“Goodbye, League.”

Chapter Text

[DAY 18:]

1944:

She coughed as the sea planes flew above.

Why were the planes dropping dust?

She had gotten news of sea planes by San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, so she had come to check it out.

The planes were noticeable Japanese, but why were they dropping dust?

One of the specks of dust landed on her hand, and out of curiosity she took a closer look. 

It was definitely dust… but several small things, less than 1/16 of an inch (0.15875 cm) from front to back. The three small things then moved quickly, across her skin eventually under her shirt, even as she tried to wipe them off. Fleas.

It was December, the month of Christmas, the month of celebration. 

She couldn't stop thinking about the fleas for the next few days

ANYWHERE FROM 2 DAYS TO A WEEK LATER

Whispers. Whispers about the Japanese, and about those planes.

And about the dust and fleas.

She was currently standing next to one of her cities, Los Angeles. He was currently throwing up into a toilet, his pale yellow wings shaking.

The bathroom door opened and there was San Diego, standing there.

She looked up. “Yes? What do you want?”

He spoke after a moment. “I was going to tell you that Hawaii got bombed again, but it seems that you're too busy.”

She sighed. “And let me guess, Japan did this.”

He nodded.

“Well I'm going to want to talk with America and see what she’s planning to do for the rest of the war, because this war is going on for longer than I like it too. And make sure that your fellow cities don't die.” He nodded, but she spoke once more. “But Sacro’s still in charge.”

He faked looking sad. She patted Los Angeles’ back once more and left the room.

A FEW DAYS AFTER

She sighed and tapped her foot against the ground. She stood there for a few minutes, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited. Eventually she saw America.

America opened her mouth to speak but California spoke first.

“I don’t want to hear it, okay? A hella lot of Californians are suffering and you’re just sitting on your prideful *ss here, in Washington D.C. doing barely anything. Even Angel doesn’t feel good!”

America opened and closed her mouth for a few moments before she spoke. “A hello lot of people…?”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Everyone gets that wrong. ‘Hella’ is not the same as ‘hello’, or even ‘hell’. In your words, it means ‘many’ or ‘a lot’, idiot.”

America spoke after a moment. “Okay, calm down California, no need to be hostile.” Saying that earned her a glare from California. “I’m doing my best in Europe and Asia, I’m a bit busy believe it or not.”

She continued to glare. “Washington isn’t getting attacked with a plague that’s comparable to Andorra, and you don’t care?”

“I do care, it’s just that…” America trailed off mid sentence.

“It's just that what? That the military in New York is causing drama from the public? That New York is unhappy with the war? Is it that you have favorites? That you need to go take a drag?” She snapped.

Now it’s America’s turn to glare. “For your information, I’ve just lost part of an ally.”

FEW DAYS AFTER THAT, BACK HOME

She stood outside of the building known as her home, exhaling the smoke of a cigarette out. She once tried to exhale the smoke out of her nose, but it stung.

She smoked for a few more seconds before she dropped the cigarette onto the gravel, pressing her heel down on it so that the faint embers would go out.

-----

She looked over Los Angeles. He was no longer throwing up, but his wings still shook slightly.

-----

She walked back into the room where she was told that San Diego was still there. She opened the door and looked inside to indeed find San Diego, his arm bleeding.

She walked over to him, not slow nor fast, and picked up his arm. It felt warm, and it was indeed bleeding, his goldish red blood coming out in thin lines.

She glared at him. “What were you tryna do? This looks hecka painful.”

He spoke after a moment after seeing her angry glare. “Um… it’s a rash… and it itches?”

She sighed and let go of his arm. “F*ck. You seem to have typhus, Angel seems to have the bubonic plague, Francisco could have anything. Why not let America build a bomb that seems like it’ll work? What can go wrong at this point, hm?”

1945:

She kept her hands on the controls, aware that even the slightest wrong move could have her explode almost instantly, and have her mission fail.

“Sacro? Are we over the target yet?”

Her capital city, Sacramento, nodded. “Seems like it.”

After seeing his nod she pushed the button. “Now let’s say goodbye to Hiroshima and Little Boy before we get out of here.”

Boom.

-----

She walked, aggravated and annoyed at the current events.

Everything can go wrong.

The blood on her arms had long since dried, flaking off in red bits.

She wasn’t even in the mood to smoke.

Having slammed open the door, she saw the many faces of her cities, most of which looked like they needed help.

One of them has itched his rash too much, the blood dripping down to the floor.

One had dark circles beneath his eyes along with pale skin and less skin elasticity, making him look like he had died.

One was already missing an eye, a dark red hollow void to fill the eye’s place.

But Japan kept on dropping the pathogens.

1946:

Blood streamed down the side of the chair, but she paid no attention to it.

Brain matter and blood splattered on the wall? Just like she had imagined.

She picked up the gun from his hands. Still a bit warm.

Having pushed down her anger from the last few months, she threw the gun as hard as she could, hitting England’s head.

His body fell to the ground.

Of England, Scotland, Whales, and Northern Ireland, only Whales remained.

This was just too much.

-----

Guns, blood.

Smoke, tears.

Nazis, suicide.

-----

And in the end, Whales died.

They all died. No one could live.

Not when the war was an Axis victory.

Chapter Text

[DAY 19:]

He tossed the knife into the air and caught it by the handle.

Again into the air, back into his hand.

Air, hand. Air, hand.

He was just about to throw it into the air again but his father spoke first.

“If you throw that knife into the air again, one of your brothers will take it to stab the others. Or you’ll hurt yourself.”

He didn’t have to guess which one his father meant by that.

“Yeah, he would. Prussia should calm down. He believes that he should get all of your land once you die, and that me and the others are just ‘roadblocks’ to his goal.”

He looked at his father.

His father’s four eyes looking back at him.

He threw the knife into the air… only for him to not catch it… and it stabbed through his hand.

Shoulda listened to his father.

His father said nothing as his blood dripped to the ground, staining in the dark red color, but not as black as Prussia's blood. He pulled the knife out after some difficulty, his hand bleeding out to the floor, the knife’s blade slick with blood.

Chapter Text

[DAY 20:]

He looked in the mirror. Same as the last time that it happened.

His eyes looked sunken and darker than the void, occasionally flashing red or white. The red was the color of blood dripping down to the floor after a fresh stab wound. No big deal.

His eyes also looked scribbled out every few seconds.

The most not safe for kids thing about this was the fact that his lower legs looked like he had walked in a pool of blood, crimson below his knees, dripping to the floor onto to fall through it like some sort of PNG in a game.

Chapter Text

Man how am I gonna ever do bruises if I’m using words not pictures

Also I have more ideas for a different fic that I havent posted than I have for this
(It’s called To Clean the Night Sky)

Chapter Text

[DAY 22:]

He had woken up not being able to take a breath.

Something was over his face, blocking his vision, not letting him take a breath.

By the darkness from everywhere else, he thought that it was night.

He tried to push away at the hands that held him in place, but failed. Strangely enough, those hands were cold and shoved his hands back down while pressing the thing to his face.

His chest hurt, his body basically begging to take a breath.

He pushed down harder and harder until he heard a crack from under the pillow and the movement stopped.

He could have used a gun, but the only gun in the house was hidden by his brother.

-

He had found the gun as it was buried under an bed and positioned the body at different angles, the dark crimson blood seeping through the floorboards and bed covers, staining the pillows.

He took a step back to admire his work.

His brother looked like he had killed himself after a failed shot from the gun and fell, half on the bed, half off the bed. Blood from his face and hands stained the bed sheets and pillows, going in between the cracks in the floorboards. Surprisingly, he could see bone from his brother’s broken skull poking out through the skin, white against black.

He fired the gun, and as the shot was still ringing in his ears he angled the gun in his brother’s right hand.

To make it authentic, of course.

“I recommend that you tell everyone that your brother committed suicide. I can’t confirm that the idiots will like their source of pay dead, though.”

“He was too weak and only dug himself deeper into that hole. I’m getting Germany out of that hole. And too bad for them.”

“Best of luck.”

Chapter Text

[DAY 23:]

He crouched, watching as the animal before him tried to run, only for him to block its path.

He giggled.

“Brother, that is no way to treat a cat.”

He sighed.

“Do you see me caring? It’s just an animal.”

His brother snorted.

“Calling the cat ‘just an animal’ is like calling that thing inside of you ‘just an invader’.”

“I don't see you trying to help me rid of him.”

“Oh, so now it has a gender? What’s next? A name? A place to sleep? Love from Father?”

He kicked the cat.

“Oh, so now you're getting an attitude?”

“Stop harming the cat, already!”

He stepped on the cat’s tail, keeping the cat in place, standing up to glare at his brother.

“Don’t tell me what to do, okay? I don’t need to be told what to do by you of all provinces. Father says that when he allows it, he’ll become nothing more than a leading state when I become official, and you’ll just stay a province.”

His younger brother glared at him. “Oh, did Father say that now? I bet that I’ll exist longer than you, even when you're in control.”

He turned his glare over to the cat and squatted down beside it, not saying anything more for the moment. He took a pocket knife out of one of his pockets and pointed it at the cat, earning him a hiss. He waved the pocket knife at the cat, chuckling.

“You wouldn’t dare harm an innocent cat.”

“I do dare, East.”

His brother watched as he pointed the knife at the cat’s face.

“Harm the cat and I’ll tell Father.”

“Oh, and what will Father do? Get mad? Send me to the Frenchies? Pah, he’s too busy to care.”

He poked the knife at the cat, drawing a drop of blood.

He was just doing this to tease his brother, he wouldn’t have actually been that mean to any animal.

“Just stop. What did the cat do to you to deserve this?”

He sighed. “Just shut up before we have an accident.”

A moment of silence, and then…

“German Empire, what was that?”

He almost instantly stood up, keeping his foot on the cat’s tail, and looked at his father.

“N-nothing, Father.”

His father’s face remained emotionless like always, his eyes still having that same calculating expression.

“Are you sure? This doesn’t seem like… nothing.”

The part of his brain that he couldn’t control spoke before he could.
“Nothing that you need to know, so why don’t you take East and walk away before you both annoy me to death.” He snapped. As his father’s wings twitched slightly he slapped his hand over his mouth and looked down towards the ground.

His father’s emotionless glare remained the same.

“What… what a wonderful choice of words. Now, what is this cat here for?”

That’s when he fell silent, but only for a moment.

“I… I was scaring the cat only for my brother’s reaction, Father.”

His father raised an eyebrow.

“Well, as your punishment for snapping at me like that, you take the back two legs off of the live cat…” His father’s gaze looked over to his brother. “And you, I assume you had some part to play in this, East Prussia. You give the cat a vivisection.”

His father said nothing more, just turned and walked away.

The two brothers turned to face each other, and after a minute of silence he spoke first.

“So, Father wants us to do that to an innocent cat?”

Meanwhile the cat was now beginning to scratch at his leg, getting desperate to get free.

He looked down at the cat as his brother nodded in silent horror at what they had to do.

His brother and him agreed silently to have his brother hold the animal down as he would do his job first.

As he started to cut off the first leg, he spoke.

“Oh. This cat is a male.”

His brother tried to hide his laughter and cover it with coughs.

The cat’s blood spilled down, it howling in pain as the wet pop came from the first leg as it came off.

He adjusted himself to the second leg, and more blood spilled out, staining the cobblestone red.

Another wet pop.

Chapter Text

2

He looked down at the cat.

It’s his brother’s turn.

As his brother took the knife from his hands, he noticed that his brother’s hands were shaking.

He watched as he poked at the cat’s underbelly, lifting up the skin, bits of fat and muscle coming up too.

Blood leaked out through the veins as the cat’s underbelly was exposed, organs and whatnot visible, pale and white yet dark and red.

Chapter Text

[DAY 25:]

Walls covered in blood, the patient dead on the table.

Blood dripping down, the body still unstable.

Chunks of flesh here and there, disconnected from the body.

A crunch, and then no more.

Death and life is in it’s hands, and it said “He shall live no more.”

It walked away, blood dripping down it’s cloak like rain falling off the edge.

The mark like a sphere, like a button.

❍

A button of hope, of tears, of life, of death.

Of the end.

Chapter Text

[DAY 26:]

The bite looked like an imperfect circle, the edges ragged.

He shook out his arm as the blood dripped down.

Stupid dog.

The unbitten skin inside of the wound was either becoming paler or darker, but who knows.

The crimson color dripped down onto the floor, the dog with blood on it’s teeth nowhere to be found.

Chapter Text

[DAY 27:]

He walked through the remains, trying to hide his sobs.

Even though there was no one left to hear him, he tried to keep quiet.

Walking through the rubble, he slipped and fell, right onto a corpse.

The corpse’s face was bloody and torn, broken and splattered with who knows what on it. It looks like it was an adult male by the looks of it.

As he tried to shift the rubble to stand back up, there was a wet sound as one of the corpse’s eyes popped, spilling a clear fluid onto it’s face.

He got up after a moment, scraping his knees in thin, bloody lines, and began to walk.

Moments later, he fell again, this time breaking out in sobs as he did so.

It’s not fair. It’s not even 10 in the morning. She was supposed to be invincible. She was supposed to protect them.

I hope the others are okay.

Sounds of something falling to the ground as he sobbed, his body shaking.

He could already hear the whispers that he was in Ground Zero.

Getting up after a few minutes, all he saw was dust and debris particles in the air, acting as man-made fog.

Not even a day ago, he and New Jersey were arguing over the New York City border, about how it should be different or the same.

Now he didn’t even want to see his own face, worried about how torn up it looked.

He fell down again, a crack coming from his face as he hit the ground.

He breathed heavily, pushing himself up again. Blood dripped down his nose.

Big Apple don’t deserve this. No one does, not even the Iraqis.

He tried to call out, his voice weaker and more dry than he would have liked.

“Anyone here? Try to call out to me, I’ll try to help!” 

He had broken off in a coughing fit, the particles in the air not the best for him.

“Anyone here left in the South Tower?”

He slipped and fell again, this time his vision went black.

Too many bloody and injured faces. Some bodies are not even fully together.

All coated in the same crimson fluid, dripping down or already hardened.

Bones visible, poked out through their skins at odd angles.

He had died that day, as his body just couldn’t.

He came back, days later of course.

A personification can’t stay dead, can it?

Chapter Text

[DAY 28:]

He tossed the tomahawk into the air, and caught it a moment after.

Time to test this out, да?

He stood up on top of a platform, seeing the deer roped to the board in front of him.

Now having his back turned to the deer, he took deep breaths.

Let’s see how good Spetznaz training is.

Taking his last deep breath, he prepared.
Then jumped backwards.

It’s as if it happened in slow motion.

Flying through the air, his vision spinning.

Throwing the tomahawk, he heard a familiar sound.

He landed on the ground almost perfectly, stumbling a bit however, but he looked at the deer.

It was dying, the tomahawk having entered it’s stomach/ribcage area, blood coming out, as well as an organ or three, sticking out against the rest of the creature.

He walked towards the creature and took the tomahawk, ending it’s suffering with a crack.

Blood spilled down, coating the wooden board and the blade, getting on the snowy grass below, sticking out against the white.

He was the one that said that he would practice this one throw on an animal and they had brought one.

Chapter Text

[DAY 29:]

He stared at the door, knocking on it.

No one opened it, and Poland didn’t sound okay, if one were to be honest.

He heard yells coming from inside the house, followed by a loud crash.

A moment later, he knocked on the door again.

No one opened the door again.

More yells and the sound of something falling and breaking.

Leaving Slovakia at the door, he walked around Poland’s house, finding a window to peek through.

“Uh, oh.” He called out to Slovakia. “Poland’s at it again.”

Slovakia said something back, but he couldn’t tell what he said as another shout came from Poland.

He closed his eyes as the flashing lights started.

All personifications seldom go through a phase that they call “Glitch Period”. It’s just when a country literally glitches, experiencing difficulty controlling themself as well as excruciating pain all over the body. It can be caused by many things, from remembering certain events to being exposed to their fears for too long, as well as many other things. Or it could just, you know, appear out of nowhere.

And said Glitching countries may or may not become hostile or violent, as well as major, and I mean major mood swings. From happy to sad to angry in an instant.

And, of course when a country Glitches there is stuff available to help them, but it’s hard in Poland’s case.

The most effective and best method is through a needle, like you’re getting your flu shot. And the methods delay the next Glitching Period.

But Poland hates needles, so thus he Glitches more often. And it’s worse.

Now that Czechia thought about it, his last Glitch was back in 2017. And that was a while ago, so the treatment definitely helped him.

He opened his eyes to see the Glitching form of Poland being jerked around the place by nothing at all, just the inability to control himself properly acting up real bad.

As Poland crashed into a shelf, he could see blood start to trickle down his head. 

He could hear Slovakia trying to open the door, but to no avail. He should have expected that, Poland usually had his doors locked due to some certain past experiences.

He did not quite run, but not quite walked over to Slovakia.

Glitching could be fatal if left to itself.

And when personifications die, it isn’t good.

He rammed himself against the door, trying to force it open.

As soon as the door gave away, the noises from inside the house stopped.

Nothing more broke, nothing more fell, Poland didn’t even release a sound.

He walked into the house after a moment, looking around as he did so.

Ah, so you see, when a personification Glitches, they have a chance to spread the Glitch to other countries. And if a personification and feel and see the Glitch on them before they get it, if they’re exposed. If the first personification that’s Glitching stops, the effects on others stop.

And as he walked his hand was faintly changing colors every half second, an obvious sign that Poland was still awake and Glitching. He couldn’t feel the pain of his hand yet, and he didn’t particularly want to feel it at all.

He walked as quietly as he could, looking for Poland, Slovakia behind him

“Poland? Are you okay?” He called out, but was only met with silence.

A Glitching personification in silence meant no good, not for the one being Glitched or the others watching.

Smashed and fallen over objects in the house, as well as splatters of pale red blood here and there.

Blood’s still wet. Poland must be near or at the Apex.

He turned to Slovakia.

“Blood’s still wet. Poland must be near or at the Apex.”

Slovakia shuddered slightly.

“Let’s not separate, I don't like the idea of being alone, especially when the last couple of times that Poland Glitched he was surprisingly violent.”

A sudden thunk behind the two of them, causing them to spin around to see what it was.

Poland.

Poland looked as if he had gotten hit by a truck.

His white wings missing feathers here and there, as well as splotches of his pale red blood. His hair was ruffled and tangled, and just generally messy. Scratches on his skin leaked blood, and the rock in Poland’s hand didn’t make him seem any more good than he was as of the moment. Poland tilted his head slightly as he looked at the two of them, Glitching more than he thought safe.

“H-hi, Poland. You don’t seem too well, we came to check up on you…” Slovakia’s voice died in his throat as Czechia seemingly lost his ability to speak after seeing Poland’s state, which was usually neat.

Poland released a slight glitchy sounding giggle and reminded Czechia of Third Reich.

Poland spoke, but it sounded heavily distorted and glitchy.

“I’m fine, no need for needles and knives. Kitchen has snacks, if you hungry.”

The two of them looked at each other as Poland continued to Glitch.

Something’s off… Poland isn’t nice when he Glitches, he’s usually violent and ready to harm or kill…

…I don’t think that the snacks in the kitchen are what we want.

He saw Slovakia start walking towards the door, but Poland spread his damaged and bleeding wings in the way.

“You enter, you no leave. Now, get snacks.”

Ah, it’s comin-

As he stopped walking, Poland swung his arm and hit the Slovakian with the rock, thankfully just hitting his shoulder with a crack.

Blood almost immediately came out from the hit, and Slovakia shouted with pain as Poland began beating him with the rock.

He tried to pull Poland off of Slovakia, but that only made Poland turn on him.

He was forced downwards as Poland almost literally jumped on him and started hitting him with the rock.

Pain blossomed on and around his upper body as he could feel himself start to bleed.

Now, you may wonder what they did to at least keep Poland at bay.

By somehow getting him into a fridge and leaning against it while they waited for help to come.

Slovakia was currently leaning against the fridge door as Poland rammed against it, occasionally shouting or yelling with either pain or frustration.

Czechia was currently laying on the smooth polished wooden floor, trying to have those wrapped bandages wrap around the worst of his wounds from the rock.

They had put the foods that needed to be refrigerated in the cooler, the fridge wasn’t that full to begin with so the cooler wasn’t.

He muttered another curse word as the bandage wrapped on a painful spot, the bandage already absorbing his blood.

Speaking of blood, which we need more details of, there was blood on all three of them, blood scattered across the entryway and around the edges of the fridge.

Czechia picked up the rock once he had finished wrapping the bandages and looked at it.

It was a chunk of cement. Something that you’d use to make a house or use in a sidewalk, not just lying about the house.

Blood still dripped down it, landing on the ground with small pitter patters like rain.

Like the thunderstorm happening outside.

Chapter Text

Ignore this I’m tired and writing out chapter 31

101% not writing about Prussia getting shot through the head

Chapter Text

[DAY 31:]

He stood, enjoying the colder air.

He always liked the colder air, as well as a clear view of the night sky.

It just made him feel at ease, you know?

But today he walked into the building, almost a whole head above his son, watching the eyes- both existing and non-existing- stare at the two of them.

He stood on the opposite side of the room from the Central Powers, a few armed men in the way of them and him.

Getting lost in his thoughts, he finally came too when he heard her speak.

“Ahem. German Empire or Second Reich, whatever you call yourself, this thing is held to have peace, so control that demonic thing of yours before we do.”

He could have heard his son’s sigh.

He could have heard his son say “He’s not a demonic thing, his name is Reichtangle, and he’s just me.”

But not now.

Not with the guns in the room.

It’s not safe.

He still maintained his posture, keeping himself tall and stiff, just like the military posture that he’s oh so used to standing in.

And then she spoke again.

“Anyways, German Empire you and your allied and associated powers have lost the Great War. This is the version that the humans used with the treaty which your Johannes Bell signed, and you shall sign it too. Failure to sign it results in Austria-Hungary being killed on the spot.”

He saw Austria-Hungary’s face instantly filled with fear and worry that he tried to hide by keeping his face as blank as he could.

“You wouldn't want him to die, would you? Now, I’m going to have Serbia get you the Treaty to sign, and America will follow with a gun. Then you will sign the Treaty, or America will blow your boyfriend’s brains out.”

Through the armed men he could see America open her mouth to protest but get shushed by Britain.

He saw a gun get put in America’s hands and a paper into Serbia’s.

The two walked towards his son as he forced his way through the armed men to at least see.

He saw his son sign the Treaty with shaky hands as America held and pointed the gun at Austria-Hungary.

Once his son had finished, France spoke again.

“Perfect. Now, I will let you know, your boyfriend will sign his treaty in September. And that treaty will end him, so enjoy your last two months with him.”

France waved her hand and Serbia walked away, but America stayed and pointed the gun at his son instead.

As he tried to force his way past the armed men, he was hit with the smell of decay and death that he hadn’t noticed before.

He saw his son instinctively let the monster loose, taking the form of Reichtangle as he stared at America with those white eyes.

“Ahh, you see, America? German Empire is nothing but a monster, a murderer, a pest that needs to be exterminated. Take the shot, I know you want to.”

He wouldn’t let that happen.

He saw all the guns in the room aim at him as soon as he let Reichtangle take control.

It’s about time you let me retain control.

Just… just please don’t make this any more worse than it needs to be.

Don’t you worry.

...I do worry

He could hear his father trying to get to him through the armed “men”, trying to either shove his way through, fit through them, or shove them aside.

He heard France speak.

“Come on, America, just take the shot. You taking the shot means that he will die, having his economy dive into the gutter, meaning that his people will destroy his monarchy and make a republic in place of him.”

He saw America turn her head to look at France.

“What… how do you know that?”

“I’ve found out that the monster has a son, and it’s name is Weimar Republic.”

Whispers and mutters spread around and through the watching personifications.

France chuckled slightly.

“Yes, yes, I know, very surprising, but did you know that it has a brother named Third Reich?”

He growled slightly without realizing it, the attention in the room turning to him again.

“Aww, is the monster angry that we found it’s one and only weakness, it’s children? Well too bad, it’s children are here to watch.”

The talking grew louder as the personifications were hit with a mixture of shock, surprise, and confusion.

“It can father children?”

“I bet the children were just kidnapped.”

“The poor children. They don't deserve to have a monster for a father.”

“First off, who would want to have sex with the monster????”

He looked at the crowd, searching for Weimar and Third.

He found them, right in front of Britain and looking directly at him.

No- no, no, this can’t be. Third’s still a toddler and Weimar hasn’t even reached 10 years. They shouldn’t be here, not witnessing this, not in front of Britain.

Britain dare put one of his stained fingers on either of them and I’ll cronch his neck.

I dont think cronching h-

Shut up.

He looked back at America as she pointed and raised the gun to his head.

The next few things happened in a blur.

His father shoving the “men” aside, running at him.

Multiple shouts of something across the room.

And America’s face as she pulled the trigger.

BANG

The room was silent for a few moments before someone shouted.

“She’s shot the Prussian!”

He stiffened, looking down.

He glared at his son.

Yes, his dead corpse was in between America and his son.

Yes, there was streaks of blood and bits and pieces and chunks of his brain spread along the floor and his son.

Yes, now he was a ghost for the time being.

He heard shouts from everyone as he watched blood flow out of the hole in his head, small chunks of brains flowing out too. Dark blood flowed in a puddle around his head, bits of dark pink brain standing out.

I hope you’re worth it, Unified.