A roar bellowed through the battlefield as Finland was slammed against the trunk of a tree- the sound of a horrendous crack splitting the air as he groaned and gritted his teeth. Forcing it into a fruitless smile, one eye open and gazing up at the enemy that held him there by his neck.

Blood had already begun to decorate his body- spread across his face like war paint and running down his chin from his now busted lip. Crimson cracked and sticking out upon the furs he once wore with proud Royalty and vanity- now nothing more than a joke.
But he laughed hoarsely and winced at the pain that stung on his lips, tilting his head as much as he could to the side. Antlers now stripped of their charms and beauty.

Britain. Stood there.

A gloved hand gripping the deer's throat, slowly caressing his pale skin as if enjoying the feeling of his enemy in his merciless hold. His eyes didn't glow like those of a beasts', but the expression on his face surely made up for it as he reached for his belt and pulled out a knife from its sheath. His sword had already been discarded a distance away- sticking out of the scarred mess of earth and the fallen debris of beaten trees and foliage.
"You know... You really put up a fight," he chuckled. The King of the Mortals grinning and smiling with nothing but venom and pleasure. "You ripped my soldiers apart awh~ But it didn't work for long, now did it~?" A purr rumbled in the back of his throat.

He didn't tower over the Prince in normal life, but he had pinned the deer down to the tree so that he lay there amongst the blood and the snow. Utterly useless and at his disposal.

"It seems like even that bastard Demon King tried to help you as well. But his forces are dead and banished. And I bet you know that he won't be able to make it in time to save you. How sad and pathetic," he snapped. A soldier grabbed Finland by his arms, yanking them back towards the tree and tying them together- the deer unable to struggle with the pain and numbness he was experiencing. The numbness that had been caused by a tipped arrow that had buried itself into one of his shoulders. Britain hummed; twirling that wretched knife on his hands and fingers- twisting it and examining the blade and then turning his gaze back to Finland. Looking him over as if he were nothing but a piece of meat. Aiming.

And when Britain raised that knife over the Prince, only then did his icy eyes shrink back as he gritted his teeth once more and braced for the pain he was about to endure.
With little care in the world, he struck the blade down. Slamming it down through Finland's sweater and directly into his abdomen- earning a bellowing scream that made him burst out with laughter- so cruel and eager for more as he began to twist the blade. Holding the deer down when he began to kick and yank at the restraints that held him tightly to the tree.


The soldiers of the King watched with grins as they held down the beast that had tried to protect Finland for his whole life, the beast that was now coated in a layer of deadly arrows and being held under a net of reinforced metal. Watching and roaring desperately as it dug its claws into the dirt with little strength, unable to escape and aid its friend.

And so the torture continued.

And the screams echoed through the battlefield.

A battlefield of broken promises, fallen nature, and the blood of the ones he had trained with.

✞———————❖———————✞

Soldiers were sprinting all over the place. Armour and leathers sticking to their skin, dragging swords and daggers around like an army of ants.
Kazakhstan looked around with narrowed eyes as he tightened the leathers around his arms, watching as some of the winged soldiers he had trained prepared for a battle that they may not be able to walk out of. Fledglings heading into a war of brutality and rage. All because of a man who couldn't hold his hatred back from the world and those who lived in it.

An entitled King who wanted nothing more than the destruction of those who didn't meet his standards and ways- the enemies and the innocent.

The Admiral stared coldly at the sight of the men and women who ran by. Listened to the burning anger in the bellowing of Russia's orders.
He was a strong-willed hybrid. He had fought plenty of wars. Had killed plenty of enemies and manipulated enough of them to get the information his Kingdom desperately needed.
Why should this be any different..?

A lump was forming in the back of his throat; hiding his wary eyes and emotions with nothing more than a mask of cool stone before he switched his gaze over the soldiers to the boy who watched everything unfold. The Prince that hid in a corner- narrowminded, stifled and terrified.

The son of his enemy. The son of the man who was breaking into the home he lived to protect.

Kazakhstan couldn't deny it- for his hatred had somehow ebbed and yet also switched towards the son of Britain. The new friend he had made and the boy he trained. Quietly watching him improve from the sidelines, surveying every movement and decision he made. Hiding in the shadows.

He hated it.

The guilt.

Having to watch his friend like he was nothing more than an enemy spy. Having to note down everything he did as if every detail mattered.
Nothing more than his job as an Admiral and shadow speaker. It felt like a twist of fate... to use your friend as nothing more than a pawn, while also trying to maintain a relationship. To watch them grow and get better.

America sighed shakily and rubbed at his eyes, stumbling away from the corner and vanishing into the nearby hallway. Kazakhstan's wary eyes unable to follow as he stood up and walked in the other direction. Past those who ran by and yelled at each other with confidence and worry. Focusing on nothing more than the shadows and creatures that began to appear around them. Watching, smiling, laughing. Jaws dripping with nothing more than blood and venom.

The creatures and people that only he could see. That watched those soldiers as if they knew what fate was about to come of them- a death or a victory. Pain or happiness.
Something like a game of Russian roulette to them; an amusing twist.
It was a curse to see those things. But a blessing also followed its way.

But was it really worth it...?

A claw clapped Kazakhstan's shoulder and he flinched as he gazed up to Russia who stood there with a strained look on his face. So many emotions like stress and fear and worry swirling in those golden eyes. A King who was suffering just as much as the soldiers he was sending out to a possible death- and yet, he continued to try and keep his head high in the hopes of succession.
"It's going to be okay," Russia spoke lowly, shakily.

Kazakhstan breathed and winced, "I hope so..."

The taller watched his brother with a small frown before he nudged his head to the side, "come. I need you. We're expecting a very sudden... visit. From a friend."
And the hybrid noticed how Russia spoke quickly- as if scared and in a rush.
So the two turned and hurryingly sped down an empty hallway with hardly a word or a glance behind them, to where America had returned to watch the two converse.
A Prince in the enemy kingdom.

Russia didn't take a second to hesitate or stop by anyone they passed- whether or not they were a soldier or a fellow servant. Leading Kazakhstan all the way back to his quarters and study- making sure no one followed them.

Only when the door had closed did Kazakhstan notice how the floors had been cleared of rugs and furs, and how the furniture that had once adorned the centre of the room had been shoved back against the walls and bookshelves. Messily stacked piles of books and papers sticking out of the open drawers.

Russia pulled up a sleeve and glanced towards his brother before he carefully pressed a claw against his dark red skin, not even wincing or showing even the slightest hint of pain.
As he dug his claws into his skin and dragged a slice up his arm.

Crimson slowly running out of the fresh wound like a river and decorating the floor.

The Admiral swallowed but said nothing to intervene or do anything to step in. Taking a step back to watch the taller crouch down and begin to paint a circle of blood into the floor.
Marking out triangles and stars and so many other shapes and patterns with a lack of hesitance. His tail lifting off the wooden floors and swaying up and around to avoiding creating blurs and smudges in the art that he was creating.


He knew what he was doing. He had done it plenty of times before and there was no fault in his actions. Not even a smile or a smirk nor any sort of emotion strewn across his face as the shapes and patterns got larger and larger around him.

Up until he stopped and stared at his work from a distance. A hand clutched over the wound in his arm with blood still seeping through his fingers and claws like some wild current.
Russia grunted slightly as he turned and let go of the wound to reach into one of the numerous drawers that had been left open- pulling out two small glass tubes that had been closed with small beige corks. Leaves and stems gently moving inside which the King quickly tossed into the centre of the symbols he had drawn out, glass shattering immediately once they made contact with the floor and the blood. Contents scattering before Russia raised a claw towards what he had created.

The King narrowed his eyes as he began to focus on the centre of the art, the pentagrams and the smaller sigils he had drawn into the design. Claws stretching very slightly, pupils sharpening as he glared and began to mumble sentences and incoherent words under his voice.

Kazakhstan stared up at his brother in silence, an unwavering frown stretched across his face as his ears flattened against his head. Slowly turning his head and watching as the symbols on the floor began to tremble and meander like a river- almost lifting off of the floor like a sheet.


Russia's hand started to tremble and he gritted his teeth into something close to a snarl- gripping his wrist with the other hand. Larger clumps of blood slapping the floor beneath his arm as the wound began to bleed heavily. Not that the King cared much for his own health.
All he wanted to do was to protect his friends and his family. To save his Ally no matter what the consequences were for himself.

"COME ON!?" He roared as he took a step forward, arms shifting into the arms and claws of his third form. Darker fur already matted with blood as his canines sharpened.

Almost immediately, the symbols burst with a dark mass of shadows and ash. Darkness shooting up the walls like a swarm of rats- engulfing the room and taking out any form of light that had previous lit up the walls.

Kazakhstan was quick to take cover. Wrapping himself up with his wings and turning away with squinted eyes- buried in the safety of his golden feathers. He could hear it.
The screaming and the crying of those shadows and everything that Russia had driven out from the walls of this place.
The bellowing of creatures that had once roamed the castle and those who had died in the darkest prisons below.

This land... although pretty and beautiful and adorned with flowers and forests was nothing more than a graveyard of the past wars. Of enemies and allies and soldiers who had given up their lives.
Which Kazakhstan could now hear.

But- rather abruptly- they ceased. Though the sounds continued to ring in the back of the Admiral's mind as his wings gradually drew back from his body and he dragged himself to turn towards the mass Russia had created or more...

Summoned.

To a man who stood there. Tall and grievous.
With eyes of gold and fire and amber. With horns of a goat and a bull and many other creatures.
A venomous smile stretched across his face from where he stood in the middle of a now broken piece of art.

Russia panted shakily from where he stood shakily beside his brother. Sweat sliding down the side of his face as he kept a gaze between himself and the man before him.

A King.

And with a wonderous accent that crept the wall, he spoke.
"You did it Russia." A purr rumbled in the back of the man's throat. "We'll get to him."

Kazakhstan recognized the man and his voice once the ash subsided. And he stared up at the King of the demons.
A man born in war and blood. So known for his rebellious acts and the history of his family.

And as if nothing dramatic had even occurred, the King pranced out of the symbols. Every bit of old blood fading at his feet with every step he took up until he stood in front of Russia.
Nearly eye level with him.
"Come.
We need to move fast," he chuckled sweetly. "It's been some time since I last saw your family and dear old Finland."

The eyes of amber and fire met with Kazakhstan's. A subtle nod and smile thrown towards the hybrid who took it as nothing more than a sign which he took with great speed, turning and sprinting out of the quarters. Beginning to ready his commands to the soldiers and other winged men and women who had waited for him.

Russia looked towards the King.
"I didn't think I'd be able to do it..."He breathed, "it's been so long since I last had to..." A saddened look on his face.
"But... I'm glad you're here, Germany."

Germany hummed and cocked his head to the side.
"Me too."

✞———————❖———————✞

Ukraine watched as Kazakhstan flew from the gates of the castle. Hundreds of winged hybrids and other species following after him adorned with armour and flying leathers. A mass of wings and feathers beating against the air as they sped away from the Kingdom like a pack of wild animals.
It didn't sit well with him. The thought of war and the potential deaths every one of his siblings could be preparing for...
But it was something he had to live with every day. Because a threat always sat on the horizon and always seemed to lash out whenever they least expected it to- the life and hardships of being a Prince of a Kingdom that had a dreadful enemy.

He glanced behind him and his eyebrows rose as he noted that his friend was walking towards him with a nervous expression- America, a stranger and someone Ukraine had so many questions for. Questions that still laid unanswered.
There was something about that boy that sometimes put him on edge, but he tried not to linger on the thoughts of what it may be, not wanting to risk any more unnecessary loss.
And yet, as the fleet of winged people drew away from the castle and groups of armed soldiers began to storm past them, some on horses, Ukraine couldn't help but shove away the one idea that sat at the centre of his mind.

Without even a few seconds to let America open his mouth, Ukraine hurriedly grabbed his hand and yanked him back into the courtyard. Biting and chewing his lip anxiously as he led his dazed friend inside of the castle.
"This isn't fair for you," he mumbled. Barely audible to the boy who stumbled behind him and almost tripped up on his uniform. "To be let into this Kingdom, trained here and listened to. While being kept in the dark about so many other things."

America rose a brow, following his friend.
Didn't he know plenty enough...?
The memories of that one cursed room in the library stabbed at his head. The chains on the wall. The book. The claw marks. Screaming... SCREAMING-

Ukraine had taken the boy to his room, shoving him inside and closing the door behind him.
And with the determination of something people may have either considered to be a coward or a hero- Ukraine perched his hands on his hips and held his head eye as he released his words.

"We. Are going to follow them."

His friend blinked almost blankly with a face of stone and yet also confusion.

"Uh... Ukie... With all due respect, I think that's a fairly idiotic idea," the solitude stranger uttered- not exactly sure on what else he could say as he surveyed the look of annoyance that stretched across the hybrid's face.

Shaking his head, Ukraine turned and began to rummage through his wardrobe and through several drawers. "I don't care. I don't need to care." His hands searched under him.
"I might be a Prince. Russia may be the King and may be my older brother who expects me to hold responsibility for your safety and lack of knowledge of our home but.

This is something you need to see and experience for yourself. If it means that you'll be able to understand the strain that we are all under and the danger that we have to face every passing day then..." Ukraine breathed and pulled out a large box- metal clattering inside.

"Then it would be worth it."

And Ukraine turned to face America, opening the box and pulling out a beautifully crafted dagger of silver and gold. With a wooden and silver pommel and a grip that had been wrapped tightly with a dark pine-brown layer of leather. The crossguard adorned with darkened and shining engravings of branches and deer- a band of leaves wrapping around the edges.
A beautiful instrument for death and so many other things.

Of which Ukraine was giving to America.

"I was given this by someone..." Ukraine hesitated and stared into America's blue eyes, "who told me to... give this to someone who really needed it." A glance away from the other. A lie then maybe.
America rose a brow, not exactly falling for the excuse.
There was something behind what Ukraine was saying- but he didn't want to prod at it.

So he stared at the dagger before slowly taking it from the other's hands, carefully holding it by the grip and holding it up to a band of light that had crept in through the window. Awing at the streaks of light and blue that ran through the blade. "Beautiful..."
It was a sight to behold to Ukraine. The image of a strange and curious young man who held up a weapon of death and war to the light- a picture he would never be able to let go of.

✞———————❖———————✞

Boots crunched violently into the snow and Germany fell to his knees in the mess of blood and dirt as he panted heavily, beads of sweat sliding down his chin as he winced.
Russia stood beside him and he was quick to pull his friend back up, glancing around and gritting his teeth as he stared at the battered terrain. Where clouds and trails of smoke rose from the land and where the bodies of soldiers had been scattered about amongst those who were still and fighting to their ends. Swords and branches sticking out from the ground like some sort of makeshift cemetery made by those in war. Crowds of people and hybrids alike fighting against each other like wild animals that had been unleashed onto each other.

His nose scrunched at the putrid stench of blood, smoke and metal.

A fleet of soldiers stood behind them, all of whom immediately began to pour into the battlefield past the two Kings. Screaming as they drove across the mounds of remains of people and monsters to aid the bloodied deers that fought restlessly against those in silver armour. The violent ringing of swords beginning to fill the air once more and the crying of people worsening- echoing in Russia's ears.

Kazakhstan's fleet had already arrived moments ago. Hybrids plunging down from the clouds and the heavens to pick off at their prey that scurried around below. Wings poking out from the clouds, shadows and arrows shooting across the skies. A flash of gold in the distance relieving Russia of his worries as he took a glimpse of his brother who fought endlessly against the enemy- diving right into a large fleet of silver-adorned

Germany trembled and laughed half-heartedly as he rubbed at his eyes and straightened his posture, "that took a lot more out of me than I thought it would," he groaned lowly. "Not that I'm done yet," a breathless chuckle as he raised a strained gloved hand towards the battlefield.

The barren earth that had been wrecked with snow, blood, mud and so many other grotesque objects and colours slowly began to glow. A line of crimson red circling a small area in front of the two rulers which gradually began to paint itself its own sigil. Ash and smoke clawing their way out of the art that had been scarred into the ground, flecks of black floating out and forming shapes.
And within seconds, Germany hissed in pain as all those shapes merged together and began to form the bodies of hounds and other unnameable creatures that soon stood upon the crimson snow and mud. With eyes of rubies and claws of knives.
Their jaws were parted and some carried two to three soldiers on their back- all of whom adorned horns and spikes that ran down their back. Carrying axes, swords and daggers in their jet black hands.
Who were soon dragged away by the creatures under them that carried them into battle.

Germany watched tiredly, surveying the tiny fleet of his soldiers and monsters delve deeper into the enemy lines, hand trembling from the amount of energy he had lost and used up.
Russia pat his back and smiled- a mask that hid his fear and worries in the battle. "Stay back for a bit. I'll go on ahead." He stated, pulling away and closing his eyes as he focused on his magic and the strength that began to run through his veins.
The Demon King watched with a rough smirk, hugging himself before he turned to watch the fighting in the distance and listen to the screaming of both his enemies and allies. Strands of his hair sticking to his face before he too began to do the same as Russia.

The two slowly focusing on their main objective.
To become who they truly were.
And to use that to their advantage.

Tendrils and jet-black spikes shot out of Germany's back and continued to form down his back. Cracking and crunching at every movement as he slowly hunched over, less and arms gradually growing in length and form- fur and scales shooting up his legs like a million snakes as he gritted his teeth. Bones breaking and reforming, skin regrowing and taking shape.
A process of death, pain and rebirth. Leaving the two standing there.

Two curious, lonely monsters who held their peak with claws made to rip people apart and jaws made to tear bone. With eyes of gold and blood. Horns of demons and all creatures alike. Tails of snakes and the mighty Fenrir. Spines and spikes of roses and brambles.

Two killing machines that soon threw their heads forwards and let out their mighty bellows of death and song before they launched themselves into the bloodbath of their enemies, joining the sides of their allies, brothers and soldiers.

To win over the land of their Ally.

Wherever he now was.

-------------------------------------------

The biggest chapter of Lore and Potential Death.

A massive punch in the heart and my own head. This chapter put me through shit.

I'm sorry this took so long to write and publish. A lot of bad things have happened that have left me mentally drained and exhausted of everything.
I've given up on my whole Insta account which I worked hard on and now I have the urge to delete everything I've worked on apart from this book. 
I love this story- and it might seem like I'm fuelling my own ego or some shit but- I think this book is a masterpiece in my heart and it brings me some joy to know that I wrote it and that it was something that I WANTED to write rather than being pressured into it.

I hope you liked it- because... in a way I sort of did until I got myself confused towards the end of the chapter

And I'd also like to say sorry to all the people I ignored who were worried about me.
Ig i'm ok... not rlly- i'm not sure. I'm getting therapy now so <3 yaaaay 

Uh... I don't know what to say kms
I've also just realized that at least 1k people are gonna read this shit hole of a thing I've just written but oh well ig

eeesssh
rip my hands because the word count is... sorta big

Wordcount: 4244

17/09 Edit:
decided to make a messy sketch for this chapter because why not

also I love Germany too much so yeah