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A Nation's Salvation	By : eternalstarhaven Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 2145 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Hetallia: Axis Powers does not belong to me, but to Hidekaz Himaruya, while the idea behind the story is my own. I do not make a profit or money by writing this. I also have this story posted on fanfiction.net under the same penname.

Chapter List
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The Power of Fear
Chapter Nine
Spain felt a tremendous amount of guilt as he followed after the heavy guard, knowing that his actions had caused the capture of Southern Italy. It was so easy to want the more well-mannered brother, but seeing the tears as the boy had turned and fled, the hurt anger... the despairing truth that he truly wasn't wanted. Perhaps if he had continued to act as if the younger Italian didn't matter to him, Britain might have let him go, but that would have simply resulted in the complete occupation over the Southern Italian territory. Austria had made it very clear... get Southern Italy back or he'd lose a lot more than just the boy. Running slender fingers through his reddish-brown locks, he kept a tight control over his emotions. He couldn't act desperate to see or save Southern Italy; but he did want a good show of faith that the boy was still alive.
Coming to the top of a large balcony, he froze, green eyes going wide at the sight before him. Tethered by five chains, one on each limb, and one around the neck, was some young lad, barely old enough to fight for his country, his eyes wild with fear as he pleaded for them to reconsider his punishment. At the end of each chain was some sort of wheel, and with each turn, the chains would wind tighter and tighter until the body was ripped a part. "It's a new device I'm trying out," a soft voice whispered into his ear, causing Spain to whirl around with a terrified gasp.
When had Britain become so enthralled with this kind of madness? He still remembered a small boy, often crying when France or Holy Rome tormented and chased him around with their swords. Like so many other young nations, he hadn't had an ancient, or even an older one like Finland was to his brothers, to help guide and support them until he was old enough to do so on his own. The Italian brothers had been lucky enough to fall under the control of Spain and Austria, but others had not been so fortunate. So many nations had come and gone, that he hadn't even bothered to take the time to learn them all.
Gazing into dark, green eyes, he knew then that Britain had absolutely no control over what was happening within his kingdom. The nobility and religious leaders were in charge, murdering its own people, and waging war against other nations if they thought they were strong enough to do it. No wonder Sweden had left with such a large show of force. If something truly had happened to Denmark, he had needed the distraction, a way to keep Britain from invading and taking what remained of the already hurting nation. The best way to finish off an injured nation, was to kill off the rest of his or her people. There was a minor possibility the nation might survive, but for how long, and why would he or she want to? It was the 'sickness,' and Spain never felt so tired or afraid. A sane man or nation he had the possibility of reasoning with, but not a nation that was consumed with a mad need to hurt, kill, and destroy.
"Leave us," Britain ordered. The guards looked ready to protest, but one seething glare had them obeying in an instant and closing the curtains behind them. Britain took Spain's arm, forced him to turn and face the execution ground beneath them, the crowd chanting and cheering as if it was some kind of every day show that was for entertainment instead of punishment. That same whisper brushed against the back of his neck, Britain resting his chin on the Spaniard's shoulder. "How do you like it?"
"It's barbaric," he snapped, surprised at the ferocity in his voice.
"No more so than your beloved toro events," he taunted, an arm wrapping around his middle. Spain tried not to let it bother him; the rules for lovers or sexual partners were not the same for nations as they were for the humans. If Britain wanted to truly subjugate him, he would, and if he tried to fight him, he'd instantly regret it.
"Do not dare speak to me as if this atrocity is the same as bull fighting?" Spain growled in fury, his entire body shaking. "That boy... what was his crime?"
"Oh nothing much... his father refused to enlist in the King's army, and this is his punishment."
Spain felt the blood drain from his face, easily picking up the underlying threat and promise behind Britain's accusation and decision. With one arm wrapped around his middle, he pointed towards a wooden platform, a man standing with a rope around his neck, swords at his throat, while he watched his son's pending execution. "Just punish the father then," Spain gasped, too horrified to say anything more.
"I considered it, but how would that convince another man from trying to disobey the king's orders? Besides, everyone knows that a child mimics the actions of his parents, in this case, the son will have eventually repeated his father's mistakes. So... I will kill them both."
"Britain, this isn't you..." Spain weakly protested, trying to get through to him. If he ever got the Southern Italian back, he'd spend the rest of his life fighting against this kind of 'sickness' in other nations, having them come up with a unified plan to stop it should it ever befall another nation, but that was later, and this was now. How did he save the people suffering under Britain's madness, and his Italian charge at the same time? "God... I am so sorry I wasn't around more to stop France and Rome from picking on you... I know you were lonely... please, I'll do anything... just don't do this," he pleaded.
For a brief moment, there was a flicker of confusion in the blond nation's eyes, an awareness of regret and guilt, fear and loneliness... "No..." he whimpered, pulling slightly back in horrified clarity. A single tear slid down his face, and he almost called off the execution, but then he recalled all the beatings, all the time spent inside of the church, the Pope demanding his allegiance and obedience. If he refused, people died... they died all the time... spare the rod, spoil the child. "The child will repeat his father's mistakes... This will show to them all, that disobeying the king's orders comes with a far heavier price than a simple whipping or hanging."
Pulling out a small rapier, he placed it between the smaller portion of Spain's back, his free hand lifting for them to turn the first wheel. "I could have gagged the lad... but that will spoil the effect." One turn wasn't enough to fully tighten the chains; they started out kind of loose to begin with, to heighten the fear, to send the watching crowd into a frenzy. What the hell was wrong with these people? He noticed it was mostly the rich in those balconies, and not the peasants or the local populace. Of course not, but the rumors would still spread, and this horrific execution would drive anyone to do as the king or religious leaders wanted. Britain was the people, and the people were Britain. In most cases, the nation was in complete control, but if they were too young, if the people were already mad to begin with... "I have another little incentive for you," Britain chuckled, nodding for his guards to draw a curtain.
Confined in an iron cage, chained like a dog, was Southern Italy, his eyes wide as they fell on to the human, the chains holding him suspended in the air... Italy screamed, forgetting any pretense of bravery... he tugged and struggled against his restraints, oblivious to the guards beating him and Spain felt the tears sliding down his tanned cheeks as he helplessly watched. At some point, Italy must have spotted them, his hazel eyes going wide at the site of Spain, the British Nation hovering dangerously close to him. There was fear and anguish in the Spaniard's eyes, something South Italy thought to never see in them. "I want both of you to watch... to know what will happen to him... just like I'm going to do to that traitor's oldest son. It hurts more when I do it this way... If you defy me... if you betray me, I won't punish you Spain. I will do far worse to that little brat of yours, and make you watch... just as you're watching now.
Spain tried to close his eyes, hearing the dreadful sound of the wheel turning... stopping. "YOU WILL NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Britain snarled, grabbing the back of his neck and shoving him forward and slightly over the balcony. The stone dug into his chest, the rapier at his throat... "SO HELP ME, IF YOU SO MUCH AS BLINK THROUGH THE REST OF THIS, I'LL STRING THAT BRAT UP, AND DO THINGS TO HIM THAT WILL MAKE YOU WISH HE WAS THE ONE ON THAT THING INSTEAD OF THE LAD. AM I PERFECTLY CLEAR?!"
"Si..." he half-choked, half-sobbed.
"LOUDER!" Britain roared, and Spain couldn't help but watch the silent tears falling on South Italy's face, watching the humiliation of Spain and his will to fight shattered as he complied. What choice did he have... He had come here expecting to hold his head high, to endure what was necessary, but this was not the actions of a nation in his right mind, but a nation under the full, and complete control of the monarchy and the church. "DID I SAY TO STOP? DID YOU WANT TO GO NEXT!" Britain roared at the executioners. As the wheels turned, Spain would hear those horrifying screams, and the sound of ripping limbs for the rest of his long life.
Britain traced Spain's pale face, the look of hopeless despair and terror in those green eyes... that was what he wanted for Denmark and the idiots standing in his way... That had been way too damn easy. Maybe the key to bringing Sweden to his knees was finding something just as important to him. "You're not going to run away are you?" Britain asked him, tugging at the Spaniards coat.
"No," he mouthed, too numb to rationalize or cope with what was happening to him. If he did or said anything, South Italy would be the one in his nightmares... Snatching a handful of red hair, Britain snapped his head back, green eyes blazing with pure insanity... "You'll help me bring down Denmark, won't you?"
"Yes."
One worded answers; it was perfect, and Britain could only hope he'd have the chance to do the same to one of the others... maybe he'd do this with the Northern Italian... Austria was definitely too full of himself. "And if I wanted to hand you off to my Soldiers, to let them have a little bit of fun?" Fear flashed in Spain's eyes, but he didn't dare resist. Tapping his cheek, he laughed as he left the room, not bothering to use restraints or chains. With South Italy hidden, Spain would never run or disobey a single command.
France didn't like it, ducking behind a suit of armor as he watched Britain storm pass, a mad glint in his eyes. He had had a sinking feeling that something wasn't right with Britain, but nothing had prepared him for the broken nation that sat motionless in Britain's personal chambers, his top coat partially unbuttoned. Very quietly, he closed the door behind him and knelt, trying to bring the nation back to awareness. He was pale, tears still trailing down his cheeks... What the hell had Britain done to him? This was Spain, the son of an ancient... Why wasn't he trying to fight or run away?
"Italy..." he tried to speak, more tears starting to fall. "Please... get... him... out..." France had no idea what Britain might have done, but it had brought Spain to his knees. "I hear him screaming still... there's blood... it's everywhere." He continued to babble, and with great care, France brought the broken nation's head against his chest, and a loud sob escaped his lips, his fingers reaching up and clinging to France much like a broken child would. Over and over again, Spain screamed, a horrifying mess, and France had no idea what to say or do to fix this.
South Italy hadn't moved for a long time, too frightened that the guards might do to him what they had done to that human. The look on Spain's face, the terror, the realization that he was utterly at Britain's mercy, and the guilt as he gave him one look before he was dragged away. He had to find a way out of here... Damn that British bastard... he wasn't going to allow him to use himself to wage a war against Denmark. They wouldn't know he was being forced... how could they? And this wasn't Spain's fault, it was his for being such a brat all the time. He wanted a chance to say he was sorry, that he didn't want anyone else to take care of him. Over and over again, Spain had tried to show him patience and kindness, and he had always slapped it away with cruel words of hatred and spite.
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A Nation's Salvation