- Sweet Sacrifice [Originally: To The Underworld We Go] -

The demon, once again, was bored. He lost intrest in what was going on and decided to brach off somewhere else until the events led up to a great big event which he badly wanted to partake in. He spread his wings, almost like he was stretching his arms, and looked around for the direction of the course he was going to take. He decided to take to the east-the area that was most heavily populated. His energy was low and he needed to feed before he turned into a useless waste of a evil being.

Just before he was about to take flight, he turned to face Gilbert. "You coming along?" He asked, placing his hands in his pockets.

Excuse such late of a reply.. Was busy as could be.. hopefully i made it up with a slightly long reply??

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Shoving all fear inside himself and all knowledge t his head, no one could notice just how much the Sweden was actually shaking. Berwald positioned the blade tip on the bruise and let out a soft breath as he recalled the past for support.. Last time he had done this, it was with Denmark when he fell off one of their old ship beams. Only from reading a book from the island they had concerted had the Swede known how to save the man’s life.. Of course.. That was a long time ago.

Let’s see.. Blade in, straw tip in, retract blade, bandaged the surroundings of the straw, and then done.. Right? Berwald thought quickly as he sucked in a breath.

Realizing he was taking to long and building tension, the Sweden pushed the blade in until he felt the blade begin to need a push to continue inward. How easily he could just plunge the blade in more and rip the Russian’s lungs.. Get all revenge needed and more so.. But no. That would be just a demon talking.. Not that he was already basically one anyway.

“Francis.. When I retract the blade I need you to cover the wound.. I’d do it myself, but it takes 3 hands that can move quickly to do so.. I, obviously, do not have a third hand..” Berwald instructed quickly as he twisted the blade slightly to the left so that a small opening began to form.

Stopping the anguishing very small twist, Sweden placed the straws end deep in the wound and pressed it close to the blade so that little blood was leaking from the wound. As the seconds placed, large red swirls began to form in the cup of water.. A sure sign that not only was Sweden successful, but also the internal bleeding was going to be released along with some pain. But now would came maybe a fatal mistake.. Making sure the blade A. Didn’t dislodge the straw’s placement. B. didn’t create more a wound. C. was taking out correctly and wound covered that same instant.

Watching the Russian stir and growl, Sweden held back a snarl of his own.. It was hard to keep anger when his own shoulder was scored with Ivan’s new claws.. Each mark healing quickly, but in pain from the markings being from a demon. The black blood was bubbling to the marks and was threatening to escape the wound and roll down his arm/back. With a changing mortal, that would be actually quite horrible.. The only thing that the Swede could think to do was to lean his right shoulder up a tad and hope that it healed before the blood had a chance to fall.

“Remain calm, Ivan.. Don’t you dare slip from your mental humanity.. If you do.. You’ll hurt people you love.. Keep that in mind..” Berwald growled quietly to the fussing Russian.

hehe don't worry. I'm still on standby because i'm waiting or Al and Viorica to reply still XDD

---

Francis cringed a bit as he observed Sweden work, glancing aside after a moment until Sweden spoke, surprised at first.

“Francis.. When I retract the blade I need you to cover the wound.. I’d do it myself, but it takes 3 hands that can move quickly to do so.. I, obviously, do not have a third hand..”

The Frenchman shifted slightly, picking up one of the clean towels and nodding rather hesitantly, prepared to do as told, gulping once. He wasn't much of the squeamish type, but at the moment, well, this was rather sickening to the Frenchman; but, as long as it would help Ivan in any way, he was mostly willing due to current circumstances. "Okay.." He uneasily hoped that Sweden knew what he was doing and more, for once fairly glad that so far, Sweden seemed to be on their side. "Have you even done this before?"

Francis winced slightly, glancing at the cup as it steadily tinted red with the Russian's blood, before glancing once at Ivan. This must've been fairly painful to him, but perhaps not as much as the current hellish transformation.

“Remain calm, Ivan.. Don’t you dare slip from your mental humanity.. If you do.. You’ll hurt people you love.. Keep that in mind..”

The thought that after the transformation, if Ivan was unable to cling to any human memory, something, he might just end up harming loved ones, deeply troubled Francis. Would Ivan even remember his, Sweden, and the angel's aid, or even his sisters and family? Francis shook his head slightly, trying to clear his mind as he returned to paying attention to Sweden as he worked.

Now wasn't the time to think such things.

---

The demon moaned into the female's mouth, finding everything about her to be captivating in this moment. He held her to him, making sure she would not pull away until he was finished with her. Alfred's deadly sin might have been Gluttony, but demon!Alfred's was Greed. He wanted everything - power, sex, more power...he wasn't that hard to figure out. When Viorica pulled out of the kiss, a low growl erupted within his throat. He wasn't angry with her, exactly, but he did want more of her. After all, she was so tempting...

He practically chuckled in sheer joy as brushed her lips against his ear and told him she would give her blood in return for the Russian's blood upon his lips. Without any hesitation, his hand latched around the back of her neck and he forced her head slightly to the side. His multi-colored eyes fell upon her neck. He brushed his fingers across the pale skin there, allowing his black nails to tickle her skin. "How could I ever resist, love?" He purred, watching the dark veins beneath her skin. He traced one of them with his nail, smirking as he did so.

"I hope you were right about my fledgling. I'm already missing his presence." His tone was nearly sarcastic as he referred to the Russian. A mental image of Ivan's battered form and torn neck made Alfred giddy; he had triumphed over a powerful ally and would now have the joy of seeing them bow to Hell.

His finger fell from her neck and his fangs protruded from his mouth as he dipped his head and sank them into her skin. Warm, crimson fluid rushed into his mouth and washed over his taste buds, once again causing his eyes to roll back. He knew he shouldn't take much - that would be impolite, but the flavor was so overwhelming. He moaned against her throat, pressing her body to his as he drank from her. Her blood was giving him a feeling Ivan's could not - a feeling of new power. His muscles seemed to harden beneath it, his senses were heightened...however could he pull away? And that was quickly becoming a problem. Alfred wasn't pulling away. Greed got the best of him and began to take more blood than she was probably willing to offer, his hands clinging to her form.

“Yes.. I know what I’m doing.. Kind’ov anyway.. Just forget about that and clear your head for ten seconds! I need you to be in the zone!” Berwald almost seemed to snap/shout.

It was then that you could notice the slight quiver that the Sweden was portraying without even realizing it. The hand that held the blade was still, still.. But as for his body.. It was just shivering and steadily increasing on how violently it actually was. Slowly, one could also hear a slight edge on his breath as he breathed out..

“Alright.. On the count of three.. One… Two…” the Swede began as his eyes kept on his hands but moved up to check if the Frenchman was ready.

How easily the Sweden had now become fearful.. Like he was worried that by the question asked that he was under pressure. Not that he wasn’t before, but this actually effected him a lot.. Like all his thoughts were suddenly were unleashed at full fury.. Did he really think that this could completely work? So much could go wrong.. Right?

Two late for second thoughts, Berwald.. Don’t be so stupid...though you can be a lot.. The Sweden growled at himself and then slightly smiled,

“Three!” He said and moved back, removing the blade quickly in a completely non-reckless manner. Just the way that it needed to be done.. Thank goodness.. It was up to the Frenchman now.

Francis took notice of Sweden's shivering, but knew better than to comment about it, knowing it would only pressure him further.

“Yes.. I know what I’m doing.. Kind’ov anyway.. Just forget about that and clear your head for ten seconds! I need you to be in the zone!”

Knowing now was not the time to argue, the Frenchman only gave a slight, curt nod, deciding to keep his mouth shut to avoid a snappy comment at Sweden. Whether Sweden knew what he was doing or not, it would only do harm to think of Ivan's possible outcome if the quick procedure wasn't done carefully. As much as Francis was anxious for the Russian, worrying wouldn't help.

“Alright.. On the count of three.. One… Two…”

The Frenchman sighed and shifted positions slightly, holding onto the clean towel in his hands; which he knew, in time, might just be stained crimson.

“Three!”

Francis did as previously told once Sweden removed the blade, quickly and easily; the Frenchman covered up the wound with the towel, pressing it slightly to stall any blood flow, and he just faintly wondered how much pain the Russian might have been feeling.

He knew Russia was strong-willed, enough to keep from practically wailing or screaming out every few seconds in pain-it was only natural, wasn't it? Keeping the towel covering the wound, Francis glanced once at Sweden expectantly, then continued to focus on the task at hand.

Looking around, Sweden ended up taking off his belt and moving it slipping it somehow around the Russian’s body without really moving him and then moved the Frenchman’s hand after quickly tying it. Replacing the pressure with one that could stay for a long period of time without worry or tired arms. Berwald let out a breath of relief, but quickly caught the glare and let the flash of fur to fight go through him.

“Alright.. You did fantastic, Francis…” the Swede remarked quietly as he moved back and leaned against the wall, moving his shirt so that he could inspect his own wound made by the Russian, “By the way you’re looking at me.. I’ll just assume you’re not happy.. Say what you need to say?”

Taking one of the unused towels, he dabbed the wound and held it there with a soft wince, but he didn’t seem to be caring about. He was more forced about everything at hand.

Hm... well... since I'm going to be gone for two days, I'm going to plague you with this obnoxiously long, poorly-written reply like a mother frak'en baws. :3

---

Ivan's muscles cringed at the feeling of the blade sliding its way into his lung. A sound similar to a wheezy gasp and a snarl slid between his clenched teeth once the straw went in. His red blood poured into the cup, yet thick, black strands of liquid also mingled with the crimson that trickled from the straw.

A wave an blazing nausia crashed over the Russian's very senses, yet it was quickly extinguished by what was left of the Angel's spell. Ivan felt the floor spinning underneath him, even though it was as still as before.. He felt his body shifting, as if some unknown force grabbed his flesh like dull claws and began wrenching it at will.

Blood began to trickle down his shoulder blades and his back as some sort of black solid mass began to tear it's way through the flesh. If Meg's spell wern't in place, one might have witnessed a silver-haired male writing on the floor, screaming in agony. But no... the pain might not be there, but that gut-wrenching, shifting sensasion sure as hell was. Ivan suddenly shot up to his knees and gripped his head with his own clawed hands, groaning through clenched jaws as he tried desperatly to stand. A brief gasp was emitted, and chaos erupted;

Two large black wings finally ripped their way from the Russian's back and burst free. His right wing burst with such force, it slammed right into Berwald and knocked him clean off his feet. Ivan's eyes flew wide open in shock and instinctivley spun around, crashing his clumsy, flailing wings into the Frenchman with breath-taking force. The sudden weight on his back and the momentum of his spin caused Ivan to trip and topple backwards, taking out a lamp with one of the clawed tips of his blood-splattered left wing. The lound sound of a "crash" rang out through the room as the lamp shattered into many peices on the floor.

Ivan's hands flew to his head once more with a brief gasp at a sudden dull throb. Two specks of blood began to grow between his gripping fingers, staining a small part of his silvery hair red. It was hidden to the other demon and the humans in the room, but the tips of horns were begining to prick their way from his skull.

The Soviet shot out one of his hands and sunk his claws into the wall, ripping downwards in attempt to pull himself to his feet again. Blood was pouring freely from his side where the other Demon inserted the blade, and his abnormally large, leathery wings were flapping and spazzing as feeling began to creep in them, but he couldn't feel it...

He couldn't see... he could hardly hear a thing...

Ivan's unstable mind fought viciously against the fledgling demon's toxic venom, blotting out all other events around him other than the uncomfortable sensasions of his new demonic features making themselves known. Visions flashed through his mind as the changing personification tottered unsteadily on his two feet. Good memories... bad memories... feelings... fading emotions... all forming a shield around what was left of his fading sanity. He could feel the alien darkness creeping in....

Another gasp was drawn, and those eyes flew open as his back arched. His glassy eyes were still that striking shade of amethyst, yet a deep black color replaced the white in his eyes...

Vision slowly began to settle in, yet it was nothing but swirling, blurry movements that sent him stumbling clumsily into furniture. A harsh snarl rippled from his throat as he toppled to the side and into the wall again. He bolted to the bathroom and slammed the door shut, nearly clipping his wing in the process.

Ivan stared at himself in the mirror, horrified at the changes. This was... beyond anything the Russian had ever fathomed. A stabbing pain bit through the Angel's spell, causing him to grip his head again and stumble backwards with a loud "thunk" against the wall. Damn those heavy wings...

However, his hands found two curled horns prutruding from his head...His pants were begining to... what?! Merge into his skin?! Wirey fur began to poke it's way out of his skin from the waist down. Ivan finally managed to stand and kicked off his shoes, revealing sharp, cloven hooves instead of human's feet. During this transformation, his new wings had succeded in knocking shelves over with loud crashing noises... one point even found its way to slamming into the mirror and shattering part of it. But little did he know something else formed behind him; a long tail had formed. It appeared to be snake-like, yet the tip was spiked like that of a scorpion's. Upon bursting out from the Russian's tormented body, it rose before crashing down onto the sink's counter, shattering the white proclain into shards.

Ivan unwillingly gave into the dizzy feeling that settled in from the loss of blood, and the sheer shock that came with witnessing such events. He gave a low growl, and stumbled into the ground and was still.

Nothing but silence could be heard from outside the bathroom. The Russian remained still, save for an occasional twitch of his wings or tail.

Feeling began to creep into his being again- the aches... the throbs... he could feel them now. But he didn't care...

Ivan Braginski had lost the battle against the venom.

Francis opened his mouth to speak, blue gaze flickering in slight surprise to Sweden's own wounds, seeming to have not yet noticed them until now. Yet, the only sound that came out was a startled gasp as the Russian's wings abruptly shot out, one of which slammed against Sweden; followed by the flailing, flapping wings to slam against the Frenchman seconds later with alarming force.

Before he knew it, Francis was on the ground, the breath momentarilly knocked out of him until he barely managed to regain his composure, forcing himself to sit up groggily with a hand to his slghtly throbbing head. His blue eyes widened in alarm as he glanced toward the transforming Russian, blood dripping from the blade's wound, wings flapping, and claws tearing.

The Russian's snarl alone made Francis cringe, his alarming appearence beyond what the Frenchman expected; yet, Francis couldn't help but be ever so slightly relieved when Ivan retreated to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. "Mon dieu, Berwald!" Francis managed to choke out, giving a quick shake of his head to clear his mind properly; as far as the Frenchman was concerned, most likely Sweden wouldn't be too harmed, if at all, but how would Sweden react? Francis couldn't bring himself to say more, let alone know what else to say, and the Frenchman hesitated before managing to stagger slightly to his feet, leaning against the wall for a moment's support. The crashing coming from the bathroom only made Francis flustered and worried, yet he was indeed relieved when the silence took over after a while. He could only wonder hopelessly of what the Russian was thinking, how far the darkness of his abrupt transformation may have taken him.

Francis winced and glanced over at Sweden, uneasily hoping he too was alright from the sudden impact of the Russian's wings.

Ok i'm really sorry but i went through like....pfft idk like three or more stages in this part so i'm really sorry i'm rushing this one cause i just want to cover a good portion of it so that it's clear that i've did my job and it's coming at a price. Almost plain and simple. anyways you can rant at me for rushing it if you want but, just telling you, I'm just rushing it cause i want to keep a good portion of it and also.....i got doctors so i won't be able to reply until WAAAAY LATER xDDDD

---

The young state saw that the two were in a position that put them at a disadvantage. She had an emotionless expression as she was going to do something that she really didn't want to do. But the only way for her to get her father and the angel back was probably killing them both. The state thought that there was probably still hope for the two. Maybe if she was to drag the two with her to her death that maybe when there was a small opening, she would grab it and overpower them with her power. She was willing to gamble on this one theory as she pulled out from her wrists a holy sword. She vanished for a split second as she soon reappeared right behind Alfred. Tears now rolling down my face, I pulled the sword back and brace to pierce the two with the sword.

A small whisper escaped her lips as held the sword ready.

"...Please Forgive me Dad, I'm sorry.." she said in a saddened voice.

All went silent as she pierced the sword right through Alfred and Vio. Blood, splashed onto her hands. She tears soon fell from her cheeks with a small smile on her face. Suddenly a burst of white flames burst from her body engulfing her entirely, the sword rapidly transmitted the flames to the two as it soon started to engulf them. Small black flames on her back and shoulder appeared where the pentacle curses had grown on her body. She tried to keep transmitting the holy flames to them, as much as she had as her body started to also burn with black flames.

Blood. The very force that kept one alive. Alfred was being driven by the taste of it, the world having been spaced out as he drank from Viorica. The feeling it was giving him...it was all so overwhelming. All the wounds he had received from the Russian seemed to heal upon drinking the fallen angel's blood, making him feel as though he could take on anything. Even his torn wing had been repaired as the blood healed him, and he was most definitely thankful for that. His wing was vital, needing it for any plans of escape, following, or attacking. However, as lost as he was in drinking the blood, Viorica's voice had broken through his hazy state. He opened his eyes, slowly pulling away from her neck. His lips were stained with her blood and he licked at it, leaving nothing behind. She had mentioned something about dying. He could only scoff at that comment. "Are you saying you would have killed me had I not pulled away? Considering the circumstances, you couldn't handle me after what I just-..."

His ear twitched. A human was approaching them. From behind, he heard the soft voice.

"...Please Forgive me Dad, I'm sorry..."

Again, he was called father by the Hawaiian. Although, unaware of the true connection he had with her, his heart suddenly grew heavy with pain. He felt as though she meant something to him, and he hated it. He cursed these human emotions left behind by his previous form.

Before he could turn to face her - before he could even pull away from her, the Holy sword was stabbed through his body and continued through the female demon. Alfred threw his head back, screeching. The sound was sickening and frightened off any creatures that might be lurking around. Alfred's multi-colored eyes were wide, pain engulfing him. He then shut them tight, grunting as the girl tried to convert him. Black flames battled with white flames, attempting to prevent what the girl was doing. Through the pain, Alfred reached between him and Viorica, gripping the metal and pulling it towards him. The sword slipped from her body, freeing Viorica. He then proceeded to pull it slowly from his body, screaming again as the white flames engulfed his entire form.

He fell away from Viorica, curling into a fetal position. As the Holy flames battled with the demonic aura within him, memories of his former life flashed before his eyes. He was a boy, running towards the British ally. The boy leaped into the Brit's arms, clinging to him tightly. The memory switched - he was still very young, sitting around a campfire with the British man to his left, a boy who appeared the same as him to the right (Canada), and the French ally sitting directly in front of him. The Frenchman was telling them a story, leaving the three at the edge of their seats.

The demon cried out, grasping his head. Another memory - he was older now. He was standing next to the Chinese ally. The man was teaching him wushu, his movements slow and graceful so that the American could learn. Alfred's stomach growled, and he blushed within the memory. The Chinese ally blinked, looking over at him and slowly, the Chinese man began to laugh. It was the first time the American had ever heard the Chinese man laugh. The demon rolled onto his back, arching off the ground. Images now flooded him, flashing before his eyes. They were of random people, but as the Holy flames ate at him, he seemed to realize who they were. Children...his children. Over fifty of them, all blending together and causing his heart to ache. It ached as he realized he had destroyed their lands...had attacked the ones he had raised and came to love dearly. But the images suddenly stopped and his mind went blank, as if light had given out.

He dropped to the ground, teeth gritted as he still held to his head. Another memory - this time, a woman. A Hungarian woman. She was so beautiful, so dear to him. He was remembering when in some of the darkest of times, she had found him. A unique friendship had blossomed between them, leaving many nations in shock. They were worlds apart, and yet, they had befriended one another as easily as he and the Chinese ally had. The memory faded, leaving the demon still. The flames calmed down, circling him but leaving him be for a moment. He was realizing they were trying to bring him back to grace, pull him from the debts of Hell. The human form was trying desperately to break free, but the demonic aura was powerful. Perhaps, one more memory...

The Russian ally sat alone in a field of sunflowers. He seemed content, but there was a distant look within his eyes. He seemed...lonely, perhaps. When the Russian had least expected it, the American had been there. He had set next to him, offering him some company. The Russian showed little emotion, but he seemed not to mind that the American had taken a seat next to him. They did not speak much to one another, but rather sat in silence, enjoying the breeze and looking at the flowers that surrounded them.

"Do you know why Ai like sunflowers, Alfred?" The Russian had finally asked.

The American turned his head, blinking. "No. Why, Ivan?"

"Ai grew up around d'em. D'ey are a comfort zone for me." He admitted to the American, something he rarely spoke of. Perhaps fate, allowed the glass wall between them to shatter.

But the innocent memory was attacked. A line broke through it, ripping the images apart and revealing a battlefield. The American stood in front of the Russian, gun pressed to the Russian's forehead. "Give up, Braginski. You will not pollute the world with your views. I tried to understand...I tried to listen, but I can no longer do that. You either end this now, or I will crush everything you built." The American warned. A Cold War - just another war, to other nations, but something that could never be forgotten between the American and Russian. It was a war that both tore them apart, but also brought them together in the strangest of ways. Another line broke through the memory, forcing the images apart to reveal a final memory. All the allies were gathered at the bar, enjoying alcoholic beverages together and one another's company. It was nice - the American could remember it was nice...he remembered as many of the allies began to leave, leaving behind the American and the Russian. They sat across from one another, instantly challenging one another. Who could hold their alcohol the best. It was foolish for the American to think he stood a chance against Ivan, who inhaled vodka like it was air, but the American was over-confident. Stubborn. Arrogant. Hot-headed. Pig-headed. Foolish. And yet...the Russian enjoyed spending times like these with him.

"You could always geeve up." The Russian offered, inclining his head towards the exit.

"N-No...I-I...I will beat you, Ivan." The American promised, reaching for the...well, he had lost count on how many shots they had already taken, but he knew for sure that they had already drank a lot.

"You know, you beat me at d'e Cold War. You will not beat me at a vodka war. D'e sooner you accept d'at, d'e sooner you may be free of d'is torment." The Russian commented, tilting his head and smiling. It was that cheerful smile. How the American used to hate that cheerful smile, but somehow...he had grown to like it.

"S-Shuddup, Braginski..." He grumbled, picking up the shot. He brought it closer, staring at the Russian as he did so. "Has anyone ever told you...you look handsome when you smile?" He asked, just before he tilted his head and took the shot. He slammed the glass down, features distorting as the alcohol burned his throat.

The Russian's smile seemed to fade into a blank stare when the American complimented him. He just stared at him. "Ai t'ink d'e alcohol is beginning to cloud your judgement, Jones."

"N-No, really..." He reached his arm forward, shifting slightly in his chair. He placed a hand over Ivan's arm, his foot brushing against the Russian's beneath the table as he shifted. It made Ivan straighten up, unsure how to handle this contact. "I-I meant...what I said..." Alfred said through his drunken state, fingers curling slightly into the trench coat where they rested against the Russian's arm.

The Russian was quiet a long while. He was just staring at Alfred, unsure how to handle this moment, but he seemed to be getting lost within those sapphire eyes. Such a beautiful color - he adored the way they brightened when light hit them. "Jones," He began, voice gentle. "You have very beautiful eyes."

And just as the memories might have been enough to bring the human back, the demon arched off the ground, screaming as his demonic aura fought once more. All the dreams shattered within his mind, leaving him with betrayal. The Russian shooting him, attacking him...the Frenchman turning his back on him...the Chinese man not even bothering to make an appearance (-insert shrug here-). The Brit was the only one who seemed to have his back. Most likely because he had already fallen to the status of a demon, but that mattered not to the demon. He would have revenge. He would win against all who were against his plan.

He growled, wings curling around him for a moment before they burst away, the white flames fading into black. The wound on his chest sealed as the black flames caressed him, assuring the other two that he would not become a human again. He slowly sat up, sickened by the idea he had almost become human again. Sickened that he had to see such images that now, once again, meant nothing to him. He got to his feet, fresh with energy and strength. He raised his wings, bones popping as they stretched. He paid little attention to the other two, leaving them to deal with their own predicament. Instead, the demon kicked off the ground, heading for the Russian and Frenchman. Since he had bitten Ivan, he knew when he would be able to sense him. He did not know his exact location, but he would find him. Oh, he would find him.

The American was tired of waiting on their plans to be fulfilled. He was unsure if Viorica had survived what the Hawaiian had done, and did not stick around to see. It seemed cruel of him to do such a thing, but the American had suddenly been flooded with the urge to face the Russian, and the other allies who saw his current predicament as unfitting. He was curious to see Ivan's transformation. Perhaps, as a demon...Ivan would see things the way they needed to be seen. This world was foolish - nations trying to blend, trying to tell one another they were allies...when in fact, it was all a secret fight for power. Bloodshed and tears only came from it, so it was time that Hell rise and end it all. End the suffering of humanity and allow greater beings to use this planet in a more resourceful way.

Surely, Ivan would agree. Surely, the one ally Alfred had been ready to turn, would join him and help him to take the other allies down. If he did not...

The silver haired demon opened his mouth to reply to the Brit, but a piercing scream effectively cut him off. His pale eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked around to find the source of the cries. It was only seconds later did an immense and agonizing pain errupt within his abdomen, and he found himself colliding with the ground. He laid on his side, clutching his burning stomach and thrashing about as unwanted memories of the past bombarded his wayward mind. It was invading the darkest corners of his sanity (or insanity, shall we put it), blinding him from reality and thrusting him into the past. Tears collected in the corners of his tightly shut eyes while he grit his teeth. Gilbert watched the scenes fly by, as if he was a mere spectator watching someone else's memory like a movie reel...But who's memories were these? There, he could see himself and a young girl. A young girl...?

The Prussian's eyes snapped open and he screamed as loud as his lungs could allow. "...V-VIO!!!" The pain had disappeared as sudden as it had surfaced which gave Gilbert reasonable time to scramble onto his feet and hastily transform into his rightful appearance. He had not managed to steady his breath, but he appeared to brush off his dramatic episode to assure his demonic friend that nothing was wrong. "A-Arthur, I'm afraid something important has arisen. I won't be able to accompany you for the time being." He took a shaky inhale before further speaking. Gilbert's voice was nervous and rushed, clearly reflecting how badly he wanted to leave. "Feel free to go, but I want you to f-find Ivan before he ends up killing himself. I need to g-get back to Alfred to see what he's u-up to now..." Of course, he had no intentions to find the American, nor did he care what his current physical health was, but he had to think of a believable excuse to tell the Brit. He outstretched his large wings and took off into the air before the Brit had a chance to respond. Despite his disdain towards Viorica, he could not help but feel overwhelming concern for her for. This desperation for her safety urged his blackened wings to propel him faster and faster towards her location. Within the crevices of his mind, he whispered a phrase over and over again, like a mantra. I remember...I remember...I remember...I remember...Wait for me Vio...



As the Prussian came directly above Viorica's location, he disappeared in a blackened mist, and reappeared onto the ground. His eyes took some time to adjust to the light, but Gilbert sorely wished they had not. The limp body of his cousin lay in on the damp earth, her blood beginning to pool around her. The Prussian rushed to her and knelt beside her, refraining from crying out in despair at the sight of her pitiful situation. He turned her right side up and cradled her frame within his arms, like a mother would a sleeping child. It hurt to hold her; the Prussian could feel the holy poison course through her body right through her skin, and he knew even though he wanted so much to deny it...she had a very low possibility of surviving. For the longest time, Gilbert struggled to speak out, and even when he managed to do so, his voice became strained and forced when he gazed down upon her face.

"...H-Hey...Vio..." Again, tears brimmed around the edges of his eyes and threatened to spill over, but a sincere and painfully kind smile formed on his lips. "...Vio, I'm h-here for you like I said I would be...I'm a...man of his word, and I don't break promises...!" He gently tucked a few stray hairs around her ear before continuing. "You..." He swallowed thickly as more tears fell. "...You still have a chance of returning There again...you remember it...don't you?" He briefly looked skywards before letting his gaze fall back down onto Viorica's face. He thought back to the memory he was shown previously. "...It's a place with no more war. No more pain..." Finally, tears silently rolled down his cheeks, but still he continued to smile. "...No more suffering..." If there were laws in Hell that prohibit emotions and affection, Gilbert would be breaking every last one of them. Not that he really gave a fuck. He'd readily take his punishment for failing to guard Alfred and act like a proper demon when he returned. "Vio...you can still go there...."

Unlike me, you are a victim of this cruel, unforgiving world. Unlike me, You suffered at the hands of others and walked down a path you did not choose. Unlike me, you still retain an innocent and beautiful soul.

Blinking, the Swede stood and touched his head which had been slashed open by being shoved into the wall. Not looking at the Frenchmen, Berwald brought his fingers to his face and looking almost confused by seeing his own blood in-between his fingers. A flash of fury shot into his veins and his eyes began to change crimson. Like a drop of color dye among a cup of water.. a swirl steadily taking hold of his iris as hate seemed to take his whole facial expression. With fist now gripping tightly clutched, it wasn’t for sure if it was fresh blood or not on his hands now.

"Mmmmmm..." he snarled lowly as his bangs crossed over his face. Coming from the roit was suddenly ink black colors, devouring the blonde in the Sweden’s hair.

Letting out a sharp, shaking hiss, Berwald fought against just tarring down the door and going full demon form on the Russian.. the thought completely thrilled him and made him want to do it more, but he paused in his rage and blinked a few times. A hint of purple returning, but so faint that it looked almost like a ill looking gloss. Whatever the case, it was a sign of regaining calmness.

"Are you alright..?" The Swede said a bit quietly as a growl threatened to erupt from his throat and be misinterpreted as a threat.

Goodness... what i would give to reach over and just slit the Russians throat... The Swedish paused in mid thought as he realized it was reading on his face - being a threat.. I take that back.. Just calm down a bit, Berwald.. Let the anger go.. You don't want to burst out and start a demon upon demon fight with an allie when theres already one going on internally, do you? Of course not..

The Frenchman flinched slightly, unable to help but be a bit alarmed at the sight of Sweden's blood. He slightly eased back at Sweden's hiss, the demon's expression practically telling Francis all he needed to know. "Y-yes, I'm fine, merci." Sighed the Frenchman, giving just a slight nod and taking in a breath.

Tearing his gaze away from Sweden, he glanced once at the angel, a flicker of concern flashing in his icy blue gaze. Seeing as she still seemed to be breathing, Francis couldn't help but be relieved. Casting a glance back at Sweden, gaze lingering on the bleeding slash on his head, unsure. "As for you, not so much." The Frenchman straightened up slightly, looking a bit flustered.

=w= Oh look a new message in underworld~ -reads- =A= WTF you guys are so boss that... I'm done i'm done! Dx gyaah -walks out in a funny rage mode- XDD jk jk guys i really like your guy's replies. I didn't expect it to be so....emotional? xD after just one phrase and short reply XD anyways, now then let's see what's going to happen now that Alfred is gone with a healed up wound, Gilbert holding Vio dearly as she is on the break of death and Ayaka with a choice. >w> lol XDD. Also another thing...I'm sorry again if it is rushed a bit, please FORGIVE ME FOR IT ;A; but this was just the perfect time for me to reply. Thank you gil for replying with that sad reply.

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As the young state held her sword skewered through her father and the other demon with her holy flames, her body burned with remaining holy energy she had left. What kept her alive still was her life force as it slowly depleted as well from her the pentacle. She thought to herself,
..I love you, Papa....I hope that this will bring you back....Back to your old self.

But soon she felt a push of the sword as it was withdrawn from both demon's bodies. The forced withdrawal pushed her a back a bit.

"Uwah!"

She saw the blood that had stained the entire sword as it slowly dripped off. She saw the two demons fall to the ground in pain from the holy flames as it burned them alive. Her face looked exhausted and pained as she saw them screaming and in pain. The holy flames that had once, engulfed her slowly died leaving some burnt marks. This showed that more part of her body was tainted with the devil already. Her tears flowed from her eyes as she heard the two, regret did build, but she then heard her father go silent and saw that he was soon up and the flames on his wound were gone and all healed. It was too late for the young state, there was nothing else that she could do to stop him at this point. All she could do now was use her life force to kill him, but he suddenly flew off with great force to somewhere she didn't know about.

"...I'm too late...mou...I've reached my limit." she said with a weak and defeated tone.

She dug her sword into the ground as she leaned against it. She saw that Gilbert had arrived to see his dying cousin, in such a horrifying state. This surprised the girl a little, but she predicted that he was only here to probably make fun of her in her last moments. To her amazement, she saw that he was crying as he cradled his cousin in his arms. She heard their conversation and saw that maybe there was a chance for her to live and change. But would the young state risk her life to revive a demon? Back in her angel form, she was so kind, caring, and saved her life and Elizaveta's. She was indebted to her in one way or another. So she smiled and raised to her feet once more, and wobbled over to the two, prepared for what was to come if Gilbert was to hit or even kill her in revenge. Walking was starting to be unbearable to the state for her feet had burned from the holy flames. Pain was now noticeable to all who saw her.

"haa...Haa..I'm sorry...dear one...haa...I know that is sounds...haa... to be talking to you after I've just stabbed you...but...If you wish to be given a second chance....haa.. I can make it happen..." she panted as she spoke and smiled weakly but gently at Viorica.

"With the last of my very being...haa...I can grant you that second chance...B-Become a human,a full angel..or healed back to your demon self..I leave for you to decide..." She then fell to her knees right next to Viorica.

A snarl erupted from the Swede’s throat and he took a step forward as his fangs threatened to grow in his jaws and bare at the Frenchman. But a bit of mercy seemed to tinkle into Berwald’s veins as he realized that the man was right. He really wasn’t in the best of shape and needed to get things sorted.. Sorted as in wounds and ‘problems’ that came from rage. Letting calmness take his sense's and regain his (simi)blank-like voice and expressions, he began to speak.

“Mmm..” he growled and dropped his hand, sprinkling droplets of black blood on the carpet. “I guess your are right.. As long as your okay, then the issue isn’t much of a big deal… The big deal is..” A growl once again fought into his mouth and the Swede gripped his fist once again and swallowed it down. “The creature fighting for humanity like traits or to be a new full fledged demon that could kill us all..”

He inched toward the door where the silence had overtook -aka: the bathroom that Ivan was in. Taking a breath, Berwald knocked on the door and took a step back.. A big step back at that. It wasn’t out of fear, but merely the reason that If the door was crushed and took over by a Russian’s rage, the Sweden had enough sense to NOT be in the way of that mess.

He looked at the Frenchman and mouthed silently, “What do we do?? We can’t just let him sit in there!”

Right about the time that sword met demon flesh, Ivan jolted and gasped from where he lay.

Memories flashed before his eyes, but they were not his... Was that.. Arthur and.... Alfred? The Russian watched the golden-backed scene of the two playing before he saw yet another familiar face; Yao... his laugh... his own heart wrenched, missing that priceless laugh and the company of the ally in which he trusted most. Several emotions flashed through the Russian's nerves at the sight of the Cold War replay; Hatred...bloodlust, and opheliac despise.. all the dark and horrible feelings that went through Soviet Union's mind right before Alfred had delivered that fatal blow, killing the Russian tyrant of Soviet and created what Ivan was now... But the scene changed....

It was him and Alfred at the bar... He remembered that little 'game' of theirs. It might not have shown as the time, but this was one of the best moments of his life. Why was that he had not the slightest idea. Maybe it was the fact that he finally beat the American at something? He missed the old days... why was the world such a dark place?

Ivan could do nothing but curl up and watch Alfred's memories flash before his eyes like a drive-in movie. He gave a brief whimper, wanting nothing more but to just make them go away. But he was helpless; Alfred's bite connected them in an odd way. He could feel the new burn on his stomach where the sword peirced the demon through... Emotions that were not his flooded through his being. But wait... emotions...? Were demons not able to have emotions...?

Alfred's venom might have had enough power to change his form, but he was still a fledgling himself... Due to the barrier his own memories binded around his conciousness... The venom was too weak to take control of his mind....

A knock shattered the memories and torrenting emotions like a rock would shatter a window.

Ivan's eyes flew opened with a short gasp as he was dragged back to reality. He ached... the smell of his own blood was suffocating with his higher senses... A soft growl was emitted as he pushed himself off the ground with shaky arms. He felt dizzy... hazy, even... the loss of blood was begining to take effect on him.

The Russian swore briefly as the unfamiliar weight from his new heavy wings once again sent him stumbling a step backwards; These were going to take some getting used-to.

Ivan pulled the door open and leaned his full weight on the doorframe, breathing heavily yet steady in order to keep the light-headed feeling at bay.

"Berwald..." Ivan growled through heavy breaths. "Et seems.... et seems we might want to start preparing for company..."

The Frenchman jumped slightly with alarm at Sweden's snarl uneasily, growing quiet at Berwald's troubling words. He didn't care to imagine what how angered Sweden may have been, for he knew well that pressing the matter wouldn't do any good.

“The creature fighting for humanity like traits or to be a new full fledged demon that could kill us all..”

Francis sighed lightly, watching as Berwald knocked on the door, stepping back afterward. The Frenchman gladly stayed leaning against the wall, raising an eyebrow at Sweden's mouthed words. He merely shook his head and gave a slight shrug in response, a worried glimmer flickering in his icy blue eyes as the Frenchman remained silent.

He didn't dare imagine what might happen if the Russian burst out in rage, whether the Russian would be forced to choose sides or not. Yet, Francis couldn't help but be both a bit relieved and surprised as Ivan opened the door, leaning on the doorframe.

"Berwald...Et seems.... et seems we might want to start preparing for company..."

A sick feeling twisted in the pit of the Frenchman's stomach; his thoughts drifted to Alfred for a moment or two-for, he knew well enough that either Ivan would leave for Alfred; which seemed, currently, as an option to be ruled out; or Alfred would come for Ivan in due time.

The latter seemed to be the only option remaining; for now, at least.

Berwald clicked his tongue and scanned over the newbie. Deep down, the Swedish man was admiring what a good job the American had done.. In a twisted way, the Swede wanted to grin at the work. Yet, he didn’t show that deep emotion because the huge feeling climbing into his head was jealously portrayed as anger towards the American now. Of course, that reason was hidden.. For now.

“Company..? Well.. Seems like we should give them a warm welcome then..” a glossy look of hatred glinted in Berwald’s eyes as he said these words. Forgetting completely about the recent events. “Warm as the blood in their veins spilling onto the ground, that is..”

Making his way to the hole in the wall created earlier, the Swedish listened carefully for the sound of anything unusual. Like he was trying to guess the time they had left before these ’guest’ appeared. And when they did..

They’ll feel pain.. Berwald thought quietly to himself.Agonizing pain…

“Would ether of you like to give them that warm welcome..? It won’t be hard given to our sudden..” Berwald thought about the correct word to use as he eyed the Russian, “Advantage…”

[Late reply. My role-playing skills are quite rusty, I know... the forum's too quiet :/ ]

A hissing 'tch' sound slipped between the Russian's clenched fangs as Berwald mentioned his new "advantage."

Ivan proceded to cautiously edge away from the wall, testing the ground under his new feet; He felt like a newborn trying to walk for the first time, yet he managed to hold his balance and move toward the back of a chair that managed to hold standing amid the chaos. The Russian placed both his hands on the top of the chair, leaning against it as much as he could without shattering the chair into splinters and inhailed.

Ivan could pick up the tiny smells he had never noticed before...he knew his heightened senses would indeed be an advantage in their situation, yet he also knew they will soon become aggravating; Ivan never really enjoyed noise, so the thought of being able to pick up extra sounds in a city was... unappealing to him.

Ivan's eyes slid shut with a faint growl, trying to tune out all the surreal 'extras' he ws experiencing; yet now he could feel the remaining darkness pounding at the shield surrounding his mind; the only shield left that guarded his sanity.

Oh yes... he was going to get Alfred good for this one. This joke's on him.

Ivan felt something pull on his back, stimulating his irises to open and flick toward the source; the leathery bat-like wings had spread, streatching themselves out for the first time: it felt somewhat good... as if one was streaching a tense muscle kept in a single position for too long.

Ivan eyed the spines that jutted out on each tip of the wing, and the hook-like claw that served as a 'thumb' would on a bat's wing. These might be a bit hard to conceal..

"Berwald..." He spoke up grudgingly, shifting his irises a bit to eye the wings.

"How do you hide your demonic features..."

The Frenchman glanced at Berwald briefly for a moment, a little anxious. Overall, he couldn't help but feel utterly uncomfortable and downright awkward-after all, it appeared that he was the only human in the room, and the angel didn't appear to be in excellent condition after all this time. Uncomfortable, Francis slightly backed up as the Russian's wings stretched.

A little uneasy, Francis lightly tugged at his shirt collar, as though one would do if it was too hot or too tight. He stepped aside somewhat near Berwald, but far enough from Ivan to give the Frenchman a better sense of ease, if that was even possible. Leaning against the wall, the Frenchman remained surprisingly quiet, which was usually quite unlike him.

Silent, Francis more or less kept his gaze and head lowered, only ocasinally glancing at Ivan; feeling the faintest spark of curiosity as he observed the new demon's rather grim appearence.