This is War

A Cardverse story.

Chapter Fifteen: Burning Cards

From the darkness cries the voice of thousands, and he can hear them. He hears them every day, in the rustle of his clothes and in the shuffle of his cards. They are the dead and the dying, a plane he as the reader is blessed and cursed with being connected to. His predictions come directly from them, as curious as they are.

As if the dead are truly trying to save the living.

As he sorts his cards, separating the deck into tarots and ordinary face cards, he couldn't help but hum a tune. The lyrics paint pictures in his head, the music twisting around his throat as it overtakes him, preventing his eyes from seeing predictions in the overturned cards.

The Spade resides with a boy of great strength, a practice the others will mirror in reign.

There is a pale stain on the King of Spades' face, he noticed with a frown, picking up the offended card. He blows on it, and his very breath seems to wipe away the smear, dissipating to silver dust in the air. The reader begins to check his other cards, hoping the hoarding mess in his household is not starting to diminish the art of his work.

The Club remains tangled with power and greed, the only synonym to death and misery.

The Club King remains unsoiled under his critical eye, but he knows that won't last very long. He shuffles it back in with the rest of the deck, setting it aside for later inspection.

The Heart was born to one so small, who dares to out rule the best of them all.

The edges of the Heart King's card are beginning to tear beneath their constant draw. Gently folding his hands together with the card sandwiched in the middle, the reader breathes a few words into his fingertips before releasing the card from its confines, in perfect condition to return to the others in the deck.

The Diamond burns in the hearts of those true…

The melody dies on his lips.

"Where is it…?"

No matter how many times he peels each card out of the deck, he could not find the elusive Diamond King. In fact, he could not find any of the face cards from the kingdom. Raising to his feet, he scoots his chair back, stooping beneath the table to see if they slipped through the cracks.

"Where are they…"

He digs through boxes he could not remember bringing in, slipping his hand into crevasses he could not see, and is bitten once or twice by something unknown before he plops on his back amongst his mess.

"Drat! Misplaced again!" He whines, kicking a foot out.

It struck the table's leg perfectly, teetering its balance and forcing it to spill the remainder of the cards on the floor around him. The Reader sighs exasperatedly, sitting up to begin collecting them before he too loses them. Two cards lay face up, away from the group; and the Reader pauses before he carelessly shoves them back into the deck.

The King of Hearts and the Queen of Spades.

Abruptly, the Reader clamors to his feet, knocking his head against the table and dropping all the cards on the floor again in the process. There is nothing different about his house or the crude illumination, but something about it makes a shiver travel up his spine.

Maybe this is a sign from those who give them to him. And among those would be the newcomers. Ludwig and Arthur.

"I understand," He speaks softly, and when he shuts his eyes, he sees them, the King of Hearts scowling at the mess the room is reduced to and the Queen of Spades squeezing himself in some unseen crevasse to explore the books.

"Then you must fix it if you do," The spirit says strongly, conviction undying in his blue eyes. The Reader shakes his head.

"I cannot fix it. I am but the Reader."

"And you know the predictions you made for Ivan."

"I do. And because I know them all, I am not afraid."

Ludwig sighs. Arthur emerges from the unorganized catastrophe with a book in his hands.

"It will be alright, King Ludwig," the Queen announces joining, his side. The Reader studies the spine of the book, but it reveals no hints of its contents. "Surely the Reader will help when his time has come."

"I will," the Card Reader assures. Taking this as a good sign, the Queen steps forward, pushing the book into his hands. "We will be watching out for everyone then."

When the Reader opens his eyes, they are gone, simply figments among a bigger mess; but in his hands remains the thickly bound book, the blue velvet cover slowly stroking his fingers. He turns it over in his hand, reaching with the other blindly for his chair. When he finds it, he settles down, shifting it through the spilled cards so he could prop the book on the table.

Perhaps that is the reason all along the Reader's house contained no rhyme or reason; it is simply the remnants of all the voices he hears, of the dead and the dying.

The voices of the people that allow him to live as a mouthpiece for a world that lay beyond.

Gently, the Reader unclasps a latch that binds the book together and opens it, sliding a finger across the first page. He pauses when his eyes and finger skim the same word; he looks up, expecting Arthur to be there again, but there is no sign of the Queen at all. He rereads the passage again and again, at first not comprehending, before the realization startles him out his seat again.

"Surely the Reader will help when his time has come."

The Queen of Spades knew exactly when the Reader's time would come.

The book contained a brief synopsis and explanation on how to care for gunshot wounds in the event the person was experiencing traumatic blood loss.

The Diamond burns in the hearts of those true, but will any remain of those but a few?

The Reader throws on his coat and takes to the outside, letting the wind rattle through the doorway and blow his cards into places he would never find again. There would be no more readings.

In fact, there would be no more Reader.

"Prediction number one. The Heart can be pierced."

The first of Ivan's predictions to come true. The collapse of the Heart Kingdom came when Ludwig gulped so carelessly the chalice of poison. Ivan couldn't help but grin. The King is just as silly as Alfred; it is only a matter of time before he succumbs to some pathetic death as well.

"Prediction number two. The Spade can be broken."

It is by far his favorite prediction, he thinks, as he twists his scepter in his hand, twirling it between his fingers as he paces the room. His favorite prediction in his favorite room. If he stops long enough, he could smell the blood pungent in the air as it is freshly coated in it.

That is the day he learned a symbol bearer's body could never decay.

There is no explanation for it. Perhaps it is the remnants of the magic left behind by the parasite they called the symbol; whatever the explanation is, it makes for a perfect embalming for the corpses they once in habited. Even long after the symbol fades, their bodies would be left in perpetual limbo; their faces are crystalized in the capsule of time.

As Ivan pranced around the room with an almost child-like glee, he revels in reliving the same moment of discovery as before; except this time, instead of it being a wad of blond hair tangled in his lucky fingers, it is two bodies. His feet pause at the head of the table where the two bodies are laid out, their clothes as firmly pressed as the moment they were placed in their coffins.

So these are the contents of the coffin.

"How cute Alfred…~" He says, pinching the fabric of the jacket that covers Arthur, recognizing the fabric in an instant. He flashes a glance at Ludwig and smiles wickedly. His lover didn't leave any token on him after death.

"It looks like your Jack stopped defiling you after you died~" Ivan coos, poking the Heart King's chin with his scepter. His head tilts, and his bangs begin peeling from the bunch to rest on his forehead once more. The only thing that indicated to the Club King that they are dead is their pale skin and funeral clothes.

That will have to change.

"Guards."

They are at his side at no time, the metallic clack of their ankles seem to angle his lips back into its smirk.

"I would like you to ruin these bodies as much as possible. Humiliate them if you would. I want to leave an excellent present for the Spade and Heart kingdoms when they recover them again."

"Yes sir!"

As much as he would like to watch as they mutilate their perfect preservation, he has a war to command. Clapping one of the men on the back, he exits the room with the sweep of his jacket, letting his scepter slap the marble ground with each step.

It reminds him of years prior. With a deep inhale, he is there, amongst the flames and blood.

The castle was unintentionally burned. It was a small fact that hardly registered in his mind as he ascended the stairs, an orange burn illuminating his face. His Majesty waited for him like he was there to greet him on ordinary business. At a time, Ivan was his courier; but now those times have turned, as the flames at his back raged in the green eyes before him. In them, Ivan saw his prize: the Club, the mark of the King. He stood with his back straight, his clothes buttoned down to the seam, a scepter cushioned beneath his small hands.

"Ivan." He spoke plainly. Even two steps lower than him, Ivan towered above the king. However, he simply raised his nose and adjusted his glare, the shadow of his figure doing nothing to extinguish the flames in his eyes.

"King Feliks. Or should I say, former King—" His words swallowed themselves when Feliks jabbed him hard in the throat with the scepter, forcing him down a few steps so he was once again on a lower level.

"King Feliks will do." He replies. Ivan rubbed the offended spot when he lowered his staff to the ground again, resuming some grandeur position like the ones captured in a painting. He knew he was going to die. Pride was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

"Surrender now, King Feliks. You have no hope of defeating me," the traitor declares, casting a sweeping glance around, "Your castle is in flames, and your staff has fled. It's just you and me here."

Feliks eyes followed the arks Ivan's hands made, taking into account this very fact. This castle was indeed spurting from the heat its marble would warp beneath; his staff indeed had fled but under his orders of course. Everything was in accordance with what the man said.

Yet he would not surrender.

"If I like, live long enough," he says, his eyes tracing the path the fires were climbing up the walls, "It seems like the castle will fall down on the both of us."

Ivan chuckled, "I'm luckier than to die such a pointless death. That is your job—"

He saw it coming this time, but the delay in his reaction was nearly the death of him. Feliks had jabbed at him again with the scepter, tilting him off balance on the step. Not fitting into prior calculations, the king twisted hard on the handle and unsheathed the hidden blade within, going in for another jab that caught Ivan's shoulder.

He let out a sound that was something like a wounded animal and swiped wildly at the Club, but none of them connect before he was tipped backward and rubbed like a cloth on a washboard down the stairs. Had the blade connected just a few inches to the left, it would have been the end of Ivan's tyrannical reign before it even began.

But unfortunately, Ivan always had his luck.

"Like, that won't happen I'm afraid," the Club King slapped the blade back into its place, using the ordained handle to sweep a piece of hair from his eyes, "I am not as weak as you assume me to be."

Ivan's face was darkened by the deep frown that arose. He carefully sat up, pressing three fingers to the puncture as his back creaked beneath the strain.

He would not be humiliated.

And for a moment, it wasn't like it was a civil war at all, an internal coup by a man from the inside. It was like Feliks and Ivan weren't even standing in that moment, the whispers in the air consuming their speech; they were simply vassals, bodies used by people who were due their vengeance.

If one looked long enough, it wasn't Feliks on the staircase; it was a red king with long hair and a rage born of broken laws. And it wasn't Ivan wounded at his feet; it was a blue king that got too greedy and felt like death was the only sacred place remaining.

"I'd rather fall with this Kingdom than to be dragged from my throne as a coward."

Feliks and Ivan's battle was much like Adelwulf and Marcus's, but with only one slight variation.

Ivan had no intentions of dying with him in that castle. Therefore, he had no intentions of fighting fairly either.

"Then let it be done."

The traitor rose to his feet to meet the dissension of the king. Feliks stopped just short of ground level, opting to maintain his perch. And that infuriated Ivan. A man about to die should have no pride to hold onto. He should get on his knees and beg instead.

The future King could be a patient man, however.

"Any last words, King Feliks?" He asked with a smile when the blade returned to his throat. The King of Clubs hardly batted an eyelash.

"I should be asking you the same."

Ivan let out a chuckle that made the blond hesitate, his eyes flashing around the room. The creeping smoke revealed nothing. "No, you really shouldn't," He replied, raising a hand above his head.

Feliks knew, but there was nothing to stop it. The first archer sprouted from the upstairs banister like a flower that the garden was known for, his bow drawn to the crook of his elbow. The next appeared around the railing of the staircase, the silver tip of their arrow sweeping the air between two posts. A burst of air banished the smoke through the hall into the room, the heat burning the liquid from inside their very skin. Even in his thick and layered wardrobe, with sweat cascading down his face, the king didn't so much as move his crown out of place. Ivan couldn't help but giggle.

He always had the last laugh.

Feliks was not scared; or if he was, never betrayed it. If he was a Heart, Adelwulf's pride would consume the room instead of the ashes that settled heavily in the back of their throats. The traitor decided he very much liked the atmosphere; the heat and smoke and the tears that came to his eyes from the very pain of breathing.

"So, so much for just you and me right?" the king glanced around, tapped his scepter three times, just like Ivan loved to do.

"I played my card correctly, unlike you," Ivan chuckled, "It is apparent that the Club has abandoned you. It's time to take my rightful place on my throne."

He could imagine his eyes so clearly in that moment; the fires scorched hatred into them; however, eventually the ashes would settle and there would be nothing left to burn. Flicking the blade away from his neck, he grabs the smaller king by his chin. Soot was beginning to stain his face, but the angle of the shadows extinguished the strength when his eyes. One beautiful crystal, the other the product of the parasite called a symbol.

Ivan decided he would have both. And when he found out they could be preserved, that he could keep both forever, now that was the real prize. All he had to do was reach out—

"King Ivan…?"

He does grab. There is nothing preventing him from latching onto the head his eyes open to; but when he sees it is not the blond, long locks Feliks was graced with, he releases his servant with a mischievous chuckle.

"My bad~' He pats the servants head, flattening the raised area and effectively smothering all the hair onto his forehead. "I didn't realize you were there."

The servant clears his throat, hands instantly going to adjust his hair, "Right… your majesty, your sister wishes to speak with you. On urgent business."

The King waves his hand. "Tell her there's nothing I can do. She can go to the gardens—"

"It's not her, sir," Ivan pauses, head tilted in his servant's direction curiously, "It's your younger sister, Natalia."

There is a comical pause as the information slowly enters Ivan's ears. The moment it clicks and the mechanisms turn, Ivan is half-way down the hallway in a mad dash for the study.

"King Ivan!"

"Don't let her in unless the Spades are invading!" He slips into the nearest door he could, slamming it shut beside him. The servant's shoulders droop at the same time his head does, his eyebrows furrowed in a face that only could say "I'm done".

"Okay… sir…"

"Why does she want to see him?" The servant nearly takes off as fast as Ivan did, jumping six feet when Elizabeta's voice suddenly sounds behind him. He pivots around quickly, giving a short, jabbing bow and a "ma'am!"

Elizabeta gives an impatient scowl, small moons beading beneath her eyes. "I asked, why does she want to see him?"

"Important business," He winces, quickly adding, "Ma'am."

He is uncertain whether or not he is allowed to disclose the information to the Queen, but as the flames grow intolerable in her eyes and he could shrink no further, he couldn't decide who is more terrifying, the Queen or the King.

"Hissisterbaresasymbolonhercheek, ma'am!" He squeaks.

The Club Queen crosses her arms across her chest, giving the sentence a few moments in the decoder. But once "symbol" and "cheek" come into play, she quickly grabs the servant's hands, her eyes alight with the juicy gossip as she gives a mischievous smile.

"A symbol?" She coos, "What kind, which one? You can tell me."

She flashes him a smile, but the mood swings are enough for him.

"None of the four symbols," She drops his hand, "It appears to be a new symbol…!"

"A new symbol…?" She repeats. She has never heard of such a thing, but if something like that were to happen suddenly… her eyes slowly, slowly widen.

She adjusts the shawl around her shoulder and latches onto the servant once again, dusting off his clothes and smoothing down the fabric and his hair. "You listen to me, alright. You mustn't let her leave. Take her to my room. I must speak to Roderich."

"But ma'am—"

But she, like Ivan, is already gone by the time the warning reaches his lips. If Clubs are not only blessed with luck, then they are also blessed with the speed to charge to action without hearing all the information first. Nothing could be changed, however, as the servant watches her charge down the hallway, a soft and pitiful sigh leaving his lips.

And the dead men dance to the mysterious beat.

Their fate was made when the Reader began to read.

Elsewhere in the four kingdoms, the inferno rages on.

So you can thank Hamilton for the resurrection of this fanfiction and the love for Hetalia characters! I'm hoping to have this story wrapped up in the next few chapters, so be on the look out for more!

-Soul Spirit-