This fic is set after War Song, but you don't really need to read that first. Just think of this a post-WWIII fic.

So,aside from America, I also killed off a few more nations. Nine more to be exact. You see, War Song was supposed to be a full-length story of thirteen chapters. But then I got lazy and decided to post America's scene under the same title.

Also, I plan to post another fic soon. It would be the prologue of War Song, before the Battle of Alaska.

This one would be the thirteenth chapter. And here are the disclaimers:

I do not own Hetalia. Himaruya-sensei does.

I do not own Hyung Soo Im or North Korea. Whoever does, I apologize for this. I just happened to scroll for "Hetalia Philippines" and saw Hyung instead.

The Sanctuary does not exist. It is merely of my imagination.

I do own Jim Rogers (a minor character), Lars Densen (Dansveland), Dae Cho Im (United Republic of Korea), Elias Køhler (Greenland), Amarjargal Khan (Mongolia) and Mylintis, Julge and Maigs Braginsky.

Translations:

frère - brother (French)

isä - papa (Finnish)

hyeongje - brother (Korean)

bróỡir - brother (Icelandic)

That's all for now. Please enjoy.

Unbeknownst to most people, there is an unchartered island somewhere in the Pacific, 32 degrees north of the equator and 149 degrees west of the prime meridian. An island of the greenest grass, rolling hills, shady trees and free songbirds, something akin to Paradise on Earth. It is small really, only as big as Vatican City itself. It is never mentioned in books, discussed by geographers or even placed in world maps and there is a reason why.

A reason that only the top official of a country's government knows.

The Sanctuary, as it is called by those who know of it, has twenty-two inhabitants who are changed every midyear and are sworn to its secrecy. Twelve of these people work as the Sanctuary's guards, patrolling the four corners of it and managing security. They are also the ones in charge of keeping the Sanctuary undetectable by radar and invisible to the eyes of outsiders, deploying thick mists and fogs from machines situated by the shores. The other ten are the island's caretakers, the ones responsible for keeping it clean and a pleasant sight for occasional visitors, caring for the local fauna and flora as well.

Today, however, the Sanctuary has one guest.

A yacht halted in the island's only dock and from it disembarked a young man, in his late teens by the looks of it. His blond hair shone under the gentle rays of the sun, a short strand standing stubbornly in front, from where he had his hair slightly parted in the right. Adjusting his glasses, he stepped onto the sandy shore of the Sanctuary and walked forward. A cool breeze blew past him, as if greeting him with a fleeting embrace, and he sighed.

"Commander Jones!"

His ocean blue eyes focused on the black-haired man rushing to meet him. The crisp, grey uniform he wore informed Commander Jones that this person was one of the twelve who ran the Sanctuary's security, its neatness emphasizing that he was probably of a high rank. The man halted in front of the visitor and gave him a salute.

"Jim Rogers, Sir," he introduced, his stature as stiff and straight as a plank, "head of safety measures here in the Sanctuary."

Slightly amused at his formality, Commander Jones eyed him before letting out a soft chuckle.

"At ease, soldier."

Instantly, Jim wilted out of his stiffness with a quiet sigh.

"You haven't informed us, Sir. That you were coming."

As soon as the words left his tongue, he clamped his mouth shut. From the way he said it, he sounded like he was accusing his superior of being caught off-guard with the unexpected visit. Seriously, had he forgotten who he was talking to? He could get a sentence for that…

He gulped, mentally cursing himself for that one act of carelessness.

"Ah, yes. Of course," Commander Jones realized with a laugh, much to the guard's shock. "This was an off-the-cuff idea I had, considering that I'm supposed to be in a meeting with the others right now. Well, screw that World Conference."

He looked at the man in the eyes and Jim noted how this boy, seemingly younger than him and probably not even past twenty, held so much wisdom and emotion in his ocean blue orbs that would put even the oldest of scholars to shame. Jim had to remember how to breathe when he felt himself drowning in those endless pools, their depth unbelievable and unsuitable on such a young figure.

"S-Sir…?" he found himself stuttering.

"All I've done these past ten years was work and work and more work. I haven't visited him nor have I spared him a single thought. I wasn't even there when they brought him here," his superior sighed, his gaze softening with deep melancholy. "So…here I am right now. I just…want to talk with my brother."

Jim blinked, then nodded.

"I understand you, Sir. Come with me please."

He turned around and paced forward, hearing the crunch of sand behind him as the boy followed. The wall that separated the rest of the Sanctuary from the outside world came into view, a monstrous barricade of concrete and steel towering a little over thirty meters. They came to a silver gate that showed what was beyond the wall: A cobblestone path leading to lush greenery and verdant hillsides, diverse species of trees and shrubbery dotting the landscape enough to give it a cool yet spacious appearance. From his slacks' right pocket, Jim brought out a silver key and proceeded to unlock the gate, pushing it open for the visitor once he was done.

"Alright, Commander Jones," he said, stepping aside to give way, "you may go see your brother."

Ocean blue eyes still alight with sadness, the boy nodded his thanks and entered soundlessly. Jim Rogers himself was quiet as he watched the retreating back even from a good distance away, the number "50" of Commander Jones' bomber jacket stark under the splotches of sunlight through leafy boughs.

His gait was silent and thoughtful. Tranquility met his ears, a songbird warbling softly every now and then. The air he breathed in was unadulterated, free of pollution and therapy to the nose. He felt his shoulders sag under the peacefulness of it all as another sigh escaped him.

'The Sanctuary indeed…'

The cobblestone ended before him, yielding to a vast glade flanked on the sides by bushes and deciduous trees. But the real eye-catchers were the ten seven-foot-tall obelisks scattered accordingly in it. Each one, sculpted and smoothed out of marble, had hedges around the base, beautiful growths of various flowers that the caretakers would tend to everyday. These obelisks also supported three-meter-tall poles on their apexes, the flags at the top waving and dancing along with the friendly wind. The ten flags were those of the ten fallen countries of World War III, making the lay man think that the obelisks were erected in remembrance. In a way, they were.

But, to those who knew of the Sanctuary in the first place, they served a more sullen purpose.

Each obelisk had a bronze plaque near its base that was engraved with a name – the name of the valiant nation buried six feet underground. Ten obelisks for the ten great warriors who had fought most gallantly in WWIII against the Enemy of All Living Beings, who had died for the freedom of their fellow nations and their people. They who had suffered the cruelest of demise at the hands of the common oppressor for the greater good, whose spilled blood had pushed the world into absolute union and peace.

Memorials. That was what they truly were. Magnificent monuments for the magnificent men they guarded under the earth, their national flowers adorning their resting places elegantly.

The visitor had stopped in his tracks at the sight of them, his ocean blue gaze forlorn. Stiffly, he continued forward albeit with a more serious ambience cloaking him, as if he were treading on holy land. He passed by the first three obelisks, grouped together so that they formed a resolute trio standing side-by-side. He regarded them with an unwavering look, remembering how the three nations six feet under had defied the Enemy of All Living Beings with no evidence of fear in their eyes, even though they had been taken as prisoners.

…

"Toris Laurinatis

Lietuvos Respublika

He whose love is steadfast and requited."

"Eduard von Bock

Eesti Vabariik

He whose bravery stared at the Beast in the eye."

"Raivis Galante

Latvijas Republika

He whose gentleness gave us hope and peace."

…

The next memorial he came to was a solitary one, edelweiss blooming around it like a white circlet. The nation it stood over had sacrificed himself for the safe passage of his beloved across his land, defending with a blade as pure white as the petals of his flower. He had been unstoppable in battle, many an adversary felled by his sword before he himself succumbed to Death. Now, his most trusted companion and former enemy governed his land, raising it into one of Europe's culture capitals.

…

"Roderich Edelstein

Republik Österreich

He whose symphony shall forever echo in our hearts."

...

Another lonely obelisk, the purplish-blue of cyclamens catching the visitor's stern gaze. It had been an assassination attempt, the target being the one who had led Western Europe in preliminary defense. Yet it had been rendered unsuccessful for the nation underneath the lonely obelisk had pushed the target out of the way, dying instantly by a bullet through the head. He had left behind a brother who had fought in the final battle in his memory, promising to become a better guide to their people.

…

"Lovino Vargas

Repubblica Italiana – Romano

He whose inner goodness had reached us all."

…

The visitor approached a duo of memorials, built closely together to represent their nations' unbreakable bond. They had been twins and exact opposites of each other, one a cheery, enthusiastic soul while the other was strict and humorless. They were Yin and Yang, conflicting forces that harmonized together, even under the presence of evil. Nothing could separate them as they fought and breathed together and for each other, their hands clasped in brotherly affection when they met their end.

…

"Yong Soo Im

Daehan Min-kuk

He whose radiance melted away the shadows."

"Hyung Soo Im

Chosun Minchu-chui Inmin Konghwaguk

He whose passion set our spirits ablaze."

…

Two more obelisks greeted the visitor, a good foot apart from each other that indicated their nations' complicated closeness. They had been the leaders in the Battle of Polish-Scandinavia, the King of Scandinavia and the Lion of Northern Europe fighting back-to-back like the firm comrades they always were. The nuking of their capitals had been their downfall, their deaths rocking the foundation of their forces enough to weaken them. The visitor strolled close by, a gloved hand sliding languidly across the latter of the duo's smooth surface.

…

"Matthias Køhler

Kongeriget Danmark

He whose determination broke through impossible barriers."

"Berwald Oxenstierna

Konungariket Sverige

He whose strength proved great and adamant even in Death."

...

The last memorial came into view. It stood a good distance away from the others, thornless roses a garland of red, white and blue around it. The nation it was set in memory of had been the last devastating casualty of WWIII, the one who had faced and defeated the Enemy of All Living Beings. He had led them all against the oppressor, the bombing of his largest state not even holding him back or slowing him down. To many, he had been their symbol of justice and leadership, unifying the Earth absolutely with old enemies becoming comrades under his watchful, sky blue gaze. To some, he had been a confidant and a good friend, his wide grins and warm openness bringing them out of the depression and inner turmoil inflicted by war. But to all, he had been their savior from the choking grip of the common enemy, the Hero who had saved them at the cost of his life.

…

"Alfred Franklin Jones

United States of America

He whose unwavering will granted us all freedom."

…

The visitor halted in front of the last obelisk, his ocean blue eyes focused on its bronze plaque.

'Ten years…'

He sat on the grassy carpet, a sad smile gracing his young features. Tugging his old bomber jacket closer around him, he breathed in and out as he calmed his racing heart and steeled his mourning nerves. He then placed a hand on the plaque, rubbing it affectionately and with a longing to see his smile again, to have his sky blue eyes shine down on him with a familial love that had been so snug and warm, just like his hugs and the ruffling his hand would abuse on his blond head.

Because to him, the visitor, Alfred F. Jones had been the best big brother one can ever ask for. Alfred had been there when he cried for the deaths of his Papa Berwald and Uncle Matthias, muscular arms around him in a protective embrace. Alfred had been there to help him back up on his own two feet, his big brother's bright smile and optimism utterly contagious. Alfred was the one who had given him the chance to prove himself to the world, his big brother choosing him as the Inheritor of his lands and legacy.

And what had he, Pete Jones, personification of the United States of Sealand and America, done in return as a token of sincere gratitude? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This talk was ten-years overdue and though he had come up with a truthful excuse, he knew that Alfred – wherever that hamburger-loving Hero-bastard is – would be hurt at his tardiness.

He sighed. No use delaying it any further.

'Better late than never, I guess. Well, here I go…'

Hey, Big Bro. Pete here. It's been…a decade since I last saw you, huh? Sorry about that. Things have been hectic for all us, especially for me. I mean, I had to supervise my people and all and I don't wanna waste the chance you gave me. I'm being responsible.

I know you're pouting up there. You should know that it was your fault for my delayed visit. What were you thinking when you wrote down your stupid will? You shocked the whole world with it when Matt read it aloud for us to hear. You're a total jerk for leaving me with your damn paperwork and duties shit. If I could, I'd go up there and slug ya in the face for your lack of better judgment and blind faith in me.

But…I guess that's why you chose me, huh? You knew that I'd grow up to become a fine nation. You knew that I'd work hard so that everyone would accept me. Now that I think of it, you seem to have a whole lotta good judgment. And apparently, you're really smarter than what we took you for.

Stop pouting, Big Bro. Take it as a compliment, what I just said.

A lot has changed over the past ten years. First off, we nations have revealed ourselves to the world. What? How do you expect the humans to understand that an ex-nation and father of Russia started the whole WWIII fiasco? Besides, we new nations needed all the help we could get. Good thing the humans were really supportive with the whole rebuilding and stuff.

Speaking of new nations, why don't I introduce you to a few? Technically, they're not here right now, just me. Yup, I decided to skip the World Conference today. Now, now. No need to nag on me about the importance of meetings and the like. It's already bad enough with Dad pestering me like a little old lady. I know my role there is essential and all, but I'm sure those guys can give me a break.

Hmm? You're asking why my role is an important one? Well, that's because I'm the Leader! Ahaha…I know that it sounds a lot like your title, but I seriously can't help it. I am the United States of Sealand and America, after all. The world's current superpower and glorious Leader!

Ah, but I wouldn't be high up on the ladder if it weren't for Dad and Matt. Hey, did you know that Big Bro Matt has a really nasty aura when pissed off? After the whole war shit, he wasn't so quiet anymore. That was because he usually stood up for me when some nations bullied me back then for being too little and young as your Inheritor. Now, though he tends to hold back most of the time, he isn't afraid to express his anger. Remember Carlos Machado, the personification of Cuba? That guy had been a real pain in my ass for a long time. Good thing Matt backed me up. I never knew that a hockey stick can leave such a mark on someone. Then again, this is Matt we're talking about.

About Dad…man, I don't know where to start. When I started out with the whole nation business, I had no clue what to do. I've been a damn micronation for almost fifty years and with lands the size of yours, I was seriously overwhelmed.

Thanks a lot for not giving me a heads-up.

Arthur was a real help. He taught me all the boring government stuff and was surprisingly patient with me when I got bored of his lessons. Then when I got all tuckered out because of those nasty political issues, he'd take over for me. I really liked it when he'd spaz at those bloodsucking senators for going rough on me with all the shit they'd shove in my face. And then he'd invite me to relax and have some fun for a while.

England. THE Arthur Kirkland. Having fun. With ME of all people.

You know…he isn't as much as a jerk I've always thought of him to be. Sure, he's quite the nagger and all, but I've realized that…he's like that because he cares for me. He made my childhood meaningful while it lasted, which wasn't that long. But hey, at least he and Matt were there. If I were to compare Arthur with something, it'd be a jellybean. Hard outside, soft inside. He's kind and supportive of me. He's always there when I need him. He'd lend me a shoulder to cry on and reassure me with pat on the head and a warm smile. He's…he's…

He's my Dad. He's always been and always will be.

Hehe. I'm getting all sentimental. But I won't fucking cry. The Leader doesn't cry. If Lars were here with me, he'd be laughing at my sorry ass.

Who's Lars? Well, Lars Densen is the personification of Dansveland, one of the Nordic Four. He's technically a combination of Papa Berwald and Uncle Matthias, so he can be quiet and obnoxious at the same time. How? Dunno. Only Lars can pull it off. Papa Tino, Uncle Lukas and Uncle Emil were the ones who raised him until he was able to gain independence two years before. But Papa Tino still tends to fawn over him since he considered himself to be Lars' father. On the other hand, Lars doesn't seem to acknowledge much of it and would focus on things like his beer or his plans to have Elias as his territory again.

Elias Køhler is the personification of Greenland. He declared himself independent months after WWIII, considering that Uncle Matthias is up there with you now. He's a really nice guy and he honors his time before as a territory, inheriting Uncle Matthias' surname and keeping his culture. Hell, he even celebrates the same birthday! Here's the catch. He really loves the whole freedom thing and would do anything to avoid getting caught. That's why on the first sight of Lars coming his way, he'd go running to Big Bro Matt for help. You see, he and Matt are best buds and everyone except Ivan would steer clear when Matt's pissed.

Oh yeah! Ivan's my best friend now. The big guy's changed a lot after WWIII. He's into democracy now since you dudes inspired him much and is one of the leading humanitarian minds in the world today. You remember the Baltic Trio? Duh, of course you do. They're with you up there. Because they didn't actually leave any will behind, Ivan volunteered to look after their lands. And guess what he found there. Three little boys – the theorized reincarnations of the Old Baltics, especially since they look a lot like their predecessors. Ivan took them in as his children and they're happy with him. He named them Mylintis – Lithuanian for "loving" – Julge – Estonian for "brave" – and Maigs – Latvian for "gentle" – and promises them to grant them their independence once they've grown up. Sweet of him, huh?

Speaking of reincarnations, there's the United Republic of Korea, or Dae Cho Im. The dude's…weird. He's got this eternal poker face on so you don't exactly know what he's thinking. But his seriousness and his formal way of speaking will have you letting your guard down. Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT let your guard down when he's around. Yeah, he may seem polite and all but once your back's turned, he'll sneak up on you…and grope you on your vital regions! Why? I have no fucking idea. He said that it was his way of appreciating someone. But that curl of hair sticking up from his head…that thing's scary. When you look closely, you'd see some kinda face in it that always looks like it's laughing. Creepy, right? I honestly don't know how Yao, Amarjargal and Kiku managed to take care of him for six years after WWIII.

Well, it's just as Feli said. Everyone was born weird.

Would you believe me if I told you that Feli's a better personification now? Not that I'm saying that he wasn't good in the first place – please don't let Lovino haunt me, Big Bro. What I meant was that ever since the end of WWIII, he'd take his job more earnestly. Yeah, he'd still talk about pasta and gelato and siestas and all, but when things get serious, he'll be serious, too. It's like he can read the atmosphere now and he'd participate with rather logical ideas and such. This also seemed to have increased his luck with the ladies. Ludwig's happy with this since Feli doesn't depend so much on him anymore. But he's kinda insecure with the fact that Feli's now as tall as him. LOL.

Hey, Roderich is up there, right? Tell him that he's got nothing to worry about with his land and people. Gilbert's doing a swell job being a nation. I mean, he's really into it. Did you know he can play the piano almost as classily as Roderich? Oh, but not just the piano. He can do the violin, double bass, saxophone and many others, too! Plus, he renamed Austria into – no, not Neo-Prussia. He renamed it into – surprise, surprise – Edelstein. WTF to that, huh? I bet Roderich's speechless. Hell, maybe all of you are! Antonio and Francis actually choked on their food when Gilbert made the announcement. We all outright doubted him at first. This is Prussia we're talking about, after all. But hey, he proved himself to be capable of the job. Edelstein is now one of the world's culture capitals and the center for music and operas. Roderich should be really proud of him. Ludwig and Lizzie are.

Damn, Big Bro. The world's changed so much after you guys…left. The Middle East is actually quiet for once and communist countries are turning to democracy more. Whenever a natural disaster strikes a country, everyone else comes rushing in to help. African countries are getting more aid now with their medical problems and famine. People are investing on ideas once thought to be highly unlikely or ridiculous, making and using them at their best. Everything and everyone is on the road for a better future, a future so much clearer now to all of us.

Absolute Earth Union. You came up with that, Big Bro. You made us live up to it. And we're still doing it even when you're gone.

I miss you, Big Bro. We all do. Even with all the goodness and peace around us…it's still not the same without you. Sure, we can be loud and cheery and all, but your loudness and cheeriness were the highlights to most of us. You know, I celebrate my birthday on the same day you do. That way, we can party together and everyone will have to come. But you've spent your past ten birthdays here in this damn piece of land with just the caretakers and the others up there. I'm so sorry about that, Big Bro. I really am. Just so you know, I didn't celebrate my past birthdays, too. It was all about work, work and more shitload of work. Fuck, being a nation is hard.

Sometimes, I wish that I'd be back to just being Sealand again.

Just kidding! Hey, don't throw a fit, Big Bro! Please! Listen to me! I'm really glad that you've made me your Inheritor. I mean, I'm able to experience things beyond the range of a micronation. The recognition's nothing compared to being with friends and family. To laugh with them, talk with them, eat with them, be there for them. Protect them. Love them. It's really warm and filling, you know.

Crap. There I go again with the sentimental shit. But…I guess it's okay to shed a few tears. It's just between you and me, after all. And knowing you…you'd pull me away from the world and into a hug that'd hide my crying. So…yeah. I'll be crying now, Big Bro.

I may be the Leader. But you…you're the Hero.

Tell Papa Berwald and the others that I said hi.

Love you, Al. And thanks for everything.

"Peter!"

Wiping away his tears, Pete twisted his torso to face the source of the call behind him. His ocean blue eyes caught sight of a familiar mess of blond hair and forest green orbs coming his way. He let out a gasp and fully twirled around on his grass-carpeted seat in front of Alfred's memorial.

"D-Dad?" he squeaked, shock evident in his stutter. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?" Arthur shot back, his brows furrowed slightly. "You skipped the bloody World Conference. I had to go after you. I had a hunch that you'd be here."

He came to a stop by the younger nation's left, his soft gaze on the obelisk before him.

"Besides, I owe your brother a visit. It's been ten years…" he trailed off as he placed a hand on the memorial's smooth surface. "Hey there, you bloody git. Sorry for not visiting. I was too damn busy with a whole lot of bloody paperwork and conferences."

"Don't forget about us, aye!"

The duo both had their attention on the two other blondes approaching them. One had bluish-violet eyes, a curly strand of hair drooping separately from the rest and a polar bear cub in his arms while the other had midnight blue eyes and a slight beard layering his jaw.

"Matt! You're here!" Pete exclaimed, rushing up to his elder brother.

"Haha. Of course, I am, Lil' Bro," the Canadian beamed as he ruffled the younger's hair. "I was actually also planning on going here. Great minds think alike, aye?"

"Yeah. And what are you doing here, Francis?"

"S'il vous plaît, mon cher. Call me 'Papa'," aforementioned Frenchman requested with a small smile. "We've made a promise before with your frère that we'd all have a picnic as a family. That's you, me, Mathieu, Arthur and Alfred, óui? Now, help me with the picnic blanket."

Pete looked away to hide the slight blush on his cheeks. He opened his mouth to protest but closed it, reluctantly heeding Francis' call.

"Yes, we are Al's family," he quietly agreed, spreading out one end of the checkered blanket, "but you're not my Papa."

"But mon cher – "

"Shut it, frog," Arthur hissed as he took the picnic basket from Kumajirou. "If Peter doesn't want to acknowledge you as such, then don't force him. Hell, you didn't really help him before."

"And that is where you are wrong, Angleterre. Though rather minor, I've aided Peter in the food provisions. I wanted to make sure that he didn't inherit your sense of taste. Or lack thereof."

"Why you fucking son of a – "

"Francis, you dumkopf! You zere?"

Four heads turned towards the cobblestone path. He was far off but they could easily identify the newcomer with his slicked-back silver hair and heterochromic eyes…

"G-Gilbert? What's that wanker doing here? It was supposed to be only us!" the Brit of the dysfunctional family pointed out, then turned to his frenemy. "Francis, you froggy imp – "

"Settle down, Arthur. I only told him where we'd be – "

"Idiot! It was supposed to be a secret! And what if he'd told the others?!"

"I'm sure Gil – "

"Ve~ I brought pasta, fratello!"

"Feliciano, don't run off like zat! You'll spill ze entire dish!"

"Rudwig! Fericiano! Prease srow down!"

"Aiyah, Kiku! Who are you to say that? You're also running!"

"Comrades, you're all too excited, da?"

Sure enough, every other nation came into view, blankets and baskets and bottles of liquor in their arms. Francis shivered at the trifecta of glares he knew he was receiving at the moment.

"Mon cher, I can explain – "

"THAT'S IT! YOU'RE GETTING YOURSELF A BLOODY MEMORIAL OBELISK, YOU FUCKING TWAT!"

Matthew and Pete sweatdropped at the sight of their elders duking it out, the two European nations trying to choke each other in their death holds. That was until a blue-eyed brunette came running in Matthew's direction.

"S-Sir Matthew!"

"Elias?" the Canadian called back to his friend. "What's the matter?"

"I-It's Dansveland! He's trying to capture me – "

"Greenland! Come back 'ere, ye slippery eel!"

A well-built man burst into the scene, ash blond hair spiked up with gel and teal eyes ablaze with determination behind his glasses. His grip on his long-poled axe tightened as the other Nordics stopped behind him.

"Stop scaring Elias, Lars," Tino soothed as he gripped the younger's shoulders. "Let Isä – "

"Shut up, old man! You're not my father anymore! I'm a country of my own now. Get that drilled into your thick skull!"

"Wah! He's here!" Elias screeched as he cowered behind his neighbor. "He's going to force me to be his territory!"

Pete could see the dark haze radiating from his elder brother, gulping and stepping back a bit. Matthew brought out a solid steel hockey stick from under his coat, a sinister grin on his face.

"Not on my watch," he simply said, his eyes shadowed by his hair. "That rookie never learns. Time to teach him a lesson, aye?"

And with that, he walked forward, his aura growing darker with each step he took. Seeing the challenge, Lars pushed past Tino and ran to meet the Canadian. Halfway, their weapons clashed.

"I'm betting on Lars," Lukas whispered to his younger brother.

"My money's on Matthew," Emil mumbled back as they watched the ongoing brawl with Tino failing miserably on stopping the two combatants.

"A-AIYAH!" Yao yelled, tearing intruding hands off his chest. "DAE CHO – "

"My apologies, Hyeongje. I merely did that to show you how much I appreciate you," the Korean explained with a straight face, his upright curl of hair contradicting his sincerity with its visible sneer.

Kiku just facepalmed while Amarjargal fell to the verdant earth, laughing like a hysterical hyena.

"West, hurry up!" Gilbert ordered, smirking with his hands on his hips. "Ze Awesome Me is freakin' starving! I shall fill up my stomach vith Feli's awesome pasta!"

"If you want Luddie to go faster, you better help him," Elizabeta suggested, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry. I don't take suggestions from a rotten woman like you."

With a heavy sigh, Ludwig laid their picnic blanket on the grass as his brother kept on dodging and running from the grease-bottomed blows the Hungarian sent his way with her frying pan. The neat German was pressing down the creases of their blanket when there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, his cornflower blue eyes meeting golden amber ones.

"Ve~ Can I have my siesta now, Luddie?"

Ludwig barely held back the urge to strangle the Italian then and there.

"Feliciano…"

"It's noisy today…" Ivan trailed off, turning to his children. "Stay here. I shall go teach all of them a lesson on respecting the dead."

"Da, Papa!" Mylintis, Julge and Maigs chirped together, their vivid violet eyes lighting up with excitement. "Go! Go!"

Smiling, the Russian gave them pats on their heads before heading to the rowdy bunch, an iron drainpipe in hand.

"Goddammit!" Pete cursed as he ran into the pandemonium. "Everyone, stop! We're in a fucking cemetery, for crying out loud! OI! LISTEN TO THE FUCKING LEADER!"

The chaos unfolded further, each nation contributing with a shout or a laugh or a whack of his weapon. A figure, spectral and awfully familiar, watched all of this with a small smile, leaning against the last of the ten obelisks. His sky blue gaze softening, he let a chuckle escape him.

"They're still the same. I hope they always will be."

Pushing off of the marble side, the late Alfred F. Jones spared the nations one last glance, his eyes falling finally on his Inheritor.

"Take care of them, Lil' Bro. All of them. Especially Dad."

Two majestic wings burst forth from his back, stretching out to reveal their likeness to those of an eagle's. And with a mighty flap, Alfred was off the ground and into the vast sky, the other nine phantom nations joining him in his flight. Lukas followed them with his indigo eyes, his lips pursing into a smile as he muttered something to himself.

"Valkyries…"

"Hey, Bróỡir. I win. Matthew kicked Lars' sorry ass. Now give me your money."