A/N: Here it is, the final part of this story! Thank you NoNumbersInMyUsername for your reviews, they're what inspired me to write these additional chapters! I actually enjoyed writing all of this, I might use Dark!America later on for something, who knows. Anywho, enough rambling, go ahead and enjoy this!

Warnings: Heavy, heavy warnings. Character deaths, torture, insanity, dark!America, war, threats, everything you can possibly imagine from a mad nation going off to conquer the world.

manifest destiny: n. the 19th-century doctrine/belief that the expansion of the United States
throughout the American continents was both justified and inevitable.

A harsh blue gaze flitted over the destroyed landscape, too uncaring to really notice it as America strode forwards amidst the rubble. Dodging expertly the pieces of house, thrown onto the street, the shards of glass on the road, and the buildings teetering on their structures. He was near his destination, and he cared about nothing else but that. He had just passed the Peace Tower, and was heading towards Parliament Hill. America knew he would be there, waiting, perhaps dying. Although the nation had barely been attacked at its border, its capital had been basically flattened.

So far, he mused, his plan was going perfectly. He had never expected anything less, really. He had made sure that when he did make his move, no nation would stand against him. Even despite the scene he had caused at the last World Summit the nations would ever attend, not a single nation had moved a finger against him. After Arthur had died, Britain had been thrown into chaos - economic recession had hit first, agriculture stalled, production stopped, riots, government in shambles... no nation could survive without their representative tying the people together into one person. So, America had done what any honourable and decent nation would do: he had assumed responsibility of the United Kingdom. Or, in other words, he had sent his army there, and smiled at a few cameras, signed a few treaties, and gain his fifty-first state. Britain. And from there, everything had been so smooth, so easy. Because of his vantage point in Europe, he had managed to throw Europe's countries into mistrust, fear, paranoia. He had gained allies, and the rest were fighting against each other. He had not yet made another move on the continent, but after the dissolution of the European Union, he had a hunch that he would not need to. He could simply wait that half of Europe's countries killed each other, and then he would strike. So far, he had a bunch of countries in an alliance with him, and some of them had already died - in the hands of their own allies. In his opinion, the phrase "Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer" made no damn sense. Enemies, they hated you - they always had, always would. There was no doubt about that. Every day that passed, they would still hate you - they wouldn't turn their coat suddenly on you, because you were expecting it.

But friends, they were fickle. A friend could be so loyal as to die for you. they could be so stupid as to sacrifice themselves for you, or they could be a passive friend, who would stay with you until you were no longer to their advantage. Or they could be a traitor from the starting point, a friend who would only befriend you to give information to your enemy. An enemy would try every trick in the book as soon as the moment was right, but a friend would pick and choose, sometimes betraying you, sometimes dying for you. And so, he turned allies against each other, to get rid of those friends who might or might not turn their coat on him. And additionally, he soon was seen as a nation who was powerful, but whose allies were weak.

Even after what he had done at the meeting, no-one suspected him.

Goddamn fools, they were.

Except Ivan. The Russian had not made a single move against him or towards him, not mentioning alliance nor war, after his nuclear reserves were bombed to the ground. Some nations had already fled to his country, for a safe haven. America really could not care less about where the countries went, as he would end up finding them in the end.

He had finally reached Parliament Hill, and smirked at the knowledge that this... It was the beginning of the end. And while Europe fought itself, the Middle East was collapsing in on itself, Africa was starving, South America was ridden with paranoia, and Asia was on the verge of war, America had made his move, northward.

The door to the Parliament had been locked - keyword, had been. He had simply pulled out his gun - the one he no longer went anywhere without - and fired at the lock six times. The door flung open as he side-stepped it, changing the magazine of his weapon. He made his way in the maze of halls, knowing exactly where he was going. While Alfred had been here multiple times, he had always gotten lost, America did not. He went from one corridor to another, taking turns swiftly and purposefully. He finally arrived to the end of the unending hallway, and once more, the door was locked. It met the same fate as had the previous one, and he produced yet another clip to replace the emptied one. Stepping into the wide room, he took in the sight in front of him: it looked like he had just stepped into what might have been the trajectory of a tornado, a battlefield, and a nuclear explosion all at once. It was an office - or had been. There was something that was identifiable as a desk, a desk chair, filing cabinets,... but none of these items were in their initial or proper places, nor where all of the furniture completely whole. Drawers had been pulled out of the cabinets, papers having been scattered wherever the wind from the shattered window dropped them, the desk was sporting a number of cracks and dents, ink-stains pooled under broken pens, and - his eyes finally landed on what he was looking for. Or rather, whom.

The man was propped up against the back of the desk, half-lying on the floor, half-leaning against the desk and sitting up in a poor attempt at some semblance of fight, remaining strength, dignity. Red stained the front of his previously crisp white shirt, crimson blood entangling with the dark ink on the floor. He heard hisses of pain and weak gasps, the man's breath coming unsteadily. But America knew that in less than a week, if everything went according to plan, this man would be just fine. The fierce, angry, lavender eyes met his, a gaze angrier than America had ever seen in the other's eyes.

"You - how dare -" A hiss of pain. "How dare you come here?" Matthew's raspy, worn voice tried to shout at him, but came out as questioning, merely confused. Almost with a desperate tinge to it.

America smiled, a hollow grimace devoid of all emotion but victory. "Easily, I strolled in here. Which was rather easy, with no-one left here." America took another casual look around the office, all the while holding the gun in his hand - for the moment, pointed to the ground. "How's my dearest brother doing?"

"Just brilliant." Well, there was still an edge of sarcasm in it. All was definitely not lost. "Just - why the fuck are you here? Come to g-" Cough. "Gloat about my state?"

America chuckled, a dark laugh deep from his throat. "Is that what you think? No, actually, that's not what I'm here for." America walked closer to the pained Canadian, and knelt in front of him. His clean, black leather shoes were now stained by the mixture on the parquet floor. But he cared the least about that. "No, I'm here to offer you a way out of this. Offer you a choice. A final decision. Which is completely yours to make, realise that." America stared deep into the soft, fiery eyes. "Your choice is life, or death." He watched the reaction of the other man, who at first gave none, before starting to laugh - or cough, it was a mix of both.

"You really - how did I guess?" Matthew looked back at America, not recognising the blue eyes. The eyes that had once been so bright, so full of life, so full of hope, dreams, and happiness. He recognised none of the steel-grey that had settled in them, the madness that had taken them over, the darkness that had overtaken them, the void created by the inhumane mind behind them, the heartless soul they showed. "Who are you? Alfred, what happened to you? Why are you - like this? Why do you keep doing this?"

America sighed. "Matthew, I've been telling you, Alfred's gone. Alfred no longer exists. He's vanished, no longer here - I killed Alfred," he stated without any care, as if he were explaining something trivial. "Alfred was weak. He was pathetic. He was young, innocent, confused, frightened, misled, misinformed, too pure... He was a lot of things, but he was weak. Alfred created his own facade to seal me away, to keep me locked up. See, Alfred still is me, but he no longer really is. When he became a colony, when he was born, Alfred was a small child, pure, innocent, a human, a colony, but not a nation. When he became a nation, that's when he started getting thoughts about the things I am now doing. America, as a nation, is the most powerful nation that has ever been, and it was always going to be. Whatever happened. And he couldn't help his darker thoughts, but he grew afraid of them. Hence, he managed to give these thoughts a personality, which really was stupid of him. He gave them a side, a personality, a kind of mentality, and from there, he and I grew apart. But he made himself too weak, by doing that. He could never control me, hold me back. And that's why I'm here today. Because Alfred made me." America watched the other one, waiting for a reaction.

When none came, he decided to develop his proposal. "So now, back to your options." He hoisted himself up, walking slowly around the room, looking out from the bust window, examining everything but his brother. "One, which is really the proposal I advise, is that you make this easy on yourself, and join me. We don't have to fight, you know. If you had just allied with me in the first place, you wouldn't be here. Lying pathetically on your office floor. Dying. Covered in the blood of your veins and of your people. Barely able to form a few words, string sentences together. But, the offer still stands." Now, he turned back to Matthew, his eyes flashing behind his glasses. "We can be allies. We can unite. Our countries can join together - 'become one', to use a personal favourite." He gave a non-committal shrug, a slight lopsided grin tugging at his lips for a second before giving up. Matthew decided to interject.

"You? Ally myself with you? D-do you really think I'm fucking stupid?!" Matthew snapped, his voice strained and weak, but there was some fight in him still. "I've seen what you've done to Francis and Ludwig, to Yao, Im Yong Soo and Kiku! To all the people who trusted you, but whom you managed to single-handedly and indirectly betray! I know, America - believe -" Coughs wracked his body. "Believe me, I know it's you. It's always you. You're never not involved. You're never out of it, innocent, an external party. You rarely used to be, but now, it's to a new scale. Never, you hear me? Never will I become your ally!" And that was when Matthew's body let go of another lung-tearing string of coughs. It gave America time to look at the state of his brother and assess his chances of success before the other would pass out.

"Though I should be wounded, I really can't find it in me. Why should I? It's all true, anyway. You're absolutely right, Matthew. But that is straying from the subject at hand. Do you know what will happen to your country if you die? I will invade. If you fight? I will invade. If you surrender? You can live, with me, in peace. You're still my brother, and I would never hurt you intentionally."

That was an utter lie, and they both knew it.

"If you accept, and God forbid you didn't, you wouldn't die away, leave your country completely into my hands. You would remain on this planet, you would keep your country, your nation, your people, only you would be so, so, so much more powerful than you can ever imagine. On the other hand, the second option-"

"I'm taking it."

America looked at him in question. "What?"

"The second option, I'm taking it."

America hung his head, shaking it in exasperation. "You never let me finish."

"I don't care. Anything is better than to just give up and become your fucking puppet. Anything is better than living in your house, off your luxuries, covered in imported sheets and drinking exotic wine. Anything is better than dying inside, every day, because you've surrendered your country to another without a fight."

"But you've fought already. And you've lost, Matthew."

"I don't care! Anything is better than living with you!"

BANG!

"Fine then. You made the decision." America stepped over the body of the nation slumped against the desk. He collected a few bits and pieces of paper, before turning back to a dead Matthew, empty lavender eyes staring back at him. He smiled, a giggle edging its way up his throat and onto his lips. "You're making this much too easy for me."

Feet propped up on the desk, America leant back comfortably in the chair he was in. He stared back at the man who was sitting opposite to him, on the other side of the metal table. That was the only thing separating him from the Chinese-man. Despite having been here an our already, a single word remained yet to be exchanged between the two. America was content with just watching the Asian, whose eyes were full of fire and hate and anger. It was a similar look to that which he had seen in violet eyes only a month prior. He could see that Yao would break any minute. After all the Chinese man had been under a lot more pressure and stress lately than the Western nation. And so it did happen.

"What do you want from me?!" He shouted, trying to break out of the handcuffs that shackled his hands behind his back, behind the back of the chair.

America sighed. This would be a long, long session. "I'm not going to do the whole cliché 'I think you do', because hell, you wouldn't ask that if you did. I haven't told you, so you cannot know. You cannot know whether I've had you brought here because of your sheltering nations who have fled from me. Because I want them dead. Because you've killed some of your - and therefore my - allies. Or maybe because you're trying to be a double agent for that fucking bastard, Braginsky." He examined the look he received. "And don't give me all that crap about how you don't know what I'm talking about, because now you know why you're here. We've been allies for years, haven't we? Remember those good ol' times during WWII, when I helped you deal with Kiku? Or after the Cold War, when trade between us was better than ever? And then now, you decided to choose wisely and not go against me. So why now, of all times? Why would you turn your coat now? You knew I would find out, that I would catch you, and that I would kill you. Because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's traitors."

America stood from his chair, his bored look replaced with mischief and cunning. He placed the suitcase he had brought with him on top of the table, and opened it so that Yao could not see its contents. His gaze fleeting over the case's contents, he picked out brass knuckles, which he placed on his right hand. Flexing his fingers, he then curled them around the cold metal, giving it a short feel before turning to the tied man. "I'm here to ask you questions, most of which you won't know the answer to, until you will no longer be able to do anything but beg for mercy, for me to kill you. That's what I'm here for." He landed the first punch square on his jaw, before taking off the knuckles and placing them back. He had so many different things to use before he was through that he had decided to use every contraption once before switching. He then took up a knife. And from there, the interrogation began.

"Who is in China?" A half an answer, a plunge of the knife.

"How long have they stayed there?" A hiss, a vial of acid.

"What have you told Braginsky?" A snarl, a non-lethal gunshot.

"What has he told you?" A weak answer, a broken bone.

"How many nations are hiding in Russia?" A meek babble, and he began using everything he had. He strangled Yao until he could no longer but whine. Combing until his skin was raw and torn. Denailing until there were no nails on his hands left. Whipping until his skin stung and red welts covered it. Blinding with light, until his eyes no longer saw anything but white in eternal darkness. Walling, a personal favourite of America's, until he could no longer think straight. He called men in to throw water at his face until he choked on it, until his throat screamed for anything but water. There was an episode of sound torture, where he watched from behind a window as the bound man listened to such high sound and high pitched sounds that screeched into his ears before it switched to heart-stabbing low frequencies [1]. At some point, America no longer cared about other reactions from the Chinese man other than he was still alive, not yet dead, not yet done. He was too lost in the sadistic pleasure of inflicting pain. He would never grow tired of this. And now, he had yet another country under his complete control. He smiled. This was going better than he had originally thought. This was much better than he could ever have dreamt.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome.

You all already know, most likely, who I am. But for those who have yet to know, I am your nation, the United States of America. And I can say, with firmness and confidence, that as I stand here, today, in front of you citizens of America, I am nothing but proud.

Our nation has faced in its last few years, everything that can be possibly imaginable. We've faced economic hardship - but we go through that. Terrible elections - yet we survived. Threats and violence - and still, we prevail. Our nation has been, for the better part of the last half year, at war with a varying number of nations. The state of the world is, for now, unpredictable. Especially after the sudden detonation of nuclear weapons on Russian soil, and the revelation of Canadian military plans against the United States, we, as a people, decided to act. And so, we are still here today.

It is because of you, my people, that I am still here today, because of your loyalty, your unwavering patriotism, your truthfulness and honesty to your nation. Your willingness to sacrifice yourselves for me - and me, for you.

And yet, we are still not at rest. We are still not at peace. Hostile forces attempt still to gather themselves to attack us, despite the expanse our nation has reached. With now most of South America under our control, Africa only barely rebelling, Europe mostly made safe, and China with us, the only territory that seems to be holding against us is, once more, Russia. They are the ones who started all of this. Their alliance with Canada was only furthered by their mutual plans to attack U.S. territory, and now that they have lost their ally, they are only more angered. When their weapons reserves were destroyed, they did not attack us because they were too weak! They were too scared! But now, they've finally decided to drag us into this war, and so here we are! As I speak, nations who fled to Russia are forming an alliance, are planning attacks, are trying everything they can to stop us, Americans, from protecting what is ours. And if to protect what is ours, we must take over the world, and assert world dominance, then by God, we will do it!"

"Well, well, this has been a hell of a long run, hasn't it, Braginsky?" Steel eyes stared into equally cold amethyst eyes.

"I could say exactly the same, Jones." Both felt the cold, hard mouths of the guns at their foreheads.

"You're not gonna give that up, are ya?" A smirk found its way to youthful lips.

"As little chance as there is of stopping you." A cold grimace on a cold face.

"Isn't that close to zero, then?" The ever-lasting snark.

"I wouldn't exactly say that, no." A surprise.

"Oh? And what makes you think that you can somehow stop me with a pathetic gun?" Amusement.

"Because that's exactly the same protection as you have. And one bullet each, am I wrong?" No.

"No, can't say you are. But I also have all of the world on my side, all of it - except your country. And I expect that to change soon." Really?

"I don't think so."

"You wanna test that out?"

"Gladly."

Simultaneous, world-shattering shots were fired in the great, empty warehouse. How easy it was to kill an already dying nation, whose power had been stripped from him by every nation who had needed his help. How easy it was to kill a teetering world power, whose strength was only there because it had been stolen from other countries. A madman, who had snapped and lost grip on reality, and a good man, whose heart was in the right place at the wrong time. How often in the past they had been mislabeled, only to end up in the same situation, with the same fate, but with different ends - one of them had so often betrayed himself but had now repented, while the other had so often repented for sins he had not committed but now had betrayed the world.

How easy it was for a nation to die.

[1] Combing is using an iron contraption used often to smooth out wool, I think, and digging it against the tortured's skin; kind of similar, in a way, to skinning. Denailing is a torture method in which nails are removed from fingers and toes, a very painful process. On some occasions, something like a wooden spike is shoved under the nail, digging in between nail and skin, before the nail is forced off. Blinding is a torture method, in which such a bright light is shone into the tortured's eyes until they are rendered blind. Walling is a torture method used by the CIA, hence it being one America's personal favourites: a collar is placed around the tortured's neck, and the collar is then used to slam the person against a wall; its methods are still quite unclear, from what I gather, as this is a very modern technique and therefore not flaunted much around. Having a water jet at someone's face, throwing water constantly onto someone's face causes a feeling similar to both choking and drowning, apparently. Sound torture is said to cause a person to go insane. This information is mainly off Wikipedia, some my own.

A/N: Thank you to all who read this until this point, thank you so much. I really, truly hope that this was the ending you were hoping for, because it was really hard to decide what to go for. I couldn't do a cliché evil-guy-is-stopped ending, because it's never that easy. No nation, not even Ivan, could live with the fate of the world in his hands after having killed the only other country in the world. Nor could I really end it without killing America, who would have either committed suicide after becoming the sole power in the world, or who would be killed by Ivan. And therefore, this is what became of this. I would really appreciate constructive criticism, and would be really happy for follows, favourites, ratings and reviews! Thank you for reading this whole thing. :)