Alrighty then~ Then only reason I actually went through the trouble of fixing this up and posting it here was cause my friend wanted to read it, so, here it is~~~

Characters: Rome, Germania

Rating: T for blood *shrugs*

Warnings: Bloodshed, death, un-beta-ed, stuff~~

Summary: The death of a nation by the hands of a friend~ (That's all you're getting Scottie, just read it~)

He doesn't deserve it. Germania thought bitterly, his stoic expression giving away nothing as he climbed the steps of Rome's house. The grip he held on his sheathed sword tightened as he looked up at the grand doors that separated him from the care-free man. I work to spread my empire; to make it just as great and prosperous as the Gods' heavens I sacrifice everything and fight till my death seems just moments before my eyes. And what have I gained in return for the wars I put myself through? Nothing. Whereas this idiotic man behind these grand doors has done little and gained everything! He spends his time flirting with women and basking in his great glory, and only cares to fight when he feels as though the amount of land he has already conquered is not sufficient! He has sacrificed as much as the poor man's earnings, and yet here he lay before me. Behind these massive walls that depict such a warrior that he is not. He does not deserve this glory, this fame and these riches that one who has not sacrificed for does not deserve. My people are aggressive and take control of a situation in moments, and this success has been the result of decades training. Yet this man, the one who lazes about with women all through the day, points his sword and the land is his! Such power, such nirvana, one such as he does not deserve it!

The silence was vast and endless like the bottomless abyss of Hades realm as it fell over the structure before the fair-haired man. With a low grumble, the yet to be ancient doors opened with a steadiness that only seemed slowed by the Empire's intentions, and with cold, isolated and echoing footsteps, the man stepped forward into the building with a ghastly air about him. An air that screamed out and cried of bloodshed and agony. His long, pale white fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade as he strode forward with an elegance that one who was about to commit such a sin should not possess. As suspected, the Roman man, with his curly, shagged hair and his smiling, sun-kissed cheeks walked to meet him halfway; a warm smile spread across his lips, and his eyes glowed with a familiar warmth as his gaze rested upon the Germanic man before him.

"Germania, my good man, what has brought you to my wealthy abode at this hour?" His voice was rich and deep like the wealth of land he held under his rule, and laced through its melodic tone was chords of golden, genuine trust. A trust that spoke in volumes of the Germanic Empire, a trust that trusted not to be betrayed. Germania's voice was held from a response, his mouth drawn in a ghostly white line that only added to the rigid posture of the smaller Empire. Rome's smile faded to one that spoke of love, longing, and sorrow, and Germania kept his own cold orbs from widening in the exhaustion that settled on the larger Empire's expression. A lash of fire whipped through his heart and boiled his blood as his air grew to that of a savage.

How dare he look as though he has fought for everything he has achieved with a painful strength that took such a weary toll on his body! How dare he look as though he has lost more than he has gained through conquering the acres of land around that surround us currently. "You have come to end it haven't you? My rule?" How dare he look as though he does not enjoy what is so graciously given to him by the Gods. "I foresaw this event. It is inevitable now, is it not?" How dare he look so broken and defeated before me when all he has done previously is conquer and rule with a golden power that comes equivalent with that of the Immortal!

Germania's face contorted to one of rage, one of envy, one of greed, contorted in a way that Rome had only seen on the faces of the insane. The expertly skilled fingers whipped the silver blade from its scabbard and directed the glinting metal to the man's stomach. It would end here, the rule of the great Roman Empire, So, Germania thought, perhaps I should grace him with words for the coward that he is. "Rome, you pathetic excuse for a ruler. Why do you refrain from drawing your own weapon? Is it that you did indeed trust me not to penetrate your greatness with the silver of my blade? Rome, you fool. What did you expect to gain from nothing? Everything?

What a fool you were Rome; now the nothing you deserve is going to kill you, and you do nothing to stop it? This cowardice makes me laugh, and it makes my blood yearn to see that of my counterpart's splashed upon the walls as a painted canvas. This day will be remembered as the day the true Roman Empire was revealed for a fool and killed for their arrogance. This day will be remembered as the day the Germanian Empire slayed and conquered the Empire of the Gods without so much as laying a finger in the path of war. This day, the Germanian Empire will take back what is rightfully theirs and prove to the Gods that they are the true Empire of realms!" He declared triumphantly, his voice ringing through the empty hallways with a malice that had only been seen at the sight of battle in previous times.

A smirk as sharp as the blade held against Rome's stomach stretched across his pale lips as he let out a bark of laughter. "Speak your last words fool, so that they may be remembered in the time of your passing and for millennia to come!" A small, but understanding smile drew itself across Rome's rosy lips, and his eyes spoke so many words, and in such volume, that Germania could do nothing but stare into the endless recesses of the man's soul. "You were the best of allies an Empire could wish for, and a man who could definitely hold his liquor when invited to a party for the Gods. Your love for your people, though unspoken, was strong, and you had the determination of a head-strong ox." He said fondly, probing unwanted words from the smaller Empire's mouth. "Why do you speak in the tense of past?" The smile on the great Empire's lips widened as he rested a strong, unwavering hand on the other man's shoulder, speaking with laughter in his voice. "Because in a moment I will no longer be here to speak the present, will I?"

He is laughing, why is he laughing? Has he the stupidity to mock me when instead he should be cowering before my wrath, for his life is moments from being disposed of? He laughs to mock my supposed weakness, when it is him who is weak, the pathetic one who forgets to beg for my mercy! The muscles of Germania's arms and hands clenched as they tightened their hold on the golden hilt of the sword. In one powerful thrust, the sword pierced the flesh of the great Roman Empire, the crimson liquid running down his armor evidence that indeed, his time had come. In another easy movement, Germania tugged the bloodied blade from the torso of the man before him, a wild, feral smirk on his features as he watched in morbid fascination, the fall of the Roman Empire.

As the man fell to his knees, the hand on Germania's shoulder, once strong and full of life, slipped down with his crumbling body, to fall shaking and weak to the cold floor beside him. Blood, dark, oozing, seeping, gushing, filled the garmets he wore beneath his armor, then spilled out onto the pristine white floor below them. The drips of the ruby liquid kept time with the passing seconds, and the fading of the Roman Empire's life as they fell to join their brothers and sisters in the open pool below the wound that spread now to the toes of Germania's shoes. With each second past, each drop of blood fallen, the healthy, lively man grew paler and limper, and after what had seemed an eternity he fell to the side, soaking himself in his own crimson life. As the life faded from the man's eyes, those dulls orbs dared to look up to their killer, and the most peaceful smile Germania had ever seen the man wear spread across the Roman Empire's face as those dulled irises slipped backwards into his head.

His time was up, his time was gone, well spent and never to reset and start again. And of all things, the man had died peacefully, with gratitude in those irises before they swiveled to reveal the whites of a dead man's eyes. With this realization, that the Roman Empire had actually thanked him for the death, Germania's feral smirk fell to a look of utter shock and disbelief. This was not how he was supposed to die. He was supposed to die with a look of remorse for not fighting back, not one of contentment! He was not supposed to ask me for death, he was supposed to die a pathetic coward who only achieved anything because of his feared name! He was not supposed to see or feel or know the hardships that come with ruling an Empire! And yet, here he was, on the ground and lifeless, knowing everything and more than he'd let on, more than Germania had even known of. And he let me kill him, he asked me to kill him, when he only had to show to me what he had done to achieve what he has -had- today! If he'd just done that, then he wouldn't be...

On the floor, surrounded by the drying blood that spilled from a gaping wound in his torso, a soft, at peace smile on his face as he found the solitude he'd longed for, for so very long. Dead. Why? Of all things, why did he do that? And now he isn't even here to answer this question! With a shattering clang that broke the silence into fragments of its previous existence, the bloodied sword feel from Germania's grasp to the white floor below, the floor that's purity had been stained with the blood of an Empire. The man found himself falling to his knees as he stared at the limp body before him. What satisfaction was I hoping to gain with this act, when all it has brought is peace and satisfaction for the wrong company, and pain and remorse to the true coward? He thought as he stretched a calloused hand towards the peaceful being, where it brushed over the sharp cheekbones of the man's pale face and through the dark locks of the former Empire's hair.

And what satisfaction did losing everything you had bring you? With movements lethargic as the corpse before him, Germania retrieved his hand from the Roman's face and commanded the limb to retrieve and sheath his sword, before he stood to his full height on shaking knees, and turned toward the entrance from which he'd entered. His footsteps were no longer cold and certain of their path and, instead they were heavy and unsure of which direction his future would lead him to now as he descended the steps of the Roman Empire's home for the last, and final time. Perhaps, the wrong person has said goodbye on this day?