A/N: Well, I've decided to revive this story. For one, a plot has actually started to form. As in, I'm now planning more than a chapter ahead. :P Second, I got my score back on a math test the 'rents said I wouldn't do well on unless I studied for more than an hour. Let's just say that I now get to laugh in their faces, so I'm in a cocky, inspired mood. Here's your long-awaited chapter. ^_^

Disclaimer: The only Hetalia-related things I own are a collection of posters, some pictures cut out from an issue of OtakuUSA, an adorable England paper doll, and an America paperchild I made myself. Nothing else. D:

Deal or No Deal?: Chapter 5

"So... Somalia, is it?"

The glaring African who sat on the other side of the table nodded, his eyes never breaking contact with Arthur's. "You want me to rejoin you like Eritrea just did," he grunted.

Arthur nodded. "It's not like I dragged you here for no reason. Now, we can do this diplomatically, or I could get violent. Take your pick."

Somalia said nothing for a while, retaining the mean-looking scowl and crossed arms. "Why are you doing this? I'm perfectly fine on my own," he said at last.

"Says the country with a transitional government and a £400 GDP per capita," the Briton shot back, hoping the African wouldn't notice that he dodged the question.

"Okay, you've made your point. But just until I can pull my own weight, got it?" the African grunted.

Arthur slid a treaty out of the manila folder he carried and across the table. "Fine by me," he said.

Somalia grabbed a pen from the canter of the table and began signing the papers. "Still, why are you doing this, and not the pasta-man who also ruled me back then?"

The blond let out a small sigh of relief. So that's what he meant earlier... "I'm doing this because 'pasta-man' can't do shit."

For the first time that day, the African cracked a small smile.

"WWHHAAAT?"

Arthur cringed at the shriek. I should have known Zimbabwe wouldn't crack so easily, he thought.

"This has to be the fifteenth time in the last eight years you've tried to reclaim me, at least!" the feisty, and now very pissed off, African woman spat.

"Did I ever teach you how to count right? I could have sworn this time is the first," the Briton said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I don't care! The answer is still no! Just like last time and all the other times before!" the girl hissed.

"There was a last time?" the blond asked, smirking and raising one eyebrow. Inside, he laughed at how delusional this girl was.

Zimbabwe growled. "Whatever, I'll never become your colony again whether this is the first or hundredth time you've asked me."

"I take it you want to stay the poorest country in the world, then?"

She paused for a moment. That jerk... "Yes. Anything's better than having you rule me," she snapped. The next thing she knew, the girl was on the ground with her hands held behind her back and Arthur's booted foot pressing into her spine. She struggled, refusing to go down without a fight.

"Give it up, you're mine now," the Briton announced. His prisoner relaxed. It's all for you, Alfred.

Arthur returned home several colonies richer, ironically to the same room in which Luceph had first dropped the Empire Bomb on him. Needless to say, the demon posing as his boss was impressed. "Eritrea, Somalia, Kenya, Zimbabwe, and Libya... not bad Arthur, not bad at all," the redhead praised, smiling triumphantly. "Maybe you can take Egypt next? His old boss stepped down and now he's running amok without a government. That can't be good, can it?"

The Briton nodded. Luceph continued listing off potential conquests, Arthur only half listening. Ten pounds says he'll ask me to take the whole world next.

"... maybe someday we'll rule the world, Arthur. Me, you... even Alfred. How does that sound?"

"That sounds great," the blond replied without really thinking about it. Luceph, you owe me ten pounds. He looked around the room, noticing a sword hanging on the wall that hadn't been there before. Something seemed... off about it. Maybe it's his...

"... have to go take some papers to Parliament now Arthur, I'll be back a bit," the Devil suddenly announced. He picked up his briefcase, transformed into the late Adam Lang, and left the office, grumbling under his breath.

Did I hear something about "getting rid of Parliament?" Bloody hell... The nation shook his head and told himself he was hallucinating. He looked back to the sword. It looked perfectly ordinary, like any other collectible sword; the unknowing eye would glance over it, deeming it unimportant. However, Arthur wasn't exactly "unknowing."

The blond got up from his seat, then poked his head out of the office door into the rest of the building. He panned left and right, looking for a sign of life: the coast was clear. He ducked back into the office and quietly pulled the door shut. The Briton wasted no time in pulling the sword down to examine it. It was old, no doubt about it. The double-edged blade was wide, about five or six centimeters; bronze, and just a little bit rusty. The hilt and guard were seemingly ordinary, though more ornate than on most swords. Arthur was about to decide it was just a normal sword, until he noticed a small black diamond encrusted on the end of the hilt. Interesting place to put a jewel... He took a closer look at it, finding that it wiggled a little when he touched it. A button, perhaps? But why would one put a button on the hilt of a sword? And made of a diamond of all things? He pushed it.

The expanding force knocked the Briton over backwards, and he slammed into to side of the desk. "The hell was that?" he muttered, rubbing the back of his head where he'd hit it. Looking down at his other hand, he discovered that he held the same hilt as before. However, what used to be a rusty blade had been replaced by a menacing black trident. In addition to the three spikes that were already there, smaller spines sprouted form the sides of the weapon, not unlike the extra spikes on a fish hook. The whole thing seemed to glow from the inside, radiating immense power.

Arthur was completely speechless. "Wh... what is this?" He stood up, running one hand gingerly along the staff.

Just then, he heard the faint sound of a car door slamming. Trident still in hand, he made his way over to take a look. Down below, the Prime Minister's limo had pulled into the drive. He's back. The Briton hastily fumbled around with the trident, trying to find the tiny black gem on the hilt. "Where are you you little wanker," he muttered. Of course, it was just his luck that the weapon slid out of his hands and clattered to the floor, managing to slice his palm open in the process. He let out a sting of curse words at both the object and his own clumsiness. The wound burned, but is was only a scratch in the scheme of things, so Arthur chose to ignore it and instead focus on erasing the evidence. Using his good hand, he returned the weapon to sword mode and replaced it on its hook, with a lot more grace than before.

Crisis averted, he thought. Wait a minute... The burning sensation felt like it had spread, somehow. He dared himself to look, and felt the blood drain out of his face at the sight. The area around the cut had started to turn black, and was starting to spread across his entire hand, "Oh, God save the Queen," he said faintly.

The door swung open, and none to soon either. "Arthur, I'm back. ... Oh, you too?" Luceph commented, noticing the nation's injury. "Let me see that." The demon grasped Arthur's hand, and pressed his ring finger against the cut. "Vigoratus," he whispered, and everything returned to normal.

Wow. That spell, should be useful, the Briton thought, looking at his unscathed palm.

"You know Arthur, if I hadn't done that healing spell on you the toxins in trident would have eventually spread to your heart and killed you. Just thought I'd say," the Devil explained, setting down the briefcase and pulling his desk chair out.

"So, you're saying that it's one scratch and I'm done, even though I'm a nation?" Arthur wondered aloud.

"Yes, even though you're a nation. Believe it or not, you can be killed."

"Hm. I always thought we couldn't die until the country we represent dissolves," the Briton said. "Well, hypothetically, if you were to stab me in the heart with that thing and I died, or something else killed me, what would happen to my population?"

Luceph was silent. He let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. "I don't know else to tell you this Arthur, but I haven't the slightest idea."

The blond's eyebrows shot up. "Y-you don't? I thought the Devil himself would know something like this."

"How would I know, if a nation had never been outright killed before?"