AN: Would you look at me, writing? Too bad it's not what I'm supposed to be writing. I had to get this out of my system. It will be multiple chapters, though.
BACKGROUND TIME: This entire story is based off of an RP I did with my friend. She RPs Iggy, and I RP Spain. Basically, the Spain you see here is Inquisition!Spain, or Snapped!Spain. Before everyone says "BUT SPAIN IS TOO NICE!". I get that a lot, because I love to RP Inquisition!Spain. Even Himaruya says that Spain is "two-faced", much like Russia. Don't believe me? Look up the Spanish Inquisition, loves, it's a SUPER FUN time period. If anyone has any other questions on the plot that I haven't made clear, please feel free to ask~!

WARNINGS: Torture, mature themes, language

Pfffffffffft. If I owned Hetalia, Spain would never wear a shirt.

"Don't you look splendid? I must say, those chains do suit you, Inglaterra. Must be something to do with that adorable "punk" phase of yours, no?" The man before him did not respond. Antonio took this as permission to continue speaking. "Of course, I'm sure you're just itching to have those bonds removed. You have always been so very impatient. Unfortunately I cannot grant you such a luxury yet. Not until I've had my fun." His last words earned him an angry sneer from the Brit, who struggled against the chains. "I'm sure you'll find they're quite secure. I do go to great lengths to keep my prey from escaping." Spain stepped away from his prisoner for a moment to reveal a medium-sized black box. He unlocked it and held it up to show his captive the contents. The Brit mentally registered every object and its purpose, slowly beginning to fully comprehend the treatment he would receive. 'Knives...syringes…a corkscrew…a few pins…and…is that a small hand-drill?' Arthur swallowed shakily, but maintained his steeled expression. Antonio was not fooled. "Scared, mi cariño? I'll start you off gentle." He took a small knife from the box and pinched the tip between his fingers, drawing blood. He trailed his fingers down the Brit's face and neck, smearing the sticky red fluid onto porcelain skin. "Perfecto. It's nice and sharp." Antonio then ran the knife slowly down England's right arm, making a long, shallow gash in the milky white flesh. Arthur remained silent, knowing that soon, even this freedom would be taken from him. The knife soon found its way to his other arm, which received the same treatment. The Spaniard was displeased with the lack of sound coming from the man in front of him. He moved the blade to the Brit's shoulder and dug it in deep, twisting as we went and earning himself a pained scream. "There we go. I was beginning to fear you had gone mute." He ripped the knife from Arthur's torn flesh.

"AHG! You… bloody bastard." Arthur glared at the Spaniard, who just an hour before had drugged him unconscious and chained him up in what looked like a wine cellar. Antonio smirked back, his eyes bright and feral. "Do try and watch your language, amor. Wouldn't want to have to cut out that tongue of yours, I'm sure there are much better things it can be used for." England shuddered at this. "You crazy, sick fuck! Go to hell!" Antonio chuckled at Arthur's display, replacing the small knife with a slightly larger one. Wordlessly he sliced into England's legs, drawing forth shrill cries of agony. At this, he grinned mischievously, and slid the flat of the blade down Arthur's thigh, causing him to shiver. A sharp twist of the knife caused the Brit to once more shout out in pain. "Hell, you say? I believe that Dios has proven Himself to be on my side, no? You're the one who's suffering here, aren't you?" Arthur scoffed at this. "This is not the will of God, you prick! You're nothing but a demon, and for that you ought to rot for the rest of eternity!" He spat at the Spaniard, hitting him square in the cheek. Antonio wiped the fluid from his face and slipped the knife under Arthur's chin, pressing it gently against the soft skin and causing a trickle of blood to roll its way down England's neck. "You little puta. How dare you suggest that I would work against God? Heh, the nerve you have, when you are completely at my mercy." He lifted the Brit's chin up slightly with his knife to emphasize his point. Then in one fluid motion, nimble finger slipped the knife back into the box and produced a sinister looking syringe filled with clear fluids. Arthur eyed it warily. "What's that?" Spain let out a low, rumbling laugh, dark enough to send shivers down England's spine.

"I couldn't tell you. I'm afraid I don't quite know myself. But we'll have a fun little time figuring it out, won't we, mi muñequito?" Arthur shook his head, a look of pure terror momentarily distorting his features. He quickly regained his composure, only to find himself losing it once more as Spain injected the foreign fluid into his arm. His head spun, and he found that his smirking captor was slowly fading out of vision.

AN: Everything I have been writing lately is super short! Gah, these chapters will get longer as they progress, lo siento!

Spanish Translations:
Inglaterra: England
Mi cariño: My sweetheart
Perfecto: Perfect
Amor: Love
Dios: God
Puta: Whore (And this is extra degrading because he—purposely—used the female form)
Mi muñequito: My little doll/toy (It can mean either, really, and the masculine form is often used to mean the latter)