Book 3 - Retrievers

XLVII - Final Form

Russia blinks. Then, the world looks different, regardless of the light from the sunset.

He jerks away.

Everything in the distance goes blurry. He felt suffocated by his jacket, so he yanks it off. Someone shouts behind him, but in his panic, he doesn't register the words.

He scampers away, and the air around him takes on different smells. Most of which he can't recognize. Pins and needles cover his face. He yowls and cries, his heart pounding out of his chest. He paws at his face and finds that he had completely lost his thumbs.

'Stop! STOP!'

He stumbles out, and something on his face begins brushing against his surroundings.  He falls into his hands. They press against the rocks with not even a twinge of pain. His stomach pulses as the burns stretch. His face shifts and his body grows. He screams, but the noise morphs.

He turns around to America. The reds on his flag don't shine as they had. In fact, they look almost green.

Russia backs up. An unfamiliar smell stops him in his tracks. He spins around and hisses as loudly as he can manage. His ears pin to his head and all his fur puffs up. Motion grabs his eyes.

The urge to attack becomes overwhelming.

He pounces. He catches something in his mouth by the neck. It thrashes against him, so Russia bites harder. He extends his claws and rips into the thing.

America shrieks.

Blood soaks the ground. The smell of iron is intoxicating, and Russia finds himself smelling the ground to lick it up. He backpedals and drops the creature from his maw. The creature screams before limping into the trees.

Russia looks up, horrified. Blood soaks his fur. His mind swirls. His tail tucks between his legs. His ears pin down to his head.

"Russia?" Ukraine asks.

Russia's eyes close in mortification and he turns away.

'What is happening?! Why now? Why here?'

"Ruby?"

Russia looks up slowly.

"Ruby? Can you hear us?"

Russia nods. The urge to consume the blood becomes absolutely overwhelming. He leans over to lick it up off the floor.

"Rue! What are you doing?"

'I don't know,' Russia wants to reply.

Had he been able to cry, he sure he would've. His mind fights as his new body gives into his instincts.

"He's being a cat?" Ukraine answers.

"It's better he gets rid of the blood now anyway," Finland says.

Russia's tail remains between his legs. His head pops up and swivels around. His ears twitch and his whiskers brush the cold ground. The blood tastes different. It's sour.

Even still, it's potent.

He can't focus on the conversation around him until the blood is clear from the ground. He begins licking his paws and arms, wiping at his face. He shakes his head and looks around at the trees.

"Rue?"

Russia turns around toward the noise.

"Can you still understand us?"

Russia nods with a meow. America's shoulders slump with his relief.

"Okay. Cool. That's good."

"Dad?" North Carolina calls.