A Truly British Christmas

Chapter Fifteen

TW: Fighting, blood, death... It's not too graphic, but thought I'd warn ya-

"Good evening, peasants!" Monarchy smiled, "I see we have guests!" The dead country stared coldly across the room at the British siblings, who stared back at him, glowering. Monarchy laughed harshly at the standoff, his midnight-blue cloak fluttering around him in the seemingly endless breeze as he threw his golden cane aside and strutted through the - now parted - crowd and approached his latest enemies.

"Hello, Mr. Gitface,"Northern Ireland scoffed, "Let UK go."

"Hello, children," Monarchy laughed harshly, his eyes darting across the five, "I see you're just as stubborn as ever. Though I'm sure you'll begin to behave once I'm in control of you. Isn't that right, Wales?"

"Leave me alone!" Wales retorted, flying slightly higher in defense.

"Is that really a way in which to speak to your father?"

"YOU WERE NEVER A FATHER TO ANY OF US!" she shrieked, flushing bright red and glaring across at him. "HOW DARE YOU!"

"Now, now, I'd calm down if I were you..." Monarchy smiled, in spite of the bitter hatred in his eyes, "I'll treat you all well enough if you surrender now... That includes you, Ireland."

"Hah, you don't own me, old man!" Ireland laughed, "Get lost!"

"Hmph, it seems you all don't want cooperation," Monarchy sighed, wafting his arm and banishing the counties to goodness knows where at his will. "So we shall fight to settle this."

With that, he pulled out a sword - its silver hilt glittering in the harsh light - and raised it towards his foe. "Let us begin."

He lunged immediately towards Wales, who narrowly escaped his blade by launching herself sideways. Frustrated, Monarchy stepped backwards, before being thrown roughly aside by Scotland, who swept his legs from under him entirely, causing his sword to be flung far away into the centre of the room. Furious, Monarchy dug his nails into Scotland's ankle, drawing a small amount of blood until he was kicked with great force in the nose. Humiliated, the nation stood back up, blood oozing down his face, prepared to do anything to win this war.

Without warning, he spun around, karate-kicking England in the head, promptly knocking him to the ground, unconscious. Next, he produced a bloodstained whip from within his cloak, striking Ireland across the face. In agony, she tumbled to the ground, allowing Monarchy the perfect moment to kick her in the back of the skull, knocking her out as well, leaving only Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland yet to fall.

Smiling at the sensation of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Monarchy paused to assess the remaining enemies. Scotland seemed to be his greatest foe, while Northern Ireland was considerably weaker and Wales was nowhere to be seen...

Shrugging off his uneasy gut feeling, Monarchy launched himself at an absent-minded Scotland, who was chatting nervously to North. Practically flying through the air, he jumped, grabbing Scotland by the neck and twisting if forcefully before anyone had time to react. Yowling in pain, Scott toppled over, banging his head on the ground with a horrifying thud. Though he wasn't unconscious, he seemed concussed enough to not be a threat to Monarchy's power any more.

"Now," Monarchy laughed, "You see Northern Ireland, when I with this battle, I'll reunite the British Isles, including Miss Ireland over there... That means you, dear, won't need to exist."

"Y-You can't kill me!" North screamed, panic causing tears to prickle her eyes. Irritated with herself, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, giving Monarchy the perfect opportunity to grasp her throat, squeezing as tightly as he could. Gasping for air, North lashed out, though she was barely strong enough to move a thing, lack of oxygen numbing her mind.

"It'll be over soon..." Monarchy smiled gazing into her eyes, tears now streaming from them. "Right about..."

"Now."

Screaming in agony, Monarchy felt an ice-cold metal blade piercing his skin, sinking deeper and deeper into his back until he too lost consciousness, slumping over and flopping to the ground, blood soaking through his robes, spilling out onto the marble floor.

Gulping down the cool, fresh air, Northern Ireland gazed up at Wales, who was fluttering in mid-air, a triumphant smile spread across her face.

"W-Wales!" she grinned, "You've done it..."

"What do you think happens to him now? I mean, he's dead already so does he die again or does he just get up in three hours like nothing ever happened?"

"Who knows?" North laughed, "Who cares?"

Just like that, a spinning, grey cloud engulfed the family once more, dragging them downwards towards UN's meeting room and towards peace at last.

Finally! Only one more chapter left until the end! :D