~ Powers of Nations: A Countryhumans Chronicle

▶Chapter:11◀

Another chapter 💀

Warning, if you don't like, don't read it.

Now with the chapter.

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Warning⚠.

3rd person pov:

Days bled into nights within the dungeon's suffocating embrace, each moment weighed down by the agony of captivity. Russia, shackled and bruised, awaited the inevitable entrance of Third Reich with a blend of dread and resignation. The dungeon's walls, silent witnesses to unending torment, seemed to exhale tales of anguish that reverberated endlessly.

One harsh evening, Third Reich entered with an air of relentless purpose etched upon his countenance. His eyes, usually stern and unyielding, bore a weariness that hinted at depths unseen as they fixed upon Russia's weary frame.

"Russia," Third Reich's voice cut through the heavy silence, stripped of any semblance of compassion. "It's time."

Russia's response was a silent nod, an acceptance tinged with a bitter understanding of their grim routine. The clank of chains echoed as Third Reich approached, each step deliberate and devoid of hesitation. There was no gentleness in his touch as he unbound Russia, each motion a stark reminder of their cruel dance of domination.

A tense silence settled over them, broken only by the labored breaths and the distant drip of water within the dungeon's damp confines. Third Reich's gaze bore into Russia, a mixture of disdain and unrelenting resolve gleaming in his piercing stare.

"Sit," Third Reich commanded, gesturing towards a crude stool in the corner. Russia complied, muscles stiff with anticipation of the impending agony.

With a cold efficiency, Third Reich fetched a basin of icy water and a coarse cloth from a nearby table. He approached Russia, movements sharp and calculated as he began to cleanse the wounds that marred Russia's battered flesh.

The touch was rough, devoid of remorse or empathy. Each stroke of the cloth was an assertion of dominance, a silent declaration of power over his broken captive. Russia gritted his teeth against the searing pain, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

Words remained unspoken as the night dragged on, the dungeon wrapped in an oppressive silence that mirrored the weight of their shared suffering. Third Reich tended to Russia's wounds with clinical detachment, his actions a stark contrast to the brutality of their usual encounters.

As dawn filtered through a narrow slit high above, Third Reich finally spoke, his voice a low rasp that sliced through the stagnant air.

"You know why this must continue," he murmured, eyes cold and unyielding as they bore into Russia's soul. "We are bound by fate, by history. There is no escape from this."

Russia met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and resignation, a futile attempt to mask the torment that gnawed at his spirit. Yet beneath the facade lay a reluctant acceptance of the chains that bound them both.

"The past haunts us," Russia replied, voice weary but unyielding. "But it does not define us."

Silence settled once more, heavy and suffocating. The dungeon walls bore witness to the unspoken truths that hung between them, a testament to the fragile balance of power and pain that defined their twisted bond.

And in that bleak moment of shared agony, as the weight of their torment pressed upon them like a vise, Third Reich spoke words that cut through the darkness with unexpected clarity.

"I... care for you," Third Reich's admission was raw, laced with a vulnerability he struggled to conceal.

Russia's gaze flickered, surprise mingling with disbelief. Love, an emotion long buried beneath layers of anguish and dominance, now laid bare in the harsh light of their shared captivity.

Silence stretched taut, the air thick with unvoiced implications. Third Reich's resolve faltered, uncertainty flickering in the depths of his stormy eyes. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering before finally resting on Russia's shoulder with a weight that spoke volumes.

In that fleeting gesture, a fragile truce was forged between captor and captive, a hesitant recognition of the fractured bond that bound them. The dungeon walls echoed with the weight of unspoken truths, each heartbeat a testament to the fragile hope that flickered within their battered hearts.

And as they lingered in the bleak stillness of that fleeting moment, the boundaries between them blurred, replaced by a hesitant camaraderie forged in the crucible of their shared suffering.

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That's a one, and i'm willing to write the next one right now-