~ Powers of Nations: A Countryhumans Chronicle

▶Chapter:14◀

Idk if i should write a warning but still, if you don't like it, don't read it.

Now with the long chapter.

____________________________________________

Warning⚠.

3rd person pov:

The cell’s oppressive darkness seemed to close in on Russia as the days bled into one another. The once faint glimmer of hope that had stubbornly flickered in the recesses of his mind was now extinguished, buried beneath layers of relentless suffering and despair. The cold, hard floor, the scars etched into his skin, and the never-ending torment had become his unyielding reality.

Russia’s body, once strong and resilient, was now a testament to his prolonged agony. His frame had grown thin, his muscles wasted from months of neglect and cruelty. The faintest movement was accompanied by sharp twinges of pain, each breath a reminder of the asthma that plagued him and the continuous torment inflicted by TR.

TR’s visits had become a predictable routine, marked by a chilling efficiency that contrasted sharply with the brief, almost tender moments of care he sometimes displayed. The dark liquid, always present, was a symbol of the relentless suffering that defined Russia’s days. Its effects were devastating, exacerbating the pain and despair that seemed to engulf every aspect of Russia’s existence.

Today, TR approached the cell with his usual detachment. The liquid, ominous and dark, was once again the focal point of Russia’s dread. TR’s face remained an unreadable mask as he prepared the next dose, his movements methodical and devoid of warmth.

Russia layed on the floor, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and dread. His pleas had become a constant refrain, his voice raw and broken from the endless cycle of suffering.

“Please,” Russia rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t… I can’t endure this any longer. Just let me rest.”

TR’s eyes, cold and impassive, met Russia’s pleading gaze. There was a brief, almost imperceptible flicker of something in TR’s expression—a hint of hesitation, perhaps, or a fleeting moment of empathy. But it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar, unyielding resolve.

The dark liquid was forced into Russia’s mouth, the burning sensation almost immediate. The liquid coursed through his system, amplifying every ache and torment that had become his reality. Russia’s cries of anguish filled the cell, each sound a stark testament to the pain he was enduring.

Amidst the intense suffering, Russia’s thoughts drifted back to the rare moments when TR had shown a semblance of concern. These moments were fleeting and often overshadowed by the relentless cruelty that marked the majority of their interactions. One such instance occurred during an intense asthma attack, when TR had momentarily set aside his cold detachment to help Russia breathe more easily.

The memory of TR’s tentative touch, the way he had guided Russia’s breathing during the attack, was a bitter reminder of what might have been. The brief respite provided by TR’s actions was overshadowed by the harsh reality that followed, as the cycle of cruelty resumed with unrelenting consistency.

Yet even these brief moments of care were marred by the harshness that always followed. When Russia’s condition had been particularly severe, TR had administered the liquid during an asthma attack, exacerbating the suffering and leaving Russia gasping for breath. The fleeting moment of regret TR experienced was overshadowed by his usual demeanor, and the cycle of torment continued unabated.

The weight of TR’s claims that everyone had forgotten about Russia was a heavy burden, further deepening the sense of abandonment. The thought of being cast aside, left to endure his suffering alone, was a constant source of anguish. The outside world, once a source of hope and comfort, was now a distant memory, a painful reminder of what had been lost.