The Sea Against The Storm

Chapter 4: A Test Of Hope

The first sound Arthur recognized was the clicking of his boots against concrete. It was steady at first, and then the clicking increased, signifying running. Next came the usual sounds of the whistling of bombs, the explosions, and the screaming and crying that could be heard soon after. Arthur was the one running, so he just payed attention to the sound his boots made, however faint it was against all the rest of the noise.

He made it to the entrance of a bomb shelter. He had been helping a small girl with a wounded thigh get there. He pushed her ahead, where a mother was there to greet her. Arthur looked behind him, and saw a few more people trying to get inside the shelter. "Come on!" He shouted. "Go! Go! Go!" 

As the last few people trailed inside, he heard the whistling of the bomb, and he rushed inside the shelter, and just as it hit, he screamed, tripped, and fell to the floor. He felt someone grab his arm and sit him up. "Mr. Kirkland?" The person asked, and Arthur opened his eyes to see one of the soldiers. His soldiers. He swallowed a bit of blood that had gathered inside his mouth. Everything was startling silent. When he was able to focus on a good amount of people in the shelter, he saw they were all staring at him. He knew they were looking for any signs of hope, and now they were looking to him. 

Despite his pain, he smiled. They needed to see that right now, he knew. They needed to see that he was staying strong, despite how he really felt. "Hang in there, sir." The soldier beside him said. He didn't want his people to see him thrashing around and screaming, that wouldn't help them. So he whispered the only thing he thought he could muster; "I... won't, give up."

The real memory, he knew, his people were glad to hear it. It didn't completely quell their anxieties, but it helped them in the way Arthur hoped it would. They endured there in that shelter for hours, as Arthur felt his people dying in masses outside. Those hours were spent screaming and thrashing on the floor, and in between the bombs, the soldiers would often ask what was going on. Few times Arthur was able to deliver the information, but he drove himself to try. If only, to try.

Sadly, this wasn't the real memory.

"Yes. You will." The familiar voice of Oliver countered. When Arthur blinked, he was still sitting down in the bunker, but all the people were gone. In the middle of the room was Oliver, twirling a knife in one hand. The tone in his voice showed he didn't, or couldn't, hide his true intentions here. Neither could Arthur. For the most part, both of their facades were gone, showing their true colors. "You'll give up." Oliver persisted. "I'll make sure of that."

As Oliver made his way towards Arthur, he tried to get up. The pain he was feeling moments earlier had faded drastically, but still lingered. He had no weapon against Oliver, and as far as he would have normally been concerned, this was just a dream, and he wouldn't worry about it. However, with Oliver trying to subdue Arthur into submission so he could take control, he couldn't let his guard down. Not even in a dream. Not when magic was involved. 

Arthur could feel Oliver's goal resonating through him as if they were his own. Oliver wanted to weaken Arthur enough to where he could take control of his body, and destroy him forever. Arthur wouldn't be so worried if this were anyone other than his 2P. As far as his research went, it seemed entirely possible that Oliver could kill him that way. It would cause a lot of unbalance, but what did Oliver care?

Once Arthur was back on his feet, he began sizing up Oliver. There was a part of his brain telling him this wasn't real and it was ridiculous, but he ignored it. In the end, he believed the physical pain inflicted in this dreamscape wouldn't matter. What it would come down to was a battle of their minds, which Arthur had been doing really bad at recently. 

Oliver lunged, and Arthur found it surprisingly easy to dodge to the left. Arthur didn't worry about finding a weapon, and tried to pry at Oliver's being. Oliver regained his balance and glanced over at Arthur, a small twist of pain in his features from the attack, but he didn't counter just yet. "I've learned a lot about you in my time here." Oliver said, staying where he was. "Your friends. Your family. Your feelings." 

The landscape seemed to try and shift, but Arthur was able to intervene and keep the scene the way it was. "I'm not going down without a fight." Arthur sneered, clenching and unclenching his fists. Oliver's lips curled slightly downward, "With or without a fight... It won't change the outcome." 

This time Oliver lunged with his mind, and Arthur was caught off guard. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and focused on keeping Oliver away. Oliver seemed skilled in this art, but how, Arthur had no idea. He could heard Oliver's approaching footsteps, which confused him because Oliver somehow had the strength to move the illusion of his physical form while assaulting Arthur's mind. 

"I see how you feel around Mr. Bonnefoy." Oliver whispered as he grew closer. Arthur suddenly became very alert. "You may not acknowledge it, but it's as plain as day to me in here... When I become the real Arthur, I'll make sure to give the frog what he deserves. Wouldn't you like that?"

Arthur's brain was flooded with images of Oliver becoming the only Arthur Kirkland, and what would become of Francis. He saw the frenchman shivering, thin, and his frame beaten and bruised. He saw him living with Oliver, but Oliver bossing him around like a slave. He saw more, different, assaults, on the older nation. 

He didn't know it, but his limbs were shaking. He felt something hot in his gut, which he quickly identified as burning anger. He'd been so worried about what would happen to his country if Oliver took over, he had barely given any thought to the other countries. Arthur's jaw trembled, and he opened his eyes with a new-found determination. He straightened himself and glared daggers at the illusion of Oliver's body.

He pointed a finger at Oliver's chest. "You... Will not touch, Francis Bonnefoy." He whispered, but he could hear the ferocity and threat in every word. "You... Will not win. I will fight... Until my last breath." Just like Oliver had said; Arthur did not acknowledge his feelings to Francis. He gave no credence to the possibility of Francis being his source of new-found determination, and only thought he was thinking of all the other countries, not one in particular.

But Oliver just smiled, like he was amused. "We'll see." He replied. Another assault became on Arthur's mind. Arthur staggered, and what began to feel like an eternity, he battled Oliver's mind. It only ended when things started to tint black, until nothing was seen, and Arthur could only guess he was waking up.