A Game Of Horror -Hetalia-

10. Blurry Figures

This chapter is ////bad////. It was done in two hours at 1:00 in the morning.

Enjoy.

It was like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears. He couldn't hear anything but muffled screaming. He could barely see either, other than the white, red, and black that was currently his vision.

He felt dizzy. There was something warm all over his hands. Where was he again?

His ears would clear up everyone now and then, just in time for him to catch small conversations. Though, he could no longer place the voices. Hell, he couldn't exactly remember where or who he was at times.

All he knew was that there were people here. Very very sick people. And that they needed help.

He knew he was helping them.

He had to be.

His vision cleared up for just a moment, giving him full view of himself standing in a large mirror.

He was dressed in a black suit, along with a purple cape with a little emblem stitched in. His dark hair and red eyes contrasted harshly against his pale face.

He liked it.

Then, his vision clouded over once more and he smiled softly.

Even if he couldn't exactly tell what he was doing, he trusted he would help them.

-----

Sweden and Russia both stopped. Russia frowned before giving Sweden a small childish pleading look.

"Maybe we should be stopping. You are not looking well." Russia told him, stopping.

Sweden shook his head.

"Spa'n is st'll here. We g'tta f'nd 'im." Sweden muttered.

Russia sighed and kept walking. The Swede was so stubborn!

Though, he guessed he couldn't him. Horrible things were going on in this place.

Russia briefly thought back to his sisters, worry pooling in his stomach. Ukraine might have made it out, but Belarus had been with him when they had passed out.

She was still here.

His heart leapt into his throat and he began walking faster, keeping his grin up dispute his worry.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sweden look behind them. In the odd lighting, his eyes almost looked red.

----

Iceland was worried.

He was used to the cold. He was Iceland after all. He grew up with cold.

Yet, the cold around him was bone-chilling. His fingers and nose burned, and his nose was already running.

But...

Switzerland wasn't. He had his coat pulled tightly around him and was huffing into his hands to warm his fingers and nose. He was shivering violently, and Iceland was sure his lips were turning blue. The two dogs at his feet looked worried, and Pierre and Gilbert were nuzzling into his head. The Swiss coughed softly, scrunching up his face as he tried to hold it in.

They needed to get somewhere warm. Quick.

Iceland shivered, tugging at his sleeves.

Suddenly, Mr. Puffin began to squawk, flapping his wings angrily until Iceland let go of him and flying down the hall.

Both nations traded glances before chasing after him.

(Alot of running in these fics XD)