Hidden Truths

Chapter Two ~ Too Late

The waves were calm, it was strange for a night like this one, but only because of the battle that was to happen. Normally the weather would act up when it was time for a fight, the weather always seemed to know, it was weird that way.

"We do not fire until we see them," Antonio explained to his crew, they could not make a mistake, not again. He still couldn't see his brother's ships yet, had he fled? Forced Spain to fight the fight alone? The Spaniard's blood boiled as he thought of that happening, little did he know something worst was about to happen, something that would leave him in a deadly mood.

After an hour or two of waiting to see another ship out, they came. The nation stood up from his seat as he saw not one, but 3 large ships approach. He had brought 3 as well, they seemed fairly matched. Spain was more relaxed, but when he saw a figure through the fog, his temper and self control probably died, along with all the respect he had for his brother.

He felt he could scream, but then he went surprisingly calm. He smiled. After all smiling was easier than screaming, crying, feeling hurt, betrayed... Smiling was fun, reckless, good.

His smile went thin as the boats approached, it became more of a smirk, a bitter smirk. He started to walk towards he edge of the deck where the three captains would meet, make agreements, then fight. Oh how Antonio wanted to fight.

All three of them met on Spain's deck. Arthur was smirking, Antonio returned the smirk, but Portugal's face was stern, he was quiet, interested in what Spain had to say. He was curious as to why he was smirking...

"Well then Antonio, you showed up!" the Brit exclaimed cheerfully, his accent annoyed the Spaniard too much.

"Actually Arthur, I was under the impression that my dear brother would be fighting...along side me," he said bitterly, keeping his head up as he spoke firmly. With every word it seemed Portugal shrunk, he had lied in his letter. He felt bad.

"Oh? Well this one is a cheeky one," he laughed, they spoke as if they weren't about to try to rip each other's throats off. Then the two turned to Spain's brother.

"Oops?" he said, quietly. It mocked Antonio though, mocked him in many ways. He needed his blood. He needed him to pay.

"Well, no use in putting these canons to waste, just sharpened my axe anyways," Spain shrugged in a nonchalant way.

"Of course," Arthur let a chuckle escape his lips.

They all proceeded to shaking hands–while doing so Spain couldn't help himself from smiling, then the two retreated to their ships.

"Fuego," he whispered to the man handling the cabin crew with a smirk, just as he saw Arthur's second foot landed safely on the deck. The crew happily complied. Just like that, a good quarter of the Englishman's boat was caught on fire. Spain was enjoying this.

He could hear the Brit's cursing from where he was, since the boat hadn't even moved. Arthur wasn't expecting Antonio to fire so soon. Normally no matter how reckless the country was, he wouldn't play dirty, oh no. He was fair when it came to battle–with Britain at least.

"You crazy bastard!" Arthur hollered as the boat gained a decent distance, he was still close enough to hear though.

"Don't. Call. Me. That," he said, quieter than how Arthur yelled, but loud enough to be heard. Only Romano could call him that.

Portugal didn't speak, he just fastened his pilot's hat and ordered his troops to fire. Spain laughed darkly to himself, how he pitied his brother. His poor poor brother.

Antonio pulled out his flag and waved it, signalling that he wanted to fight. With swords. Now. Bombing would be too easy. Fighting was what gave him the thrill...that satisfying thrill.