Why Sealand Can't Plan a Prank (And Why You Shouldn't Let Belarus Help Him)

Part 3

            There was a single bulb illuminating a scene that was sure to have been summoned from one of Britain's worst nightmares. A massive guillotine sat in the center of the floor, the blade still coated with a thin sheen of fresh blood. Britain choked, falling to his knees as he beheld the awful sight.

            France's severed head lay placidly in a large wicker basket, his shiny gold hair matted down with his own blood. The rest of his body lay limp on the ground, even more red liquid pooling around his neck.

            Britain couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't go to look more closely at the damage. Memories flooded his mind, visions of his lover breaking down in his arms, crying, "They're all gone! They're all gone!" Britain could clearly see France's shattered expression, his teary azure eyes as a revolution raged around him.

           This couldn't be happening.

           He couldn't be gone.

            First America, his son, the one he had cared for since he was nothing but a naive child, and then France, his one love, the man who had stayed by his side his entire life, who had seen him at his best and at his worst and still hadn't left. He had stayed, and promised that he would stay until the end of time... And then he had abandoned Britain.

           He reached one hand into his pocket and ran his finger over the smooth velvet of the box that held the diamond ring he had been carrying with him for months on end. Now Britain would never be able to place it on France's ring finger, never be able to see it resting there and trust that France would be his forever.

           He could acutely sense the footfalls behind him, felt Canada's hand on his shoulder and listened to his convulsive sobs, but it was all heard as if Britain was underwater, slowly drowning. He had lost his purpose, his will. What would he do now?

           The other nations were filing into the room; a few gasped in horror when they saw France's corpse.

           "What in the world is going on here? Who is doing all this?" Germany hissed through clenched teeth. Russia's eyes darkened and his grip on America's body tightened, but he had no answer to give. All they could do was keep moving to try and save the other countries who they now knew were left inside, but they could hardly push themselves to approach the next door while having no idea what terrors awaited them.

             Russia was resolute and emotionless as he pushed open the door, still carrying America's body bridal-style, and led the way into...

             A completely empty hallway. There was nothing there, no bloodstains, no blades, only darkness. Lithuania almost cried with relief. They were safe in this hellish place, at least for now. No one was sure what was going on, but the nations could feel a slight sense of solace penetrate their fear though sorrow still hindered their steps.

            Continuing to walk with flashlights illuminating their way, the personifications were solemn, unwilling to speak until a silhouette appeared at the end of the hall. Lithuania's phone slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor, a spiderweb-like crack splitting the screen. His face paled as he bolted forward.

           "Poland!" he shouted, reaching out to his husband.

            Poland's eyes went wide, his arm outstretched toward the Baltic nation as he began to scream, "Liet!"

            He was savagely cut off when a tendril of pure shadow shot out of the exit at the end of the hall and yanked him off his feet, dragging the blonde away as he shrieked. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, almost as if he'd been nothing but a mirage.

            Lithuania let his hand fall to his side, his heart leaping like the wings of a scared dove, his breaths uneven and frantic. He sprinted through the still-open doorway and called Poland's name again, but the nation was nowhere to be found. Russia fell into step next to Lithuania, also looking rather shaken.

            "He was alive," Ivan whispered. Lithuania flinched. There was no way that the Russian wasn't at least a bit resentful of the fact that he had lost his significant other when the other nations' could be alive somewhere. Luckily, Russia didn't show his discomfort outwardly, looking Lithuania in the eye and encouraging him, "Well? This means that some of them are still out there. They might be alright! We should be going to find them, da?"

            "R-right," Lithuania mumbled, forcing his limbs back into action. He started down the connecting hallway that he'd entered while chasing after Poland and found it to be empty, similar to the last hallway, but lit with eerie fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. The entire space was creepily white, the floors and walls pristinely pale, not a fleck of dirt or dust, not a single footprint on the ground as far as the eye could see...

             Except for the blood. 

We'll be doing a double update today since this chapter was so short! We just really wanted to leave you all with yet another crappy cliffhanger (sorry). Thanks so much for reading! Have an awesome day and remember to love yourselves!