Orange and Navy (The Many Colours of Life and Death AU)

Chapter Forty-Three

Wind whisked through his feathers as Prussia flew far above the battle happening between the Holy Roman Empire, Austrian Empire, and Teutonic Order. Moments before he was about to dive down, he felt strong gusts of wind pull him off course. By the time he recovered, he was right... in... front... of... it.

A tornado.

A large, greyish-blue column of death and wind. At the bottom of it, he could see it picking up bigger and bigger pieces of rubble, hurling them everywhere.

Oh that's just wonderful. Who doesn't need a tornado messing up a battle? Prussia scoffed in his mind, soaring to the ground. He couldn't fly in these conditions.

Lighting boomed nearby. He tried to ease his fears by thinking; Lightning can't hurt me, I'm in the air! Moments later, he recalled watching Lezhe plummeting to the ground after getting struck. Okay, maybe he could get hurt...

He landed an uncomfortable distance away from the castle, and found nothing but a small divot in the ground for him to hide in. He turned around to see the tornado. Oh dear. It was quite close.

He flattened himself to the ground and started digging with his bare hands, clawing away at the dirt. Clumps gathered in his fingernails, and he even started bleeding, but he had to get deeper. Ditches were the only method of survival in an open field, as far as he knew. And he was quite certain he couldn't outrun it.

He got about... half a metre into the ground before gusts of wind started scraping at his skin with dust and debris. He crouched down and huddled in the moist dirt, closing his eyes.

He screamed, but his voice was swept away by the wind. His back was on fire, as flesh was ripped away in strips by the powerful gusts. His wings shivered with agony as feathers were forcefully plucked from his skin.

Something heavy crashed into his leg. He let out a wail as the pain sent shockwaves through his body. He resisted the urge to look. He stayed there, with his hands over his head, forever.

Blood ran down his back in uneven patterns as they were blown around by the wind. Dirt mixed in with it. The heavy object that had crushed his right leg seemed to block some of the wind. He was almost thankful for it.

Soon, it grew numb. He could distantly feel the bare flesh and bone on his back, inches away from death. But the pain was gone and that was all that mattered, right?

The wind died down. Was it gone? No. But it was less. The pain gradually came back to him over the seconds, minutes, hours, days he spent there.

His back was a puddle of blood. He finally looked back. His leg was a pulverised mess of bone and skin. It reminded him of beans, cabbage, and toothpicks, all mixed in together and then smashed by a boulder. With lots and lots of red.

"C-curse the Spanish Empire for building his castle out of the heaviest stones in existence..." he muttered hoarsely.

His wings weren't much better. Barely any feathers remained.

I'm dying, aren't I? He thought. Even if he wasn't, how could he live this way? It'd be better if he just got revived again and lost all his memories.

So he lay there, awaiting his death. It didn't take much longer.

But he didn't become a ghost.

His corpse simply cracked and sparked. Darkness consumed his vision, and a distant part of his mind screamed at him to stay alive, because he'd never get that chance again.

What's going on? He wondered. This didn't feel right. This didn't-

His body, spirit, and mind became lost to the wind. Nothing but dust remained.