HetaOni: Italy's Story

Prologue

Italy's POV:

I stand; surrounded by rain, blood, and an unbearable agony. Sure, I'm injured, but... that's not where I hurt... My mind is in emotional turmoil; again. My blue uniform is forever stained crimson along with the rest of me. Hot tears stream down my face as I sob and fall to my knees, not caring that I'm currently kneeling in a puddle of warm blood. I look down at the ground.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! My mind screams over and over again. Or is it out loud? I don't know. And what's worse, I don't care, either. All around me, my friends, my family, are dead. Japan to my right, Prussia to my left; Germany and France behind me; America, England, Canada, and even Kumajiro are somewhere behind Japan's... body... China is mere inches away from where Japan fell. He wanted to be with his little brother till the end... Russia isn't far from China. Even still, after all this time, I haven't been able to understand Russia's protectiveness for the 4,000-year-old country. A little ways in front of me lays Spain; unmoving in a pool of his own blood, as he stares with unseeing eyes at a nothingness that only he can see. Right in front of me lays my dear, beloved, fratello. Dead. And just as he felt the agony of my death, I now feel the agony of his. It feels like half of me is being torn apart—slowly—and then being shattered into a billion pieces while being burned and frozen all at the same time. And that isn't even the emotional pain—that's just the physical pain of losing my twin brother.

How long have I been here? I already know the answer, for the most part, anyways. I just don't care to answer it right now. During one loop, Japan, China, and I calculated that about 72 loops is equal to about 1 year. 72 loops... Heh. If only. I think bitterly to myself. I was so young back then... so innocent... so... sane...

My sobs suddenly stop. I stand up. I know what I need to do, and tears won't help them—not now. We were so damn close too! We had the key! Everyone was alive! Damn those fucking Things! I swear, on everything that I have left; I will get everyone—including myself—out of this hell, alive. I've sworn this oath for many loops. Yet, no matter how many times I see my friends fall, no matter how many times I lock my emotions away behind a mask, no matter how many times I make a mistake, it still hurts. Even knowing that I can bring them back, it still hurts to watch them die.

I don't just wear one mask anymore. I wear many. There's my "Italy" mask, where I act as I once did: the pasta loving fool. Heh. How times have changed. Then, underneath that is the "mature Italy" as Japan calls it. This mask allows me to act serious, without raising too much suspicion. Then there's my "True Mask". This mask is carefully composed to show no emotion other than what I truly feel. It is this mask that keeps my emotions at bay. This "mask" has slowly become the "true Italy." The most common emotions that I show with my true mask, is hatred, anger, and sometimes, pain will also flow through the cracks of my mask.

As I walk back into the hellhole called the Mansion, I subconsciously bring my left hand up to trace the hidden scar over my left eye. It goes from just above my eyebrow, over the center of my eye, and then down to my chin. I hide it using magic.

England's not the only one who can use it—I can too. I learned how a long time ago... It's funny, really. I'm actually more powerful than England when it comes to using magic. I use my magic to constantly hide my visible scars. While going back in time may erase the physical scars in the house and on my friends, it doesn't affect the physical scars—or mental, for that matter—on me. As such, I must hide them using my magic. I know that perhaps showing these hideous scars to my friends might convince them that the Mansion is Hell on Earth and that I really do go back in time to save them, but I've tried that before; it doesn't work. Sure, most of them, and sometimes all of them, believe me. But one or two of them—usually America—will end up coming to the Mansion anyways.

I let out a sigh. I've truly tried everything. I've told them the truth at every step I can think of; I've played the bad-guy and locked them up in the basement cell. I've done everything. Absolutely everything that I can think of. And nothing works. Now, I just do everything that I can, and hope; pray, that somehow, something will happen and luck will finally be on our side.

I approach the Grandfather Clock—the symbol of all that I hate and fear, yet the symbol of hope and life. It's ironic, really. That the thing that I hate seeing the most, is the same thing that I'd give my life to protect—because if this clock goes, then I can no longer turn back time. Luckily for me, this clock is protected by a powerful magical barrier. Only the Ryuuzu can touch this clock.

My right hand, currently holding my bloodstained journal, tightens its grip. On either side of the clock, are the slightly transparent bodies of a dead England and a dead America. Once again, only the Ryuuzu can see these... time-shards, as I call them. (I used to call them memory-shards until I realized that regardless of how many memories the others received, I was still the only one that could see them.) They are, quite literally, shards from previous time-loops. Every dead body, every severed limb, every drop of blood, both inside of this accursed Mansion and outside, on its grounds; I can see it all; all of it. The forever bloodstained walls; the floors; the bodies; the gruesome scenes that would make even Russia lose his lunch; I see it all; every single damn day. The only room in this entire mansion where I am freed of this eternal burden is the Safe Room that Germany built. England and I had cast a particularly strong spell on it (using up all our magic in the process). Sure, we died, but I had cast a spell on the clock first so that it would turn back time in thirty minutes. Canada and France had already died, so I was going to turn back time anyhow. It's one of my self-proclaimed "rules"; if even one person dies, then time must be reversed.

"Ve... So I'm back again..." I say to the Grandfather Clock. Just get it over with, already, Ying. I hear in my mind. Yup. I am officially insane. I now have, not just a voice, but a personification of my hatred and anger, in my mind. He's like another me, only violent, angry, bloodthirsty, power-hungry, and he doesn't care who or what he kills. Even if the target is one of my friends.

I can materialize him, in a ghost-like state. When I do this, he can't touch anything, but anyone can see him, or hear him. But he cannot materialize himself. For this, I'm grateful. There was only one occasion where he took control of my body... no. I won't think about that. I shiver. That was the #1 worst loop. Ever. The point that I'm trying to make is that I beat Yang, as I call him, into submission, by battling. (I couldn't simply call him "you" or "him" so I gave him the name "Yang".) We are yin and yang. I am the Yin, the cooling darkness, the feminine, the calm, the quiet, the sadness; and he is the light within me. Likewise, he is the Yang, the heated light, the masculine, the rash, the hotheaded, the active, the joyfulness; and I am the darkness within him when he's in control of this body. I've vowed to never let him have control again.

I sigh once more. It is time to bring them back. Time. I give a dry laugh. What is time anyways? I reach up and turn the hands of the clock counter-clockwise to the twelve o'clock position. The chime sounds—this is the only time it does. I start to feel heavy. And I fall backwards, closing my eyes, and letting time take me back once more. The last thing that enters my mind is the sound of the Thing's victory roar, as it celebrates the start of yet another round in this twisted game.