The Ruler and The Hunter //Original Countryhumans Au

~Prologue~

The hall was crisp, the candles were out. 
The stars were out that night, the curtains drawn over and concealing the moon which shimmered in the sky.
The floors shone. But not with varnish.

The walls were stained.

And so were his claws.

Russia's eyes glowed softly, dull and acidic. His pupils sharp and pinned down on his father who sat there, slumped up against a wall, blood running down his chin, splattered across his clothes. Seeping from new wounds.

His eyes were cloudy and glassy but he still kept a stable gaze upon his eldest son who stood there with a smirk on his face, a deep slice on the bottom of his cheek.

USSR could feel it all.
The energy draining from his body, the light in his eyes dulling. That sense of power ripping away from him oh so violently. His claws twitched uselessly by his sides and he could do nothing but accept his fate.
A crack.
And another.
And another.
 His flag started to dust away, slowly. Painfully.

Russia blinked, watching the dust, the cracks, his smirk stretching as his eyes widened in some sort of delight. He was enjoying this, this scene before him. 
Because he found it beautiful and it was rewarding.

Finally.

He had proven his father wrong.
The great King. The great Ruler. Now dying, bleeding away pathetically. Awaiting nothing but death.

Russia casually crouched down so he was nearly eye level with his father, smiling softly yet darkly as he dragged a claw across the ground through a pool of blood. 
"Guess I'm not as weak as you thought, папа~
How does it feel to know that you crumbled so easily under your son's wrath, hm~?" A purr rumbled in Russia's throat, tilting his head and surveying the tear that ran down USSR's cheek.

USSR's eye narrowed, another crack forming and splitting through his flag.
And though he was starting to fade away he forced a rough, weak smile, staring up at Russia. A chuckle escaped him, cold and quiet.
"G-uess I was w-wrong...

But I never t-hought... that y-y-ou..

would e-nd up becoming a m-onster."

And then.
A massive crack that echoed through the room.

And soon Russia was alone, staring at USSR's hat and wolfpelt.

He was quiet for a bit but then he stood up again, chuckling.
Laughing.

After all those years of training, of suffering, of hiding away and being looked down at with shame. He had finally done it. The old man was dead. And no one had stopped him. No one could stop him anyway.
Because now?
He was the King, the Ruler, the Alpha. The true almighty Monarch.

Who cares if he committed regicide!? Afterall, it was nothing more than an ancient and forgotten tradition.
Russia flicked off some of the blood from his claws and turned, sighing in some form of relief as he walked to the main doors, his eyes more ominous than anytime before.

He pushed the doors open, blinking, his ears perking up.

The throne sat there, high and proud, laced with gold, silver and a million other alluring materials that all shone magnificently, a sight which would make anyone's jaw drop.

The room was beautiful as well, with marble, oak, gold and red curtains, patterns engraved into the ceiling. Pillars left and right, white and all carved to look the same.

Russia hummed, his boots clinking against the floor as he neared the throne, soon sitting down on it and smirking as he leaned back. Cheek and clothes still drenched and splattered with blood. He closed his eyes and smiled.

It was time for him to show his Kingdom who he really was.

Stronger than those dragons, those foxes, those hybrids. The monsters and the demons.

To teach those mortals who they were really dealing with.

A beast.

A monster.

A murderer.

And a King.