With the Seas ~ A Hetalia Fan Fiction

Chapter 26 ~ Blood

 Within minutes, the French and Spanish begin to board our ship. Swords clash violently and gunshots echo all around me. As two French sailors come swinging toward me on ropes, I fire two shots, one going into each head. They’re dead before they hit the ground. This isn’t the time for morals; survival is the top priority.

“Push the bastards back! Shoot them before they can even touch this ship!” I bark out orders at the crew.

“Aye!” they cry in unison.

With this, we manage to prevent most of the incoming French from boarding the ship. Some of our crew are even able to invade the French ship. But then I see a flash of golden hair, and three of our men are instantly cut down. France straightens out of his battle stance with a light smirk playing on his lips and casually flicks his rapier to the side to shake off some blood. Then he grabs onto a rope and swings over to our ship.

While France is still swinging in the air, I shoot at him with pinpoint accuracy, but he bats the bullet away with his blade. Two throwing knives fly from my hands, but France catches both of them and throws them right back at me. I catch my knives with ease and France does that annoying laugh of his.

“So you’re still here, mon cher? You should just sail with me, and then you won’t get hurt. We would get along so very well.”

I shoot at him again, and he dodges to the right. France lazily points his sword at me.

“Non, non, non. Les jeunes filles ne doivent pas être si violent,” he says while shaking his head.

Cocking my pistol, I hiss, “I don’t sail with smarmy bastards like you. And you shouldn’t worry so much about me getting hurt.”

Behind France, Arthur stabs at France’s back. France dodges at the last moment, but his arm is nicked by Arthur’s cutlass.

“Close, but not quite, Angleterre.”

“Oh, but you’re getting slow, you frog.”

Centuries of animosity permeates the air as the two countries stare each other down. Arthur makes the first move and rushes at France, but something fast and huge comes out of nowhere and intercepts his path. A battle axe lands in the middle of Arthur and France with its blade deeply embedded in the deck.

“Ah, ah, ah,” a voice scolds mockingly.

“¿Quién dijo que podías empezar la fiesta sin mí, Inglaterra?”

Spain saunters over to his axe and pulls it out with a grunt.

He threw that huge thing?

I can’t help but stare in bewilderment.

“Oh, look at what the cat dragged in: another bloody rat,” Arthur sneers.

“Rats are the ones who get cornered, Inglaterra,” Spain counters with a hateful glare.

Turning to France, Spain puts on a cheerful grin.

“I really do have to thank you for helping me this time, Francia.”

“Trust me, it is my greatest pleasure, mon ami,” France replies and crouches down into a battle stance, rapier pointed at Arthur.

“And by the way, Señorita,” Spain casts me a malicious sidelong glance, “how is your shoulder doing?”

“Better than ever, you fucking git,” I answer back with a glare.

“Well, that’s a relief. Will you be joining us then?” Spain gestures to Arthur, France, and himself.