Running through the streets from his former captor, Prussia panted heavily. He's never been able to get this far. Holding a bleeding wound in his side, thick red blood oozed down his hand. Coughing up blood, Prussia continued to run. He couldn't stop. One small mistake could mess everything up. The once powerful monarchist could've flown away, if he had both of his wings. Soviet had clipped one of his wings off from the base. At least it had a chance of regrowing-. Why? Well, because, Prussia spoke without being spoken to.
Quite a.. Pitiful reason. Pathetic of him..
As the Russian's heavy combat boots hit the fluffy, white snow that glazed the icy sidewalks, and roads, the gap between him and Prussia grew closer together. The sound of metal hitting the ground rang the German's ears, almost making him lose his footing on the slick ground he ran on. Soviet had thrown his Kalashnikov to the side, the assault rifle hitting a metal pole that stuck out from the ground - Which caused the deafening ringing effect. He was getting sick of Prussia always getting away. And he always did it when he had company over. Enough company to make him relax, and not worry too much about the German.
Maybe even enough to occasionally let him slip from his mind.
Even after Prussias' little war with the Austrian Empire over Schleswig-Holstein, Soviet blamed him for it all. Even though he knew the reasoning behind it. He would've done the same thing, but he would never admit to it. It wasn't his he wanted more then just the twos' joinity of Schleswig. In his own opinion he did more.
Soviet, had stopped running. The dictator stood, shaking his head while watching as the gap he had enclosed, widened. He wasn't out of breath quite yet, but he decided this chase had went on far too long. Grabbing his radio that had been clipped to one of his uniforms' pockets, he wiped the snow from it onto his uniform. Which didn't do much, considering the snow hadn't stopped falling, and his uniform had been coated in the fluffy, white flakes.
Having to fiddle with a little knob, he soon switched over to his military channel. He'd asked for a helicopter to be sent out to his current location, then dropping the coordinates. Sovet didn't only ask for a flight unit, no, no. His Caucasian Shepherd from the van he'd used to come out this far - He gave permission for them to be released.
Preferably, without a chain, or leash to hold them back.
Within maybe only a minute, or two, you could hear the sound of propellers cutting through the cold air. Upon looking behind himself, Prussia saw a Mil Mi-24 flying in. His heart, dropped. 'Scheibe, scheibe..' He thought to himself, far too out of breath to continue running. But, he wouldn't stop.
Even with a helicopter right over his head, he wouldn't stop. No matter what, he wouldn't stop. Soviet knew this, he knew the German wouldn't just give in because of a helicopter, or dogs. So, like any other time, he would use force to bring him back home. The Mi-24 pulled near the winged monarchist, actually around twenty, fifty feet in front of him. Before, special ops men came down from thick, black ropes. Black gloves on to prevent rope burn. Prussia, looked up, ahead of him - He saw six of the others soldiers sliding down thick ropes. He knew this was going to be the end. At least- At least he got further then last time.
Shaking his head, he wasn't about to give up on running. He would've turned around, but then, looking behind himself, he noticed the Russian taking his time, walking towards the monarchist. Soviet smiled, seeing how they helplessly looked behind themselves, trying to find a way out of this.
Which it was made clear there would be no way out of this. Not a chance. The six soldiers had just hit the ground, in sync. Immediately, as soon as they hit the ground, the German had froze in fear. He couldn't move. He just- froze.
Its' not like the soldiers haven't had to capture the German before. But this reaction surprised them all. They kind of paused, before looking at each other, then nodding. The six of them circled Prussia, guns drawn, aimed directly at his head. How could you tell? Even through the snow falling through their laser sightings, the dot would always align with either above the Germans' ear, or the back of his head if not his forehead.
Subtly smiling, Prussias' only wing moved to weakly cling to his body. His arms moving to wrap around his stomach. He stood still, his body barely shaking. The man turned his head, looking behind himself. "He is so fat." He thought to himself, giggling. Though, suddenly his expression changed. His only eye, his left eye, narrowed - Seeing two.. Things, dashing through the snow ahead of Soviet. Most likely anti-tank dogs, Caucasian Shepherd. Greeat.
They were quick. It only took seconds, before the two Shepherds' had joined the six men. Prussia, had pulled a knife from his boot, holding it tightly in his left hand. He is left dominant.
The dogs, upon arrived, bombarded the German. Both of the dogs took one of Prussias' ankles into their mouths', before dragging him down to the cold, icy, snowy ground. Blood gushed into the once white snow, that now glistened like a ruby would.
The men, stepped back, two on each side of Prussia. They watched him struggle. Watched him cry out in pain, his blood branching out further into the snow, almost like a tree. It would almost reach their feets. Before, one of the soldiers, looked away. He- Always looked away, it was weird. He was also one of the two soldiers that always ended up having to repair his wounds.
The others, though, watched, as the dogs' teeth penetrated deep into the mans' soft flesh. The Shepherd on Prussias' left ankle lodged his teeth down further, before shaking its head vigorously, performing a kill shake. This broke larger gashes into the Germans' ankle.
Meanwhile, the dog on his right ankle did not do this. It actually barely bit down into his ankle. So, Prussia took in a sharp breath. Pain shot through both of his legs, slowly spreading to his whole body. He had to do something, anything, to get at least one of these dogs off his body. Right?
After a moment gathering his strength, the monarchist leaned forward, before using his right hand to start punching the dog in the snout, right on its nose, trying to break the dog from his ankle. Which worked, after he also started using his left hand.
"Fuck!.. Fuck.. Oh my fucking god.." He yelled, yet he had no time to spare to weep over his ankle yet.
With his right hand, he grabbed the dog by the back of its neck, his left stabbing directly into the middle of the dogs' neck. This, diving the knife straight into the animals' jugular. Killing it, immediately. The dog yelped loudly, before whining, its' blood oozing onto the left hand of Prussia.
Gasping, he yanked his knife out, throwing the dog to his side. Now just trying to pry the dog on his left ankle off, his knife he had tossed accidentally with the dog. Just barely out of reach.
Soviet, had heard this yelp, which made him cover the thirty- Maybe forty feet distance within seconds. Upon pushing the two soldiers in front of himself, out of his way, he froze. "What the fuck." Had been his only thought, seeing as his top dog, 'Liz,' had been dead. Thrown to the side, like some kind of piece of meat.
The dictator took in a deep breath, he had to remain calm. At least somewhat, keep his composure at least a little bit. Shaking his head, the Russian snapped his fingers. Calling the other dog off of Prussia, he'd wave it to go sit beside one of the soldiers. It obeyed its' owner, as he walked to the bleeding German. As he crouched down, Soviet moved one of his large, veiny hands to Prussia's smooth, silky chin. Like the rest of his skin. Before making him look up at himself. The two, created eye contact. Soviet cleared his throat, his voice came out rather aggressive and raspy.
"Are you fucking kidding me, Prussia? You already left the palace, with company over - Like every fucking time!" The Russian took a deep breath, smiling, before shaking his head. His hand that once gently tilted the others chin to look at him, moved to grab a fistfull of his black, snow glazed hair. Keeping the Germans' head raised. "You're so lucky- lucky that you're pretty. Like a girl. Unlike that useless, pitiful Nazi.."
Prussia, had been catching his breath. His eye half opened as he found himself fighting off tears. He'd been in so much pain, it was impossible to ignore. Though, it didn't mean he was just gonna be nice, and easy going like any other time. He was sick of it, he didn't want to be around Soviet anymore.
The German monarchist gave Soviet a nasty glare, his left iris - Which was his Germanic eagle, turned into a little slit. He had been so fed up to this point. Spitting on the dictators' face, he licked the sharp edges of his teeth, nearly cutting the tip of his tongue off completely. This reminding him how sharp his teeth are.
Maybe he could put them to use.
"Soviet.
You are pathetic, just like your father. You might've killed him, but you're no better."
Soviet suddenly began giggling. Before, this slowly turned into maniacal laughter. Shaking his head, the Russian looked at his soldiers, which shook their heads once meeting the dictators' gaze. Soviet shoved Prussias' face into the cold, bloodied snow. Not hard, either.
He circled around the German, seemingly taking more of those same deep breaths. His hands moved grab a small cloth from his left pant pocket. Rubbing his face with this. "Don't fucking kill him..", "Breathe.. Just breathe." He kept thinking to himself. "Keep your composure. You're better than this." Chuckling, Soviet shook his head. Before, aiming a powerful kick to the Germans' ribcage. Earning a gasp of air, he had knocked the wind out of Prussia.
Subtly coughing, the German swore he felt a snap, or two from his ribcage once the kick fully connected. As if a rib or two had just.. Snapped right out of place. He moved a hand to weakly hold his torso, moving to at least slightly sit up straight. He felt so, so weak.. Like he could just pass out. Not just from the pain either, it had been so cold - And he barely had something you could consider, 'Clothing,' on.
Soviet stopped circling the German. Standing right in front of Prussias' bleeding, snow covered ankles. The snow, just now starting to calm down.
"Oh.. Oh.
Prussia, I know you're stupid. But you can't be so stupid to think I'm pathetic! Honestly..", Soviet paused, firmly planting his spiked combat boot onto Prussias' left ankle, pressing the spikes into their fresh wounds, and, creating new ones. This, causing blood to come oozing out once more. A loud gap audible from the monarchist beneath his foot.
"If it weren't for me, you would've eaten shit from Austria. I was simply trying to get you two on good terms again. He was quite helpful at times, I bet. As for my father? You're far past your expiration date, too. I'd be glad to throw you out with him."
He sighed in disappointment. As Prussia quietly whined, he barely shifted his leg from the others' foot. It hurt, it burned. He glared at him. The monarchist had no other weapons, he didn't know what to do. He didn't want to just take this type of treatment all the time, but it's not like he was in a state to really do anything.
"God.. What do you want? I already said thank you for trying to fix shit with that bastard.." Soviet simply shrugged. He didn't want much. He just wanted Prussia to.. Learn. To take in his punishments, and learn from them. Instead of repeating the same mistakes-..
Smiling, he turned to one of his men. Based on the patch on their sleeve, a military officer of his. Leaning into his ear, he grabbed the man firmly by the shoulder. Before whispering. "Don't speak a word of my father. Go, with the others. I want Axel, and Z. Thats' it. Take Liv back home, and check her out. Dispose of Liz."
The officer only nodded. He signaled with his hand who to stay, and who returns to the helicopter. The officer rounded up two other men, and the three of them began to lower some kind of containment container for Liv, to transport her back to safety.
Meanwhile, Soviet, kneeled beside Prussia again. He seemed to have calmed down, so suddenly. "You already know. But first, you need to be taught. Before that? God, you need to get cleaned up. You look fucking disgusting, and you smell even worse." His nose scrunched, before he stood, signaling Axel and Z to come over, and pick Prussia up from underneath his arms.
"Return with me, to the van. Axel as always you'll need to fix up our little friend here. You know how messy he can get..~" His voice sounded rather sing-song, despite having just ran almost four, five miles - And witnessing a death of one of his favorite animals he'd own. "First though, hold him up. It's too cold for him to be in shambles."
The German squirmed, yet gasped in pain as he tried doing so - He felt embarrassed, this is the first time hes' ever had to get carried back to the others oh-so familiar van. "Soviet.. I'm sorry." He muttered, being held up by the two men, he flinched feeling the Russians' hands' starting to unbutton his shirt. It didn't take long, before Prussia had nothing on his torso.
If it weren't for him having been used to how cold it'd gotten, he would've shivered. But now, it didn't even feel cold. His body had started to feel- Warm? His toes, fingers, and nose all having frostbite. While the rest of his muscles tingled, and burned beyond belief.
Sighing, Soviet had unzipped, then, slipped off his overcoat. He wouldn't just let Prussia die, he couldn't. Prussia, even though being the most problematic, was his favorite toy! Packed with surprises, and small enough to fit in his pocket. Plus, he was pretty good at talking to people. Not nearly as intimidating as Soviet. Carefully, the Russian helped the small, frail arms of Prussias' into the large, fluffy sleeves of his coat. The coat, stretched right to the monarchists' knees.
Kneeling down, he zipped the coat as well. Which, on Prussia, really just looked like an oversized, fuzzy dress. Actually a rather funny sight. Subtly chuckling, Soviet turned around. Beginning to walk back to the van he used to get there.
Despite the walk being nearly five miles, it wouldn't be a sweat for the dictator.
˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ "Formerly 1,153 words, now, 2,571 words." •Author-kun, ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•
( OH MY GOD I DID IT IN THE SAME DAY I STARTED IT OH MY GOD. :)) )