France – Francis 2p France – Francois (I know, confusing)
Britain – Arthur 2p Britain – Oliver

The market was busy. Francis had wandered off, wanting to be alone and now Arthur had moved stalls and had vanished into the swarms of people. Today was the day that their counterparts were meant to show up. Neither of them had actually seen their counterpart, just been told that they'd know them when they saw them.

And the second he spotted the blonde man leaning against the wall, smoking, he knew who it was.

"Really?" he asked, going to stand next to him. "Here?"

Francois turning to glance at him and then faced forwards again. "Yup. You don't want to hurt these dear citizens of yours, you just don't put up much of a fight. Seems simple enough right? We get this over and done with quick."

He snorted. "That's not happening. If I don't put up much of a fight, I die and you still take over my country and the people are still at your mercy."

A sigh. "You really don't get it do you? We're not all evil and kill everyone. We have certain targets and that's as far as we go. I mean, maybe the citizens of North Italy might be in danger but still."

Slowly, so as to not draw attention to himself, Francis put his hand in his pocket and drew out a gun, slipping it behind his back carefully. His counterpart didn't seem to have seen it.

"It's funny really" Francois muttered, looking down. "Your fashion sense reminds me so much of that of a girl's that I almost don't want to hit you. It's bad luck to hit a girl."

A faint flashing image of a stake, of fire, and a blonde haired girl tied to that stake. Francis pushed the images away. He couldn't afford to get distracted.

***

The man on the bench with the turquoise and pink swirly eyes was unnerving Arthur. He was pretty sure he knew who it was but still.

"You were standing over there for at least ten minutes" Oliver sighed as he came over. "What were you waiting for? A surrender? Me to come over?"

"I could've asked you the same question" Arthur snapped, resting his hand on his gun in his pocket.

"Well, at least wait for me to finish eating" Oliver took a half-eaten cupcake out of his pocket and started eating it. "Want some?"

Arthur remembered Yao and Kiku's warning, how people had started coughing blood, spitting out huge blobs of red, and shook his head.

"It's rude to not speak" Oliver said, eating. "And even worse to refuse food when someone offers you it. Not much of a gentleman are you?"

"Yeah well, you're the exception. I don't care about appearances when you're threatening people."

Oliver shook his head and looked at him then pointed at his eyebrows. "Most people are kind of similar to their counterpart I guess. We're different. Completely different. Just the eyebrows. People will notice when you're gone."

"Who's to say I will go?" Arthur hissed. "Who's to say it won't be you?"

"Because I don't refuse food when offered" Oliver grinned. "Now, have a cupcake" he took a fresh one out of his pocket, unwrapped it from its tin foil and held it out, his hand going back to his pocket.

"No. I couldn't care less about your cooking" Arthur scowled. "It's almost worse than mine."

Something switched behind Oliver's eyes. The pink turned darker, almost a red colour and the grin turned more malicious and psychopathic. "Oh?" He threw the cake at him, hitting him in the face with it. Arthur spat and shoved the poisoned thing away. Something slithered down his throat. Oliver stood up and took a couple of steps towards him, seeming to grow taller almost, more threatening, intimidating and Arthur nearly took a step backwards. He whipped his hand out of his pocket and lunged towards him, swinging the newly obtained knife.

Arthur leapt backwards and a couple of people walking round stopped and stared as Oliver swung the knife again, this time closer to hitting its target. And the people were still standing, staring, slowly multiplying in numbers, and they were in the way.

***

People started to wander away to the far side of the market where a small crowd had gathered.

"Looks like your friend found his counterpart" Francois said, stepping away from the wall and tapping his cigarette, ashes falling to the floor. Then he spun and punched. Francis never saw it coming and his head was smacked into the hard, stone wall behind him. Another kick sent him sprawling.

"Honestly, you'd have thought that if you said you were going to put up a fight, you'd actually try" Francois laughed, grabbing his hair and yanking him up. Francis moved the gun into sight and went to fire. Rolling his eyes, his counterpart pointed it upwards and the bullet streaked past his ear, sailing up into the dark clouds and not coming down again. "That was the worst attempt I'd ever seen, but now..." he wrenched the gun away from him. "You've given me a handy weapon. Thank you very much. No doubt ol' Ollie'll struggle with your friend so now I have something to finish him off with."

Francis coughed and kneed his counterpart in the stomach. For a second, a pained expression flew across Francois face, before it vanished and he laughed. "You'll have to do better than that." He shoved his head back into the wall and dropped him. A few straggled people had appeared, watching as he got up again, spitting blood. As he got up, Francis pulled a small knife from his boot.

Francois was walking up to him again, fists clenched into balls. As he neared, the Frenchman went to punch him and then stabbed forwards, lodging the knife in his shoulder.

A slight shriek of pain and then the knife was wrenched out and thrown back at him. Behind Francis, a little girl, her brother and mother stood, watching, aghast. If he dodged, they'd get hit. He threw his hand out to one side and moved away from the path of the knife. It buried itself in his hand.

"Your love for your people is going to kill you" Francois said in a sing-song voice. "You can't protect them forever and stay alive yourself."

"I can try" Francis hissed, leaving the knife where it was.

"You can die trying."

***

"Bloody hell, what's up with you lot?" Arthur snapped as Oliver swung the knife again. He felt it whistle past his face, only just missing it.

"Nothing" Oliver laughed, the demonic glare still shining in his eye.

Arthur ducked the knife and then aimed a kick to his stomach. "Aller" he shouted the second Oliver hit the ground. "Voulez-vous être tué ou quelque chose?" (Go, do you want to be killed or something?)

A few people blinked as though not really getting the aim of it but most started to walk away. Good, he didn't have to worry about them as well. There was a shriek across the other end of the market and he looked over.

Francis.

Then he heard the footsteps, looked over and held up his arm to block Oliver's next swipe, unable to get away in time.

"This is a knife you idiot" Oliver giggled. "You can block it with any part of you and it'll still cut something. And anyway, aren't you going to fight back soon? You can only dodge for so long before your body tires out and then what'll you do?"

He was right. What was he going to do? Arthur hesitated and in that second, found himself flying backwards and crashing into one of the stalls. The owner swore at him and then ran off. He struggled, pushing at one of the poles that held up the fabric, and now lay across him, but couldn't shift it.

Then, the sun went in.

Shadows swarmed around the stalls, everywhere seemed dark, the clouds stopping much light getting through. He laughed, got one arm free and extended it out to one side.

"Last words 1p?" Oliver grinned.

"Yeah" Arthur grinned back. "Umbrae mundi facere iussus."

"What?" Oliver stared. "That's not even English, or French."

"No, it's Latin"

"Fudge"

The shadows obeyed the command, seething and then the pole had vanished. Oliver was flung back by some invisible force and Arthur got out his gun, pointing it straight and fired. A hole appeared in Oliver's forehead and he spluttered, falling to his knees and then landing on the ground face first. The sun came out again, the shadows vanished and he laughed, putting away his gun.

"Thank god for necromancy being black magic" he laughed and go and find Francis.

As he started walking against the flow of people, he started to feel sick. Not very, but a slightly stomach churning feeling which he brushed aside as just being... an allergy to the French? And then there was his arm. He glanced at it. The cut wasn't deep and it looked reasonably clean and straight so it should be alright for a bit.

Arthur rounded the corner of a number of stalls as Francis was slammed into the wall again. He struggled again his counterpart and threw a weak punch that landed, but didn't sway him. His nose was broken and bleeding, he had a black eye and a gash on the side of his head. His counterpart on the other hand had a bleeding shoulder. This wasn't going well.

He grabbed a snapped pole from a collapsed stall, maybe where Francis had been throw into, and silently walked up to them. He raised the pole and slammed it into the side of Francois head. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped.

"I'll let you do the honours" Arthur said, handing Francis his gun.

Francis stared at him for a second with an expression of what looked like horror, took the gun and pulled the trigger.

"What happened to you?" he said, the second the noise had subsided. "You're very pale. Like paper almost."

Arthur blinked and glanced down at himself. "Am I?"

"Did you swallow any of the cake?" Francis asked, still staring. "And of it at all?"

"I think so, but it was so tiny it may as well not have existed" he added quickly. "I'm fine, honestly. Now stop worrying about me and take a look at yourself Frog. You look like you've just been hit by a truck."

Francis shook his head and stood up uncertainly. "I'm fine."

Umbrae mundi facere iussus - Shadows of the world, do my bidding (coz I'm creative with words like that :D)