Author's Note: So here is a vignette about the second largest Axis Power, Japan! I'm really sorry if this seems OOC, I really don't know how to write as the Asian countries. Please enjoy, all constructive criticism is appreciated, and I do not own Hetalia.

The pain was immense, like being stabbed by thousands of needles, every second of every day, as more and more of his empire was taken. Yet, Japan stood perfectly still, staring intently at the swirling blue waves on the horizon.

The last axis power stood, his country in ruins, navy destroyed, and empire decimated. For over 4 years now, he had fought a defensive war of attrition against the Americans and Chinese. Island by island, city by city, the allied powers advanced through bloody battle after bloody battle, enduring the best Imperial Japan could throw at them.

How had it come to this?

He could still remember the victory celebrations after he'd stepped out of his bomber on in 1941, how Tojo had clapped the nation of the back, both men confident they had landed a decisive blow against the American.

Oh how wrong they were.

All his allies were gone. Germany and Italy had surrendered months ago; Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, all his asian subjects had turned on him. China was still fighting, regaining more and more of his territory each day. Not a single day went by without bloodshed in the Japanese Empire.

Kiku silently gripped the katana at his side. How many times had he locked it against the American's bayonet in the last Banzai charge on some pacific atoll? Each time, the pain of the loss became greater and greater. By the time of their last fight on Okinawa, he had blacked out for two days straight afterwards and had to be carried home, much to the nation's eternal shame.

Well, now there were no more islands to run to, no escape, no choice but to stand and fight.

He looked at the malnourished soldiers rushing about on Kyūshū, preparing and prepping the intricate series of defenses built into the island. It was clear that this would be where the Americans landed first, and the Japanese would be ready. The lessons from Peleliu and Iwo Jima had been learnt well.

The Kamikaze's were ready to launch on a standby's notice, the propaganda blared out daily of the western atrocities, and the citizens were being handed whatever weapons were available. Inwardly, Kiku grimaced. When the invasion began, this was going to be painful, for all nations involved.

Perhaps for him even fatal.

He had pondered the subject for months, ever since Iwo Jima, about what it would take to kill a nation-tan. Would it be from the sheer amount of his people dying, defending the home islands against the Americans and, the emperor forbid, Russians?

Or perhaps, and this was infinitely preferable, he would fall in battle, fighting his fellow nation-tans. Maybe America would finally inflict a fatal wound with his rifle, or China would stab him, or Russia would come and simply crush the smaller asian nation into a bloody pulp.

All honorable ways to die.

Kiku himself suspected his death would likely come from the destruction of his land, destroyed by the allies and their endless stream of bombers.

No matter. Whichever way the darkness would come, he would not face it cowardly. Like the entirety of his nation, the personification of the Empire of Japan would not go gently.

He was so proud of his country. Starving and fire-bombed, the japanese people would fight to the last for his empire, and it would be disgraceful not to follow suit.

Another pain ripped through his chest, and Kiku coughed slightly. Mortified, he glanced down at the bright crimson blood staining his hand. His eyes glanced up, the faint outlines of planes visible on the horizon as warning klaxons began blaring. More bombs. Like a coward, America would rather try to blow him up than get down and fight. All available pilots were being trained for the suicide attacks, so his land was virtually defenseless against the raining fire.

As he waited for the newest wave of pain to wash over him, Japan reflected, letting out a barely audible sigh. How he longed for the days spent relaxing with Mr. Germany and Mr. Italy, for peace. Another blood-filled cough emerged from his throat, and again he glanced around, but none of the soldiers rushing around took notice.

He had begun to have little doubt that this might be the end.

Bleakly, he wondered if this was how Germany had felt, standing in Berlin as Russia approached. The German too, had fought to the last, yet amazingly, he and his brother were still alive.

Kiku regretted not being able to say goodbye to his former allies. But he had chosen his path, and now he stood alone, facing the tsunami that would soon come crashing down upon Japan.

Even as he felt another cough squirming up his throat, he excused himself and hurried out the back of the bunker, though the tunnels to his candle-lit room; a sparse, military quarter with only a bed, desk, and mirror.

Alone at last, he let loose a storm of coughing, spraying blood onto the floor as japanese died and land was lost and the allies advanced and he was going insane how could they do this how could his people die why why wh-

Suddenly standing up, Kiku straightened his jet-black hair, staring intently at the scarred, tired, gaunt face he saw in the mirror. The brown eyes staring back seemed to be those of a corpse, without a flicker of life in them.

Was this madness or hell? It didn't even matter anymore.

All the Empire of Japan could think, as he hurried through the defenses to the command post, was the relief that would come when he finally gave in to the darkness and the last Axis Power would finally fall.