***Full Summary: It is time for demons to return to the mortal world. Five demon dukes from the four Accursed Nations of the Dark Abyss are sent by the Dark One to begin the uprising. But other dark forces are trying to conquer the mortal world as well. Unless the dukes can find the fifth missing Accursed Nation they have no hope of releasing the true might of their demon power and gain full reign of the mortal world. The dukes must battle the Three Fiends of Blasphemy: Lies, Corruption, and Deception, along with their demon armies if they are to reign supreme. The dukes plan to make the human world their dark utopia away from the confinements of the Abyss.

Feliciano Vargas, a young human male living alone above his family's bakery finds his apartment invaded by five demons calling themselves 'dukes'. A coward by nature, he is forced to help the monsters in their vicious conquering of his human world. The one duke called Ludwig both frightens and excites him, striking feelings deep within his soul that makes him question who he really is. Soon his quiet life of baking and afternoon naps is taken over by dark acts of violence, fighting, and lust. While the five demons enjoy the pleasures of his world they still seek to destroy it, wanting to turn every human being into slaves and shape the mortal world in their image.

Will Feliciano find a way to escape the dark clutches of the Abyss? Or will his relationship with a demon duke change the course of his life for all eternity?***

Pairings: LudwigxFeliciano (Main and only sex pairing), IvanxGilbert, IvanxAlfred, FrancisxArthur, AntonioxRomano, mentions of other demon pairings

Warnings: Violence, dark themes, mentions of non-con, language

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am making no money off of this fic.

***The first part of this fic, the prologue, consists of the demons' back-stories: Ludwig and Gilbert, Alfred, Ivan, and Sadiq. The stories are short. Please read and enjoy! ^_^ This is my first AU 'Dark Hetalia' fanfic. Citation notes to follow at the end of the prologue.***

~*Fallen angels who cannot become the Virgin Mary...stay in your daydream,

And wander into the pleasure garden.*~ -Inmu

Prologue

1: Ludwig and Gilbert- Germania

"Gillie?" Whispered a small voice. "Gillie!" The thunder raged outside, startling the young boy.

"Luddy? What is it?" Asked another sleeping boy, rubbing at his eyes.

"Brother, I'm scared of the thunder!" Whined the little one. "Let me sleep with you?"

The elder brother, Gilbert, lifted the blanket and let his little brother join him in the straw bed. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Luddy. It is only the sky gods fighting. Remember the story I told you? About those gods?" Ludwig nodded; cuddling up to his brother as there came another loud roar of thunder. "You don't need to be afraid, little brother. Your big brother will always keep you safe and take care of you!" Gilbert said with a grin and pulled his baby brother close. His baby brother was so small.

"But what if one day you're not here?"

"I'll always be here. I would never leave you, so don't be scared anymore, okay? Big brother is always with you, even if I'm not right here."

"You mean it?"

"Sure do! What kind of big brother would I be if I didn't look after you? Father is fighting the Romans, mother is running the tribe, and we have to help ourselves." He giggled when Ludwig shrieked at the thunder. "Cover your eyes and ears, little brother. I will shield you from this storm and all others like it."

That night was twenty years ago when Ludwig was only a young boy of six, terrified of the storm. Now he wished a storm was all he had to fear. Behind him was his tribe of warriors, ready to face the might of the Roman Empire. Beside him on horseback was his brother, Gilbert. Both were prepared for battle and they vowed to ride together. When the Romans came, Ludwig drew his spear and shouted a war cry. Off he and his brother rode, leading the large tribe of warriors into battle. But the battle was lost before it had begun. The Romans had superior weapons and battle tactics with an army twice the size of their tribe. Their warriors were taken down, and the brothers as well. Ludwig was knocked from his horse by the hilt of a sword. His body was battle-worn and tired, and now weak from the blow to his face. Where was his brother?

"Not bad, little man!" Said a Roman general. "It was a valiant fight, but in the end, you lost!"

Ludwig could not understand their speech, but he didn't like the tone of it. He didn't like the way they were looking at him either. Five swords were pointed at him. He had no chance to escape. And then, someone burst through the Romans and tackled him. It was Gilbert. His elder brother, splattered in blood and war paint, held him close while glaring at the Romans.

"Leave my little brother alone!" He shouted to them, but the soldiers didn't appear to understand. His action should speak for itself.

"Gilbert, what are you doing?"

"Keeping them from hurting you! I'll keep you safe!" He then whispered in his brother's ear. "We've lost, Luddy. When they take me you run away, got it? Just keep running, and don't look back! Keep running!" And then he was pulled away.

Ludwig couldn't move.

What happened next was worse than a nightmare. Ludwig was held with his arms behind his back at sword point while the Romans dragged his brother away. He could hear Gilbert yelling and cursing as they pulled at his clothing. Ludwig turned his head away from the sight of his brother being forcefully restrained and stripped by the soldiers. He heard his brother's painful groans and screams as he was taken by force, his body being violated by the Romans. Gilbert's strange white features always attracted unwanted attention.

It seemed to go on forever until he could no longer hear his brother's voice. He made the mistake of looking up just as the pale white arm of his brother was lifted into the air, its base dripping with blood. Ludwig stared in terror, unable to turn away from the sight of his brother's limbs being removed one by one. Then they took Gilbert's eyes and cheered in victory, laughing merrily as if they were playing a game. Ludwig was let go, but he didn't stop to run. No, he couldn't leave his brother behind. He hurried to the first limb, picking up each hacked piece and piling them in his arms like firewood. The Romans laughed and mocked him. Had he gone mad? Nothing made sense. Was this their divine punishment for resisting the reign of the Romans? One arm dropped out of his hold and he paused before picking it up, remembering how many times his big brother used these arms to hug him.

Defeated, Ludwig dropped all the limbs back to the ground save for the arm. Staring at the dripping limb, he brought the stale hand to his face to pretend that Gilbert was still here with him, stroking his cheek and telling him everything was going to be all right. Behind him, he heard the Romans talking and gasping. They seemed alarmed. Ludwig hadn't noticed, but he was licking his brother's dark red blood off of his fingertips. He turned to look at the frightened and disgusted Romans, slowly pulling his fingers from his mouth. Ludwig didn't know he was doing wrong. In fact, he didn't know what he was doing at all.

The Romans grew angry.

Then it was his turn, although he would not face the same horrid fate as his brother. He didn't understand what was happening but allowed the Romans to do what they wished. All he knew, as they were hanging him upside down from a pyre, that he was going to die. Soon he would be with his brother in the afterlife and join the other fallen warriors of their tribe.

The fire came. The wood was lit and he was engulfed in flame.

A dark beam was his only salvation. It promised him life and a chance to see his brother again. Ludwig agreed. Soon the flames turned misty white around him, and then there was nothing.

2: Alfred- American Revolution- 1775

"You are no longer a member of this family, Alfred!" Shouted his father. "Leave this house at once!"

Alfred tried to reason with him. "But father! Try to understand that-"

"I SAID OUT! GET OUT! TRAITOR! TURNCOAT!"

Alfred looked to his mother, who took the side of his father. He turned to his brother, Matthew, who had tears in his eyes. Matthew was afraid to stand up to his parents. His brother's soft violet eyes pleaded with him not to go, but Alfred's calling was stronger. His brother was sick and his mother was dying; yet he could not ignore the battle cry of his countrymen. With a heavy heart but a spirit full of pride, Alfred left his house in Concord to join the patriots. He promised himself that he would come back and whatever money he made would be sent to his family. So long as he remained a good person and prayed every day for his mother and brother to get well then they would be safe.

General George Washington had welcomed him, and assigned him a post in the army. But Alfred was too restless to sit back and wait for something to happen. He came upon a British encampment one night while on patrol. Eager to prove his worth, Alfred snuck in to the camp in hopes of gaining information that would help his country. However, he had tripped over something and alerted the soldiers on watch.

"A spy!" Shouted a British soldier.

Alfred pulled out his loaded pistol and shot at the man, striking him in the chest. The other soldiers swarmed and surrounded him, leaving him no time to reload his gun. They wrestled him to the ground while he fought back like a wild bull. He tried reasoning with them, but the British would hear none of it. Alfred was sentenced to death by gunfire. He was blindfolded. His wrists were tied. He could attempt to run, but they would shoot him. Alfred still had his pride, and was willing to proudly die for his country. Oh how he wished he could live to see the birth of this nation…and then the gunshots came. There seemed to be hundreds.

The Patriot fell to the ground, screaming in agony, as his body was still alive with pain from the bullets. Every part of him was struck: arms, legs, chest, sides, and thighs. He couldn't see them, but he could hear what they were saying.

"None of the bullets hit him! It must be a sign from God!"

"There is no way he can still be alive after that! It must be a miracle!"

"We must try and save him! If God is really watching out for him, then we must heal the Lord's precious subject!"

Alfred was carried inside a tent by many hands. Slowly he was regaining cognitive thought. Some soldiers held him down while a doctor began cutting slits in his wrists and up his arms. Alfred hissed and cried, feeling his lifeblood draining out of him and making his body cold. They were bleeding him, they said. They cut his arms for each bullet that had struck. Alfred knew he was going to die. He could feel it in his very soul.

'Please God…I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I beg of you! Please, spare me!'

The blood kept dripping out along with his will to fight. All sounds faded. All sights disappeared. There was no warm white light waiting for him; there was only dark. Yet in that darkness came a beam. A strange, dark beam that gave no light, yet somehow still lit up the area around him. A strange voice asked if he wanted to live. 'Yes!' Alfred begged. 'I want to live!'

And so, young eighteen-year-old Alfred F. Jones, a Patriot for the American army, surrendered his soul to the darkness.

3: Ivan- Russia 1570- Reign of Ivan the Terrible

'Damn them all!'

Ivan Braginski wandered the burning city of Novgorod with a litter of arrows in his back. His fellow Oprichnikis had betrayed him. They had always hated him for the simple crime of being one of the tsar's favorites. The tsar entrusted him with the delicate and artistic form of torture as well as execution. Too much opportunity was given to him, and the others hated him for it. The tsar trusted him. So in their jealousy they chose to strike him down, out of sight of the tsar, and with a perfect excuse. They would say he died in the raid, and the tsar would believe them. What a cruel place this world was.

Ivan was growing accustomed to the pain of the arrows in his back now. He was always very tolerant of pain and suffering. He never minded a little bit of pain. But these arrows were not what concerned him the most. His biggest fear was dying before he could get help. No one would come to a burning city until the last of the flames had gone, and he'd be dead by then. Onward he walked with no destination. There was no water for him to drink. No food to be found. No medical supplies or a place to rest that was not engulfed in flame. Before the battle they were provided with very little food and a few sips of water. There was nothing to support his body at this critical moment. He was slowly running out of strength. The blood dripped down his back, soaking his under tunic and tickling his legs.

Yet somehow, Ivan found himself smiling through the inescapable situation. It was comical to him. Ironic really. For years Ivan had dreamed of finding someone who could defeat him. He prided himself in just how strong and dangerous he really was as a man. It had caught the attention of a Lithuanian general for a short while, but the romance was short lived due to the differences in countries.

Ivan finally felt the last bit of his strength give way to his weight and he fell to his knees first, and then dropped carelessly to the ground. It was cold. The only sounds accompanying him were the roar and crackling of the fires. He could smell the smoke of the houses collapsing all around him. There was no pain at all now; his whole body was numb and cold with the promise of death.

'Death...' Ivan said to himself with a smile. 'I never thought I'd see you at this point in my life. I would have liked to have been old when you came for me.' He closed his eyes and lay there on the ground for hours; cold, tired, and parched. How he wished there was just a drop of water somewhere for him to drink before he died. And Death was taking a long time to come to him.

'It's so cold…so cold…I'm cold…' he said, shivering. 'Why won't I die?'

He still lay there on the ground, alive, as all the flames had finally disappeared. Now there was nothing but gray sky and ash filled air. Ivan continued to lie there as the ash fell around him like silent snow. 'Why won't I die?'

And still he lay on the cold earth without a shred of sense left in his head. Did he blink? Did he breathe? Ivan wasn't even aware of where he was anymore, or of what had happened. His body now ached; his stomach cold and his throat dry. Why won't he die?

Suddenly, there was warmth around him. The warmth gave him the strength to lift his head. Before him stood a beam; a dark beam of light that stretched far up into the sky. From the beam sprouted little bolts of black lightening. It spoke to him. It spoke and he understood. The beam offered him a new life, a way to cheat death. The thought of living once again with great power, as the beam promised him, influenced his decision. With a nod and a 'yes', Ivan let the ground open up to swallow him whole.

4: Sadiq- (Ottoman Empire- 1462)

"I hope you die out there."

Sadiq looked at his lover as the other man handed him his sword. Heracles was a young Greek man he had bought from a slave trader two years ago. The Greek had the misfortune to be taken from his home, tied to the back of a wagon by his wrists and forced to walk for days. That is how Sadiq had come across him. He remembered the serious and vicious look on Heracles' dirty face as their eyes had met for the first time. Unable to resist the strange allure he felt for the unfortunate slave, Sadiq had purchased him, brought Heracles back to his Empire, and took him later as a lover.

"I know you don't really mean that." He replied softly.

"Believe me, I do."

Sadiq strapped the sword to his belt. "You always look at me with such hatred and distain when I have done little to offend you. If it weren't for me, you would have been sold off to live the life of a slave. I've given you everything you could ever want."

Heracles turned away. "You keep me here against my will. I want to go home."

"No. You still belong to me. I know you feel something for me because you are still here after all this time. You've had chances to escape yet here you remain. You'd be a fool to leave this place and go back to work on that dirt-poor farm."

Green eyes flashed him a lazy glare. "Everyone hates me here. I am blamed for any misfortune that befalls the Adnan house. No one does as I say though you've granted me authority. They make up lies and rumors! They call me a witch, saying I seduced you and wish only to claim your fortune. They all wish me ill and want to see me gone from this place. They think I'm a spoiled princess when I'm anything but that."

"I do spoil you, but that's only because I want to." He spoiled the man in hopes to gain Heracles affection. "I've punished and whipped anyone who bears you ill will!"

"And they hate me all the more for it!" Heracles sneered. "You've ruined my life."

Sadiq had had this conversation with Heracles before and did not wish to have it again before battle. This upcoming battle would be the most dangerous he had ever faced, and he would have liked to march his army with the blessed wishes of his lover. Instead, his Grecian kitten was choosing to curse him. Heracles' life would be over if he were to fall in this battle.

"I may not come back, you know. Are you sure you want to wish me such ill will before a great battle?"

"Yes." The other crossed his arms and turned away.

"It's bad luck." His lover refused to look at him. "Very well then. Should I return, we will speak more of this."

"You always return. It's my punishment." Heracles turned back and gave him a kiss. "That was a kiss of death." With that, the young Greek walked away.

Sadiq, while saddened by the crude farewell from his lover, had to keep his strength about him if he were to fight the Romanians in battle. He led his army to join with other Ottomans as they marched to meet Romanians. Among the Romanian soldiers was Vlad Dracul, or Kazikli Bey (The Impaler Lord), as the Ottomans knew him. But when his army came upon the vast forest of impaled rotting bodies, the majority began to flee in terror. Sadiq could only hold so many with him. Ignoring the sight that was meant to scare them, he charged on with his remaining Ottoman's into battle.

Sadiq never thought he would encounter the Kazikli Bey in battle, but there was no mistaking that armor and sigil of the Order of the Dragon. Bravely he charged on horseback and brought the Impaler Lord into combat. Sword and spear clashed and sparked. The two raged on among the battling soldiers. Something happened that caused him to fall off his horse. He landed on his backside, dropping his sword. There was no chance to protect himself. The Impaler Lord raised the spear over his helmet, gave a cry, and brought the tip down. Sadiq screamed as the spear pierced his belly and out his back. The amazing strength of the Kazikli Bey lifted him up into the air on the spear. He was now looking straight down at the Dragon Lord, gripping the spear by the base of his belly to keep from sliding.

What happened after that was a blur. He never remembered the battle ending. When he had come to, everything was silent. His body had moved further down the spear. Once again, he was able to anchor himself with his hands, clutching to the spear. Desperately he cried out, but there was no one around to hear him other than dead corpses. Sadiq knew that death came slower this way, and the rotting corpses around him were the lucky ones. He slid down a bit further. Sadiq thought about his Grecian lover's vengeful curse and how it must have allowed this impalement. He couldn't even remember what his lover had been angry about, or why he had hated him so much.

The ground was coming closer as his body slid further down. Perhaps his lover wouldn't weep for him, but his beautiful and sweet harem girls would. It amazed him that he could still think in this situation. Today he would die. His last moments on earth were with a spear through his belly, a curse from his beloved, and the stench of not just rotting corpses but the defeat of his army. When his body finally touched the ground, he silently prayed for the long reign of the mighty Ottoman Empire. But there was still so much he had wanted to do. Now he would never get the chance. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for death to take him.

Then there came a deafening sound that lured him from his death driven sleep. A dark beam presented itself, offering him a second chance to live as a powerful lord. After all that had happened, how could he refuse?

Present Day- 2013- The Dark Abyss

The five demon dukes sat together in a meeting room, silently waiting for the portal gate of the mortal world to open. It was time for the demons to return to earth.

End Prologue

Citation Notes:

***Most of the history came from Wikipedia.***

***The Five Accursed Nations: Amalekites (The Aggressors), Geburium (The Violent Ones), Anakim (The Anarchists), Nephilim (The Voluptuous Ones), and Raphaim (The Cowards) are borrowed and altered from the Mather's translation of the Clavicula Salmonis, or Key of Solomon.)***

***The Three Fiends of Blasphemy: Adapted from D&D's Fiend Folio Playbook. These fiends will be off-camera OC's 95% of the time.***