"Byzantine!" Pax Ottomana shouted, raising his blade in challenge. "Today is the day you fall."
Constantinople, April 1453. The hour was late, the sun had not yet set.

The Turk smiled as Rome raised his sword in answer. "Don't get cocky. Underestimate your opponent and you will die." He had to end this quickly; Germania was due any day now. Rome didn't want to miss the birth of this new nation as he had for Greece.

Roma Antiqua's smiled fell away as the siege began. The Ottoman Empire, he noticed, had been training since their last encounter. He was stronger, more agile. The weapons were sophisticated and new.

This couldn't have been better for Rome. Turkey and his weapons were strangers, but Rome and his sword were old friends. They trusted in each other's abilities.

Turkey started the attack. Ladders were brought in to scale the walls of the city. Arrows were shot to bring down the first line of defense. And after several hours, the city was completely swarmed with Turks.

The men used short swords, long swords, fists, teeth, anything they could get their hands could use as a weapon. However, no amount of courage or determination could help. The devastation was far too real that even the hell hounds knew not to step too close to combat.

Blood splattered the streets; bodies lay forgotten. Screams pierced the air day and night. Fires raged, marking hell's new territory.

Rome was losing.

He was outnumbered by several hundred thousand. His defenders, though iron willed, were foreign to the land.

And for weeks the battle raged on, but Rome held fast. He would not fall! He was the great Roman Empire! He held respect, and power, and…he was going to be a father.

********

The sun set on May, 21st, 1453. But the moon would not shine. As if predicting the outcome of the battle, all men stopped at midnight to watch the rare phenomenon, a lunar eclipse.
  
It was in this time that Pax Ottomana delivered the final blow to Roma Antiqua. The nation went down without a sound, splashing in a pool of his blood just as the moon reappeared. It was like a child, hiding its eyes from something frightening, as if watching from between its fingers would make it somehow safer.

Soon after, May 22nd, the Turks gathered together and left the city to ruin. Constantinople was dead.

Rome was dying.

And the reason for the war? To protect the toddler Greece that Turkey wished to bully.

Roma's breath was shallow, but steady. Slowly he stood on shaking legs. He gathered the boy in his arms and started back for Italy.

********

When Greece was safe and asleep, Roma Antiqua crossed over to Germania's house. The bleeding had slowed, but the wounds still threatened to take his life. The Roman opened the door and looked around. It was too quiet. Germania should have greeted him with shouts of anguished anger about the blood stains.

It was only when Roma closed his eyes and cleared his ears of ringing death that he heard the grunts and groans coming from the upper floor. "Stone walls," He chuckled "must work on making these thinner—Germania?" Rome rasped, his body protesting the very idea of trekking up the stairs. "Germania, what's going on…come down here."

When no blond appeared, Rome willed his body to make the journey upstairs "Germania?" he cooed, standing in the hallway "a-are you alrig—"he gave up in a sigh hearing another pitiful groan.

"He just…keeps moving." The Germanic nation explained from his bedroom. "Too low...Too much…" It's said that there are some things a mother just knows. Like when their child is upset, or scared…Germania knew that his was about to be born.

He rested one hand over his boulder belly; paling considerably when he saw the state Rome was in. "You went out fighting…when I'm like this?!" He screamed to hide the gripping contraction. "How much of an idiot are you!?"

Rome couldn't bear to answer the question. Instead, he stepped over to the bed and placed a gentle kiss on Germania's sweaty brow and dry lips. "…It's about time for us both…" He whispered sadly, knowing full well that they were going to die within the hour. The nations they had created in their lifetimes, Italy and Greece and the one that was about to be born, they would be their legacy. They would be there to carry on the bloodline of honor.

Germania wished to argue; to fight the death gods that crept closer to the bed they shared, but he couldn't find the strength. He couldn't, not with the contractions ripping through his body more and more frequently. "No…No, Rome it is time." The blond said with a note of happiness, gripping the Italian's blood stained tunic.

His lower muscles tensed, pushing the infant's head to the opening of the pelvis. His trousers had long since been soaked with the amniotic fluid that supported the baby's forming body, and now he faced the daunting task of peeling them away from his aching body. Germania didn't dare ask Roma Antiqua to help, not with how heavily the man was breathing and how thick the blood was when drenching the bed. And anyway, no doubt that he had lost consciousness moments ago.

Germania's soul flared with passionate fury. He said he was going to be the one to kill Roma Antiqua, and by all that was good and evil in the world, he was going to be the one to kill Roma Antiqua!

The shoulders passed with difficulty, ripping and stretching the birth canal. The mattress could hold no more blood; it dripped off the edges to pool and stained the floor beneath the would-be family.
With the last bit of strength he could muster, Germania grabbed his sword and drove it home—right into Roma Antiqua's belly.

Rome gave a jolt, yanked from his near death state in time to see the baby—a boy—slip free of its mother's body. His attention was drawn to the metal piece protruding from his stomach, and oddly enough, wasn't shocked that he couldn't feel it. "…Love…Love you too…" The final word fell away, smothered by the air before it had a chance to survive.

The baby now lay wiggling and crying between Germania's legs, the blond gave a satisfied look, a final nod, and gave in to the death god's cold embrace.

Rome was dead. Germania was dead. And in their place was a new hope. The hope for the Holy Roman Empire.