unfortunately couldn't find the person who made the character pfp but credits to them

𝓝𝓞𝓣𝓔: You play as German Empire, but you could also play as a bystander that's observing what is happening, or what ever you want to be in this scenario.

A small argument that turned into a life or death situation.

A crowd had gathered in the stadium chamber, eyes fixed on the unfolding fight between the Russian Empire and you. You knew well how seriously the Russian Empire took 'small' arguments—but you chose to challenge him anyway, which was a bad idea.

The Russian Empire held the upper hand in the duel, his movements calculated and merciless. He wielded not only his freshly polished sword, which gleamed coldly under the lights, but also the full force of his body—striking with fists, shoulders, and sheer weight whenever the blade alone did not suffice. His relentless assault left no space for evasion or defense, forcing you into a desperate struggle to keep pace. Then, with a swift and brutal slash, his blade cut across your arm, drawing blood. A sharp cry escaped your lips, pain searing through you as crimson stained your sleeve.

You scrambled backward, your limbs aching and breath shallow, but it was no use—he was faster. In a swift, brutal motion, the Russian Empire closed the distance and drove you down onto the cold, unyielding floor of the stadium chamber. The stone beneath your back stole what little warmth remained in your body. Before you could react, the chilled edge of his sword pressed against your throat, firm enough to warn, but not yet to break skin. His weight bore down on you, unrelenting, as if the centuries of his legacy were anchoring him in place.

Then he looked at you—truly looked—and his glare cut deeper than any blade. Those steely eyes, filled with battle-hardened fury and ancient pride, locked onto yours. Your breath caught in your throat, a hard gulp rising as fear prickled your spine. Doubt surged through you. Was this truly worth it? Had you overstepped? Reconsideration gripped your heart like iron.

Just as you opened your mouth to surrender—to admit defeat and end it—he spoke. His voice was hoarse, low, and stripped of all mercy, like the growl of a winter storm rolling across a battlefield:

“Did you really think you could stand against me?” he hissed, his breath hot against the chilled air, contrasting sharply with the blade’s cold kiss at your neck. “I have buried empires for less than your insolence. I’ve watched nations fall—watched them beg—and still, they broke beneath my heel. And you… you thought you were different?”

His eyes narrowed further, and he let out a small chuckle, his voice dropped to a chilling whisper

“German Empire, you should have never messed with me.”