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Again and again the same result destroyed the Italian's carefully thought out plans. No matter what actions he took, he was always forced to use the journal to go back and try again. Gritting his teeth and falling to the ground, the journal dropped from his hand, opening to a random page. Clutching his hair, almost wanting to tear it out in frustration, he let out a cry of sorrow. Tears fled the safety of his eyelids, escaping to trail down flushed cheeks to freedom. "Why?" he whimpered, head swimming. His head was already hurting, flashes of the loops before this one bombarding his mind. Images of all the other nations dead or dying flicker