Here comes round two: Chapter 8. Now that we're all crying from last chapter, let me induce a few more tears! Yea! This story is very close to being done. I'm very grateful for all the reviews you peoples give me! You're all too kind. I want to give peoples MORE penguins! This chappie gets to be dedicated to Etowato. I am very Very greatful for her reviews, and all of you other peeps too!, anyhow, here are the penguins:
(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)(^v^) (^v^)
There we go. I like penguins, couldn't you tell? Have a jolly time reading this! (Although I'm not so sure you will . . .)
How long has it been since I've done a disclaimer? *thinks* Too long if I have to think about it.
Disclaimer!: Escaflowne would have about a million sequels by now if I actually owned it! Does it have any sequels?! NOO! Same goes for me owning Escaflowne, have a nice day.
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Miguel looked at the dead demon on the floor. His broken, severed wings were matted and useless now. Miguel reached down and plucked a blood-speckled feather off of one of them. It looked just like it belonged to bird. He blew it into the air and watched as it lightly wafted down to land on the neck of the demon slut. He giggled to himself for no reason. He finally felt justified. He noticed how messy everything was. A semblance of reason settled on him and he realized he probably wouldn't want to be found there, in the middle of a massacre. He almost slipped on the wet floor on his way out, but was just able to save himself from falling. He went away, wondering if was dinnertime yet, all the carnage had made him hungry. He did not notice he was leaving a trail of betraying red footprints in his wake . . .
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Dilandau realized more and more what he had gotten himself into. Folken had found him fooling around his little brother. He tried to remain relaxed, as not to sustain more damage as Folken dragged him down the stairs. He'd given up trying to keep up with Folken so he just let himself be dragged along. He noticed that he couldn't move or feel his right hand. Folken's steel grip was blocking all blood flow, as well as almost crushing his arm. Dilandau had felt worse pain though, he was sure the real hurt would come later. In minutes they reached the well-stocked torture chamber of the Vione. Dilandau had been down there many times, but never as the victim.
He had an extensive knowledge of exactly how much pain some of the instruments down there could cause, he winced and tried not to think about it. Nevertheless, as Dilandau saw the fated iron door he started to panic. He threw all of his strength against going in there, but it was like stopping a train. Utterly useless.
Folken was wondering what to do first. Hang the whelp from a pole and slowly whip his skin away, or gouge out eyes and cut off his ears? Both sounded so tempting. How dare he do such unspeakable things to his very own brother?! He was on fire with anger. It was only a matter of pain until Dilandau would be begging him for death. The corners of Folken's mouth turned up ever so slightly as he thought of the anguish he would make Dilandau pay for harming his precious Van. ~Oh, Van, I can not give you back your innocence, but I will make your perpetrator wish he'd ever been born!~
The room itself was impeccably sterile, but you can never wash away the smell of death and rotted flesh. Not much care had been taken to light the place. Only one dull, yellow light hung near the entrance. Another blue lamp threw shadows every which way, making everything look like lurking monster. All of it's fear-inspiring steel-made devices were very cold to the touch. The walls and ceiling had not been altered, they were sharp and dangerous jagged rock. It reminded them that they were in a giant floating rock and not in a luxury cruise ship.
Dilandau raged and cursed at the Strategos. Bit and scratched and did everything in his power to try and make Folken let him go, but to no avail. Folken tied him up so tightly that the bonds bit into his skin and made him bleed. The Strategos threw his cloak away from himself, not wishing to have to dry-clean it later. All his smoldering, pent up loathing for this lewd runt was on the verge of flowing over. The ancestry of demons ran in his veins and demanded to take vengeance against this albino freak of nature. Folken would satiate the demon within.
Folken picked up the nearest weapon, a bullwhip embedded with glass. He turned it about in his hands, letting Dilandau see just what he planned to do. A twisted smile spread across his features. Dilandau closed his eyes and was almost able to completely ignore the first stinging lash of the whip. His thoughts turned completely to his love and savior, Van. His sweet, pouty lips that parted for him like water. His rich, wild, ebony hair that matched his untamed Fanelian scent. Dilandau forgot almost entirely about the fact that he was on a frigid, steel table being lashed and that his bonds were cutting off circulation everywhere they lay on him. How tight and hot Van was, receptive and responsive to his every need as soon as he needed it. Just as perfect as angels were supposed to be. The way he sounded shouting his name over and over just sent chills up and down Dilandau's spine.
Folken poured salt into Dilandau's many numerous open wounds and pleasured in watching Dilandau suddenly start writhing like a fish out of water. He wasn't able to do a thing as the salt pulled the moisture out of him and foamed. Dilandau's screams were hoarse as his vocal cords became raw and it hurt to breath.
"This is only the beginning," Folken whispered to Dilandau when the sounds he had made stopped echoing.
Dilandau struggled to pull the image of his angel back into his mind and get himself back together. He spat at Folken, and it landed on the Strategos' face. Dilandau smirked in triumph. Folken would never break him! He narrowed his eyes and suddenly felt like he could take anything Folken could dish out.
Folken's face contorted with disgust as he wiped the spittle off from between his eyes. He discarded the whip and went to look for something more effective. Dilandau snickered to himself. If Folken thought that he could hurt the boy-warrior, he was sorely mistaken. Nothing would ever tear him away from his Van, not even death, and most certainly not a jealous big brother! Dilandau began trying to gnaw at the ties around his wrists, but he couldn't quite tell where his flesh ended and the cord began. The Strategos came back over with a wicked grin upon his face. He quickly snatched Dilandau up by the crook of his neck, well aware of the pressure points he was squeezing.
"I've thought of something better for you . . ." Folken hissed at Dilandau.
The albino lifted a sideways eyebrow at Folken after he had finished tying him face-down, eagle-spread to a giant wooden wheel. This was certainly an odd sort of torture; no pain involved at all, simply a tad uncomfortable. Dilandau suddenly became wary.
"I've just called a messenger to send for all soldiers looking to relive some tension. As you know we have no women onboard the Vione as they cause. . .unnecessary distractions for the men," Folken illuminated in the most careful of wordings. "They should be here any minute."
Dilandau was still confused. Nothing was making since. What would Folken want with all those horny guys? What did it all have to do with him? It was true about half of the Vione was stir-crazy. They were going to land again for supplies in a color, and it had already been five colors since they'd last restocked. Dilandau mentally shrugged his shoulders. Good for Folken if he thought he had found a way tide them all over for a while. Both were smiling very smugly to themselves. The Strategos knew just the way to bring justice to the whelp. Dilandau was sure that Folken had run out of steam.
A couple of greasy looking men burst into the room, they were wheezing as if they had run all the way down there in no time flat. Folken nodded his head in the direction of Dilandau and mouthed the words to them /He's yours/. They played rock-paper-scissors and the taller one won. He advanced toward the tied down boy. Dilandau was trying to examine the state of his fingernails (with little luck) when he felt something hard position itself above his entrance. His whole body knotted up at the touch.
In a wave, it hit him what Folken's dirty intentions were. Immediately before he was taken and violated in the most degrading way known to man-kind. He clenched his jaw against crying out in pain. Not too much longer than ten minutes and the first of many shot his load into Dilandau. He sayed slumped on top for a moment, the withdrew and backed off to make way for the next man. He could not battle the tear-drops that forced their way between his eyelids. He heaved up his breakfast in disgust with himself after the third. This hurt in every sense of the word. It was degrading and humiliating, revolting and abusive. Even this was low for Folken, the man who had betrayed his country to flames. One would finish with him, and another would come and have their way. Half of the calvary on the Vione had responded to the call, and none of them wanted just one ride. Dilandau felt himself tear repeatedly. No one was even careful, nor gentle, nothing like Van. Where was his angel? By number ten, Dilandau's slender hips were sore from bodies much to large for him forcing him to accommodate them. The pain was not something he could just ignore. He could never be Van's entirely now. A piece of his soul left with each of those who violated him. Soon he was feeling empty inside, almost cold. He was unclean and spoiled, nothing an angel deserved. Inside, Dilandau gave up.
~Oh, Van . . .~
Folken sat back in a rolling chair and laughed at Dilandau's position outright. This is what he'd done to Van, so it was only fair that Dilandau received a taste of his own medicine. Folken kept encouraging the men to go back for more, they had more than thirty days till they touched land again, might as well take advantage of the opportunity. Quite a few of the men had grudges against Dilandau, for one petty reason or another and enjoyed humiliating him. A few of them took the liberty and the time to make the albino cum for them. That always got laughs all around.
Dilandau went deep into his mind to keep from reacting to his situation. Sometimes he would try and imagine it was Van who was with him, but he was never able to keep the image long. After about an hour or so he was so spent that he dozed off. However someone noticed and they bashed his head against one of the wheels wooden spokes. He didn't go back to sleep after that. His head hurt so bad. All of him felt so bad. Where was his angel, Van? Heaven had not forsaken him, had it? He dared not hope against hope that Van would still be there for him. No one cared that he was here. No one at all.
Dilandau almost inaudibly uttered the one word, "help . . ."
Hours later, the last one stumbled away out the door. Folken untied the limp body of Dilandau. He was deep in troubled sleep, breath not coming as easily as it should. He dragged the gooey, sticky, bloody mess that was Dilandau back to the steal table they'd started out on. He ceremoniously secured his arms and legs in the rack. This would be a delightfully slow way to watch him die. Folken looked in hate at Dilandau. Van would never have to bother with this abomination again. Folken twisted a corkscrew into his side to wake him up, which did the trick quite successfully. Dilandau came back to painful reality with a sharp gasp. His head was reeling with pain, he felt sick, but he knew there was no more to throw up. He dry-heaved anyway, resulting in a little blood to spatter onto his pale lips. Folken wiped away a small clump of hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. The Madoushi failed with this experiment, he would have to tell them.
Folken began turning the crank all at once until he was pretty sure he had dislocated Dilandau's shoulders. Dilandau bit his tongue, but he found no point in holding back now. He was dead and there was only hell waiting for him. He let the pain wash over and through him, yet found no voice to carry it out. He heard the gears turn more and his legs popped out of their sockets, too. He was suspended taught and he did not touch the table anymore. Dilandau leaned his head back and began falling back into the dizziness. Soon he would be in the clutches of devils, who would punish him endlessly for the life he lived. He concluded that that damned Folken had turned the crank again because he felt tendons ripping and ligaments tearing in his arms and legs. The end was so close, he would die and no one cared.
He opened his eyes for what he decided was the last time, and saw the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Van's heavenly face glowed down at him, framed by drifting feathers. He forgot everything but the vision he beheld before him.
"Van?"
Dilandau reached his hand up to touch his face and make sure it was real. His wine colored eyes sparkled in overwhelming joy. He lightly placed his fingers on one soft cheek. Van leaned into the touch, a soft smile graced Van's lips. Dilandau sat up and took Van into the longest, happiest embrace ever noted in Gaea. Van's pure, white, glowing wings enveloped the both of them in their snow-soft blanket. Time stopped. Dilandau took a deep breath in the place he could finally call home. They would have eternity to love one another.
They ended with a small kiss. Dilandau stood and looked over his lover, he was never more perfect. Van thought the very same about his clean, dressed, and impeccably groomed koibito. Shi was there as well, ready to show them the way to paradise. Dilandau and Van wrapped their arms all over each other and walked onward.
Without looking back, without saying a word, they led each other into a garden, verdant and full of bloom. Shi quietly followed them and closed and locked the door to the garden behind Itself.
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that's not the end . . . *wink*