Disclaimer: Escaflowne and its characters are not mine, and probably never will be.
Forbearance
By: Penybright
Darkness. The cell was cloaked in the deep depths of midnight. There was no sound in the frigid, clammy air, no indications of life. It was merely a deception. There was life harbored in the dank cell. The life of one prisoner. A rather unfortunate prisoner. His life would soon end. It was a cruel fate, but fate is often cruel.
There was a slight stirring sound as the prisoner shifted wearily on the damp stone floor. A soft, breathy moan escaped their lips as they began to wake. It wouldn't be long now. The execution was set for the end of the week. Finally, the suffering would end.
He didn't know how long he had been isolated in his dark cell. He had lost track of the days a long time ago. Coherency would only come to him sometimes, in brief spurts. His energy was drained, and he found himself barely able to move. Thought of escape had long ago vanished. Even hope of being rescued had been crushed.
The only opening of hope for him now, was his death. He had struggled long enough. He had defied them, refused to give them what they wanted. He would not submit. Submission was defeat, but death was victory. They had tried numerous tortures on him to break him. None had worked. His will was strong and unwavering. He would die before he gave them what they wanted, and so, he would die.
He was going to die anyway. A mere mortal could not exist on a few measly scraps of stale bread and a cup of water a week. He would die soon anyway. His once strong and lithe body was now weak and scrawny. Walking without help was beyond his endurance or strength. Sitting he even found to be a chore. He was a mere ghost of his former self, nothing left of him but a skeleton clad loosely in skin. His eyes, though, his eyes still burned brightly with an inner fire.
All the pain inflicted upon him had not diminished the fire in his soul. Perhaps even death would not accomplish the feat. He was weak, yes, but he would still fight in his own way. He was stubborn, more stubborn than his enemy had anticipated. That had been their mistake, his victory.
Van Slanzar de Fanel groggily awoke in his dark, drafty cell, sluggishly pulling himself up. Soon, he would have his finally victory. Soon it would end, and they would discover their error. He would be victorious... even in death.
~ Well? Would you like for there to be a part 2? Or do you like where this piece left off?