Dilandau makes a deal with the Grim Reaper as he lies dying, but what he agrees to do turnsout to be a little more difficult than he thought.
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't have money, so please don't sue.
Dilandau makes a deal with the Grim Reaper as he lies dying, but what he agrees to do turns-out to be a little more difficult than he thought.
Warnings- Supernatural-ish stuff, AU-ish
The battlefield was soaked and stained red with the blood of the dead and dying. Both sides having suffered a great amount of casualties, but still the battle waged on. By the time Dilandau noticed, surviving enemy forces outnumbered his own. Somehow he knew there would be no back-up or reinforcements coming. When he began facing off with Van he was already tired and breathing heavily. Van, however, had only recently joined this fight and was fresher for the battle. It showed in there fighting. Dilandau was lucky he had managed to out-maneuver, and block Van's sword and the punches he thru at him with the Escaflowne. Van hadn't managed to land a critical hit, but Dilandau knew he was running on empty. It was only a matter of time before that giant sword would cut him down and he would join his slayers in the afterlife.
Dilandau spared a glance to the journal that lay in his lap. After his slayers had died Dilandau was told that it helps to write things out. So he had. He had continued to write in it until his hand hurt and his fingers were discolored with ink. He found something to write about everyday. He had even sketched a few pictures; some of the slayers, so he could remember what they looked like, there was one of Folken, and even one of Van. Why he had been inspired to draw his enemy he did not know. He had just picked up the pencil and started to draw some lines, Van was just where he ended up. The last picture he drew was of a woman he didn't remember. He dared not ask anyone if they recognized her for fear of them finding his journal. He never put the book down, it went everywhere with him, reason it was setting in his lap, in the cockpit of his Alseides, during this last battle.
The quick glance to the book proved to be a mistake. Van scored a hard hit to his left arm, severing it and cutting deep into the torso of his guymelf. Dilandau was knocked to the ground when Van pulled his sword free and his head was battered around within the small space. Padded or not, it was still enough to injure Dilandau. As he attempted to stand, the controls not liking the fact that an arm was gone, Van gave him a kick to the chest crushing the hatch closed permanently and crushing the inside against Dilandau slim body. Van kicked him again, nudging him onto his back. There was still enough power behind that kick to do some damage. Dilandau let out a pain-filled scream loud enough for it to be heard above the sound of battle. He felt the piece of metal slide into him, tearing his flesh and spilling more of his blood. He looked down to see the damage and realized it wasn't just one piece of metal, but several. A good portion of the front controls had dislodged and had found a new place in his stomach. He thought that it should hurt more and noticed that the pain was fading away as was his eyesight.
"Van!" Allen was yelling at him to stop. The Alseides was on its back and Allen could see that it would not be moving again. Van was standing over the fallen guymelf, sword raised high, ready to plunge it into its chest. Allen's code of honor overriding that of his will for revenge, he began grabbing Van's weapon, which seemed to break him out of his trance.
"Why Allen..." He began to yell back in return. "You've seen first hand what he has done, he needs to die...I have to avenge my country!"
"If we take him in alive he will stand trial for war crimes and then he'll be executed. Your country will be avenged. Don't turn into him to avenge your country Van; your people wouldn't want that." Allen was relieved when his small speech dimmed the bloodlust from Van's eyes. The battle was over, they had come out the victor, but not unscathed. Van exited the Escaflowne and joined Allen who was trying to open the cockpit of the Alseides. Many others were doing the same, searching for comrades to thank and surviving enemy soldiers that would stand trial. There weren't many of the latter.
Even before they pried the hatch open the smell of blood was strong. Neither of them was prepared for the site that meet them when the hatch was opened. Opening the hatch had pulled the metal from Dilandau's body and now blood freely flowed from the wounds. There was a cut down his left cheek that, if he lived long enough, would give him a matching scar to the one on his right cheek. His already pale skin looked sickly and his eyes were half opened, but unseeing. If it weren't for the shallow breathing Van would have thought him dead. Van was reaching into the cockpit when Dilandau began to mumble incoherently and then blood began to fill his mouth causing him to start coughing. At the risk of hurting him further, Van and Allen hulled him from the destroyed guymelf and turned him on his side to try and help Dilandau breath better. The pale boy seemed oblivious. His head lulled back and forth when they moved him and he stopped mumbling for a moment only to start again when he could breathe enough to do so.
The two had attracted a small crowd when they began to half strip Dilandau to try and bandage his wounds. There wasn't much they could do.
Dilandau watched from somewhere, he didn't know where. He had seen Allen and Van pull him from his battered guymelf and watched as they attempted to bandage his torn flesh. There was no sound. He could see their lips moving and he knew they were saying something, but something had muted their voices. He knew he should feel something, fear, anger, hate, but there was nothing. He could see he was dying, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He liked this place that he had appeared in; there were no feelings or pain. When he notices his lips were moving he felt a sense of longing; then, for some reason, the sound was turned back on and he could hear everything and he knew he was calling for his slayers. Telling them he was coming to be with them, to wait and he would be there soon.
Anger suddenly overcame him and he was on his back, on the battlefield and staring at the two that were trying to keep him from his slayers. They failed to notice that he had awoken and was glaring at each of them. There was a collective gasp from the crowd when they noticed he was coherent, or so he thought. Van and Allen suddenly looked startled and began backing away from his body, but they weren't looking at his face, more towards the wounds they were bandaging and the ground around them.
Van and Allen were tearing at shirt sleeves and pant legs, anything they could use to bind the serious wounds Dilandau had sustained during the battle. Their attention was diverted to Dilandau's injuries and the ground that the silvered haired commander's blood pored onto as a dark light began to shine. The blood had began to run away from the body in several directions, not that unusual since they were on a slop, but when the blood began to change from red to a dark green; they took notice. The blood had begun to run into a perfect circle around the fallen soldier's body, and Van had an inkling to look up to the sky above.
The sky had begun to change to the same shade as the blood and he saw a pillar of light descend upon them. It was much the same as the one that brought Hitomi to him and sent her home, only this time it made him feel a sense of dread. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and something in his head was telling him to run and hide. The look on Allen's face told him Allen was feeling the same way. The air began to smell of death and became uncomfortably cold as everything took on a shade of green. There audience around them disappeared and a dark figure materialized a few feet away. So entranced with this new being they didn't notice that Dilandau no longer lay between them.
End chapter one