Most characters within were created by and belong to the persons associated with The Escaflowne Movie Copyright 2000

Fostering Hatred

Dilandau could see red burning through his eyelids from the light hanging over his head.

'I don't like this at all,' Deb said near him.

Deb seemed to have taken charge of things in the infirmary since Reg was killed. There was no real leader among the doctors, some just organized better than others or were better respected within their circle.

'None of you has ever done something at all like this before. You're all just working off books and intuition,' Deb's voice continued in a worried tone.

'Lord Folken believes we'll succeed,' a gravely voice responded.

Deb's voice dropped to a whisper, 'Lord Folken is insane.'

A slight rustling of fabrics may have indicated a shrug. The less familiar voice followed with 'He trusts in our abilities.'

Dilandau tried to lift his eyelids that seemed to be impossibly glued shut. His fingers twitched and pain shot up his arm. Right, they were broken.

'Dilandau, are you awake?' Deb asked in a quiet, controlled voice.

He fought to open his mouth, managing to part his lips just a crack, '...Yeah...'

Hesitation, 'An armor of the Ancient Dragon Clan has been recovered. Lord Folken says you are to pilot it. Do you understand?'

'...Yeah...'

More hesitation, 'That means the sorcerers will have to reset the armor for your blood. That could be very dangerous. You might die.'

Dilandau breathed raspingly through his mouth. He couldn't seem to get enough air.

A very long and awkward pause, 'Do you want to pilot the armor?'

'You... say it... like I have... a choice,' Dilandau coughed painfully.

Deb was silent, the other voice spoke, 'Lord Folken has ordered us to adjust the armor to you. Deb thinks he's got a conscience and is trying to find a way to keep you out of it. Lord Folken has ordered it so.'

They were all silent for a long time. Finally Dilandau spoke again, 'I want to pilot... the armor'

Dilandau fled the wreckage of his armor; Escaflowne was lumbering away, paying him no attention. It had changed color. Black, the color of emptiness. It was going to destroy the planet now, just like in the nursery rhymes. Why were nursery rhymes always about the most depressing things possible?

He stumbled through the rubble of smashed buildings and broken roads. He went carefully away from the smoldering patch of the city that had stood behind Escaflowne. Other fires were breaking out around the city, starting within one house, maybe from a lamp being knocked over, and spreading eagerly across dry wood and the occasional thatched roof.

He picked up a bit of torn canvas as he hurried through the crumbling streets, wrapping it around himself, more out of modesty than cold as a hot breeze blew through the city from the fire burning somewhere to his left. He cursed the bareness of his feet as small, sharp rocks cut into them. He was rarely outside of armored boots excepting when in bed.

He pressed onward through the city, back towards where the foot bound fighting was happening. He could just hear the sounds of battle over the roaring of flames.

And what was he going to, half-naked and unarmed? Just waltzing into the midst of a fight with no protection at all?

He stopped. Why not run? Run as far as he could? There was so much chaos; he wouldn't be missed until he was well out of reach. He'd be free.

No. He wouldn't be free while Folken was alive. He still had to kill that son-of-a-btch. So he had to go back. Back to hell.

'DAMN YOU FOLKEN!' he screamed at the sky. He was up there somewhere. In his damned floating pyramid. Waiting for the world to end.

The sound of hoof beats grew stronger above the other sounds. Would it be the Abaharaki or the Black Dragon Cavalry? Death or salvation? With Dilandau's luck it was sure to be the Abaharaki.

Round the broken buildings and into view, a horse bound, followed by another and another. All three and their riders were clad in the primly monotonous armor of the Black Dragon. Dilandau shouted joyfully as they bore down on him, happy exclamations drowned in the thunder of hooves against stone.

They were talking very quickly and all at once. Through the torrent of excited babble, Dilandau was able to pick out the key point. The fortress was falling.

'What? Stop! What are you talking about?' he demanded.

'It's falling out of the sky!' Chesta exclaimed flailing his arms. 'The whole thing's falling all to bits!'

Dilandau stared at him, mouth slightly open in disbelief. 'You're- What? But...' he fumbled.

'The Escaflowne flew in, and then the castle started crumbling, and then, uh, Van I guess, flew out!' Gatti elaborated, pushing his coat into Dilandau's arms.

'Its falling on the north end of the city. Squishing everything. It's just falling apart like cake,' Ryuon was shaking slightly with excess adrenaline. He had a bit of blood, somebody else's, splattered lightly across his face.

Dilandau stared vacantly into space a moment before grabbing Chesta by the shoulders and half shouting, 'Is Folken dead?'

'I think... maybe... yes... maybe...' Chesta answered doubtfully, 'There's so much happening, it's really loud and hard to find anything. I barely found you.'

Dilandau let him go, nodding vaguely. Chesta was pale and tired looking; using his oracle powers left him drained, and in a battle this size there was far too much for him to keep track of or sort through.

'What do we do now?' Ryuon asked somewhat anxiously.

Dilandau looked vaguely in the direction he guessed the fortress would be, 'I do believe we drink a toast to Van.'

You hear a lot of people speak badly of looting, but it can really be quite helpful at times. Particularly when you're in need of a nice set of clothes that doesn't scream 'hated enemy' to everyone you pass on the streets. There's not a lot of consolation in that for the looties, but if you believe in karma, they probably deserved it. If not, just remember that it's their own fault for leaving their windows unshuttered.

Stealing horses from fallen soldiers is also a plus. It's not as though they're going to need them any more. However, it's advisable to loot yourself some clothes first. If you've never ridden a horse without long, sturdy pants before, let me tell you, it's itchy and abrasive and painful. Don't try it at home, kids. Once happily in a comfortable pair of red pants, white tunic and no black at all, Dilandau felt rejuvenated and once again ready to take on the world.

However he had no intention of taking on the locals when they decided to go Dragon hunting. They had to take a long detour to get out of the city walls, avoiding the burning areas and large groups of people, but enough they were in the craggy country outside and looking back at the sun sinking over the burning city. The smoke made the sunset a glorious array of warm, rich colors. It's interesting the way beautiful sunsets tend to follow destruction.

Dilandau looked back on the city and the smoldering ruin of the black pyramid he'd been trapped in for nearly a decade.

Do you hate me? Folken had always asked. It was some sick sort of game, Dilandau had realized after a while.

No, he'd always replied.

Now the game was over and Dilandau had won. His head was bend down slightly, his eyes closed in silent prayer. It was a peaceful and serene picture that was rather ruined when Dilandau stood up in his stirrups after a while and screamed as loud as he could 'I WIN, YOU FVCKING BASTARD!'

And that's the end.