A tear slipped away into the fading darkness, mimicking the droplets rolling on the blood-stained window. “Shoot,” he whispered softly to himself, certain no one could be spying on him. Holding the test tube closer to his eye now, he squinted hard, in a futile attempt to release another drop of liquid.
“I wouldn't do that.”
The boy jumped, startled. He spun around quick enough to confuse human eyes. “How long have you been here?” he hissed, a twinge of worry flickering in his suppressed voice.
A pair of gleaming cat-like golden eyes stared into his. They were above his own eye level, looking down upon him with no mercy. The pattering sound of the raindrops on the window mocked the silence that grew between them.
Finally, an intake of breath. But instead of a reply, the boy found himself pressed up against the wall, the tip of a blade edging its way into his tough skin. Drops of warm blood began to run down his stomach. He stared up into the eyes whose body had imprisoned him.
“Don't, Sord. It's always a useless attempt to kill me. Or to escape me.”
Sord kept staring. Finally deciding that a little injury and blood was a more favorable option than death, he whipped out from the side, the blade tearing his skin viciously. Fighting the urge to double over in pain, he ran towards the door.
The eyes gleamed at him from the door. “Did you really think, you could outrun me?” Then, quick as the lash of a whip, he grabbed Sord and twisted him painfully.
A whimper escaped Sord's lips. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, pain dulling his tone. The blade had once again settled itself next to Sord's neck. A sneer escaped from the one who held him. When no reply found him, he asked, louder, “Who are you?”
The grip slowly released on him, though suddenly weak, Sord's legs buckled and he found himself staring at the floor. “You really don't know who I am?” the voice questioned, sounding astonished. Then it hardened. “Are you really that dim-witted?”
Suddenly he felt himself being heaved upward, not gently, and facing the window he had been near when trying to draw tears. “Look at these. Every single one of these drops,” the man instructed. “What is alike about them.”
Sord didn't answer. Out of confusion, but mostly out of his arrogance. The arrogance that often cost people their lives, acting too proud in the face of danger. Even when his head swam, he held his posture and shut his mouth. A sharp pain seared through his back, and he realized that his soon-to-be murderer had brought out the blade again, and thrust it approximately an inch inwards, as a warning. A trembling gasp escaped Sord's lips.
“I-I don't know,” he managed to croak out. He could only watch the water droplets zoom past. If only my tears flowed that easily. I might have been able to avoid this. The rain continued to feel sorry for him, possibly even more, with the howling wind splattering larger drops.
All of a sudden, a blade wrenched deep into him. Waves of nausea began to carry him, lakes of darkness beginning to appear before him. He felt himself turned around, and sought the comfort of the wall against his warm, bleeding back.
“I cannot believe you,” the voice whispered in his ear. “You truly do not recognize me?” A pause crept in, and Sord wondered if that was because he died until a sound came again. “I am your brother, Sord. The brother you betrayed so many years ago.”
The last image Sord saw before Death scooped him up into his arms, was the cat eyes gleaming intently into his, pity, betrayal, and satisfaction weaved through them.
A few moments later, blood stained the broken remains of the window, and two bodies lay huddled on the ground, motionless.