Bittersweet Umbra

8.

Rodney stands, shaking, his back arched, one hand behind him while his other nurses a wound on his front. The world around him has returned to that haze of light, the street and its houses partly visible. He's where he'd stood before he was transported to that strange, ever-shifting realm. What was that? How did he get back? Was it some sort of dream? A vision? He notices a body a few feet away from, able to make out its frame and features. Tully. He'd been mere moments away from killing her, her thin, weak frame suspended in mid-air, gradually being crushed into a ball when suddenly...

His eyes, still floating, begin to descend, his strength quickly leaving along with the blood that forms a damp patch in his robes, droplets falling from his fingers as he presses his wound.

Hush stands behind him, firmly gripping a 9-inch blade, the front of which juts out of Rodney's abdomen, blood dripping from its tip. A firm hand on Rodney's shoulder, he pulls him close so that his warm breath spreads down his neck. And then he twists.

Rodney lets out a guttural cry, the air shaken by his anguish.

Summoning the last of his strength, he uses his powers to pry Hush's fingers off of the weapon, slowly turning around as he does so. The two now face each other, Rodney barely managing to keep his eyes afloat. With a low, rumbling growl, he slowly lifts his hand off of his wound and points it towards Hush's neck. He raises his hand, Hush now on his toes. The two lock eyes for a moment and, through his ski mask, Rodney sees the hatred in his eyes, hatred so deep it sears into his soul.

"My...brother..." He says, unable to breathe. The first time that Rodney has ever heard him speak.

And the last.

With trembling fingers, Rodney slowly forms his hand into a fist.

His fingers move closer together. Closer. And closer.

And closer.

As soon as it closes-

*SNAP!*

Hush drops to the ground, dead.

Only the sound of the wind fills the air now. All around are bodies, their faint silhouettes visible through the white haze. Rodney falls to his knees, realising that soon he too will fall, hidden under this strange light. His hand shaking, he lifts above his head, staring into it. Blood drips on to his face, running down his cheeks, falling off his chin...

Not like this, he thinks to himself. Why like this?

The blood strikes the road, his body following after. He lies on his side, drenched in a pool that spreads from his wound. Rodney brushes the handle of the knife, only tying with it, unable to pull it out. A deathly cold wraps itself around his body. He can barely breathe.

And he feels so alone.

Everything he did only to die like this; in a pool of his own blood, no hand to hold, no voice of comfort.

Finally, he thinks, an end. An end...

He hears the sound of feet; shoes dragging along the road, slow and unsteady. He hears short and tired breaths, one of the last things he'll ever hear. Unable to turn to see who it is, he realises that the last set of eyes he'll ever see had peered into him with incredible hatred - strangely, this cut into him even more so than the knife. He does not wish for that to be his last memory. Although he made every effort to destroy it, some fragment of his soul remains, hoping for redemption. He hopes that it's Tully who stands behind him. Perhaps she pities him. Perhaps...it's not hatred in her eyes.

Pity is far greater than hatred.

And then comes his last thought;

How pity would have made an excellent addition to his collection.

And then his last breath.