Spoiler! :
“Kill me!” Hashta cried hoarsely. “Curse you, just kill me!” Dahran drew back his fist, the iron claws pointed downwards. His aim would be perfect; he would kill like a tiger-with a single slash to the throat. He was fully prepared to strike, yet he hesitated. Eyes wide and wild, he glared down one last time into those of his brother. Tears of rage were streaming down both their faces, quickly washing away with the rain. Hashta gazed levelly, unafraid, mocking him. A deep and pure hatred filled those eyes, those terrible eyes. Dahran had never seen such eyes as those.
“Strike! Why do you hesitate?” Hashta demanded of him. “Kill me now!”
“Ahhhh!” Dahran screamed with fury. But he stopped, and could not move, for fear wrapped its sharp cords around the fibers of his being. It was the eyes. He had looked into those eyes, and had seen himself. Those were his terrible eyes. That was his hatred. He was this monster. All wrath left him, suddenly, and he fell to his knees.
“Ahaaah!” he screamed again. His face contorted with anguish and torment. He grasped the sides of his head. “What have I done?” He cried bitterly. Dahran stretched himself out on the ground before Hashta. “Oh brother, forgive me!” He sobbed.
Hashta looked down on the pitiful form of his brother. There was no victory, for in his surrender Dahran had unwittingly triumphed. Why? Why had death, that final glory, eluded him? No, why had it been stolen from him? He stared down blankly at his conqueror and withdrew a dagger.
“You fool,” he said quietly, “You have killed me.
Only a moment passed between them, a surreal, fleeting moment. But the course of fate was changed in that one moment, shattered, its chain irreparable. Justice had been dully served, though tragically. For the hilt of the dagger had appeared, protruding from Hashta’s chest. He did not feel it. He felt nothing. As the last few seconds of his life faded away, Hashta considered the irony of it all. Everything had been taken from him: honor, birthright, favor. And he had strained and struggled to take it back. Since his first breath two things had sustained him, hatred and a desire. It was a simple desire, in truth. He had wanted only one thing-the desire to see his brother, his older perfect brother, lying at his feet in submission. At the last that desire had been fulfilled, but he had never intended for it to happen like this. Even though he had had thrown himself completely into the mercy of his brother, Dahran had won. Surrender had been his own choice, as had forgiveness, and he had taken more than victory from Hashta, he had taken away the desire. Stripped of this, his hatred was extinguished, unable to support itself; and his heart, wrapped tightly with bonds for so many years, began to unravel. Finally they were gone, and there remained nothingness. Cold, grey, nothingness. The emptiness, he knew, would consume him. Shrivel away all withering hopes of life. There was no hate, no forgiveness, no desire, no feeling except the fear. He was dead, Dahran had, at last killed him.
Unable to bare the emptiness, the hollowness, Hashta had driven that fatal blade, that wicked implement, in with his own hand. Sealing his end. He smiled grimly, fully convinced that now, the nothingness could not consume him, for there was now nothing left to consume. How wrong was he! For he had failed to realize, even at that final moment, that he had already lost. The nothingness had consumed him long ago. With bitter, hopeless defeat, Hashta drew his last breath and fell.
How treacherous is that cruel barb of fate!
This was a great study of hate and desire, and what happens when that hate and desire is suddenly taken away. Fate can indeed be a cruel barb. You even managed to make it relatively short - I love it. I can never do backgrounds without taking about two paragraphs to explain everything.
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