Cain sinks the blade into his brother’s ribs. Abel’s eyes meet his brothers, his face breaking into a peaceful smile.
“For this you will never find God brother.” Abel chokes, blood running from his lips. The crimson splashes down his chest.
“I don’t need to, I have a new God.” Cain holds up the knife, reveling in its power. Sunlight glints off the blade, blinding him. It gleams with a satisfied hum, as if it is pleased with him. The item's bloodlust, and his, are sated.
Only for a moment. Cain thinks, memories of the gnawing hunger, fresh in his mind. For when God refused his offer, Cain’s hatred allowed an artifact to feed his hate. Fueled by greed it must be fed.
If God had been fair, if he had been just, It would never have been born.
Cain sits beside his fallen brother, knowing the consequences for his actions. God will not be merciful. It is not, nor has it ever been, his way. As his brother draws the last rattling breaths from his chest, Cain stares at the blade.
The hum is a soft vibration, a pleasant feeling in the palm of his hand. Power courses through every bit of his being.
I will have the power I crave. I will be a God. Mine has failed me.
Cain looks one last time at his silent brother, closing his lids.
You can see no more, you are no more. The Earth takes you back to her cold embrace.
Cain ambles toward home, his crime running his thoughts. The thrill, the joy, his excitement.
I have killed him. His blood rests on my hands, yet I feel no remorse.
“Cain, where is Abel, thy brother?” The Lord’s words bring a flash of hatred.
“I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain savors the power. The smooth handle of the knife warm in his palm, he studies the item.
“What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground. Now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand. When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.”
Cain winces, a grin breaking over his sharp features. He has angered God, has driven him to fury. This though, was more a punishment than he had expected.
“My punishment is greater than I can bear.” His hatred rises in his throat. As God’s mark burns into his flesh he rises to leave.
I will rise against him. Bitterness leaves little room for much else.
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