"What do you want of me?" she asked, begged, shoulders shuddering with choked sobs. "What more could you want?" A trickle of crimson slid down her face, a tear the color of blood, a jewel, a flower petal, her entire soul contained in a perfect drop as it rolled from her muzzle, poised for an instant before plummeting for an eternity to the ground.
Something in him broke then, and he threw himself towards her, paw outstretched as if to catch the droplet, protect it with his reddened claws, but of course it was too late. The shimmering scarlet sphere shattered on the ground into a thousand sparkling particles, and with it she fell as well, thin form hardly making a sound as she struck the cold, harsh pavement.
And the light went out of the world. For a moment he was blind, lost, screaming in the darkness. He cried out her name first, her name, his own name, and when he knew where he was once more, perhaps it had been a moment and perhaps it had been a thousand years but still he stood above her and looked down at her crumpled form, tattered white fur carved into bright sections by curves and splashes of dark blood.
Her eyes were open, gazing into his soul, still green but filmed over, a forest covered gently by a veil of mist, drawn into a a terrible and beautiful sleep. She was as beautiful as she had ever been, perhaps more, a fragile ruined innocence, a broken white wing. Beside her staring eyes the bright splatter of blood that had fallen had darkened, spread out, trying its best to soak into unforgiving concrete.
He watched her for a moment, not waiting for her to awaken. It was impossible for her torn side to rise again in breath, this he felt and this he knew. His whole world had just died, and here he was, still panting, street grit grinding into his paw pads, marked with her blood. He had killed the world, and now he laughed. A wild incredulous laugh tore from his throat, rising into the air, calling down the streaming rain from the looming shadow-mottled clouds above. Her blood mingled with the rain and ran in rivulets, a spiderweb of dark spiraling through crystalline threads of water.
They found him later, still laughing, golden eyes wide and crazed, ink-black fur wet and matted, standing above her corpse. Her fur had been washed clean by the rain, purest white once more but for the red wounds which had undone her. None dared approach him, for he was as one possessed, a demon or a dark angel, crying out in mirth over the corpse of the one he had loved the most in the world. Cruel cats, hard cats, city cats, they whispered "evil", and it was both horror and worship that could be heard in their voices.
It was not until the rain stopped in the morning that he quieted and left her side, and when he lifted his paws from the ground they left crimson prints in their place, clear against dry ground. He looked around him at swarms of cats that gazed from the shadows, multitudes of bright-gleaming eyes in every shade imaginable. They waited for him to speak, and finally he chuckled, voice rasping in his damaged throat. "Come with me." he snarled, his voice compelling them, drawing them forward like nothing that they had ever heard before. "Come with me, and we will rule the world."
He walked like a king or like some strange heathen god into the shadows, and as one they followed. Their future, their fate was dark and storm-torn, tangled with bloodstained thorns, but at this moment they would not trade it for anything in the world. To kill and to die under this leader would be a great thing, and if anything was certain it was that they would never be forgotten, never when black, thundering nights still clouded the hearts of any cat.
They would go down in history.