I stand close to our master as he drags his feet towards the boy. Goltas is out after a beating, and Morgin went to get the Magi. "Stupid, lowly commoner.. who do you think you're talking to?" Jamil mumbles. His face is hidden behind his thick, dark brown locks. His words are muffled through thick sobs and heavy breathing. He's terrified right now, but still insists on being treated like royalty.
"Status doesn't matter here," the boy snarls at him, holding his knife up in defense. "Give back Aladdin's flute, you thief! Then we can talk." I hear a faint chuckle escape the master's lips, and I know he has no intention of complying.
"A commoner can't talk to me like that!" He goes quiet for a moment. "Heh heh hehh.. give me a break. You're weak.. vulgar.. and useless.." His body starts shaking rapidly, and I grab onto his arm, running my hand along his back in hopes to calm him down. His clothes are drenched with sweat, and I can feel his muscles tensing up. "You're trash with no right to live!"
The boy's face twists in disgust. Not bothering to argue, he glances around. He seems to be looking around for his friend, but our master is staggering in place, distracted by his thoughts. The boy goes to move when my lord attacks. Jamil's sword hits right by the commoner's feet. "Wait, pest! I haven't punished you yet."
"Punished?" The boy raises his brow, not daring to move again. His expression is as stone, but nervous sweat dots his temples.
"Yeah, that's right. What were th-those-those things? And this place? What is it?!" His green eyes finally look up. They look pained and start to twitch as he shakes. "How.. how could this happen to me?!" He's about to lose it again. "It's your fault!" Jamil yells. He stands in a defensive pose, sword out all the way in front of him and hands clenched tightly into fists. Sweat drips off the tips of his hair, brows furrowed, and he bites down roughly on his bottom lip as he clenches his jaw. He tries to keep himself strong and appear confident, but he's trembling. His legs won't stop shaking and his words stuttering. He thought he was fine. He thought there was nothing wrong. That he was still in control of his body and his mind. I try to steady him, to draw his attention away so I can help him calm down. "(Y/N)!!" He yells, slapping my hand away. He turns his attention away from the boy and to me, fists bared and ready to beat me. I'm getting in his way, what has been overcoming me lately?
"Lord Jamil," the boy demands his attention, stopping my lord's motions, "I think you've been scared witless. But why all the whining? This is a dungeon not some child's game. Status. Lineage. Honor. None of that matters here. No matter who you are, you're at the same level as anyone else here. You should've just stayed home, you spoiled brat!" It's then he snaps, storming towards the boy.
He clenches his grip onto his sword, letting out a growl, "Shut up! That's enough! I'll force you to understand you pathetic commoner!" Jamil prepares himself, his stance immediately telling me he's planning on a bit of a sword fight. I can't stand to watch: it's an unfair advantage. Even if he had lost it. The boy only had a knife for one, and our Lord was somewhat well learned of royal swordplay. I could remember him practicing techniques on me. He especially enjoyed immobilizing me before prodding at my face. I had no doubt he had the same intentions here. It was a trauma I'd lived too many times.
He starts rushing towards the boy in an attack, "I'll start with your feet!" But the boy soon dodges, causing him to grit his teeth. "My compliments, I'm surprised you dodged that-HOW ABOUT THIS!" But the boy spins to the side as the sword slashes through the air. Something's off, and Jamil starts to get impatient. Quickly, he stabs his weapon in every direction.
The boy manages to block each attack. "Had enough yet, Lord Jamil?" I hear him chuckle, seeming to get something out of his little triumph. But my master is far from done. He's too stubborn to give up without a win.
"Why can't I hit you?!" He screams out in frustration. He's only getting pushed more and more on edge, and his attacks are getting sloppier as he aims more for speed and to just get a damn hit.
The boy grabs the wrist that handles the sword, catching his knife under the Lord's arm. "That's because your side is wide open." He speaks so calmly, not even breaking a sweat with his movements. To him, this is child's play. Slashing a gash in Jamil's arm, he swiftly backs away with his knife still in front of him for defense. This time it's his turn to attack as he stabs every opening. My master drops his sword, letting out disgruntled sounds. Now the boy had Jamil by the tip of his knife, staring up at those piercing green eyes. You could see the shock in Jamil's face, but they're both distracted. As his eyes are on Jamil, he misses the blur of red coming up behind him: Morgin.