◇A Pair Led By Fate?◇ ((Argenthill/GunsN'Roses Medieval Au 🔫🌹))

4 - Crimson

Boothill was dragged down a flight of circular stairs, walls appearing much more rocky and rugged, making the place feel more like a dungeon. Much to his relief, the masked man did not even say a word or even acknowledge him as an equal.

To say this was the first time in a long while he was caught was not an exaggeration. Where did they even get that beast of a knight anyway?

Speaking of that knight... he was sure he'll give him a piece of his mind once he gets out of here, if he could.

Boothill glanced at the masked man, now a mocking smirk on his face. He secretely fiddled with the rope that were tying his hands together. It wasn't easy, but he was desperate. Being locked in a dungeon especially by those tyrants isn't such a pleasant idea, after all. Though, he figured the bastard beside him could notice, so he needs to think of a distraction.

"This darn fleabag of a dungeon smells... how'd ya' even manage to live 'ere?"

Boothill muttered, letting out a grimace as he looked around. It really was terrible down here, a stark contrast to the fantasy-like palace just on top. The walls were made of rock that were quite musty, and the only source of light were the torches that were hung up on the wall. A loud 'Sush!' came from beside him, making him turn his head only to be met with the masked man flashing him a glare, one that could almost pierce a metal wall. His face was covered, but Boothill could definitely feel the aura.

"You don't have the right to speak... save your energy pleading for the royal family to let you out."

Hearing this, Boothill scoffed. He continued to hesitantly walk, his grimace now more apparent.

Well, screw it.

The fugitive discarded the ropes that were once restraining the movements of his hands on the ground, grabbing a pocket knife to aim it at the man's side. Unfortunately, the man caught his hand, his grip firm but not as much as the red haired knight's grasp. Before he knew it, Boothill was thrown against the rocky wall, making him let out a loud gasp. He looks up to see the darned man walking up to him, his figure towering over the fugitive's body, shadow looming over enough to make him slightly intimidated.

But despite the terrifying appearance, this man was nowhere close to that red haired knight.

Gaining his energy back, Boothill stands up before lifting his leg to kick the man across the head, making him stumble back. He then grabbed the dagger that fell on the ground from the previous throw before slashing the blade across the other's chest. The masked man shrugged it off despite the wound across his chest.

Boothill's eyebrows furrowed with anticipation as he sees the the masked man pull out a sword of his own, but it was noting he hadn't expected.

In a flash of a second, the blade was moved across Boothill's body, giving him only a moment to react. He moved in the nick of time, narrowly avoiding a would-be fatal wound by a hair. He thrusted the dagger straight for the masked man's chest-

*CLANG*

His dagger was blocked by the man's sword. Dang, he was quick to move.

Clashes of blade's were echoed throughout the stairway, drops of blood splattering across the walls and stairs as they managed to inflict cuts on each other.

Boothill's eyes widened as he felt a sharp pain on his stomach. His breath hitching as he glanced down, only to be met with the masked man's blade lodged onto his chest, blood immediately pouring out from the wound. Oh, fuck... shit, shit, shit. He was hit, probably in a vital spot aswell.

"D-Damn you..."

The fugitive muttered, pushing his own body back, so that the blade would get off him, making him stumble back against the wall. That action caused a huge and sharp surge of pain again, letting out a groan. Blood came gushing out from his wound, staining his leather jacket.

He glared at the masked man who began to slowly walk over to him, eyes dilating out of fury and at the same time, fear. If only his gun wasn't taken away from him, he'd shoot this bastard on his head.

"Do you not care for your life!? Do you... want me to execute you on the spot!?"

The masked man spat out with fury, preparing to swing his sword against the man's head. Boothill's heart rate increased, desperately urging his already exhausted body to move. He glanced around desperately, trying to think of something to atleast save his own life. His breaths came out in short pants, his body tensing up. Memories of his past flashed through his mind, of his family, of everything he had lost.

Then he saw it...

His sweet beloved gun, hidden carefully right in the masked man's pocket. In a moment of sheer desperation, he shifted his body, swiftly grabbing the gun from him, pointing it at the man's chest, pressing the trigger. A loud bang echoed across the stairway, then another, and another.

The masked man's now lifeless body fell to the ground. Boothill covered his wound with his free hand, as he began to shoot the man's body out of fury.

"Rot in hell... rot in hell..."

He kept muttering those spiteful words. There was no denying that he hates him, he hates them, he hates everyone apart of this kingdom. They were the reason everything in his life had been ruined.

Eventually, the fugitive had calmed down, letting his hand fall to his side as he blankly stared at the corpse before him, now pooled in his own crimson blood. The wound that previously stung like hell before now felt numb. It wasn't always that he had taken the life of another, but everytime he does, he just felt... empty.