Liam's POV

"Keep your concentration up. Keep your senses alert. Things can come at you from all sides, even below you, so be wary" his voice warns from the other side of the room. I nod, then I quickly tie my blindfold across my eyes. Picking my sword up from the floor, I position myself sturdily. Focusing on my breathing, I wait.

The swish of the targets as they spring from the ground beside me is the only way of knowing that it is time to begin, and I slice to my side, spearing through one of the targets. I yank it free. The target retreats with a small squeak back into the floor where it came from.

The hiss of flames bursting from my right are not for attacking, they simply give me something to dodge and get my adrenaline pumping. The flames lick at my leg, and I hear his sigh of frustration. The noise of it distracts me, and I didn't hear the next target popping up next to me, slamming into my leg and knocking me over.

"Enough" he grunts. The targets and fire stop. I tear my blindfold of me, disappointed in myself. This was the first time I had tried this with a blind fold on. "You weren't focusing enough!" he snaps, and I flinch backwards, sheathing my sword in the shiny iron case that always dangled off my belt.

"You distracted me sir" I mumble, looking at my shoes; brown leather, tattered a little but they had served me well. My blue jeans were loose to enable quick movement and were littered with cuts and slices from swords and bows, and some parts were black or singed off from fire. It didn't matter too much-I had plenty spare upstairs.

"A sigh distracted you? What will you do when someone screams as they die, hm?" he asks furiously.

I finally looked up to meet his angry gaze. He got angry very quickly, his deep chestnut eyes seemingly glowing with anger, light freckles peppered on his smooth skin, and a scowl which was always on his face was still there, only deeper. He ran his hand through his brown, spiky hair, ruffling it up, and he sighed again.

"Whatever. Just go back to your quarters. We will resume this again tomorrow when you have rested" he mutters. I bow respectfully, and in return he waves his hand in disregard as he stalks away into the basement. One of the many rules he had was to never go into the basement. At all. 

Being a master PvPer's and notorious assassin's apprentice was a high honour. Wherever I travelled with him, people were always telling me how lucky I was, how fortunate I was. But they had no idea how damn hard it was. BajanCanadian, or Mitch as he was known to his friends, was famed for being moody, snappy and depressed. Something happened a long time ago that caused him to become like this.

Before, I had heard rumours he was a funny, normal guy who was popular among his friends, until something happened that made him become dark and distant. He had friends, but they no longer visited him as much as they used to.

I loved being in hand to hand combat, fighting people, winning. I remember I had eagerly joined Mitch when he hand selected me to become his apprentice, back in the day when I was known as "that quiet guy" in school, the one who was quiet but smart. He was forced to take me in as his apprentice. Team Crafted Island needed fighters, fighters that were tough.

A fighter that was trained by the master PvPer was a force to be reckoned with.

However, he could only take on one apprentice at a time. So I was lonely all the time. No friends. Nobody to talk to. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job. But I wish it had more perks than just wake up, eat, practice, eat, practice, sleep. Repeat the process every day. I was going crazy. It was like being stuck in a infinite loop, doing the same thing over and over and over and over again.

All I wanted was a friend. For Mitch to like me. Maybe more.

I had known for a long time that I had feelings for my master, and they had grown over the years I had known him. I would catch myself staring at him as he demonstrated certain techniques. The way his muscles tensed, throbbing as he launched himself at targets, the look of determination and wisdom glinting in his eyes. I could sometimes even detect small hints of excitement when the playing field got really heated.

Something I had noticed was that when he used an axe, sadness would taint his expression, and he would stare down at it quietly. I had sneaked into his room a few times to see an axe on the wall, a diamond one, glinting in the sunlight. It had a tag next to it, saying "Betty." I knew nothing of this axe, disregarding it as an ex girlfriend maybe. 

I paused as I ascended the stair case. I looked down. I wanted to find out about this. It was time for me to stand up to him, to get him to like me. I WANTED him to like me. Not just treat me like a dog who wanted to learn new tricks. I hastily ran upstairs, chucking my sword onto my bed then pause. What if he gets mad? I decide to clip it back onto my belt, and then I quietly jog down stairs and knock on the old basement door. 

"Mitch?" I call out. No reply. I knock again, louder. "Miiiiitch?" I call out again. Hesitating, I open the door. 

There is an incredibly large metal staircase spiralling down. I look down the middle cautiously, and swallow at the large drop. Nervously, I creep forward, wincing as I hear the metal stairs creak. I silently shut the door and stealthily begin to creep down the stairs. It takes me a while to get to the bottom, all the while my heart pounding in my chest. I can hear Mitch muttering downstairs. I frown-who else was down there? Swallowing, I open the door and peer inside. 

Mitch is in a large room, sat clasping his knees in front of a large cage. What's inside the cage shocks me to the very bone.

A giant furry creature is snarling in the cage, pacing around, making gargling and growling noises. Sometimes it would throw itself against the bars of the cage, making them shudder. "Do you remember Jerome? When that guy tried to double team us, and we got hold of Betty and chopped them up?" Mitch chuckles, but he looks so sad and torn. He looks as if he wants to burst into tears.

The creature he called Jerome gargles, and growls as normal, rolling around on the floor. Mitch brings his hand up to the bar. "You know I'll always be here for you, best buddy. Even when you're like this" he croaks, tears flowing down his face.

Jerome launched himself at the bars of the cage, making Mitch flinch backwards. Wiping at his tears, he sniffs, stands up and goes over to a fridge. Inside is some meat, which Mitch quickly shoves in between the bars of the cage, and yanks his hand backwards as Jerome flies forward, ripping it out of his hands and devouring it hungrily. 

Jerome suddenly pauses to snap in my direction, his unfocused eyes glaring at me stiffly in the darkness. Mitch turns, and his sad expression turns to one of anger. "What the hell? I told you not to come down here!" he roars suddenly. Fear grips my heart like a vice as I shut the door and walk slowly towards him, trembling with every step. He glowers at me, his hand on the hilt of his sword which he hand crafted himself.

"What the hell do you think you're doing down here? I told you to never, EVER come down here!" he yells, stepping up right into my face.

"I needed to talk to you!" I protest weakly.

"You could of waited, idiot!" he hisses.

"Why don't you like me? Who is that? What's the axe over your bed? Just tell me and I'll leave you alone!" I suddenly yell back, temper rising. 

His expression suddenly softens and he hesitates. "Fine, I'll tell you" he mutters. Surprised, I stare at him in shock. Was it really that easy?

"But only because you've seen him now, so there's no point hiding it..." he snaps, plonking himself down and gesturing for me to sit down in front of him. I obediently sit, and wait. It was time for answers.