Jibril raised his blade right, I raised mine opposite. His feet elegantly side stepped, not tripping or even catching his other heels as mine were doing; human heavy-footedness had become my custom. The movements of his chest breathing were barely visual while mine dragged in the oxygen almost reluctantly. Arching his back, Jibril lifted his arms up so the sword was pointed towards me and lunged like a cat. My reflexes were good, I blocked his blow. We were sparring, and only that, it was not even pretend combat; we were showing off our skill.
This tradition was something the humans had not kept in centuries, I was at an immediate disadvantage. Knowing this, I decided to play the spar to my strengths; human tactics. Different rules applied in sparring. This I had forgotten.
Letting my blood fill with hatred and brute strength, I crossed blades with Jibril and pushed backwards. Grasping his wrist, I twisted it backwards until I heard a snap. Jibril gasped, but I was having too much fun to care. It was just him and me; his sword and my sword. With all my weight behind me, I wrestled him to the floor and drew my sword above my head.
"What are you doing?"
"By the stars!"
People were yelling. I stopped then, and saw it from their eyes.
Beneath me, Jibril's eyes were terrefied, his mouth transfixed in a silent scream of terror at my sheer brutality. I had used barbaric way to best him, and I had gone below everything expected of an elf. I was a disgrace, a sick, immoral disgrace. Looking down, I could see Jibril was unarmed and had been for some time, his hand lay at a funny angle and his whole body was contorted in an attempt to scramble from my murderous embrace. Around us people were stunned into silence, the men shielding their women.
My stomach heaved. And so, like last time when confronted with terror of myself, I fled.