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Damnit, damnit, damnit, damnit all to hell!
These were the words racing through his mind, frantic and full of burning hot anger, as the wretched celestial dragon scum delivered blow after blow to his shackled body. Cowards, they were both disgusting cowards, inflicting their "divine" punishment unto him while he hadn't the ability to fight back. If only he wasn't chained here, defenseless and weak, then he would be able to defend himself and then some. He would take care of these sorry excuses of warriors and avenge his fallen friends. He would rend their skin from their bodies and grind their bones into dust.
He bit deeply into his tongue in an attempt to silence the sounds of his agony, tasting the bitter tang of copper as blood flooded his mouth. Unfortunately, he was unable to stop the involuntary grunts of pain from resonating deep in his throat. He was only human, after all, and he was in a lot of pain. Not a soul had been able to leave such wounds on his body since the day of his capture by Red-Hair, none were strong enough to even try. At least that, however, had been a fair fight between equals. This was anything but that. No, this was more akin to the days when he was just a child, left in the "care" of his horrid excuse of an uncle, forced to lay down and take it, vulnerable as he was subjected to the wills of his tormentor. He had forgotten just how badly it hurt, both physically and emotionally, to be so thoroughly beaten by those who held power over you while you were entirely unable to do anything to stop them. It was downright humiliating, degrading.
But he refused to back down so easily. He refused to give into their whims. He was the heir to the Elbaf throne, the pride of her strength. He was no sell out and he was no coward! No amount of pain, no matter what they did to him, none of it would be enough to force him to bend and meet their demands. He would laugh in the face of their frustration and anger. He would rather die with his honour than live with the shame of tucking his tail between his legs.
Finally, after what felt like a millennia of pain and torture, the nobles prepared to make their departure. But not without one last parting gift, courtesy of Loki's big mouth.
"Just you wait until I'm out of these chains," Loki spat, taking a pause to pant for his breath, the pain in his head and ribs making it difficult to talk with ease, "I'm going to make sure my buddies are avenged."
And be free of the chains he would be. It was only a matter of time before Strawhat brought him the key.
"Was that a threat?" Red Hair's bastard of a brother asked, his tone biting and poisonous. He glared at Loki from the side of his eye, jaw working itself into a frenzy as he stewed in his anger.
Loki felt a chill down his spine at the biting words and the scathing look. He almost regretted his proclamation. Almost. He jutted his chin out in defiance, daring the man to strike him like his associate had been moments before. He had never been afraid of pain before, why should he start now?
The red headed man whipped out his sword and held it down by his side. His eyes were full of venom, but he made no move to strike him. Instead, he stayed firmly in place as he slowly raised his sword until it was pointed at Loki's chest. Something akin to panic set in as a thick, black liquid bubbled up from blade, the smell of burning tar and wet dog suddenly potent in the air. The very metal of the sword itself was shifting, morphing, and growing until three giant wolf heads nearly as big as himself were snarling down at him, a deadly blade protruding from each of their foaming mouths.
He refused to close his eyes or hide from the attack as the rapid dogs descended upon him, instead he faced it like the warrior he was. He grit his teeth tightly and clenched his hands into tight fists in order to prepare for the inevitable pain that was sure to come. His eyes locked firmly onto the horrid beast, challenging it.
"Come find me, assuming you survive that is." He barely registered the celestial bastard's words as the dogs grew closer and closer.
"You've got to be fucking kidding-!" He choked out, a frantic edge tinging his words despite the bravado he was wearing moments before. If those things made contact he wasn't sure if he would survive it. And even if he did survive it, he surely wouldn't be making any escapes any time soon. He was strong, but even the strongest of giants had their limits, and he was no different. His deal with Strawhat would all be for nothing. It would all have been for nothing
There was no time to think about it further as their biting blades pierced him through.
This time he couldn't help it, a scream of utter agony tore itself from his throat as the beasts buried themselves deep inside of his body; one in his hip, one to the far right side of his gut, and one into the spot just below his collarbone, piercing through his left lung. Blood flooded into his mouth and down his chin as the scream choked off into a gurgling sound. His whole body was tense and quivering as the dogs disintegrated into nothing, leaving behind only the gaping wounds, which bled profusely into the snow below him.
The only thing that was left in the wake of his torture was an overwhelming silence. It permeated across hell, just as the smell of his friends' likely deceased bodies did. The only thing that broke through it was the sound of his own strained, wet, panting breaths.
He took a deep, painful breath in and bit into the meat of his lower lip with a strained groan, piercing through it and adding to the taste of blood already tainting his palette. Those knights would not get away with this. He wouldn't allow them to. It didn't matter if he was injured. He was going to find them once he was recovered enough to move and he was going to tear them limb from limb. He was going to make what they did to him and his friends look like child's play. They would reap what they had sown.
Blood dripped and pooled from him in steady measures, the ground under him soon covered in the crimson colour. It stunk of metal and death, making his nose twitch and his stomach twist and churn, forcing him to hold back the urge to vomit. He felt almost feverish, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Light tremours worked their way across his body with every stuttering breath he took with his flooded lungs. A cough wrought agony across his body and sent a spray of blood from his lips and nose.
He growled in frustration. He wanted to kill them, he wanted to avenge his friends, he wanted to get out of this wretched place that had never wanted him to begin with, he wanted-
He wanted-
He wanted-
He wanted his parents.
The thought jolted him up from where he had unwittingly slumped forward, ready to lose consciousness. It was such a childish thought for him to have. He was a grown warrior of Elbaf, a fearsome pirate who has killed before and had plans to do so again. He was a monster, just like everyone had always told him. A monster does not want, need, nor deserve the comfort that a parent gives to their offspring.
And yet, no matter how much he willed the feeling away, it persisted. It was as dizzying as the blood loss that was beginning to take effect of his battered body. It made him feel woozy, nauseated, ashamed.
His rattling breathing picked up in pace and he shamefully felt tears hastily gathering in his eyes. He tried to blink them away, but that only seemed the increase their rapid accumulation. The bandages over his eyes were quickly soiled as he hung his head in a mixture of embarrassment and exhaustion. It was all simply too much.
A weak sob tore itself from Loki's throat as he deliriously envisioned his father's warm eyes meeting his own beyond the bandages. He felt his strong, comforting hand on his shoulder. He heard an echoey version of his voice, far away and so painfully unreal as it assured him everything would be okay, that he did good.
Just as soon as he appeared, his father was gone. Panic and despair sparked in Loki's overworked heart as he he desperately jerked himself forward, tugging on chains and injuries alike in a vain attempt to go after his father.
"F-father, please." The words forced themselves out of his ragged throat, small and weak like those of a child who just had a nightmare. And, oh. how he wished he would wake up from this nightmare already.
As if things couldn't get any worse, he felt the phantom caress of hands running through his hair in a comforting manner, something he had only experienced once before when he was but a child. The tears fell faster and stronger.
"Ida…please…Ida…"
The darkness of either sleep or death finally took over as the whispered words were weakly expelled with an exhale. He didn't know which he preferred it to be.
---
Hajrudin's heart had been racing when he first fell from the sky, it had been racing when he clambered out of the ship to stop Strawhat from dooming the entirety of Elbaf, and it had still been racing when Loki rose, weapon in hand and free from all but one shackle. It doubled its efforts as he tried to decide whether or not to meet Loki's demands for freedom or keep him imprisoned as multiple voice screamed in his ears, everything too much all at once to even think straight. It hadn't even stopped when Loki collapsed under the weight of injuries that Hajrudin hadn't realized were bad enough to fell someone as strong as his horrid younger brother.
Now, standing in the snow over his brother as Gerd treated his wounds at Strawhat's request, his heart was beating at a level pace. However, it twisted and turned with this rotten feeling called hate, which twinned itself around the organ until he could physically feel the pain of it. He loathed the man before him, he didn't think he had ever had an ounce of love for him and he never would. Neither the gruesome wounds he was sporting, the puddles of blood spotting the area, the pained gurgles that left his lips, nor the gore revealed when Gerd wiped away old blood was enough to spark sympathy for the being below him.
Memories of all the times Loki had shown his cruelty swam in his mind, the images flashing by as the words echoed in increasing volumes. Hajrudin clenched his jaw so hard that the grinding of his teeth was almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts. His hand itched for the axe strapped to his back, aching to lodge the thick blade directly into the meat of Loki's neck. He wanted to add to the gore tainting the pure snow of the underworld, end the cursed prince's life right here and now-!
"F-father-!"
It was barely above a whisper, one word wheezed out in between desperate, pain laced gasps for air, but he was sure he wasn't imagining it. His hand froze where it had been reaching for his axe and then dropped to his side, his eyes wide open in shock. He walked forward a few steps, the snow crunching under his unsteady feet before he dropped to his knees by Loki's side. Gerd, who had frozen in her work wrapping the seemingly endless wounds that littered the taller giant's body, along with Strawhat, both watched him as he moved.
"What did he just say?" He hissed between his teeth, addressing no one, and no one said anything in return.
One could hear the individual snowflakes accumulating on the ground with how silent it had gotten. It seemed as though even Loki was holding his breath right up until-
"Father, father please-" There it was, Loki's weak voice once again, pleading with a ghost that wasn't there.
Hajrudin looked closer and realized how sickly his brother appeared. His skin was as pale as the snow he lay upon, save for a previously unnoticed flush creeping out from underneath the bandages that always covered his eyes. His chest heaved, working hard to take in short, bubbling breaths before stuttering and collapsing from the effort. The bandages were already soaking through a deep crimson in several spots. He looked truly unwell in a way Hajrudin had never known him to.
"Father…Mother…" And here he was, calling out for his parents like some child. He had never seen Loki so- so vulnerable.
Gerd looked disturbed, as did the other members of his crew. Roronoa and Black Leg exchanged unsure glances. There was a deep crease between Strawhat's eyebrows, giving away his troubled state. The other captain looked as though he wanted to help but didn't know how.
Loki threw his head from side to side, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The chains they had resecured rattled from the movements. His body shook lightly and Hajrudin couldn't help but wonder if it was from the pain or the cold. Perhaps it was from both, or it was from something else, something plaguing Loki's unwaking mind.
The next words to leave Loki's chapped, blood crusted lips left Hajrudin in a state of shock incomparable to anything that he'd ever felt before. His already wide eyes bulged from his head, his body freezing in place, his breath stolen from his body so abruptly that it left him dizzy, the edges of his vision tinting black.
"Mother…I-Ida..." It was just one word, one remarkably simple word uttered by a wounded, sickly man who wasn't even in his right mind, but it was enough to make the rotten hatred inside of his heart roar at the indignation of it.
"Who do you think you are, daring to let that name pass your sullied lips?!" He shouted. He leapt to his feet, pulled his axe free, and swung it down towards Loki's unprotected neck before he could even think about the action.
A cacophony of fear, panic, and protest reached his ears as the blade of his axe stopped a mere hair away from the delicately bandaged throat of the taller giant.
Gerd had fallen away from Loki, her hands thrown up, palms splayed open as though to protect herself, whether that be from attack or blood splatter Hajrudin couldn't be sure. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut either way. Luffy was now standing atop Loki's horn in a fighting stance, his face more worried than anything else. The others were tense, on edge, with only Roronoa looking indifferent to whether or not he killed Loki on the spot.
Hajrudin's hand shook, the axe in his grip trembling. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and fell in steady paces down his cheeks. He tossed his axe to the side and sat heavily on a nearby rock. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and gripped his knee with the other, trying valiantly to stop the tears in their tracks.
How dare he, how dare this monster. To think that he had considered his mother, Hajrudin's mother, to be his own was a thought that had never crossed his mind.
"Who is this Ida person?" He heard Strawhat ask, trying and failing to keep his voice down.
"A past lover or something?" Questioned Black Leg past his cigarette.
"I doubt it's any of our business." Roronoa said, though his own curiosity could be heard.
"...She-" Gerd's hesitant voice tried to answer, but Hajrudin cut her off.
"Ida is the name of my mother." He said, voice cracking near the end. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes.
"Oooh, well if she's your guy's mom why did you react like that?" Strawhat asked sincerely. It was an innocent enough question, but it still made him itch to grab his axe from the snow again and cleave Loki's head from his body.
"She was not his mother! She was my mother!" He shouted, the words carrying and echoing through the underworld. It was painfully silent, no one daring to utter a word in the wake of his outburst. "She was my mother, mine, my own. He hated her, treated her like scum, like the dirt beneath his boot for as long as he's been in my life! He curses her very name in his waking hours! So why is it now that he calls out to her as though he cares for her, seeks her comfort? It's a ridiculous farce and I should kill him where he lies!"
Still no one said anything, they didn't know the right words, Hajrudin could tell. There was pity in their eyes, horrible, humiliating pity. He couldn't stand it.
"Forget this, I'm going for a walk." He spat. He retrieved his axe from the snowy ground, returned it to his back, and turned to walk away.
"Be careful, Hajrudin, don't forget where we are." Gerd called out to him from behind, voice uneasy.
"I will be fine." He assured her, his tone heavy with his swirling emotions. He did not wait for her to respond before disappearing into the trees.
He would not go far, he simply needed to clear his head away from the pitying, judgmental eyes of those who would never understand his plight.
It didn't make sense to him; or, maybe it did and he just didn't want it to. His mother had always cared for Loki like he was another one of her sons. She was one of, if not the only, person to ever try and reach out to the brat when they were children. She was endlessly patient with him no matter how cruel and horrible he was to her, she took it all with a smile. She didn't just tolerate his existence, she celebrated it, appreciated it. He knew that it was undeniable that she loved Loki just as much as she loved him.
He just hadn't realized that the feeling had been reciprocated even by the barest amount. With all the vitriol that he had thrown her way growing up, Hajrudin never would have imagined that she would be someone Loki would call out to in times of distress and need. Was his love toxic and painful, just as cruel as he was, or did he wear a mask that Hajrudin had never thought to look past through his own hatred? Did it even matter?
The revelation left him lost and confused in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. He was frustrated, and so, so angry. But he didn't know exactly what or who he was angry at. He was angry at Loki, yes. He had harboured a longstanding hatred and anger towards the other man for as long as he could remember. There was something else brewing in his heart, though, a feeling he couldn't properly place. Was it anger at himself? His mother? The situation? The world in general? Or was it something else entirely? He really, truly, did not know.
His fist made itself home in the trunk of the nearest tree, sending splitters of bark flying in all directions as he let a growl of frustration rip itself from his throat. He took a deep breath to try and ground himself. The snow knocked off the the branches from his punch fell gently around him. He blinked a few snowflakes and tears from his lashes and exhaled.
He turned to return to the clearing feeling just as conflicted and angry as he was when he walked into the forest. He had yet to work out his messy feelings and what it all meant for his relationship with the younger prince, but that would soon take the lowest tier on his list of priorities, because as soon as he breached the clearing at the base of Treasure Tree Adam he found that they had two extra guests. Two wounded guests, who cried as they explained the tragedies that were going on in the sun realm above. Their problems were about to become ten times worse, and his personal hang ups would have to take a back burner for now.