Chapter Text
Minutes seemed to pass like hours.
Hours, like days.
Had it been hours? Moxxie didn’t know.
Perhaps it had been years, and he had been trapped in this place for a century, and he might have believed this if it weren’t for how acutely aware he was of his own heartbeat.
He counted every beat, every shallow breath, every agonizing cough because it gave him something to hold onto. He knew he could be much worse off, that he could be tortured so much more severely, but that didn't make the pain any better. It didn’t make him grateful. Quite the opposite, actually.
He vaguely remembered hearing something once about how you shouldn’t move if you have broken ribs because they could puncture your lungs, so he lay as still as he could and didn’t take any deep breaths. It didn’t help the pain, but at least he could still breathe.
I wonder what dear old Dad’s going to do to me… torture me? Kill me? Hurt the people I love? It’s all a bit cliché. Sure, he’s a classic Mafia man, but it doesn’t really seem like his kind of deal.
Maybe he wants to try and make me marry Chaz again? He’s definitely found out that he didn’t actually have the money.
Moxxie shivered as he thought about the hideous, shark-faced, toothy dickhe*d who had abandoned him all those years ago. Surely he’s not still alive? Dad would have killed him. He not only lied to him, he embarrassed him. Crimson would have wanted to send a message.
That's when Moxxie realized what his father was going to do.
Send a message…
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Blitzø and Millie stood around Loona as she sniffed around the crime scene. It had taken some convincing, but Blitzø had finally gotten his daughter to agree to track Moxxie. As much as she disliked the little imp, she hadn’t wanted to possibly let him die because of some grudge. Even if it meant she had to see his stupid face at work.
She was definitely going to give him hell about this.
Millie, meanwhile, was savoring the thought of slitting the throat of whoever took her husband. The demon who did this was going to die. And if she got her way, it was going to be oh so slowly and painfully.
I just hope Moxxie isn’t hurt… she thinks, her thoughts of violence dissipating for a moment. He must feel so alone…
Who could’ve done this?
There has to be a clue. Blitzø’s mind was spinning. He had to be confident and strong, a leader, the boss, but really he was panicking. If Moxxie died, he was going to kill him.
Who would do this to Moxxie? He’s the least offensive out of all of us. Well. To a certain degree. He really does need to work on—
No. Stop thinking about him like that. He could be really hurt.
Not dead.
Blitzø refused to think he was dead.
Simply because, well, it was unthinkable.
Not Moxxie.
Moxxie would be okay.
Could we even cope without him?
These grim thoughts were interrupted by Loona’s voice.
“It was that snakey imp guy from the ranch. Striker.”
Blitzø’s eyes immediately narrowed. “That f*cking disgusting hoe kidnapped Moxxie?!”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Striker had to be doing it for a reason. He wouldn’t just do it for fun.
Or maybe he would. He was a sad*stic little c*nt.
Millie’s eyes had turned to fire. Blitzø swore he could almost see them burning up.
“When I get my hands on him…” she whispered, her hands wringing an imaginary neck.
Millie was a lot more scary when she whispered.
“Mills, don’t you worry. We’ll save Mox,” Blitzø put a hand on her shoulder. “And you can kill Striker.”
Millie grinned crazily. “That motherf*cking, belly-crawling piece of sh*t won’t know what’s coming.”
Blitzø almost grimaced. She was even scarier with a smile.
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Moxxie was a child again.
His father had him by the arm, his sharp claws digging into it as he dragged Moxxie along. Moxxie cried out in pain and fear, which only made his father scowl and dig his claws in harder.
“W-where are we going?” The little imp stuttered as he stumbled along after his father.
Crimson suddenly stopped, his grip on Moxxie’s arm snapping tighter as his head whipped back to face his son. The look in his eyes was dangerous.
“Always address me as sir,” he snarled. “Understand?”
Moxxie almost visibly shrank below his father’s gaze. “Y-yes. Sir.”
They were on the lake.
The water was deep and murky, and Moxxie wondered what monsters lurked within the mysterious confines of the water reeds.
If only it were just a monster.
The boat rocked unsteadily, his wood creaking as it was buffeted by water and wind. Moxxie shivered, the cold going right through him. There was something about this place that was so, so cold that it cut to the bone. He swore he could see his breath.
Crimson was silent, rowing the boat with two weathered oars made of rough wood. The only sound he made was the slicing of wood through water, an occasional breath as the air around them clouded. Mist was gathering, still and silent and suffocating.
Moxxie stared at the pitiful creature beside him. An imp with a sack drawn over their head, a badly-drawn caricature of a smile on the front, somehow making it more grotesque. Their muffled pleas rang through the misty air. It sounded like they were crying.
They stopped in the middle of the lake. Crimson placed a cinder block on the edge of the boat, then his eyes darted to Moxxie, gesturing for him to push it. The little imp looked at the block, then at the crying sack-faced imp, and then back at his father. He tried to back away.
Crimson growled and shoved Moxxie back towards the block. The sack-faced imp’s sobs pierced the air, and Moxxie took one last look at them before he pushed the block with teary eyes. Instantly, the imp was pulled overboard into the murky water.
The tiny imp stared, horrified, into the lake, his wide-eyed reflection staring up at him. A few air bubbles fluttered to the surface and then, nothing.
His father’s voice pierced the thick air.
“Let this be a lesson, Moxxie.”
That was when the little imp saw them. The hats, shoes and masked faces that floated in the water.
The monsters that lurked in the lake.
“This is what happens when you cross me.”
