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A Curse born of Malice was right up Astor’s alley, unfortunately. Of course the prophet could sense Yunobo’s curse— he should have been more careful. He swears to himself. Now, he’s chained up so tight he can hardly breathe. Not that Gorons needed to breathe. Principle of the thing.
There’s a loop on the floor, a metal hook for this exact purpose— the cuffs around his wrists are wound through it, and the stupid collar is chained to the same point. Metal crosses his shell to keep him curled inward. The only part of him uncovered is his tail, which the Curse has twisted into the Titan’s ore deposit. Everybody knows a talus’ weakness is its ore deposit.
Said tail twitches, a damning display of nerves. He’s never been worried about the Yiga before. Back home, they weren’t strong or smart enough, without Master Kohga to guide them. Not that Kohga was particularly smart himself. Here, though, they had Astor— Yunobo’s not scared of him, exactly, but… he’s an unknown.
He rolls his shoulders, testing for any weakness— the whole cell seems to rattle as he does.
“Well, look at you.” A set of blademaster boots step into his vision. Yunobo glowers up at him. “Not so tough now, are you?”
Yunobo works his jaw. The next time anybody reaches for him, he will take fingers off. For now, though, he remains stoically silent. He’s… well, not scared, but he’s a little… nervous. Wary. Of course he is. That’s a reasonable response. He swallows thickly.
“Aw, poor thing,” the blademaster taunts, “weak and alone.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Yunobo scowls, baring his teeth in a way he hopes is intimidating. It’s not— the blademaster laughs at him. Oh, that’s just great. Even chained up, Yunobo can still put a foot in his mouth.
“No, I think this is perfect. Might be our last chance to see you, you know,” the Yiga laughs darkly, head tilting. He crouches to be eye-level, not that it matters in the mask. “Master Kohga’s gonna tear you apart.”
It’s Yunobo’s turn to chuckle, shaking his head (rattle-rattle-rattle). “I’d like to see that. You know what a sickle’ll do to a Goron? Not a thing.” He smiles, devoid of humor. “Your windcleaver wouldn’t even leave a mark, goro. ‘Specially not when you’re swinging it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yunobo is chained up in a cell right now, taunting his captors, who can definitely leave a mark on him. He’s gonna get himself killed. His chest twists, terrified. “I think you know,” he says, instead of shutting his big mouth. Apparently he’s brave and stupid. Oh, Hylia help him.
“I suggest you watch your mouth,” the blademaster snarls, drawing said windcleaver. He points it at Yunobo’s throat in a clear threat. Yunobo’s throat has a metal collar on it and is overall not any weaker than any other part of his body, but he doesn’t say anything. “You’re not among friends, little rock. When Master Kohga gives the order, we will skin you alive.”
Do Gorons have skin? Y’know, Yunobo’s not actually sure. Gorons aren’t great about their own biology. In the interest of the situation, Yunobo decides he doesn’t. “Oh no,” he mumbles flatly, “my skin. That’s so sad.” He huffs a sigh through his nose, pulling his mouth tight. He shifts backwards away from the blade. “Do you even know how to kill a Goron, goro?”
“Do you think we’re going to kill you?” Hell. He hadn’t noticed Astor’s arrival— he’s being threatened, he’s doing his best! The prophet folds his arms, tilting his head back to look down even further at Yunobo. The blademaster retreats, cowed by his presence. “Oh, no. You have many things in store, Yunobo,” Astor murmurs, “but death is not one of them.”
With a wave of his hand, the cell door swings open. Yunobo can’t help his flinch, even as he keeps glaring— it might have been subtle, if the stupid chains didn’t loudly announce his every move.
“Are you scared, little rock?” Astor strides forward, crouching down to take Yunobo’s chin in his hand. Jerking back just makes the chains rattle louder. He is scared— and now the Yiga knew it. Damn it all! Astor chuckles. “You are.”
“Go to hell,” Yunobo snarls. His voice wavers. He calls for his Protection, but he needs his hands free to use it— he can’t. He needs to shut up, because everything he says is just amusing them. He does not do that. If they think he’s brave, maybe they’ll— leave him alone. “Great Daruk’s gonna smash your head in.”
“That would require him to be looking for you, wouldn’t it?” Astor sneers, like he’s talking to a particularly stupid dog. “You poor thing,” he hums, “they’re doing much better without you.”
“I’m not an idiot,” Yunobo snarls. Astor makes a small, unconvinced noise. Yeah, Yunobo walked right into that one. “You do nothin’ but lie, goro.”
They are looking for him, because Astor is a liar. He swats away his doubts, scowling.
“You’re so naive,” the prophet murmurs, patronizing and gentle. When Yunobo reaches the end of his slack and can’t pull away, Astor once more reaches out to grab his face. “We’ll fix that, won’t we?”
“You’re all talk,” Yunobo hisses. He takes a thin gasp of a breath. Astor’s hand is very, very close to his mouth. Yunobo snarls, sends a quick prayer to Hylia, and bites him.
…
Gorons can’t really be sliced or stabbed. A demon carver or a windcleaver don’t do anything but scuff them. What works is something like a hammer— heavy and blunt, for cracking instead of cutting. Fortunately, the Yiga don’t often carry things like that around.
Unfortunately, Yunobo does.
Astor uses his Malice to wield it despite its weight. Yunobo’s scales crack open under the swings. It fucking hurts. Blademasters stick sickles into open wounds, tearing where his scales can’t save him. A crack across his head sends him reeling forward, damn-near bouncing off the ground— a boot lands hard on the back of his neck, keeping him down. His chains chatter, too loud, a cacophony.
Gorons don’t concuss, but they have a lot of sensitive stuff in their heads that don’t like to be rattled around. Yunobo’s learning that. It’s similar to a squishy-folk concussion. His eyes blur, his ears stop working beyond the sharp ring. It hurts. His thoughts spiral around the words. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
Yunobo gasps thinly, trying to think. He just has to wait for the others. They’ll find him and they’ll tear these guys apart. They’ll find him. They’re looking for him. Astor’s a liar. They’re looking for him, and they’ll find him—
Agony explodes through his tail. The Titan’s weakness. He stops thinking. Some terrible scream tears through the room. It’s too loud. He can’t think. It hurts. He hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
Yunobo had been captured once, back in his time.
He’d made a bad call and had ended up in an ambush. They hadn’t known how to hurt him. He’d spent the whole time stalling, thinking of how he was going to placate the Boss. Surely he’d be worried. The City would be worried. He was fine, sure, but they would worry anyway.
He’d torn out of there in a few days time, not the only one who made a mistake. He’d warped back to the City. Nobody gave him a second look. Nobody mentioned his disappearance. Even the Boss had harumphed and given him gravel about slacking off, not even an ounce of worry.
It wasn’t like disappearing was a habit of his. Even on blood moons, Yunobo told the Boss where he was headed and what he was doing. He had never just left without telling anyone. And this… this had been why. Sure, Yunobo had said it was for Boss Bludo’s peace of mind, but... he’d always known, deep down. Even with the Protection, he wasn’t useful enough to be looked for. To be cared about.
Yunobo stopped telling people where he was going.
Agony gives way to ache gives way to consciousness. At some point, he’d gone from his chained-awkward kneel to laying on the floor. His body hurts in ways he didn’t know it could. Magma has soldified around him in a puddle, pooling around him like blood from a Hylian. His head hurts.
Boss isn’t looking for him. The thought is sobering, though it feels distantly wrong in a way Yunobo can’t place. Boss isn’t looking for him. Nobody else has even noticed he’s gone.
He sits up. Chains rattle, echoing in his skull. He’s still stuck to the floor.
He has to reach for his thoughts through a layer of fog, head pounding with the effort.
Yunobo takes a breath. It hurts. He shudders.
Nobody’s looking for him.
He’s on his own.