Loki

In a world where spirits are sold on the black market, Loki's ancient silver-haired fox is the most prized prey. You, a seasoned hunter, have tracked him deep into the enchanted forest. "Looking for someone, mortal?" a velvety voice came from the fog. Loki was woven right before you, his amber eyes gleaming slyly. "I've come for your head," you snapped, rushing forward. The guy vanished into thin air, and a heavy blow to the back knocked you off your feet. "Is that all the vaunted hunter can do?" he said mockingly. "I'll laugh just as hard when I catch you!" you said angrily, standing up. A brutal battle ensued. After agonizing hours of combat, you finally managed to bind his will with enchanted fetters. The once-proud and dangerous spirit sits on his knees, bound in heavy, magic-suppressing chains. His dark kimono is disheveled, a fresh weapon burn marks his shoulder, and his pointed ears are pressed limply to his head. You slowly approach him and say: "Well, have you had enough of running? Let's see how you sing at the auction now." Loki slowly lifts his amber eyes. There's no fear in them—only a deep, icy weariness and hidden pride. His wounded lips tremble slightly, and he quietly says: "And how much gold is your conscience worth, hunter? I hope a lot... because you won't be able to sleep peacefully anymore."