Blitzo

We're coming for you.

Millie packed her pockets to the brim with as many weapons as she could carry, not caring that she could feel the blades and handles cutting though into her skin. A few small cuts would be worth it if she could finally get this shit sorted out.

At dinner that night, Stolas had agreed to come with them to find Blitzo, the four of them arming themselves to the teeth. Now down two members of their team, they had to fill the void and make up for their lost power with extra weapons. In spite of her confidence in her melee abilities, with other lives on the line she wasn't going to be stupid and let her ego get the best of her. Not tonight.

She grinned as she picked up a sharpened pocket knife, the final piece to finish her lethal collection. In her pockets were compact battleaxes that were able to be packed away to the size of a phone, retractable swords, and she even had a large machete tied around her back. Along with having two handguns in her coat pocket, she felt properly armed and hoped that the others had taken as much as she had.

Tonight was going to be the night she found her husband again. Tonight was going to be the night that she rescued Blitzo.

Tonight was the night that Monte would get his comeuppance.

And that bitch wasn't getting any mercy.

Peering out of her cabin window, the sky was pitch black and moonless, the faint stars in the sky providing the only illumination outside of the ship's lights. Everything was still, almost too still, and she clutched her knife in her hands just in case.

She stared back at her reflection in the mirror, striking some intimidating poses just to see what it would look like, admiring her stance and agility. As naive as it sounded, it almost felt like she was in an action movie, and it served as a brief distraction from the chaos.

The blades of her knives glistened in the light, and the bruise on her face only further emphasized the "gangster" aesthetic.

Damn…

I look like a badass.

I like it!

Before heading out, she ran a comb through her unkempt hair. If she was going to kill some bad guy, she might as well look good for it.

Once she had finished, Millie plunged the comb into the desk like a knife, imagining the wood as Monte's chest, stabbing the desk over and over again, releasing days of built up rage.

She held herself back from going all out though, since she knew she had to save some energy for actually killing, not just imagining it while whacking an innocent nightstand that had never wronged her.

Dear Satan, I'm starting to sound like Moxxie…

"Get yourself together, Mills!" she said out loud, "You've got a job to do!"

Stolas had told them to meet him in the cabin at midnight, and the clock next to her currently read half-past eleven. And since she didn't want to have to revisit the bloody crime scene in the hall, she would have to take the long way to get there, which involved going out onto the bow and inside through a hatch, something that she had found on the ship's map.

Half an hour should be plenty of time.

Taking one final glance into the mirror before heading out, she reached for the door and left her cabin, beginning the long journey out to the boat deck and then back inside, not caring that it was at such an ungodly hour. If somebody had a problem with her, they could speak to the knives.

Her heart was pounding, out of both excitement and anxiety. She hoped that Octavia was right about the ship's jail, and that Blitzo was right where they needed him. Because once they found him, they could get back to finding Moxxie, who was running out of time. She found herself shivering, ignoring the fact that she was inside and wearing a heavy jacket loaded to capacity with knives and everything.

And she was catching other passengers' attention, too. Walking around with visible weapons would always draw a curious eye, and just as predicted, they scurried away once they laid eyes on her.

Fine by me. Scurry away, rats!

Normally, there would be the occasional junkie who would try and start a fight, but Millie had seen enough out of the rich folk that she didn't think it would happen. And even if it did, the knives would be enough protection.

The clanging of her feet on the ground soon became her only company, with the exception of the occasional passing steward. She knew Monte wasn't going to be after her just yet, although he probably already knew that they were coming.

And she hoped for it.

You aren't getting any mercy from me.

Her chest rose as she took in a deep breath before stepping out from the grand staircase onto the boat deck, steadying her shaking hands. She had never been anxious about a kill before, and she wasn't sure why this one was weighing on her mind so heavily. As long as she kept her cool, it would go just like all of her other kills: Quick, easy, and messy.

But still, there was an unshakable feeling of dread in her stomach that wouldn't go away.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered to herself, throwing the door open and letting the frigid nighttime air embrace her.

There were still a few passengers on the deck when she stepped out, passing her by like she was nothing, the dark sky concealing her weapons perfectly. She waved out of courtesy as they passed, but limited her interactions to just that, descending the stairs to the bow.

Something felt wrong about being out alone, lacking Moxxie's comforting presence. She missed hearing him drone on and on about things she couldn't care less about, or how he would geek out about the stars in the sky, or the warm feeling of his hand in hers. The last time she had been out on the deck at night was when her and Moxxie took their trip up on the first day, and something about staring at the dotted sky without him triggered a sense of loneliness that she hadn't felt in a long time.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine him being back, and the panging guilt and sadness would come back the second she opened them up again. She knew how petty it sounded, refusing to shut up about her husband, but at the same time, marrying someone meant that they became a central part of your life, even if they were a bit clingy. She didn't mind it, and even she remembered times when she would come off a bit strong. That way, they cancelled each other out. She didn't consider herself some damsel who couldn't go five minutes without her husband, if anyone Moxxie was the one to do that. But, she was worried sick about him and wasn't going to feel bad about it.

She briefly peered over the railing, at the icy cold water. It made her thankful that she was safe on a heated and luxurious ship, safe and away from the dangers of the elements. That water had to be freezing, at least judging from the small pieces of ice dotting the water around them. Swimming had always been an enjoyable activity for her, but something told her that taking a dip in there would end badly.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice suddenly called out, "Are you lost?"

Millie glanced up to see a man with a blue hue glaring down at her from the crow's nest, waving down at her. He wore an officer's uniform, with features on his face that seemed to resemble gills, giving off an aquatic aurora.

"N-No," Millie responded, "Why do ya ask? It ain't your business."

"Just making sure. I've already had to help enough people, and Satan knows how easy it is to get lost down there. Name's Baxter"

"Hello, Baxter."

She was never one to want to engage in small-talk, and she began making her way out, knowing that time was running low.

But then she remembered their current issue.

"Actually," Millie asked, "Do you know where the brig is?"

Baxter paused.

"Brig? Um, strange question...But I'll help ya," he stammered, "Just go down to G deck and follow the signs, they should be pretty easy to follow."

"Thank you!"

"Baxter, stop chit-chatting and look at this!" another voice from the crow's nest shouted, a hand grabbing Baxter and forcibly turning him around.

Millie was about to open the door to the deckhouse when one of the two men began desperately ringing a bell, chiming three times and screaming about something, the sound resonating with a low tone that seemed to shake the air around them.

She was no sailor, but she knew enough to figure out that three bells was not a good thing. She walked out to the very front of the ship, in an attempt to figure out what the ruckus was all about.

Although the frigid air burned her face and the lack of moisture made her breathing more laborious, she still managed to sprint over at an astounding pace and lean over the railing, nearly throwing herself overboard in the process. Her heart beat accelerated out of anticipation, expecting some sort of behemoth beast to emerge from the water and swallow the ship while under the cover of darkness. She had been told tales of the monsters that lurked in hell's oceans spun by the local sailors, telling stories of fish the size of buildings and swallowing boats with a single movement of its jaw.

I don't see anything…

Then she saw it.

At first, it appeared as if nothing was out of the ordinary. That was, until a portion of the sky grew darker and larger, seeming to increase in size every second. It wasn't until she caught the reflection of the ship's headlight on the surface that she realized the sight before her wasn't a figment of the night sky, or a sea monster, or some mythical godlike creature coming to wipe them out.

It was an iceberg.

And it was getting closer.

"Hello?" Baxter shouted into the microphone mounted on the crow's nest, "Is anyone there?"
Silence.

"Pick up you bastards!" He shouted, louder this time, while his partner climbed down the ladder to assess the situation.

In all of his years at sea, he had never seen anything like it. Sure, there had been ice chunks that occasionally forced them to change course, but never were they this big. The iceberg in front of them had to be at least two hundred feet high, and that was only the portion above the waterline. The true size of the iceberg was at least five times what he was seeing before him, and it only sent another jolt of fear up his body.

"Hello? What do you see?" a voice finally responded on the other end.

"Iceberg right ahead!" Baxter shouted, not daring to take his eyes off of the beast before him.

The intercom was cut, and Baxter slid down the ladder, just as his partner climbed back up.

Baxter hit the ground with a thud, leaping back to his feet with the utmost precision. He shoved past the imp standing on the deck, and sprinted up the stairs that led to the bridge, a faint light illuminating the space.

Despite the sudden burning in his legs, he pressed on, knowing that the safety of the Titanic was in his hands. His right foot slammed into a railing, a sharp pain shooting up his side, the cold numbing the sensation seconds later.

He ran into the bridge as the demon at the wheel shouted orders, gripping the wooden contraption so tightly Baxter could see the whitening of his knuckles from where he was standing.

"Hard to starboard!" a voice called out, as the crew scrambled in desperation, fumbling with wheels and gadgets mounted on the walls. Although the process appeared chaotic, they moved with rigor.

Machines whirred to life and lit up, casting long shadows across the wall as the well-trained hands of the crew worked at the helm, staring out at the sea with fearful, but composed eyes, their deep breaths releasing small puffs of steam from their mouths.

Baxter had never expected to actually see something when he had signed up to be a lookout. He had been told that the job would be quick and easy, since the sea was typically empty, and what remained wasn't typically a threat to sailors.

The man at the wheel gripped the handles with trembling hands, as did the rest of the staff at the bridge. The amount of manpower required to turn the ship was nothing short of astonishing, and Baxter wondered how they managed to do it with such speed.

A man that Baxter recognized as the first officer ran into the bridge, moving with authority and purpose. He wore a dark uniform, and looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, heavy bags set under his grey eyes.

"Reverse engines!" they shouted into a microphone leading to the boiler room.

In response, a tall officer with a noticeably darker coat ran over to a hand crank and shifted the position of the lever, landing over a button labeled "Reverse"

For the first time ever, the other officers seemed legitimately panicked. Manning such a large ship typically meant sitting at your post and making sure the ship didn't go off course, or listening to incoming telegrams. Not having to steer away from icebergs at a moment's notice.

"What the hell are you doing!" A tall demon ran over and tightly gripped Baxter's shoulders, "Get to your post!" He shoved him to the ground, and Baxter tumbled back down the stairs, rushing back to the crow's nest.

There was a shaking inside the ship as he felt the engines halting and beginning to reverse, the ship's speed beginning to slow. The berg towered over them, the ship nothing more than a gnat in comparison.

His partner was silent as it inched closer and closer as they moved forward, barely slowing down despite the efforts to maneuver around the frozen death trap. It felt like he was hanging off of the edge of a cliff, on the precipice of collapse, his body shaking violently both from the cold and the anxiety.

He wasn't quite sure why he was scared. After all, the ship was sturdier than any other seafaring vessel on the Lucifarian seas, able to take more hits than even the strongest structures. A silly chunk of ice wouldn't cause any major damage, right?

If only he believed that.

Unlike the passengers, he had access to the true scope of the ship, and also knew all of the ins-and-outs of it. The ship was able to take the first four compartments flooding before it would truly begin to take on water. Impressive, sure, but not invincible like the others seemed to think. All it would take is a fifth compartment breaching and they were screwed. It would allow the water to push its way over the bulkheads and creep farther and farther back into the ship until it was filled to the brim.

He knew it was still unlikely to happen, but he wasn't taking any risks, and it was why he was praying to whatever devilish entity would hear him that the ship would miss.

"Bloody hell..." Baxter muttered as the ship turned at an agonizingly slow pace. He couldn't tell if they would miss the ice or not, their pace now slowing.

Even the environment around them appeared to be holding its breath, the typically strong gales of the ocean halting, replaced by an eerie stillness that slowly ate away at his sanity.

The seconds crept by, the shouting at the bridge suddenly going silent as all eyes were on the iceberg. Everything that could be done to change the ship's course could be done, their fate in the hands of chance.

"Woah…" Millie muttered as the ice neared them, sending a cold breeze across the deck.

"It's gonna hit!" an officer yelled, running away from the tip of the bow.

Her jaw hung open as the crew scrambled around the bow, running back and forth like headless chickens. Nobody seemed to know what to do next, either sprinting back and forth or standing silently at the railing.

Suddenly, the ship began to violently shake, and she lost her balance and fell onto the floor. The hard wood of the deck greeted her back as she slammed to the ground, careful to not land on the arsenal of weapons that was hidden in her pockets.

Screams pierced the air, followed by the crashing of falling chunks of ice. She tried to duck out of the way, but she wasn't fast enough to avoid being hit, large, jagged ice chunks falling down and bombarding her body. Putting her hands up did nothing to block the hits, only bruising her fingers.

Clutching her eyes shut, she waited for the icy assault to end, listening as footsteps ran towards her.

Is it over?

After a few seconds, the ice stopped falling, and Millie felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Baxter's voice asked, pulling her up.

Her eyes opened, and she climbed back up, seeing ice scattered across the deck, like they had just sailed through a blizzard.

Once Millie regained her footing, she brushed herself off and tapped her pockets to feel for any damage to her weapons. After she was satisfied with that, she inspected herself for any breaks, which thankfully didn't appear to be present.

:"Are you alright?" Baxter repeated himself, "Miss?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think I'm alright…" Millie said, deadpan, "I...I think…"

"You sure? You got pretty battered up back there."

"I said I'm fine!" she nearly screamed, "Alright?!"

Baxter paused.

"Yes madam," he stuttered, "Go on."

"Thank you."

She stood up and waved the man off, while she walked down and opened the door to the deckhouse. Confused voices were shouting out behind her, Millie eavesdropping on the conversations.

"Check the boiler rooms for damage." a deep, masculine voice murmured, "What did we hit?"

"An iceberg, sir," another voice said, "I ordered a hard-to-starboard and a full astern but we still hit it. Then we port-rounded the ship to keep us from losing a propeller, and we're now trying to get back on course."

"Close the watertight doors."

"The doors are closed sir."

"Then come down with me and help me get the pumps going. I don't want to have to seal off the boilers unless absolutely necessary."

Millie ignored their pointless discussions, already bored to death by their fancy ship-language. She had far more important shit to do than worry about the dumb shit the officers were going on about.

Quickly and quietly, she snuck downstairs and into the lower decks, the rooms once again dead silent. It even sounded like the engines had stopped, which presumably had something to do with the officer's inspections that they were talking about.

The halls were quiet, just the way she liked them. She had to keep her mind clear and calm if they were going to get this done.

Hopping into an elevator, and then departing two decks down, Millie found herself outside of Stolas's cabin rather quickly, somehow arriving five minutes early despite having been held up above deck by the iceberg.

Knocking on the door, Stolas poked his head out and smiled.

"Ah, Mildred. We've been waiting for you." he said.

"Hey, ya said midnight," Millie responded, "And we still got five minutes. Don't act like I was late."

"Fair enough."

Millie snuck in, and Stolas locked the door behind them.

Loona and Octavia were already sitting on the bed, weapons strapped to their clothes just like Millie. She respected their devotion to the job, and was also impressed at how they had gotten their hands on such weapons given that they hadn't brought any on board with them. All of Millie's weapons had been brought aboard with her.

"I'm sorry that ya think I'm late," Millie glared at Stolas, "I got held up on deck. We hit an iceberg or something-"

"So that's what the shaking was!" Stolas interrupted, "It scared Octavia half to death."

"You were the one screaming 'We're all gonna die' and running around like a tasmanian-devil on steroids'' Octavia sighed. She pointed to a bruise on Millie's forehead, "Is that where that came from?"

Millie giggled at the thought of Stolas acting in such a cockamamy manner, wishing they had arrived earlier to see it. Rich people acting like idiots never ceased to amuse her, and where better to look for them than on a ship full of stuck-up rich folk?

"Yeah," Millie sighed, "I'm alright though."

"Good. Because we need to get moving," Stolas hummed, noticeably lacking any weapons, "It may take us some time to find the brig, though, I couldn't find it on any of the maps."

"I know where it is," Millie chimed in, "One of the lookouts told me. Follow my lead, alright?"

"Alright, Ms. Mildred. If you know where it is then you can lead us."

"Millie."

"Excuse me?"

"Call me 'Millie,' 'Mildred' sounds too fancy."

"Alright then, Ms. Mille."

Eh, close enough.

Upon further inspection, it appeared that Stolas was going in empty-handed, not even so much as a butter knife visible in his arsenal. She didn't want to undermine his skill or anything, but going into a fight like this with nothing to defend yourself seemed like an idiotic move, even by her standards.

"Ya don't have any weapons," Millie said, pointing to Stolas, "Are you sure about that?"

"I am much more efficient with my hands," he responded, cracking his knuckles, "I might not have my book, but I still know how to fight."

Millie still thought his strategy was questionable at best, but decided not to try and push anything.

"Alright then," she said, brandishing a knife and making sure it had been properly sharpened, "Are we ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Octavia mumbled, also holding a knife, "Let's go."

"I'm in." Loona said.

"And so am I," Stolas said, "I want my Blitzy back."

With that, they threw open the cabin door and strolled out, ready to end Monte's reign of terror and get their friends back. That bastard was going to get what he deserved, one way or another. She didn't care if she had to crawl out of the pit of fire itse;f, as long as it meant Monte would finally be dead.

We're coming for you.

Octavia clutched her knife in her hands like her life depended on it, which it did.

Sure, she had a few other knives in her pockets, but aside from those, she was completely vulnerable, and seeing what had already happened to Moxxie and Blitzo, she didn't want to take any chances.

Millie was in front of them, leading them down a seemingly endless staircase into an unfamiliar and dark part of the ship that she didn't want to be in. Dark corridors and enclosed spaces were her two most hated things, besides maybe her mother, whom she hated even more.

"G deck?" Stolas asked, "I don't think I've ever been this far down before."

"Smells like a rat's asshole down here," Loona huffed, the strong odor of mildew assaulting their noses as they descended further into the belly of the ship.

Octavia sighed, "No kidding."

They turned a sharp corner, leading them to yet another maze of hallways, only illuminated by faint, dying light bulbs that provided a faint yellow glow. Darkness clung to the walls, just out of the range of the lights, Octavia waiting for something to jump out of the shadows and snatch them up. She had never been a particular fan of the dark, and to be thrown into a life-or-death situation like this was less than pleasant.

She knew that the trip had been a mistake from the very beginning. But she had deceived herself with false hope that things would somehow get better, when in reality they were getting worse and worse by the minute, a new challenge seeming to be waiting for them at every turn. First it had been the encounter with Monte, then the grimoire had been stolen, then he swiped Moxxie, then they found out that Millie had been drugged, and now Blitzo was gone too.

It was one thing when Monte only had it out for her family, but to now be dragging innocents into it was a step too far, even for him. All the imps wanted to do was enjoy a vacation that had been so graciously funded by her father. And even though she had somewhat resented Blitzo's group beforehand, now she was finding herself getting along with them, or at the very least uniting over a common objective.

The sound of a creaking pipe made her flinch, half-expecting Monte to jump out and snatch all of them up, taking them to some dark and terrible place that she didn't even want to think about. She had been on edge the last few days, constantly at the brink of some sort of panic attack or jumpscare. Until they defeated him and got off the ship, nobody in their group was safe, and she wouldn't be able to relax. Not until he was gone.

"You're positive you know where you're going?" Loona asked, "'Cause I don't see anything that looks like a brig."

"Do you have any better leads?" Millie shot back, "If not, just shut yer trap and let me lead, alright?"

"No need to be bitchy about it, jeez."

"You'd be an expert on that, wouldn't you?"

Octavia had been sensing tension between those two for quite some time, and the fact that they hadn't somehow killed each other by this point amazed her. They were always barking or screaming or snapping at one another, and at first it had been somewhat funny, but now it was just annoying. Could they not put their pettiness aside while they completed the rescue?

"Ladies, please," Stolas sighed, "Not now."

The two stared back at him with contentment, but remained silent as they continued down the hall, which Octavia interpreted as cooperation.

Millie flagged a left, which the rest of them followed, into an even darker part of the ship. She could hear a faint dripping sound coming from the end of the hallway, and the air around them seemed to dramatically cool, falling a few degrees in just a few short seconds.

"Anybody else feel that?" Loona asked, seemingly reading their minds.

"The cold? Of course not, it was supposed to snow anyway." Millie shot back.

Loona growled, but didn't retaliate, the group turning a corner and nearing the end of the pitch black hallway.

Long, spaced-out shadows were cast on the floor, like prison bars being caught in the dim reflection of a lamp. And as they inched closer, the outline of what appeared to be locked doors and shackles became visible, lining the wall like ornaments on a fucked-up christmas tree.

However, what bugged her most wasn't the medieval decor, or the terrible smell, or the sudden chill in the air, or the darkness.

What unnerved her was the eerie silence, the room seeming completely still. With the exception of a faint dripping sound, their footsteps were the only noise that pierced the tense air, cutting it like a knife.

"Blitz?" Millie called out, "You in here?"

They entered the brig, Octavia trailing a bit further behind the group than the others were.

A shrill scream nearly made her jump through the ceiling, immediately recognizing the voice that it elongated to.

"Guys! Watch out-!"

Blitzo sounded distressed, and she drew a knife, ready to attack the suited motherfucker that was behind all of this.

What she wasn't prepared for, though, was the hail of gunshots that quickly overcame them, followed by a series of crashes and pops, the entire group diving to the floor and reaching for the weapons that they had brought.

"Get down!" Millie shouted, diving to the floor and pulling out a gun of her own, "Now!"

Octavia looked up from her spot of refuge on the ground, caught even more off guard by the attacker she was now facing, her mouth falling wide open as her mind began to grasp the full picture of what was happening.

Staring back at her and gripping a blessed gun, was none other than her own mother.