The sun shone brightly on the exterior of Stolas's mansion. Stolas let out a sigh of contentment, while Blitzo, lying on Stolas's bed, lit a cigarette and folded his arms behind his head.
"I'm sorry for having to move our little rendezvous early. I have an engagement this month on the full moon." Stolas said, his arms tied up.
Blitzo glanced over at Stolas, who was wearing a ball gag and harness, his hands tied to the headboard with rope. "When this happens, it's not really something I fuss about..."
Using his cigarette, Blitzo burned the rope, freeing Stolas, who took the cigarette from Blitzo and took a long drag. "But, do you really need the book for this farm bullshit? I have, like, fifteen new clients waitin' for heads to roll."
"As shocking as it may seem, Blitzy, my grimoiiiiiire is actually incredibly important. And it isn't supposed to be lent out to itty-bitty Imps like yourself." Stolas replied, putting out the cigarette on one of Blitzo's horns and pinching his cheek before Blitzo shoved him away.
"The Harvest Moon is a very special occasion! It's been my annual duty to showcase it in the Ring of Wrath. It's celebrated by a very charming little festival with the locals." Stolas explained.
Blitzo pulled a feather out of his mouth in disgust. "Wrath, huh? Two of my employees are from there. I've never really been. I hear it's full of inbred chucklefucks."
"Oh! Why don't you all join me at the festival? I can guarantee you all..." Stolas said, pulling the covers over his head and his head appearing near Blitzo's crotch. "...special access~" He chuckled.
"Look, I told you, we're not bodyguards. Okay? That was a one-time thing we did badly." Blitzo responded as Stolas stood up with the covers on his head, doing a playful owl head tilt.
"I'm simply offering a work-free day of fun! I feel quite safe at the Harvest Festival. It's the same every year." Stolas insisted.
"Well, if you promise this isn't some fuck fest invite, it does sound like it could be a blast and a half. Plus, it's not like we can do jack shit without your book anyway." Blitzo conceded.
. . .
Moxxie and Millie were asleep in their bed at their apartment under a Robo Fizz sign. Moxxie's phone lit up, and a Phantom of the Opera organ ringtone was heard. Moxxie tapped the phone and rolled over, annoyed. The phone rang again, and Moxxie grabbed it in annoyance.
"What do you want, sir?" Moxxie answered.
"Hey, hope I didn't wake ya, Mox! How would you and Mils like to visit the Wrath Ring for some harvest bullshit this year?" Blitzo asked.
Excited, Millie sat up. "The Harvest Moon Festival?! Yee-fuckin'-haw!"
Moxxie sighed. "Well, Millie likes the idea. Wait... Where are you calling from?"
Blitzo fell down onto the bed from the ceiling, and his phone bonked him on the head. Moxxie narrowed his eyes as Blitzo purred happily, while Millie seemed amused.
"Mm-hm... Of course." Moxxie said skeptically. "Well, I'll call Benedict."
Just after he said this, a very startled and recently awoken Benedict fell from the ceiling. "Ah! Where the fuck am I?!" He yelled, panicked.
Blitzo laughed. "Oh I brought you along for the ride, grumps! Hope you don't mind!"
Benedict shook his head. "You're lucky I need this job." He muttered to himself.
. . .
The I.M.P van drives up the dusty desert road to the Rough n' Tumbleweed Ranch, which was what you'd expect for a wrath ranch in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, being surrounded by wide open fields. The van pulls up in front of two adult imps, one male and the other female, who both look rowdy and like... Well, ranch owners. Millie, excitedly, gets out of the van and runs towards her parents.
"Mama! Daddy!" Millie exclaims, her voice filled with joy. She had slightly altered her outfit for the trip, wearing a torn flannel jacket over her normal attire.
Her father, Joe, embraces her tightly and spins her around before placing her back down. "Yeeeee-hawwww! How's my deadly little pumpkin spice doing?" He asks with affection, ruffling her hair.
"I'm good, Pa! Thanks for lettin' us stay here for the harvest jamboree." Millie replies cheerfully.
Lin, Millie's mother, joins the conversation. "It's no trouble. We know you aren't making as much anymore since y'all went 'freelance.'"
"Freelance pays fine, Ma! We're doin' fiiiiine!" Millie reassures them, but then adopts a serious tone. "It's fine."
As Millie walks over to Moxxie, who struggles to carry luggage, she introduces him. "Anyway, y'all remember my husband Moxxie?" She pushes a nervous Moxxie forward, and her parents stare at him disapprovingly.
"Hmph." Joe grunts.
Moxxie, attempting to break the tension, nervously extends his hand. "Greetings, Lin! Joe! How have you been, uh, with all the… flaming twisters and stuff around here?" His voice betrays his anxiety. He wore a simple light gray vest and grey bow tie in place of his normal outfit.
"We lost our old farm hand to one of them terrors last week." Joe replies, sounding grumpy.
Moxxie laughs nervously. "Oh, crumbs. My bad! I am so sorry. I-I didn't mean to open that wound... sir."
Blitzo interrupts the conversation. "Hey, watch it! I'm the 'sir' here, bucko!" He wore suspenders and a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up.
"Oh yeah! Y'all haven't met my boss Blitzo! And his hellhound!" Millie exclaims, introducing Blitzo and Loona.
"I'm not just his hellhound," Loona asserts. She had a black tank top, and also wore a torn up flannel jacket.
"Yeah, she's my daughter!" Blitzo proudly declares, pulling Loona to his side.
"Only on paper." Loona remarks, pulling out her smartphone and starting to type.
Blitzo walks away to greet Millie's parents, while Loona remains behind, engrossed in her phone. She mutters, "Y'all don't deserve to know my name."
Blitzo reaches Millie's parents and initiates a conversation, throwing Moxxie to the side. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the sperm and egg factory that popped out this little gem of an assassin. You two raised a sturdy bitch!" he says playfully, nudging Millie.
Joe chuckles and responds, "That we did! So... Blitzo, is it? Heh heh. That's a fine name."
"It reminds me of war," Lin adds, her voice nostalgic.
Joe sighs happily and flexes his bicep. "Nothing like a little war to make a strong man!"
Blitzo seems pleased with the interaction. "I like you people."
Moxxie, always eager to share knowledge, interjects. "You know, more battles were won by technological advances in warfare. I've researched the history of weaponry extensively, and it's inspiring how, for example, the progression of guns utilizing angelic technology has changed the landscape of Hell's combative—"
Millie interrupts him with a hand gesture. "Cut it out," she signals, and Joe crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed.
"I mean... War fun!" Moxxie says awkwardly in a deep voice, in an effort to salvage his reputation.
"Guns get the job done," Joe chimed in, his arms crossed. "But a man ain't nothin' if he can't tear the head off a hellish beast with only his bare... hands!"
"The only thing a man who has to resort to fighting with his bare hands is, is too shortsighted to bring a weapon." Benedict chimed in, standing to the side with his lever action strapped to his back. He'd neglected to change his outfit, stating that his trench coat was 'all-terrain' and 'four wheel drive'.
"Ah! Right!" Millie hurried over to Benedict, shoving him towards Joe. "This grump here's Benedict. He's our newest member!"
Benedict politely stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Joe." Joe, however, didn't return the gesture.
"You one o' them city slickers, huh?" He glared at Benedict with narrowed eyes, taking note of his trench and combed back hair. "Short, too."
"That's one way of putting it, yes." Benedict replied nonchalantly, retracting his hand.
"Oh, don't mind the little prude. You should see him in action!" Blitzo cheerfully interjected.
"Speaking o' action, you should meet our newest help." Joe turned to the side. "Hey, Striker!" He yelled out.
The sound of black flaming hooves clopping rapidly on the ground filled the air. An Imp wearing a cowboy hat rode a black hell horse with a fiery mane, leaping over a fence to join the group. The Imp, Striker, tipped his hat in greeting, a stalk in his mouth.
"Well, howdy!" Striker greeted enthusiastically. "Oh, lookie here! You must be the famous Mildred!"
Striker dismounted the horse and walked toward Millie. "Heard some good things about you from your folks, little lady." He added with a wink.
Millie blushed and laughed sheepishly. "Ohhh!" She responded.
Striker shook Millie's hand and continued the conversation. "What're y'all doin' so far away from Imp City?" He asked. "Heh. The free workin' finally slowin' down?"
"Oh, no! Freelance isn't free!" Millie replied. She quickly corrected herself, saying, "It's a... Never mind. We're just visitin' for the festival. The prince is our boss' boyyyyfrieeeend!"
Blitzo couldn't resist chiming in with his usual sarcastic remark. "Millie, I am not above hitting a female in front of her daddy."
"Boss, huh...? Ohhh, so YOU'RE the bold imp to start his own killing biz?" Striker said, impressed.
"Yeah, well if you're good at somethin', you should probably capitalize." Blitzo replied with confidence.
"'Good' is subjective." Benedict muttered to himself.
Striker admired Blitzo's accomplishment. "Not many Imps start businesses on their own. That's pretty impressive, sir," he complimented.
Blitzo, taken aback by the praise, stammered, "Oh...! Yeah? It is- I- I- I guess- I guess it is, isn't it?"
Striker brought up the topic of Blitzo's connection with the prince. "So you even conned that ditzy blueblood into gettin' you to the surface?"
Blitzo and Striker shook hands, sealing their camaraderie. "Well, it's long and complicated, but the short answer is yes. But he's not like, you know—W-We're y-We're not, like... We're not doing it... We w-What's betw- It's a transactional fucking, you see." He made a sexual motion with his hands.
Joe chimed in, "Y'know... you boys should enter the Pain Games!" Blitzo scuttled over to Joe.
"I heard games! What games? I'm in!" Blitzo eagerly asked.
"Every harvest festival, there's a competition to be the roughest, toughest bastard in Wrath!" Lin explained.
"I assure you, we don't need to waste time on some pointless competition." Benedict grumbled, getting him Striker's attention.
Striker chuckled and sized up Benedict. "Heh, I bet you'd be pretty good in a fight, trench coat man. What's your name?"
"Benedict." He replied stoically, not particularly eager to engage in the conversation.
Blitzo's eyes lit up at the prospect of a competition. "Come on, Benny! It'll be fun! Let's show 'em what we got!" He said, trying to encourage his employee.
"It's Benedict, and we're here to- Actually I'm not sure why we're here, but it's definitely not participate in some redneck spectacle." Benedict retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.
Blitzo shrugged, undeterred by Benedict's resistance. "Well, suit yourself, Ben. But I'm gonna kick some ass and take home the glory!"
Benedict shrugged. "Eh. Glory's overrated."
"Well what if I told you-" Striker playfully poked him, causing Benedict to swat away his hand. "There's a substantial cash prize for the winner?"
Benedict perked up. "Well why didn't you lead with that? Of course I'm in, then!" He exclaimed with comedic enthusiasm.
Millie crossed her arms and grumbled. "Wish I could join."
Lin shook her head. "Millie, you know you get too carried away. The last competition ended in fifteen separate funerals." She put a hand on Millies shoulder.
"I'm aware, but I only caused nine of them! How come Sallie May still gets to compete?" Millie retorted defiantly.
"Your sister doesn't have a neighborhood head count." Lin pointed out, as Sallie May dragged along a corpse in the background.
"It doesn't count if they don't find the bodyyyyyy!" Sallie May chimed in with a sing-song voice.
Lin tried to console Millie. "Still, you get to root for her and your brothers, and now you can cheer on your boss and coworker!"
Moxxie stepped in, trying to boost his own confidence. "Y'know, she can also cheer for me." He declared proudly.
Joe couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Wait, you?" He chuckled.
Moxxie frowned at Joe, feeling a bit hurt. "Yeah! I can compete, can't I?"
Lin decided to give Moxxie a reality check, elbowing him in the side and causing him to tear up in pain. "Sorry, boy. But, I don't think sensitive, thespian types would last very long in the games." Joe told him.
Moxxie was taken aback, trying to defend himself. "I was born here, too! I have some fight in me!" He drawled, turning to Benedict. "I got a chance, right Benedict?"
Benedict looked thoughtful for a second. "That depends. Do you believe in divine intervention?" He asked seriously.
Striker placed a hand on Moxxie's shoulder. "Huh. Well then, little fella... Why don'tcha help me wrangle one o' them hogs for dinner?" He gestured toward a large sleeping hell hog in a pigpen.
Moxxie, brimming with confidence, replied, "Simple. Watch me!" He reached for his gun.
Grinning, Striker tossed a dagger and rope into Moxxies arms. "Nah... with these. Bullets can't pierce the shell. You gotta get the knife underneath and pry yourself an openin'."
Nervously, Moxxie gulped and stammered, "Oh! Right, right. I knew that."
Blitzo leaned in toward Moxxie and grabbed his shoulders, causing Moxxie's eyes to twitch. "Now, just remember, your rep with the in-laws is on the line here! So, no pressure at all, you totally will not make an ass of yourself in front of everyone important in your life. Go get 'em, tiger," Blitzo said teasingly before shoving Moxxie forward.
Concerned, Millie interjected, "Mox, you don't need to do this!"
Blitzo, ever the supportive cheerleader, shouted, "Oh, he totally does. KICK ITS ASS, MOXXIE! YEAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
"Moxxie, no offense, but this really is a bad idea." Benedict pointed out, but was ignored. Sighing, he preemptively pulled out his rifle.
Amidst Blitzo's cheers, Moxxie entered the pen, nervously walking forward with knife in hand. He leaped and wrapped the rope around the hog's neck, but his knife struck harmlessly against the hog's hide. The hog roared and reared up in rage.
"FUCK yeah, Moxxie! Ride it, Moxxie! Make it so that bitch you won't call back in the morning!" Blitzo exclaimed excitedly, while Loona grinned and recorded a video on her phone, declaring, "This is fucking beautiful."
Blitzo continued, "Doin' great, Moxxie!" He turned to Loona. "Send me that video later." He whispered.
Watching in concern, Millie observed as Moxxie yelped and looked up. Striker, with his spade tail rattling like a snake, leaped and pushed Moxxie out of harm's way. Twirling the dagger in his hand with a smug grin, Striker raised it in the air, as the beast turned and readied itself to trample Moxxie, who was lying down in the mud.
But, before he could finish the beast off, a shot rang out, putting a hole right through the beasts eye and having it keel over, causing Striker to tumble over onto the ground.
The shooter was none other than Benedict who casually lowered his rifle as Joe glared at him.
Moxxie looked at Benedict with a mix of gratitude and annoyance. "Thanks... I guess." He muttered, slightly deflated by his failed attempt.
Benedict simply nodded. "Don't think too much of it. Blitz would've docked my pay if you'd died."
Joe approached him, clearly unimpressed by Benedict's intervention. Joe crossed his arms and scowled. "Well, ain't you a show-off?"
Striker, getting back on his feet, shook off the mud and smirked. "Well, look at you, Benedict. Quite the sharpshooter, huh?"
Benedict glanced at Striker with a hint of a smirk. "I try."
"Really got to ruin the fun, huh grumpy?" Blitzo remarked, arms crossed.
"Fun is subjective, not having your employees run over by an angry pig is quantifiable." Benedict deadpanned, reloading his rifle.
Striker laughed heartily, appreciating the banter. "I like you, trench coat man. You've got spunk." He picked up the dead hog before turning to Blitzo. "Hey boss man! You wanna help the men skin this thing for dinner?" He and Joe smirked, while Benedict just rolled his eyes.
"Oh, I am always down to skin the manly meat with the manly men!" Blitzo replied.
"That's what she said!" Loona chimed in, walking into the house, eyes still glued to her phone.
"What 'who said'? Wait, what bitch is talking shit about me?!" Blitzo retorted, looking around in confusion.
Everyone but Millie and Moxxie left for the house with the demon hog. Moxxie sighed sadly with his arm in a cast, and Millie comforted him.
"Don't let 'em get to you. And hey, you don't need my parents to respect you. They will eventually." Millie reassured him.
"No, they won't." Sallie May interjected, appearing out of nowhere.
Millie growled at her, clearly annoyed by her comment.
"What? I'm right, ain't I?" Sallie May said defiantly.
Moxxie put on a drawl and said, "Oh, I'mma enter in those games."
Millie sighed sadly, her disappointment evident.
"How pissed would you be if I bet on him dyin'?" Sallie May suddenly appeared again, asking provocatively.
Millie glared at her again, clearly not amused.
. . .
At the Harvest Moon Festival, Wally Wackford stood on a rickety wooden stage with a faded banner hanging above that read "Harvest Moon Festival" in peeling red letters. He held a microphone and spoke with exaggerated drama.
"Welcome, I say-a, welcome-a... all to Wrath-a Ring's-a annual-a Harvest-a Moon-a... a-Festival!" Wally exclaimed, his voice echoing through the excited crowd. "To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a, here to usher in this here Pain Games!"
Stolas strolled over from a tent situated at the back of the stage, taking the microphone from Wally with a chuckle.
"How kind, Wackford." Stolas remarked, his deep voice resounding through the gathering of tiny Wrath Ring Imps. "Greetings, tiny... Wrath Ring Imps! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!"
The crowd of Imps glared at Stolas, their disapproval evident as boos filled the air.
"I'm happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest Imps to show their skill in dominance." Stolas continued, his tone oozing confidence. "Good luck to you all! Especially that sexy little one there... Yoo-hoo! Blitzy!"
Stolas waved at Blitzo, who responded with a glare of annoyance.
"Ugh. Fuck me," Blitzo muttered under his breath.
Suddenly, a gun went off, signaling the start of the games. The imps surged forward, racing down the trail. Chaos ensued as Moxxie got trampled, yelping in pain, while Striker climbed a wooden ramp structure, as Benedict took a different approach and clambered around the side of it. Blitzo leaped ahead of him, and Moxxie desperately tried to catch up. Clawing at the structure, Moxxie lost his footing and fell into a small puddle, only to be attacked by a monstrous black and white shark.
. . .
Striker grinned smugly at Blitzo, who found himself tied up, his legs, arms, and horns bound behind him. A muscular imp held a rope, grinning at a scared Moxxie. In the background, Benedict could be seen reading a newspaper titled 'The Hellish Times', leaning against a tree that had an imp hung from it, the rope tied into a noose.
. . .
Striker, Blitzo, Benedict and Moxxie teamed up in a tug of war match. However, Moxxie lost his grip and fell into the water once again, becoming the target of the shark's aggression.
. . .
There was a wrestling match in the mud between Blitzo and Striker, as Benedict swept the legs of another imp, while a group of imps formed a football huddle on top of Moxxie. The shark leaped over the fence, executing an elbow drop on Moxxie.
"MOTHERFUC-!" Moxxie's exclamation was cut short as he was buried under the shark.
. . .
"I say, I say, for the first year ever, we have a tie for the winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!" Wally Wackford announced, his voice filled with anticipation.
Stolas, once again taking the microphone from Wally, added with a sly grin, "The winners are… Striker, my darling Blitzy!" Stolas sighed. "And Benedict."
The crowd erupted in cheers as Stolas walked onto the stage, striking a pose.
"Just say my name RIGHT! Fuckin' dick!" Blitzo exclaimed in frustration, joining Stolas on the stage. Moxxie and Millie watched the scene unfold from the wooden bleachers.
Benedict walked onto the stage, which somewhat confused the crowd, as they murmured among themselves.
"Who's this twink?" One bulky imp asked his friend, who shrugged.
Stolas cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "Well, my dear Imps, it seems we have a three-way tie. How should we settle this? Any suggestions?"
The crowd erupted in a flurry of suggestions, ranging from a dance-off, to a chili cook-off, to a threesome, which Stolas was slightly tempted to pick, but didn't.
Benedict, uninterested in the crowd's suggestions, simply crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the stage, waiting for the whole ordeal to be over. Meanwhile, Blitzo and Striker exchanged competitive glances, both eager to claim the title of ultimate champion.
Stolas chuckled at the crowd's enthusiasm before raising his hand, silencing them. "How about a classic old-fashioned duel? The last one standing is declared the true winner." He proposed, knowing well that the crowd loved a good fight.
Blitzo and Striker looked at each other, both agreeing to the idea. "You're on!" they said in unison, and the crowd cheered with excitement.
. . .
The three stood facing each other in a triangle formation in the makeshift arena just below the stage, with Blitzo and Striker glaring at each other intensely while Benedict looked bored.
"You ready to get your ass kicked, you wheat eating motherfucker?!" Blitzo yelled aggressively, cracking his knuckles.
"Oh I'm more than ready, boss man. You'd better be." Striker retorted, earning an eye roll from Benedict.
"And-a one I say!" Wackford began counting down. "And-a two, I say I say! A-three I say, I say FIGHT!"
The moment Wackford shouted "fight," Blitzo and Striker charged at each other with all their might. They exchanged a flurry of punches and kicks, the sound of their blows echoing through the arena. The crowd watched in anticipation, cheering and jeering as the battle unfolded.
Benedict, on the other hand, calmly took a step back and reached into his trench coat pocket. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and cup, popping the cork and pouring himself a drink, sipping it nonchalantly as the other two pounded on each other.
"This is some shit whiskey." He remarked to no-one in particular, squinting at the bottles label.
As the fight raged on between Blitzo and Striker, Benedict leaned against the edge of the arena, his focus seemingly more on his drink than the brawl before him. The crowd grew restless, their excitement turning into frustration as they watched Benedict's lack of participation.
"Come on, shorty! Join the fight, you coward!" Someone from the crowd yelled, voicing the sentiments of many others.
Benedict raised an eyebrow, amused by the crowd's reaction. He took another sip from his cup, savoring the taste.
Blitzo, fueled by his competitive spirit, threw a powerful punch that landed squarely on Striker's jaw, causing him to stumble backward. The crowd cheered, thinking that Blitzo had gained the upper hand. But Striker quickly recovered, retaliating with a swift kick that knocked Blitzo off balance.
As the two continued to exchange blows, their movements becoming more sluggish, Benedict remained unfazed. He casually stepped aside, avoiding a stray punch that flew in his direction, and took another sip of his whiskey.
The crowd's frustration grew with every passing second. The impatience turned into anger, and they began shouting insults and throwing objects toward Benedict.
"Get in there, you lazy bastard!" Someone yelled, hurling a half-eaten apple in Benedict's direction.
Benedict calmly sidestepped the apple, not even flinching.
Blitzo decided to take matters into his own hands. Despite his exhaustion, he mustered the last of his energy and launched himself at Striker, wrapping his arms around his opponent's waist and tackling him to the ground. The impact sent both of them crashing onto the muddy floor, gaining the crowds attention.
With Blitzo and Striker entangled in a messy struggle, Benedict saw an opportunity. He calmly approached the two combatants, taking one last swig from his cup before placing it on the ground.
Benedict approached Blitzo and Striker, who had gotten up and were now locked in a grappling hold, their energy depleted. Benedict grabbed them by the collars of their shirts and slammed their heads together with a cartoonish clang, causing them to both fall to the ground backwards.
The crowd was silent for a few moments, before erupting into a cacophony of boos and jeers, calling Benedict things like "Coward", "Little Bitch", and "Dastardly cur faced sissy pants".
Stolas stepped forward, acknowledging Benedict's victory. "Impressive, Benedict." He said with a hint of disdain.
Benedict nodded in acknowledgment, not one to revel in praise. "I prefer to keep things efficient." He replied simply.
Stolas turned to address the crowd. "Well, there you have it, folks! Benedict is the rightful winner of this year's Harvest Moon Pain Games. Let's give him a round of applause!" Stolas' words were met with more insults and jeers. The prince sighed, before tossing a small sack at Benedict, which he caught. "There's your prize."
Benedict simply nodded and quickly strolled out of the arena.
Amidst the crowds noise, Blitzo and Striker finally managed to stand up, looking a bit worse for wear but accepting of their defeat. Striker grinned. "Nice move, trench coat man. You've got some skills." He said to himself.
Blitzo, on the other hand, seemed a bit sour about the whole situation. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I still think I could've taken him." He mumbled, rubbing his sore jaw.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, Millie and Moxxie made their way to Benedict, who was leaning against the back of the stage, calmly counting his winnings from the sack of cash.
"Congratulations, Benedict. That was ahn' interesting way to win." Millie said, still processing the unusual turn of events.
Benedict looked up and shrugged. "I just did what I had to do to get the job done."
Moxxie, nursing a few bruises, joined them, shaking his head. "I can't believe you just stood there and let them tire themselves out. It's not exactly... honorable."
Benedict let out a rare chuckle. "It's hell. Fuck honor, I got a bag of cash!" He stuffed said bag of cash into his coat.
Blitzo joined them, still looking somewhat sore. "Benny, you cheap m... masterful planner, good job!" Blitzo quickly changed his tone as Benedict handed him a couple of bills, which he greedily sniffed.
"I will say, you weren't too bad yourself. Watching you and Striker fight was mildly entertaining." Benedict casually remarked.
Blitzo smiled. "Yeah, it's gonna be nice working with him."
Moxxie was taken aback. "Working with him...? WHAT?!"
"Yeaaaah! I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P." Blitzo nonchalantly says.
"You think we can afford another employee on payroll?" Benedict pointed out.
"You asked… But…" Moxxie looked hurt as Blitzo looked at him in confusion.
Millie stepped in to diffuse the tension. "Mox, I think you've had enough for now. Let's head back to the house and get you cleaned up."
Moxxie still looked downtrodden. "I... I guess." He and Millie walked back to the house, with Benedict and Blitzo sharing a confused, or concerned, glance.
. . .
Back at the ranch, Blitzo lay down on the ground, admiring Bombproof as he feasted on an animal carcass. Millie beamed beside her parents as her brothers loaded jack-o'-lanterns into a truck. Millie waved at them and then ran off.
Inside the house, Moxxie trudged up a flight of stairs, his expression glum. Suddenly, he noticed a faint light seeping through the crack beneath a door.
"Well, that's troubling." Moxxie muttered.
With a hint of trepidation, Moxxie opened the door and cautiously peered inside. His eyes locked onto the source of the light—a box. Curiosity piqued, he approached it and found a rifle with glowing designs displayed in an open gun case.
"Oh, my crumbs!" Moxxie exclaimed in astonishment, running his hand along the side of the rifle. "A genuine carmine-crafted, blessing-tipped rifle! How... How in the fuck did he get one o' these?!"
Unbeknownst to Moxxie, Striker leaned nonchalantly against the door frame behind him, a sly grin playing on his face.
"Why don't you ask me, little dude?" Striker interjected.
Moxxie jumped, startled by Striker's sudden presence. "Shit! W- Why do you have this... mister?! You are aware this kind of weapon can kill-"
"...demon royalty?" Striker interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. That." Moxxie confirmed, his voice laced with concern.
"No shit." Striker remarked, flicking his wheat stalk away. "That's kinda the point."
As Striker leisurely ran his claws along the door, he closed the distance between himself and Moxxie, advancing with a menacing demeanor and a smirk playing on his lips.
"Okay. Well, I'm... I'm relatively concerned by your possession of this... I'm also glad my instant dislike of you has been vali-" Moxxie's words were abruptly cut off as Striker seized him by the throat.
"-DATED!" Moxxie choked out, his voice strained.
Using his tail, Striker wrapped it around Moxxie's neck, then forcefully hurled him against the wall. Moxxie sprawled on the floor, gasping for air, while Striker pinned him down with his body weight. Moxxie's eyes darted around the room and landed on a lamp resting on a nearby table. Desperation fueled his actions as he kicked the table, sending the lamp crashing into Striker. The noise caught Millie's attention from outside, drawing her towards the commotion.
Moxxie seized the opportunity and staggered to his feet, darting toward the door. But before he could escape, Striker yanked him back by his tail, his grip firm and unyielding. Striker covered Moxxie's mouth, preventing him from calling for help, and began to choke him. A sinister chuckle escaped Striker's lips as Moxxie's consciousness started to fade.
"Pathetic." Striker sneered.
Suddenly, Millie appeared behind Striker, wielding a knife. She stabbed him in the back, causing Moxxie to collapse to the floor. A feral rage overcame Millie as she repeatedly plunged the knife into Striker's back. She leaped onto his back, holding the blade against his neck. Striker retaliated by slamming Millie against the wall, breaking her arm. Bleeding and in pain, Millie collapsed next to Moxxie, who weakly reached out his hand towards her.
"Millie..." Moxxie uttered.
Without hesitation, Striker seized them both by their hair and threw them into a cellar. Millie cried out as her foot got caught in a bear trap.
"I'd kill y'all, but I feel like there's more leverage with your rodeo clown of a boss if I don't! Plus, you little things ain't worth the cleanup." Striker taunted.
Moxxie rushed up the stairs, but Striker swiftly closed the cellar doors, trapping them inside. Moxxie desperately tried to push the doors, but they remained firmly shut.
"Millie!" Moxxie called out, his voice filled with worry.
Moxxie descended the stairs, rushing to Millie's side to assess her injuries.
"Oh, Satan!" Moxxie exclaimed, his concern evident.
"Moxxie, I'm fiiiine!" Millie reassured him, her voice strained. "I've been through worse during the flower tufts at my brother's wedding. But I caught that fuckin' bouquet, and it was fuckin' worth it! You just have to get out there and fuck up that brownnosing cocksucker for me!"
Moxxie sighed, his confidence wavering. "But I can't break through it. I'm not strong enough."
"Not with your hands, baby." Millie responded, her tone filled with determination. "Use what you're good at."
Moxxie hesitated for a moment before realization dawned upon him. "I'm not good with my hands?"
Millie raised an eyebrow, her expression unamused.
"Ohhhh. Right. Yeah. Yeah," Moxxie muttered, understanding dawning on him.
Drawing a pistol from his pocket, Moxxie fired a shot, creating a hole in the cellar door. With a determined push, he forced the doors open.
"I... I probably should've used this earlier, huh?" Moxxie remarked, his voice tinged with self-deprecating humor.
"I love you, hun... But, for fuck's sake!" Millie exclaimed.
. . .
Stolas on the stage, flipping through a grimoire with a hint of magic in the air.
"My dear commoners of the Ring of Wrath!" Stolas's voice boomed through the night, capturing the attention of the audience below. "I, Stolas of the Ars Goetia, hereby curse this year's harvest with the glow of the true Harvest Moon!"
As Stolas commanded, the clouds above began to swirl, and a mystical portal materialized before the crowd. Through the portal emerged a breathtaking sight—a radiant orange full moon, casting an ethereal glow over the land. The imps in the audience gasped in wonder at the spectacle before them.
Striker, with his rifle braced against the window of his room, took aim at Stolas' forehead, his finger resting on the trigger. Just as he prepared to pull it, a clicking sound came from behind him, causing him to freeze.
"You certainly have some explaining to do, Striker." Benedict stood behind him, pistol at the ready.
"Benny!" Striker began to say, before being cut off.
"Benedict! It's Benedict, for Satan's sake!" He responded, irritated.
"I thought you were... I dunno, countin' cash or somethin." Striker continued, unperturbed.
"Save your excuses. I saw what you did to Moxxie and Millie." Benedict tightens his grip on the pistol.
"Benedict, come on. You know, the two of us are superior than most of our kind." Stolas got up and started to walk around the room, Benedicts pistol trained on him. "And you are so above working for some idiot who takes your paychecks, only to sneak topside for scraps and work for bitter sinners, who could care less who you are, when you could be slaying Overlords." Benedict looks conflicted as Striker continues his speech.
"Why struggle to work for a bumbling lunatic? When you could partner up with me and kill... the unkillable." Striker pinned Benedict to the wall, who still had his gun pointed at him.
"Firstly, I'm not gay, nor a narcissist, so quit with the superiority talk." He pushed Striker away from him. "And secondly, I've killed plenty of stuck up, egotistical people who believe themselves immortal before. What's any different with you? What insurance do I have that I won't just be screwed over again?" Benedict asked, brow furrowed in thought.
Striker grinned. "Because this time, you get to work for you. Equal pard'ners. No more being some pawn for some higher power." He started circling around Benedict again. "You kill who you want to kill. And make a lotta money doin' so." Striker said temptingly.
He leaned towards Benedict. "And we start with the pompous one right here." He gestured at Stolas.
Benedict lowered his gun, deep in thought. "You know Striker, you do make a tempting offer." He said, after some time.
Suddenly, a click was heard from behind Striker, as Moxxie raised Striker's angelic rifle and pointed it at him, surprising both Striker and Benedict. "But I should probably side with the guy holding the gun." Benedict said slightly nervously, raised his gun again.
"You're making a mistake, Benedict." Striker growled out. "You really want to waste your life working with these idiots?" Before Benedict could respond, the door slammed open, with Blitzo storming in.
"Okay, which one of you fucks left the toilet seat up?!" He yelled angrily, distracting Benedict and Moxxie. Striker, using the opportunity, elbowed Benedict in the stomach and bolted diving out the window and dodging the few shots Moxxie fired at him.
Benedict quickly poked his head out the window, searching for any sign of Striker, but found none, as Striker was lost in the crowd.
. . .
Lin skillfully wrapped a bandage around Millie's injured arm while she sat with her foot encased in a cast. Meanwhile, Moxxie struggled to pack clothes into a suitcase nearby, and Benedict paced, thoughtfully stroking his chin.
"I can't believe you let him trap you, Millie! Haven't we taught you better?" Lin scolded, her voice filled with a mix of concern and disappointment.
"I was seein' red, Ma! And he was slippery!" Millie defended herself, her voice tinged with frustration.
"Excuses! You're better than that, Mildred!" Lin responded sternly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
As Moxxie finally closed the trunk, he marched over to Millie's parents, his expression determined.
"Y'know, she protected me." Moxxie began, his accent shifting into a drawl. "And maybe I'm not a strong beefy dickhead," he continued in his normal voice, "but Millie has the strength enough for both of us! You two are getting on her case about being hurt by a psychopath you hired?!" Moxxie's drawl intensified as he emphasized his words. "Shaaaaame on you!"
Blitzo, standing nearby, couldn't help but interject with his characteristic humor. "Aw, Moxxie, look at you! Speechin' like a big boy with his big paaaants!"
Joe, Millie's father, glared at Moxxie, his disapproval evident, and without saying a word, he curtly nodded and left the scene.
"Wooow! He nodded! He's never acknowledged your input before!" Millie exclaimed, impressed by her father's small gesture of acceptance.
Rising to her feet, using crutches for support, Millie decided to walk away from the situation.
"So, is that progress?" Moxxie asked, his tone filled with both hope and uncertainty.
. . .
A motel could be seen, it's sign reading "Hideaway Motel Vacancy. The Guy That Tried 2 Kill U Def Isn't Here." Inside one of the motel rooms, Striker sat on a bed, engaged in a phone conversation.
"Huh... I failed to kill the target at the festival. But don't worry, ma'am... It won't happen again." Striker reassured the person on the other end of the line.
Stella, sitting at a dinner table, impatiently drummed her fingers on the surface. Her voice carried a sense of urgency and determination as she responded, "It better not! I want this cheating prick dead! I don't care who you have to go through! MAKE IT HAPPEN!"
Stolas, engrossed in reading a book titled "Imps in the Sheets," glanced up from his meal, concern etched across his face. Octavia, sitting beside Stolas, playfully tapped her fork against a wine glass, bopping her head in time to her music.
"Understood." Striker acknowledged.
As Stella hung up the phone, Striker twirled a gun in his hand, a malicious grin spreading across his face.
"I'll get him next time." He declared, his voice dripping with malevolence.
Chuckling darkly, Striker switched off the light, leaving the room enveloped in darkness. In the shadows, his yellow eyes glowed ominously, evoking the eerie hiss of a rattlesnake.