TW / suicide
Seriously, please skip this chapter if this subject triggers you or makes you too uncomfortable, or if major angst really ain't your thing.
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If you need to know, Blitzo tries to kill himself several times in an attempt to escape the time loop, just as Bill Murray does in Groundhog Day.
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TWO
Blitzø woke up, not on the couch, but once again in his bed.
Fuck.
He lay there, the realization, the reaction, the despair and fury slowly permeate his body. He couldn't think, could only feel.
His phone buzzed, and it was like being shot.
Blitzø screamed, flinging the phone into the wall. He tumbled out of bed, staggered over to where the cracked device lay, still somehow working, and screamed at it again to shut up, slamming his fist into the wall for emphasis.
When that didn't work, he stomped on the phone with one bare heel. The bite of an electric shock re-enraged him, and Blitzø, growls burning his throat, snatched his flintlock pistol from the bedside table and fired.
He loomed over the broken fragments of phone, eyes glowing, chest heaving, splinters in his now-trembling claws... and burst into tears. This was just cruel – this was just fucking cruel. What spiteful omnipresent being would stick him in a goddamn Groundhog Day of the shittiest day of his recent existence? Was this Stolas punishing him? Lucifer? The bearded asshole up in Heaven?
Blitzø wasn't doing this. He wasn't.
He shakily reloaded his flintlock, pressed the muzzle under his chin, fought back his self-preservation instincts, and pulled the trigger.
THREE
And then - he woke up again, in his bed, in his room, same day as before.
FUCKING GREAT.
The rage was quiet this time, it didn't compel him to get loud and violent - what was the damn point now. His throat still ached with the shadow of a shout and a bulletshot. This time, Blitzo quietly reached for his gun and put the bullet through the side of his head without hesitation.
SEVEN
So suicide via firearm hadn't worked, no matter where or how he'd done it – under the chin, side of the head, in the mouth, in the chest, in the forehead… (He could try and get a holy weapon or holy ammunition, but that was effort he couldn't be bothered to make for himself).
But you don't become a top assassin relying on guns alone. Ya hear that, Moxx'? Yah weak little stable-relationship-having sub. You probably couldn't even tie a knot this good while sober.
Blitzø polished off the bottle of whatever-the-fuck strong booze this was, fitted the rope around his neck, tightened it, and lunged off the bridge. He was the trapeze artist, making his curtain call, and the headlights on the highway below were the eager circus audience.
NINE
Always make sure your death is set to fitting music. Some clients, particularly the wayward ex-rock stars, had requested I.M.P play songs to strike terror or confusion into the hearts of their targets. The Radio Demon, too, infamously set his slaughters to hot jazz.
And honestly Blitzø had caught onto it.
"HIGH VOLTAGE ROCK 'N' ROLL!" yowled some Bon Scott copycat in his earphones as Blitzo wrapped his claws around the arcing power lines.
TWELVE
This time Blitzø took the van and drove. Out of Imp City, out across the desolate red landscape, because why not take the scenic route to Wrath? Also, he suddenly had the increasing inclination to not leave his body where his Loony, or M&M, or even Stolas might find it. He didn't want to hurt them, he didn't want to inconvenience them.
He blasted 'Mustard Dong' at max volume and didn't sing along. He avoided the dusty roads that led to the farms, the fairground, where the Harvest Moon Festival had been found. Dragged the van onto rugged terrain that turned crapped-out suspension into literal piledrivers.
And worked his way up to the crater rim of a volcano.
"Wow, did someone break a rotten egg or what?" Blitzø joked lamely at the sulphuric smell (because what else should he do? He had exhausted screaming, crying, silence, and shitty one-liners), and let the van roll over the edge.
THIRTEEN
The tallest building in Imp City was, fittingly, 666 feet tall.
Blitzo stood at the top, spread his arms out to assert his dominance over this stupid time loop. As if T-posing was somehow the solution that would bring him either peace or the next day. He increasingly doubted that this was going to work.
Still, he overbalanced forward and tumbled towards the worn pavement.
SIXTEEN
Not only was he drunk, he was high too. Quite honestly, he'd forgotten why he was directly attacking an Overlord, but "why" didn't seem that important a concern anymore.
Somehow, he dodged the bullets of this rich git's bodyguards, leaping forward and managing two good swipes that shattered heart-shaped glasses and drew blood before he was grabbed by the throat.
"Seems like this little vermin's got rabies," the Overlord purred mockingly, thumb brushing foam from the corners of Blitzø's mouth. "We'll have to put him down for good."
There was a moment of wavering, drug-distorted silence, then there was a shimmering dagger in the Overlord's other hand. Then there was excruciating, blinding pain.
Then there was nothing.
SEVENTEEN
Then Blitzø woke up again.
A/N:
it gets better from here i swear
(also yup that's Valentino)