God Moxxie felt like shit.
Getting slammed to the ground by Striker and his stupid maneuver, feeling the weight of a stalactite protruding his ribs.
Millie was pinned by her own ax to the neck, struggling to slip her head out of it.
His gun was just out of reach, and his sight was getting foggy. He inched closer, to the point where his fingers just grazed the butt of the revolver. Its silver color coating the dirt underneath.
Just as the grip of Striker ceased, he felt his body slam against the assassins. His tail flicking in eager malice. "Now I remember how easy you were to choke the life out of, little one!" He gripped Moxxie's throat with a firm grip. He could feel his airways closing as he gasped for breath— Striker's python eyes darting to his struggling body— His evil grin spread from ear to ear.
Getting back his gun wasn't going to be an option now. He could make a stupid quip. No, no that wouldn't work— maybe? It would only piss Striker off more, and Moxxie didn't want his head on a stick. Or god forbid that statue.
Moxxie's eyes were rolling over, and his heart was pounding in his ears, squirming to break free. His gaze slowly flushed to the hidden blade in Striker's belt, and kicked the arch-imp from underneath, his legs folding to the ground.
Striker quickly jolted up, sliding to a stop as he windmilled his arms to steady. He growled through his teeth, eyes glowing with rage— but it was soon cut short, as he noticed Moxxie holding his knife. "What..?" He said under his breath in a cold hiss, patting around his belt to feel nothing.
"Looking for this?" Moxxie said, spinning it effortlessly as the white outlines of holy metals glinted off his golden eyes. He slowly raised it upwards, eyes narrowing to his target.
"Yeah," Striker scowled, composing his voice to a low monotone. He didn't know what to feel, only that Moxxie wasn't even supposed to be physically close to his possessions.
"Come get it." Moxxie watched Striker charge like a rabid wolf down the train tracks, hearing the small snap in the distance.
Millie gasped for breath, quickly yanking off the rubble from her ax, swinging it right to Striker as it curved in his direction. "Mox!" She screamed, swiping his gun off the ground and tossing it in his direction. Before Moxxie could yank it from its free fall, Striker's tail whipped and slashed him to the side, swinging the gun to his forehead. A rattle flicked from his tail. "Bye bye," in an act of retribution, the gun fired.
Millie thought it was the end.
Moxxie was fast, but he couldn't dodge a bullet.
So he didn't move, the holy blade skimmed the bullet, deflecting off to the opposite direction. Impaling the chest of Striker's statue.
The dust from Moxxie's wake was immaculate, he sped right through Striker, nailing an elbow to the ribs, and an uppercut to the jaw, sending him into a spiral.
"You know us demons r' supposed to be good at lyin', keep n' secrets." Striker swiped away the blood running down his cheek and grinning big as he failed to lift himself back up. Moxxie took a few cautious steps forward. "Yet somehow, I can see right through you." He leaned in, and Moxxie could smell the foul breath, the sharpness of his fangs closing in.
"What is he talkin' about Mox?" Millie whispered behind Moxxie.
He shook his head. "I don't know." His head craned from Millie to Striker once again. To whom spat a wad of blood onto the floor, blood running down the cuts in his arm. He could smell the scent of sulfur coming from his body as he stepped back up. Pulling with weakness in his limbs.
Was he…burning?
Striker held his shoulder, hoping to stop the slices from bleeding anymore, but was failing. Red leaked in between his fingers. "This just made a whole lot of sense now, Moxxie." He said as if just murmuring his name was a toxic word. "Why you're such a little bitch to kill." He gripped onto his rope, swinging it at Moxxie, to whom got wrapped right into it.
"Fucking hell!" He snarled back, slicing it with his blade like butter, and he began to swing it around.
"Is nobody going to fucking help me?" Stolas groaned, and Mille quickly changed her attention to helping the Goetia.
"On it!" Millie clamored. Just touching the tips of her fingers, she felt a ripple of heat hit her, and she winced to the sizzle. "Gah! What the—"
"It's a blessed rope! You can't physically touch it without getting burned."
"Then how—"
"Striker is an Arch-Imp, that's why." Stolas explained, glancing over to Moxxie who was still at it with the standoff. "Your friend I'm not quite sure of…"
"Then how do I get you out?" Millie pleaded.
"You need one of Striker's holy blades, or guns, whichever one works." The Demon Prince continued. She nodded in complete agreement, and ran off to grab one. Which was still stuck in Moxxie's sniper rifle as it glinted. "Don't touch the blade!" He warned again.
"You know, I can really see it in you." Striker chuckled, his body twisting in evasion to Moxxie's fast and calculated jabs to the stomach. "The way you move, the determination and fire in your eyes," he continued to sweet talk.
"Shut up!" Moxxie screamed, hooking his arm to pin Striker to the ground. Him now on top of his enemy.
Moxxie had seen that expression before, and didn't want to lose the opportunity to end the assassin when he had the chance. He should've just killed him during the Harvest Moon Festival. He raised the blade high, hovering over Striker's chest. "You know, you look just like 'em up close." Striker cackled.
Moxxie then hesitated to strike the final blow.
Why was he hesitating to do something he knew nothing about?
"Mox! Leave him!" Millie's voice snapped him out of his trance, and pushed Striker now by the shoulders, his back swinging to the ground again. Pressed.
Moxxie growled in frustration. "Don't you dare touch Millie or Stolas again, understand?" He glared, smoke leaving his nostrils as they flared.
"Yeah yeah," Striker winced as the butt of his knife jabbed into his shoulder. "I should really be callin' you feathers now huh? It has a better ring—"
Moxxie slapped the shit out of him, mid sentence. And he was left for dead.
The I.M.P van coasted down the Wrath roadway back to Pride, and Moxxie was deep in thought. Watching the emergency van blare its lights, Stolas inside.
Millie cleared her throat. "Are you okay, Mox? You seem a little out of it…" she turned to him, eyes half on the road.
Moxxie sputtered up. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just something Striker said back there…" he glanced out the rear view, seeing the volcanic desert leaving from view. "He said I 'looked just like 'em'. Whatever the hell that meant."
"Looked like what?" She raised an eyebrow.
"That's what I've been trying to figure out." His index and middle finger glided over the blade.
Millie took one glance, and winced to herself. "Mox! Don't—" she paused, watching it easily leave his fingers.
"You're…. not burning..?" Her mouth dropped.
"N-no…. why would I be?" Moxxie slid the knife into his revolver holder. It was acting as a pretty good temporary sheath for the angelic blade.
"Stolas said that imps couldn't touch the blade, even Striker. He burned from the touch of it, I burned! So how the hell are you holding it and ending up so darn right spiffy?" She tilted her head to the side.
Moxxie shrugged innocently. "I don't know."
Millie sighed.
Moxxie sighed.
Striker, in the back of the van, tied up and tape over the mouth— also sighed.