This one takes place after the events of Vol. 11: The Blood Countess, but the gang hasn't left Dis yet.
The latest candidates would be trained and groomed into the best assassins possible, just as many before them. Day after day, week after week, was spent memorizing a variety of parries, strikes, and blocks, as well as enhancing their physical durability.
Striker did his best, he really did, but it never seemed to be enough for their 'teacher', none other than Overlord Bathory's very own Captain of the Guard: Drak, a draconid-looking hellborn with dark eyes. Sometimes he thought that Drak had something against him in particular.
During a synced team exercise, Striker mistakenly threw his fist up instead of a high kick. He knew he had fucked when the sharp, stinging sensation of a whip added yet another cut on his back.
"Any mistake means certain death," Drak taught sternly.
Is it because he's the only Imp? Did he not think him worthy? Then why not let him go, kick him out, or something like that, Striker would think bitterly.
The next day, the candidates' next task was battling Bathory's current champion: a brute minotaur-like demon nicknamed 'Asesino'. Striker swallowed hard as one of his 'classmates' tried tackling the hulking brute with no avail, and was sent flying against a set of newly-sharpened weapons that killed him instantly.
Their attacks were mostly fruitless. How are they supposed to win against such a monster when most of them were barely thirteen? Striker was fifteen, the oldest of the current group, and even he had trouble with this exercise if it could even be called that.
One of the candidates tried to flee and was rewarded with an arrow piercing her skull. The punishment for cowardice.
Striker didn't want to do this anymore. But what choice did he have? He had to do anything Drak asked them to just to avoid the pain, even if it meant he had to kill.
He learned this the first day he was brought to this place. The first time he tried to escape.
The first time he experienced firsthand what abuse and torture meant in Dis.
He'd been mercilessly whipped until his whole back was covered in raw wounds, and if it couldn't get any worse, salt and lemon were poured unto them. Striker didn't sleep for an entire day from the experience.
The difficulty and mortality rate of the training increased the older they got, and the more the number of candidates decreased.
Striker's uncelebrated seventeenth birthday was spent jumping onto tall and large structures to reach the other end of a chasm, whilst avoiding the pit of fire and rock formations down below. He slipped on some dust in one of the rocks and fell, his heightened reflexes being his saving grace as he held on for dear life.
One of his classmates who witnessed the incident tried to lend him a hand.
"Stop!" Drak landed next to them with a mighty flap of his wings. "The weak have no place in Bathory's ranks." And just like that, the succubus resumed her jumping without looking back.
Striker, still dangling in place, gulped when the dragon's dark eyes fixed on him. Drak stomped his clawed talons down on the imp's exposed hand. Pain shot through him as his grip loosened.
Drak narrowed his eyes. "Are you weak?"
Striker's only response was a sweaty, pained grunt. Drak drove the talon harder into his hand, the crunching of bones getting more and more audible.
"Are you weak?!" the dragon hellborn repeated, Striker's pained, silent cried the only answer. "ARE...YOU...WEAK?!"
Striker screamed and launched himself from his vulnerable position, barrel-rolling in mid-air as he regained his footing and finished the test. He never noticed the satisfied smile on his teacher's face.
The next training phase involved reflexes and resourcefulness. This time, it took place within the castle dungeons. The torches and lights within one of the chambers were all blown out and the eight remaining candidates were sealed inside in pitch-black darkness. They were tasked with navigating the labyrinth of corridors whilst being shot at with flaming arrows.
By now, Striker had gotten used to the danger. In fact, at times he found himself enjoying the rush of adrenaline it brought him.
Striker had an advantage over his classmates. Imps were known to have good vision in dark places thanks to their ocular illumination. As a barrage of flaming arrows surrounded the trainees, Striker easily leaped around the winding passages and walls. Eventually, he grew adept at catching the arrows and tossing them aside while his classmates kept dodging and evading the flaming bolts.
Then, in an unexpected move, one of the bolts snatched by Striker ended up right between the eyes of an archer.
A perfect headshot kill.
As Striker crossed the finish line without suffering as much as a scratch, he noticed the shocked look on Drak's face.
He couldn't resist the temptation.
With a proud sneer, Striker gave his teacher the finger.
"Another round of beers over here, lady!"
Striker moved away from the drunken demon next to him, tail rattling in disgust. The Horny Pony really hasn't changed from the last time he was here.
The cowboy took a deep breath. Just one more day and they'd finally go back home. Thankfully, he hadn't heard from or seen Bathory since he caught her in his Inn room. Jake didn't remember anything from that night either, something for which he was grateful. How would he have explained about the stalking witch inside the room?
He took a look at his phone. 19:05. He better catch up with the others—
"Well, look who it is." Striker dropped his pint of beer. That voice!
A large, clawed hand smacked him in the back, almost knocking him off the chair.
"You certainly have grown since the last time I saw you last, Csorgokígyo." Striker turned to face the newcomer and was met with very familiar dark eyes.
"Sir," he said almost automatically while tipping his hat. Drak occupied the seat next to him.
"There's no need for you to call me that anymore, you know. I'm no longer your superior." the dragon chuckled. "Congratulations on winning the tournament, by the way. My lady was certainly pleased."
"What do ye want, Drak? Did she send ya to relay a message?"
"Not this time, boy." Striker flinched at the old name. "I just wanted to congratulate my favorite student in person, that's all."
Striker chuckled humorlessly. "Favorite? I don't remember it bein' that way."
"Of course, you wouldn't, at least not from your perspective."
"My perspective?" Striker rattled his tail, slamming his drink on the counter. "Unless my memory fails me, ye beat the shit out of me more than on the other candidates. I haven't forgotten how ye left my back when ye punished me the first time I tried to escape."
"And look where it got you. You purchased your freedom from the mistress, became a member of the Deadly Court…"
"How do ye know that?"
"You know that rumors fly in this Lucifer-forsaken city." Drak took a big gulp of his beer. "Look, I was the hardest on you because I saw you had the most potential out of all of the candidates. You had an impeccable aim, determination, and strength, but overall, you had the cold blood to do whatever was necessary." the dragon smiled a bit. "And I was right. You truly were the best of us. To this day, no one's ever been able to hold a candle to you."
"Do you mean it in combat…" Strike's tail rattled. "...Or in her bed?"
The dragon's smile disappeared. "…I..." sigh. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you with that." The cowboy took a big gulp of beer.
"It's not like ye could have done anythin', anyway. Ye know as well as I do that when Bathory wants somethin', she gets it."
A long, awkward silence followed.
Until a little voice called out. "Daddy, daddy!" Striker's mood instantly changed as a little hand tugged on his pants. Smiling, he lifted Jake unto his lap.
"Hey, pup. What are ye doin' here? I thought ye went to see ponies with Blitz."
"A nasty man chased us away. I didn't get to pet one!" Jake pouted adorably.
"Don't worry, pup. I'll take ya to the zoo when we get back, okay?"
"You promise?"
Striker ruffled the impling's hair. "I promise, pup."
When he glanced towards Drak, he found the dragon was gone. He looked around the tavern, but he was nowhere to be found. When did the bastard leave?!
"Captain Drak can be really sneaky when he wants to." The bartender said casually as he served another round of beers to a customer. "By the way, he said your drinks were on him."
Striker looked down. That was.. nice on his part.
Guess he did have a soft spot, after all.