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, still in him pajamas, fell from the ceiling. "Ah! Where the fuck am I?!" He yelled, panicked, pulling out two firearms and pointing them at the three imps.
Blitzo laughed. "Oh I brought you along for the ride, grumps! Hope you don't mind!" He remarked cheerily, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
Moxxie looked startled. "Wait, do you sleep with your guns on you?" He asked, both confused and mildly concerned.
Benedict raised an eyebrow. "What, you don't?"
. . .
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.
"He's got a point." Benedict, who was quietly observing the conversation, chimes in. In place of his usual attire, he instead wore a dark brown trench coat that was buttoned all the way down the front, lacking the usual lapels instead having a collar that fit snugly around his neck. For his lower half, he wore gray dress pants and his usual black boots. He also carried a black briefcase, which was all he'd packed for the trip, and likely contained some kind of weapon.
"Ah! Right!" Millie hurried over to Benedict, shoving him towards Joe. "This grump here's Benny. He's our newest member!"
"It's Benedict." Benedict corrected, looking somewhat annoyed at being pushed forward.
Joe stared Benedict up and down, taking note of his various visible scars, short stature, and decent bulk, as well as his mostly formal attire. "Well, well, look at you, son. You been through some shit, haven't ya?" He chuckled. "One tough wrathian son-of-a-bitch you got here, Blitz!"
"Greed actually." Benedict corrected.
Joe's chuckle faded and he eyed Benedict with a mixture of skepticism and disdain. "Greed, huh? Ain't that one o' them highfalutin' rings with them nose in the air rich bastards and their backstabbin' tendencies?"
Benedict raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for enjoying the luxuries of developed infrastructure and indoor plumbing."
Joe snorted. "Luxuries? You call that crap luxuries? Real men shit in a hole out back, and we enjoy it!" He poked Benedict in the chest for emphasis.
"Ah, the rustic charm of defecating in nature. How quaint." Benedict deadpanned.
Millie nervously intervened. "Now, Pa, Benny here is just a bit... Grumpy. But he's a good worker!"
Blitzo shoved Benedict out of the way. "Oh, don't mind the grumpy little shit. Just wait till you see him in action!"
"Speaking o' action," Joe glanced at Benedict again. "You should meet our newest help." He turned to the side. "Hey, Striker!"
The sound of black flaming hooves clopping rapidly on the ground filled the air. A snake like imp with pale orange skin, wearing a cowboy outfit and 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.
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.
Striker chuckled, smirking at Blitzo. "You think you got what it takes, boss man?"
Blitzo puffed out his chest with feigned confidence. "Of course! I've got the grit, the sex appeal, and the sex appeal. Did I mention the sex appeal?"
Benedict, who had been quietly observing the exchange, raised an eyebrow. "Sex appeal? Really?" He muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.
Striker, overhearing Benedict, smirked and decided to involve him in the conversation. "Heh, I bet you'd be pretty good in a fight, trench coat man. What's your name?" Striker tilted his hat up slightly, revealing a scar running across his forehead, and stuck his hand out.
Benedict squinted at Striker suspiciously. "...Name's Benedict." He replied stoically, shaking Strikers offered hand.
Striker eyed Benedict with interest and a smirk. "Benedict, huh? You think you're up for the pain games?" He asks.
Blitzo elbowed Benedict playfully. "Come on, Benny! Let's fuck some people up!" He said enthusiastically.
Benedict pushed his arm away. "Look, I'm here to-" He paused. "Actually I'm not sure why I'm here, but it's definitely not participate in some redneck spectacle." Benedict retorted, crossing his arms defiantly.
Striker chuckled. "Come on, Benny! A little pain never hurt anyone... much." He said the last part in a far darker tone.
Blitzo couldn't resist the opportunity to egg Benedict on. "Oh, come on, Benny boy! Who knows, you might even discover a new kink in the process!" Blitzo teased, a mischievous grin on his face.
Benedict sighed, realizing he might as well go along with it. "Fine, but only because I have a feeling you won't shut up about it if I don't."
Millie, who was standing nearby, 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, shoving her hand off.
"Your sister doesn't have a neighborhood head count." Lin pointed out, as Sallie May dragged along a corpse in the background.
"She SO does!" Millie shot back.
"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, but was quickly stopped by Striker.
Grinning, the pale imp 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!"
Benedict stopped Moxxie just before he entered. "Moxxie, no offense, but this is an exceptionally terrible idea. Even for you."
Moxxie grinned nervously. "Oh, come on, Benedict! What's the worst that could happen? It's just a hog. How bad could it be?"
Benedict simply sighed, and as Moxxie went into the pen, laid his briefcase on the ground and opened it, pulling out a wooden stocked, iron sighted carbine rifle. He quickly scanned the various boxes of ammo that were in the case, glancing past ones labeled '9mm', 'Explosive', 'Probably a war crime', 'Definitely a war crime', 'Forgot', 'Why do I even have these?', and 'Overkill', before settling on a box labeled 'Anti-Armor'.
As Benedict loaded and cocked his gun, 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 straddled the angry beast, holding on for dear life. As Moxxie struggled, Striker, with his spade tail rattling like a snake and a smug grin on his face, leaped and shoved Moxxie off of the pig, sending him rolling into the mud, right into the sight line of the pig. With an enraged snort, the pig stamped it's hooves on the ground, preparing to run Moxxie into the ground. Twirling the dagger in his hand, Striker raised it in the air, about to stab down into the pigs flesh as it began it's dash towards the smaller imp.
But, before Striker could deliver the finishing blow, a shot rang out, putting a hole right between the pigs eyes. It flopped over onto it's side, stone dead, sending Striker tumbling to the ground. The shooter, none other than Benedict, casually lowered his rifle, a deadpan expression on his face, as Joe glared at him.
Moxxie, painfully rubbing his neck, looked at Benedict with a mix of gratitude and annoyance. "Thanks... I guess." He muttered, slightly deflated by his failed attempt.
Benedict, still holding the smoking rifle, 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?" He grumbled.
Benedict slightly scowled, still holding the smoking weapon. "Just doing my job, which happens to involve preventing your son in law from being trampled."
Striker, getting back on his feet, shook off the mud and smirked. "Well, look at you, Benny. Nice aim ya' got there."
Blitzo scowled at Benedict, clearly unhappy with him. "Really ruining the fun, huh, grumpy?" He crossed his arms, a pout on his face.
"Fun is subjective. Not having your employees run over by an angry pig is quantifiable." Benedict deadpanned, snapping his gun case shut and picking it up in his other hand.
Striker laughed heartily, slapping Benedict on the back, which he quickly flinched away from. "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, Moxxie, and Benedict left for the house with the demon hog. Moxxie sighed sadly with his arm in a cast, and Millie comforted him, while Benedict sat down on a nearby bale of hay and started meticulously cleaning his rifle.
"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. Benedict, ever the stoic imp, raised an eyebrow at Sallie May's sudden appearance, shooting her a skeptical glance.
"What? I'm right, ain't I?" Sallie May said defiantly.
'She's got a point' Benedict thought to himself, still cleaning his rifle.
Moxxie put on a drawl and said, "Oh, I'mma enter in those games."
Millie sighed sadly, her disappointment evident.
Sallie May, always one to stir the pot, chimed in again, "How pissed would you be if I bet on him dyin'?" She suddenly asked.
Millie shot a glare at Sallie May, 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 was next to Striker, Benedict, and Moxxie, and 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, quickly followed by Blitzo, who leapt ahead of him. Benedict, however, took an alternative approach and went around the side of it, avoiding the ramp altogether. Moxxie, already behind the pack, desperately tried to catch up, clawing at the structure as he made his way down. He 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. Benedict could be seen reading a newspaper titled 'The New Newest York Times', as Moxxie, whom he'd been assigned to fight, struggled to free himself, as he'd been tied to the nearby fence. "Huh. Stock market's down." Benedict remarked casually, almost uninterested.
. . .
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 went up against a brawny imp who seemed determined to outmuscle him. Benedict, however, was unfazed by the brute's attempts, sidestepping his attacks with ease and somehow managing to remain clean. He quickly kicked him in the shin, sending the brawny imp tumbling into the mud with a surprised yelp, before planting a foot on his neck.
Moxxie, meanwhile, was doing far worse as usual, as a group of imps formed a football huddle on top of the small imp. 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 daaaarling Blitzy!" Stolas sighed. "And Benedict." He added the last name with much less fanfare as he glanced at Benedict with a mixture of disdain and annoyance.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Striker 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, quite unimpressed by the whole spectacle, much to the crowds confusion.
"Who's this twink?" One bulky imp asked his friend, who shrugged.
Stolas, with an air of grandiosity, raised his hand to silence the cheering crowd. "My esteemed Imps, it appears we have a three-way tie. How should we settle this? Any suggestions?"
The crowd, fueled by the chaos and excitement of the games, erupted in a cacophony of ideas. Shouts ranged from a dance-off, to a chili cook-off, to a threesome, and even a suggestion involving whipped cream and a slip 'n slide, which Stolas, despite his usual proclivities, decided to skip over.
Benedict, who had been silently observing the proceedings, couldn't care less about the absurd suggestions. He crossed his arms, a hint of annoyance evident on his face, and leaned against the stage, waiting for the spectacle to end.
Stolas chuckled at the impromptu suggestions, his eyes scanning the crowd before he raised his hand, signaling for silence. "How about a classic old-fashioned duel? The last one standing is declared the true winner," he proposed, fully aware that the crowd loved a good fight.
Blitzo and Striker, having locked eyes since the beginning, immediately agreed to the idea. "You're on!" they declared in unison, their competitive spirits reignited. The crowd cheered with anticipation, eager for the final showdown.
. . .
The air was tense as the three contestants stood facing each other in a triangle formation, with Blitzo and Striker glaring daggers at each other. Benedict, on the other hand, looked more annoyed than anything.
They were in a makeshift arena just in front of the stage, which was just a decently large circle with a short wooden fence around it, and muddy ground.
"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.
None were more enthused than Stolas, who snatched the microphone from Wackford and started cheering on Blitzo. "FUCK HIM UP BLITZY! BITE HIS DICK OFF! BEAT HIM HARDER THAN YOU FUCK ME!" He continued to yell his very un-princely encouragement as Blitzo and Striker went at it.
Benedict, on the other hand, calmly took a step back and reached into his trench coat pocket. He pulled out a hoagie he had brought for lunch, unwrapping it from it's wrapping labeled "Luigi's Gut-Busting Delights - Our sandwiches are so good, they'll make you an offer you can't refuse! But hey, our competition did, and they were killed by the mob!" Unsurprisingly, the owner of that particular joint 'disappeared' after a few months with that slogan.
He took a bite of it, chewing on it thoughtfully. "This is a shit hoagie." He remarked to nobody in particular, glaring at the pastrami as if it had personally offended him.
As the fight raged on between Blitzo and Striker, Benedict took a nonchalant bite from his lackluster hoagie, seemingly more interested in his lunch than the brawl before him. The crowd, initially hyped up for the duel, grew restless, their excitement turning into frustration as they witnessed 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 casual bite from his mediocre hoagie, savoring the taste of disappointment.
Meanwhile, Blitzo and Striker continued their intense exchange of blows, each trying to outdo the other in the quest for dominance. Striker managed to grab Blitzo by the lapels, and with a grunt, shoved him away, where he crashed into the fence next to Benedict, who sidestepped him casually.
Benedict took another bite of his hoagie. "Need a hand, sir?" He offered.
Blitzo, still recovering from the impact, glared at Benedict. "I don't need your help, Benny-boy. Just keep enjoying your trash sandwich."
Striker decided to use the banter as an opportunity, and charged at Benedict, who was still leisurely munching on his subpar hoagie. Benedict, however, with a swift and unexpected move, he sidestepped Striker's charge, causing the cowboy-hat-wearing imp to stumble past him and crash straight into the arena fence.
The crowd erupted in a mix of laughter and cheers at Striker's misfortune. Benedict, still holding his hoagie, simply shook his head in mild amusement.
Blitzo, now back on his feet, took advantage of the situation and landed a solid punch on Striker, who was still recovering from his collision with the fence. The punch sent Striker staggering back, much to the delight of the crowd. Blitzo rammed into Striker in an attempt to push the advantage, putting them back near the center of the arena. 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 fight, their movements got more and more sluggish. Benedict, meanwhile, still leaned against the fence, still just gnawing on his sandwich.
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 dodged the apple, not even flinching. He took a moment to inspect the hoagie in his hand, as if contemplating the mysteries of life, before taking another indifferent bite.
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 crowd's attention.
With Blitzo and Striker entangled in a messy struggle, Benedict saw an opportunity. He casually approached the two combatants, finishing his hoagie and stuffing the wrapper in his pocket (Hey, even assassins don't litter).
As Blitzo and Striker were locked in a grappling hold, having managed to get up, Benedict, intensely focused for the first time throughout this whole fight, grabbed Blitzo and Striker by their collars, pulling them close and, much to everyone's surprise, slammed their heads together with a cartoonish clang. The impact caused both Blitzo and Striker to fall backwards onto the ground, clearly spent.
The crowd was silent for a few moments, before erupting into a cacophony of boos and jeers, as if they had just witnessed the most disappointing finale to an epic showdown.
Stolas, along with the crowd of imps, was also pissed. "MOTHERFU-"
In a timely decision, Wackford snatched the microphone from Stolas. "Well, would you look at that! We have a winner, I say, I say!" He announced, desperately trying to salvage the situation.
Benedict, still unfazed, dusted off his hands and adjusted his trench coat. He glanced at the fallen Blitzo and Striker, then at the furious crowd, and finally at Stolas, who was shooting daggers at him.
"Uh, congratulations to our... unexpected victor, Benedict, I say!" Wackford declared, trying to muster some enthusiasm.
The crowd continued to boo, throwing more objects in Benedict's direction, who took the cue and swiftly made his way out of the arena.
Amidst the crowds noise, Blitzo and Striker finally managed to stand up, looking a bit worse for wear but overall fine. Striker looked suspicious. "You're good, trench coat man. Too good." He muttered to himself, sticking his hat back on his head from where it had been knocked off.
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.
. . .
The disgruntled crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Benedict to casually make his way to the bleachers where Moxxie and Millie were seated. He took a seat next to Millie, his trench coat brushing against the wooden planks.
Millie looked over at Benedict while still tending to the wounded, both physically and emotionally, Moxxie. "Congratulations, Benedict. That was ahn'... interesting way to win." Millie said, still processing the unusual turn of events.
Moxxie, still annoyed by his failure in the pain games and nursing his bruises, shot Benedict an irritated glance. "Yeah, congratulations," He said with a hint of sarcasm. "Real impressive, the way you just... stood there."
Benedict shrugged. "Look, I didn't want to do this in the first place." He pointed out, just as Blitzo stumbled over, still rubbing his jaw and looking more irritated than ever.
"You know, you really know how to ruin a good fight, Benny-boy. Could've at least pretended to join in." Blitzo angrily plopped down next to Benedict, causing him to flinch slightly.
"Erm... Sorry about hitting you, sir." Benedict muttered apologetically, really not sure of what else to say.
Blitzo scowled at Benedict. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't make a habit out of it, grumpy." He crossed his arms, clearly still miffed about the whole ordeal.
Striker, having recovered from the brawl, sauntered over to the four of them with a bemused smirk. He tipped his hat at Benedict and leaned against the nearby bleacher railing, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Well, well, trench coat man. You certainly know how to make an entrance." He remarked, his tone filled with morbid amusement. "Benedict, was it?"
Benedict nodded, narrowing his eyes at Striker. "That's correct."
Striker's smirk widened as he continued, "You know, you're not like the usual Imps 'round here. There's something about you, something..." He took the stalk out of his mouth. "Different."
Benedict's face remained stoic, though he could feel a single bead of sweat form on his brow. "How so?" He subtly reached into his coat, and Striker could've swore he heard the small click of a hammer being pulled back.
"And what does it matter to you, huh?" Moxxie chimed in angrily, only for Striker to flash a sinister grin in his direction. "Oh, just curious, little fella. No harm in that, right?" Striker's tone was laced with a subtle threat, making Moxxie uneasy. Benedict also glanced back at Moxxie, if only for a moment.
Blitzo chuckled and, somehow having gotten up with noone noticing, slapped Striker on the back, causing a flash of annoyance to cross the cowboy-ish imps features, before being obscured with a grin. "Hah! Trust me Strikes, this guy is less interesting than watching paint dry." He turned to Striker. "Say, Striker, how 'bout you join us at I.M.P? We could use someone with your talents." Blitzo proposed with a sly grin.
Striker raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "Join I.M.P? You're offering me a job, boss man?" He drawled, clearly amused by the unexpected offer.
Blitzo nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yeah, why not? It'll be fun having you around."
Moxxie looked shocked, and Benedict himself furrowed his brow, but both said nothing.
Striker chuckled, seemingly entertained by the proposition. He glanced at Moxxie, who was trying to find the words to express his concerns, and then turned his attention back to Blitzo. "I.M.P, huh? Well, I've been in need of a change of scenery. Sure, I'll give it a shot."
Moxxie's eyes widened in disbelief, and he stammered, "Wait, what? Are you serious?"
Striker shot a condescending smirk at Moxxie. "Why not? It could be amusing. And besides, it's not like I have anything better to do."
Moxxie turned to Benedict. "You have to agree with me, right?!" He asked, desperate for backup.
Benedict simply shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I think. He's the boss." He gestured his head towards Blitzo.
Blitzo clapped Striker on the back, echoing his earlier move. "That's the spirit! Welcome aboard, Strikes! You mind if I call ya' Strikes? Great!"
Striker shot Blitzo a look that suggested he very much minded, but he didn't voice any objections. Blitzo continued, "We'll discuss the details later. For now, let's celebrate your...uh, recruitment!" He wrapped an arm around Strikers shoulders and dragged him off, leaving the others behind.
Millie, seeing Moxxie hurt look, decided to step in. "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 soon following behind, deep in thought.
. . .
Back at the ranch, Blitzo lay down on the ground, admiring Bombproof, Striker's horse, 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 him to let out a pained scream and drop Moxxie to the ground. 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 dragged them away, their consciousness's slowly fading.
. . .
Soon enough, Stiker tossed them into a small hatch that was by the side of the house, down into the cellar. Millie cried out as her foot got caught in a bear trap in her tumble down.
"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.
"Well, I just was, uh... Admirin' the view?"
"Save your excuses. I know who you are and what you do, Striker." Benedict tightens his grip on the pistol, glaring at Striker.
Striker chuckled, standing up. "I had a hunch you'd done your homework." He started to pace the room, Benedict's pistol still firmly trained on him. "What's your story, trench coat man? Used to run in the big leagues, huh?" He smirked. "Based on the accent, I'd guess the mob, amico (friend)?" He said the last bit in a bad italian accent, almost mockingly.
Benedict remained silent, but the flicker of doubt on his face was all the confirmation Striker needed. "And yet here you are, just some suck it up imp working for a clown like Blitzo. Always having to pick up the slack?" Striker chuckled. "Once a pawn, always a pawn, huh?" The snake like imp continued to circle Benedict, akin to a predator circling it's prey.
Benedict's expression wavered, the intense emotions overwhelming his usually stoic demeanor. "Y-You don't know anything about me." He stuttered.
Striker raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, but I think I do. I can smell it on you— the stench of betrayal, the taste of a past you're desperately trying to forget." He hissed, worming his way into Benedict's head.
Benedict's grip on his pistol grew shaky, his nerves being worn thin. Striker took a step closer, his eyes locking onto Benedict's with a predatory intensity. "Why work for some incompetent clown, when you could be slaying Overlords? Why struggle to work for a bumbling idiot who can't even do his job? When you could partner up with me and kill... the unkillable." Striker pinned Benedict to the wall, not caring about the cold piece of metal that was pushed against his chest in the process.
"Join me, Benny. No more playing second fiddle. No more being thrown out by those who think they're so much better than us." Striker chuckled darkly. "No more serving fools who can't appreciate your talents. We'll kill those people." He gestured towards the stage, where Stolas was still giving his speech. "Starting with that pompous prick."
Benedict, slowly and shakily, lowered his gun. "You may have a point." He muttered, uncertainty evident in his voice.
Just then, the door burst open, and an irate Blitzo stormed in, percussion pistol pointed straight at Strikers head. "The FUCK is going on here?!" He exclaimed angrily, seeing the angelic rifle leaned against the windowsill.
"Oh shi- Uh, of course I wouldn't fall for your ruse, Striker." Benedict stammered out, raising his gun again and causing Striker to take a few steps back from him, unpinning him from the wall.
Striker laughed, seemingly unfazed by the multiple weapons pointed at him. "Well, well, if it isn't the boss man himself. Your lackey here was just considering a change in allegiances, weren't you, Benny-boy?"
Benedict hesitated, his eyes flickering nervously between Blitzo and Striker. "I... I was just... He's just talking nonsense, sir. I'd never betray you." He tried to sound convincing, but the unease in his voice betrayed him.
Blitzo glanced at his newest employee, but said nothing, instead directing his anger towards Striker, who's tail slowly reached towards his rifle. "Listen here, you slithery fu-AH!" Blitzo quickly ducked as Striker threw a knife, which embedded itself in the wall just behind where Blitzo's head was a moment before. Striker's tail coiled around his rifle, swiftly bringing it into his hands.
He aimed towards Blitzo and squeezed the trigger, except Benedict rammed into him at the last moment, sending the shot flying into a nearby mirror, launching shards of glass across the room, and knocking the rifle out of Strikers hands. The snake like imp tumbled to the ground, but he recovered with a quick roll, before reaching out to grab the rifle from where it had fallen.
Blitzo quickly responded with a bullet that was uncomfortably close to Striker's hand, causing him to flinch back before he leapt towards Benedict, pulling out another of his knives. Benedict, however, was prepared, and pulled out a short knife of his own, the two blades screeching off of each other as he deflected Strikers attack. The two continued their knife fight, before Blitzo grabbed a nearby lamp and smacked Striker in the back of the head with it, giving Benedict the opportunity to smack the knife out of his hand and kick him backwards, causing him to slam into the windowsill.
Benedict quickly snatched up the angelic rifle and aimed it at it's original owner, closing in on Striker as Blitzo pointed his own pistol at the cowboy.
Striker, despite quite literally having his back against the wall, chuckled darkly. "It's embarrassing, really. You're wastin' a lot of potential working for this clow-" He was interrupted as Blitzo fired a shot right next to his head and through the window, nailing an unfortunate imp that was outside celebrating instead.
"Enough of your yakkin', Striker!" Blitzo snapped, his patience running thin.
Just as Blitzo prepared to give the finishing blow, the door slammed open, whacking Blitzo in the process, revealing a disheveled and quite frankly pissed Moxxie, holding his semi auto pistol. "You cowboy son-of-a BITCH!" He yelled angrily. This ended up distracting Benedict enough for Striker to quickly kick him in the shin, and scramble out the window, taking a shot from Moxxie that skimmed his shoulder with a grunt.
Just before he left, he turned and addressed Benedict. "This ain't over, trench coat man. We'll meet again." Striker flashed a wicked grin and tipped his hat again, before leaping out of the window, disappearing into the celebratory crowds.
Moxxie rushed up to the window, peering out, but seeing no sign of Striker, who had presumably vanished into the crowds. "Damn it! He got away!" He exclaimed, frustrated.
Blitzo rubbed his head where the door had whacked him, angrily turning to Moxxie. "Great timing, Moxxie! We could've had him right then and there!"
Moxxie gritted his teeth, trying to contain his frustration. "I... I'm sorry. He attacked Millie and you guys, and I couldn't just stand there."
Blitzo sighed, realizing that Moxxie had a point. "Fine, fine. Let's just clean up this mess." He then turned to Benedict, who was inspecting the rifle he'd grabbed, and also had a slightly guilty look on his face. "Well you've got some explainin' to do."
Benedict gulped nervously. "I... He was just messing with my head sir. I assure you, I had no intention of betraying the team."
Blitzo squinted at Benedict, skepticism written all over his face. "Messing with your head, huh? More like playing with your shit for a brain. You better not be having second thoughts about working with us." He poked Benedict in the chest for emphasis.
Benedict quickly shook his head, his expression mildly fearful. "No, sir. I assure you, it was only a momentary lapse in judgement."
Blitzo leaned back, still not entirely convinced, but deciding to let it go for now. Benedict nodded, relieved that Blitzo wasn't pressing the issue further. Moxxie, still fuming with frustration, interjected, "Can we focus on the fact that Striker tried to kill us? And he almost succeeded!"
Blitzo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we're all still in one piece, aren't we? Besides, it's not the first time someone's tried to off us. It's practically a Tuesday for us at this point."
. . .
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, as both of the married imps had swapped back into their normal attire, and Benedict paced nearby, thoughtfully stroking his chin, also back in his usual clothing.
"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!"
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.
Benedict, meanwhile, continued to pace, wearing a trench into the ground with his repeated footsteps. Literally. There was a slight ditch in the ground where he had been pacing.
Blitzo, being his usual self, decided to pop up just behind Benedict. "Hey, shorty! How ya' holding up?"
Benedict, startled by Blitzo's sudden appearance, nearly jumped out of his skin, grabbing a concealed pistol he had on him and instinctively aiming it at Blitzo, before realizing who it was. "Sorry about that, sir." He muttered, his Italian accent slightly pronounced due to his panic as he stuffed the pistol back into his coat.
"Hey! Do not shoot me in the ass, grumpy. That is my best feature." Blitzo scolded, pattin his rear for emphasis. "Anyway, what's got you so worked up?"
"It's just... Nothing, sir. I'm fine." Benedict answered dismissively.
Blitzo raised an eyebrow. "Benny, I've known you long enough to know when you're full of shit."
Benedict grit his teeth and sighed. "With all due respect, it's none of your damn business, sir." He snapped at Blitzo, a rare sight.
Blitzo crossed his arms, a look of annoyance on his face. "Really gotta be all mysterious and shit, huh? Fine, I'll just figure it out later. Not like I have anything better to do." Blitzo huffed, walking away from Benedict, who quickly resumed his pacing.
. . .
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.
A/N: That took a while. My main idea while editing this was to improve on the dynamic between Striker and Benedict, and I think I mostly achieved that, and also hopefully improved the jokes slightly. The actual fight was also one of my pain points with the original, and I think I improved it... Slightly? I mean, the main change is that he's now just eating a hoagie instead of drinking, but I think I managed to just improve it by adding little things, like the brief remarks between Blitzo and Benedict during the fight and the removal of the cash prize. The dynamic between Blitzo and Benedict was definitely the hardest part for me, but I think I set it up decently well for a future chapter, depending on what I do with it.
Regardless, feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated, as well as suggestions! Also, I may or may not add some kind of chapter with various shorter bits that don't really fit into any particular chapter, hopefully to flesh out the dynamics between Benedict and the other office members. Let me know what you think about that, and If I should put it in this fanfiction, or put it into a separate one dedicated solely to short bits.