First of all, I want to wish you all a very happy new year!

Man, I certainly took a while with this one. I've been working on other projects. I have an announcement, but I'll wait until the Sinsmas chapter.


Helluva Dad

Season 2

Volume 10: Mastermind


*Jake, where are you?

*We need to talk.

*Please.

*Are my messages reaching you?

*I know you're mad at me, but I'm getting worried.

*You know I love you, right?

*Jake?

"Nothing yet?"

"He's not even gettin' them. He must have turned his phone off." Striker put down his phone, sighing. "I'm gettin' worried. It's been a week."

A week without news from Jake. He didn't go home last night, and all attempts at calling him from any number went straight to voicemail. He'd asked around town in Wrath, but no one had seen him. Not even Millie's family.

Surprisingly, Blitzo hadn't bothered Striker during this time. Instead, he dealt with the company's issues—including the most recent internship applications—himself.

"Maybe he just needs some more time."

Striker took a big gulp from his beer. "He hates me now."

"No, he doesn't. He's just hurting. He needs to process the whole thing." Millie assured him.

"What about Alice? Did you ask her?" Moxxie asked.

"She was one of the first people I called. Nothing." Striker sighed.

Loona perked up his ears. "What about his… grandfather?"

"Trust me, if Jake were there, Gustav wouldn't have the common decency to let me know. Alice was the one to ask the farmhands, but no one has seen him."

"Chill out. Jake isn't the type to do stupid things."

"That ain't what worries me…" Striker ran a hand through his hair. "

Suddenly, Bombproof burst into the office through the wall. He looked distressed. His ears were flat against his head as he snorted and whinnied, turning and stamping his hooves on the ground. Striker quickly tried soothing him down.

"Calm down, boy! What is it?" he asked, stroking the stallion's head.

"COME OUT! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED!"

The Imps ran to the window. Outside, they saw legions of hooded Reapers flying out of a swirling red vortex. Striker paled as he saw another cloudy screen with photos of the gang—himself and Jake included.

"Employees of the illegal business I.M.P! You are hereby arrested for breaking demon law! Surrender yourselves!"

Blitzo burst out of the office. "QUICK! HIDE EVERYTHING!"

The group sprung into action. They destroyed papers, disguises, and anything related to their trips to the living world. The constant shouting from the Reapers, demanding they come out, didn't help.

"The shredder is jammed!"

"Bombproof, fire!"

At Striker's command, the hellhorse exhaled a big stream of fire at the stacks of paper. Moxxie barely got out of the way in time to avoid being burned to a crisp.

"Come out with your hands up!"

Striker poured his remaining beer into some drawers and lit them with a match.

"Blitzø, we need to get outta her now!"

"I couldn't agree more, Striker!"

They rushed out of the smoking office, but as Blitzo tried opening a window, a smoke bomb was thrown inside.

"Come on, guys!"

"Blitzø, they'll see us!"

"Well, we can either run or face the music!"

Five minutes later, the gang sneaked outside to the parking lot while the interns (somewhat unwittingly) bought them some time. Striker tried calling Jake again but was sent to voicemail for the hundredth time.

"Where are we going?"

"Striker, does your fancy assassin club have a safe house?"

The cowboy nodded. "There's one in Imp City."

Granted, he's not supposed to bring company. Oh, what the heck? They don't use the Imp City safehouse that much anyway.

Striker rode Bombproof while Blitzo and the others climbed onto the van.

"Get ready for a life on the run, gang."

Bombproof burst into a gallop with the van behind… until the latter rammed into a lighting pole. Striker quickly pulled his horse to a halt, murmuring an irritated 'why do I even bother' to himself as he smacked his forehead.

"Freeze, criminals!"

The reapers surrounded in a matter of seconds, pulling the Imps out of the destroyed van and shackling them. Knowing there was no way out, Striker dismounted Bombproof and raised his hands, which were promptly shackled. Bombproof reared up, trying to keep the cloaked demons away from his owner until thicker shackles appeared on his hooves, and a muzzle clamped his jaws shut. Still, the stallion kept fighting against the chains that pulled him down.

"Bombproof, down!" Striker shouted, glancing worriedly

The horse reluctantly obeyed—but still managed to kick one of the Baphomet guards that were too close to his rear.

For once, Striker was glad Jake wasn't there.


Striker was put alongside Moxxie, Mille, Loona, and—much to his confusion, Bombproof—on a floating stand in a vast, fiery courtroom. His tail rattled uncomfortably. No hellborn has ever left this place alive.

He recalled a story about the Deadly Court that he had heard from one of his colleagues. In the earliest days of the Court, one of its members made a mistake that led to his capture and trial. But the trial hadn't even begun when the demon slipped his hidden weapon out, killed his target, and then himself—all in front of the Seven Deadly Sins themselves.

Two reapers dragged Blitzo toward the stand in the center.

"Come on, guys! This is–This is just a big misunderstanding! Is this about the orphans? 'Cause they were already sick to begin with."

"SILENCE!"

The courtroom's pots, lava pit, and countless candles lit up as Satan landed on the rocky high throne, spreading his large red wings. At the sides, Striker noticed many rows filled with Goetia demons. His tail rattled again. The only time the Goetia family and the Deadly Sins gather simultaneously is when the crime in question involves demon Royalty.

"We are here to sentence the criminal Imp, Blitzo–"

"A-Actually, sir, the 'O' is…" Blitzo seemed to realize the deep shit he was in as Satan, not happy about being interrupted, snorted smoke in his face. "Totally there! You nailed it; great job!"

"You and your crew are–Why is there a hellhorse inside my courtroom?"

All heads turned to Bombproof. The stallion's flames flared in response.

"We have motives to believe the horse has been illegally crossed to the living world as well, your honor." one of the reapers said.

Satan snorted. "What do you think this is? A circus?"

Bombproof shrieked as the reapers approached. Striker quickly grabbed his head.

"It's okay, boy. Don't give them a reason to hurt ya," he whispered quickly. Bombproof's ears flickered, and his flames soothed.

The display had an effect on Satan, and the dragon shrugged.

"Let the horse stay with its owner, but for the record, it won't be judged." his attention shifted back to Blitzo. "You and your crew are on trial for stealing a powerful Goetia heirloom for undocumented personal use in the mortal realm. How do you plead?"

"Oh, this is about the book?" Ha! I didn't steal that thing! I mean, I tried, right?" Blitzo laughed nervously. "But since when has attempting a crime been illegal, right?"

"Always." Striker and Moxxie pointed out, their voices holding a hint of annoyance.

"Point is it was given to me, okay? I was allowed to use it."

"Lies, your honor!" A white and blue peacock demon—Andrealphus, a Goetia marquis—conjured an icy platform above the lava pit. "Speaking on behalf of my aggressively attractive sister, I must testify that this," he pointed a disdainful finger at Blitzo. "brutish Imp was forcing himself on her husband, Stolas…"

"WHAT?! I didn't force shit–!"

A metallic mouthguard appeared on Blitzo's mouth, cutting him off. Then, Andrealphus smacked him back with a finger with such force that Blitzo fell back.

"This vile, hideous Imp has put his kind to shame by committing such hardened acts to gain the upper hand!"

"That isn't what happened!" Moxxie protested.

Satan lunged forward, smoke billowing from his jaws as he snarled down at Moxxie. "Silence!"

The thespian hid behind Striker.

A tiny demon with small wings and long horns—perhaps a Baphomet hybrid judging from the candle on his head—flew toward Satan and stopped beside his ear.

"Um, Satan? Sorry. What did we say about negative energies in our mind temple? Yeah, remember to take deep breaths."

The dragon spread his wings, took a deep breath, and sat back on his throne. "Continue."

Striker was sensible enough to hold back a scoff. Who would have known? The mighty Satan with a therapist.

"I'd like to add, your honor," Andrealphus continued. "that in addition to his unspeakable acts with our dear, beloved Stolas–"

"Wait, wait, wait!" another Goetia demon, a red parrot with a Spanish accent, spoke up. "Where is Stolas, anyway? Can't he speak for himself? ¿Que carajo?"

"He… Has not been informed of this trial."

"¿Que? Why not?" The parrot conjured his own platform, shaped like a gold star. "If this involves him, then he should be here, no?"

"Okay, Vassago, shut the fuck up."

Vassago had none of it. "¡No me voy a callar, pendejo arrogante!" he snapped, poking at the peacock's chest.

"STELLA AND I!" Andrealphus shouted, train spreading. Vassago had no choice but to back down and return to his seat with an eye roll. "didn't want to put him through the trauma of facing his aggressor! "Who, might I also add… dramatic pause… tried to have him ASSASSINATED!"

Blitzo probably would have tried to outright lunge at Andrealphus if not for the chains that suddenly wrapped around him. Still, that didn't stop him from trashing and shouting muffled curses at the peacock.

"Wait a minute! If someone wants Stolas dead, it ain't Blitzo! Ask Travers Avarro. He's the one who tried to murder him!" Striker pointed out.

Andrealphus sneered.

"Interesting suggestion. Very well. Let's ask the hitman himself. He agreed to give us his testimony in exchange for immunity for himself and… Maggie, Margaret… Ugh! The female Imp, whatever her name is."

Millie's eyes widened.

The peacock snapped his fingers. A rocky stand floated up from the lava pit. On it stood none other than Travers, wearing a white jacket with a red undershirt and black pants. He didn't bother looking at Moxxie or Striker—both of whom were technically murdering him with their eyes. His focus was solely on Millie.

"It was him, alright," said Travers, pointing at Blitzo. "He paid me a big sum to kill Prince Stolas to cover up what he was doing with the fancy book."

Finally, Blitzo managed to get the muffler off.

"WHAT?! Look, I'm an assassin, okay?! If I wanted to kill Stolas, I WOULD'VE DONE IT MY FUCKING-SELF!"

Moxxie broke down crying into Millie's arms, shouting that they were going to die.

Blitzo seemed to realize he'd fucked up. "H-Hang on, that's not what I meant, okay? I'm just saying I could've totally fucking killed Stolas myself."

Striker smacked his forehead. I swear, Blitzo, if Satan doesn't kill you, I will!

The muffler reappeared in Blitzo's mouth before he could say anything else.

"What a disappointment." Satan snorted.

Behind his throne, Beelzebub stood up.

"This is bullshit, guys. I've met this lil' Imp dude before. He's a real wildcard, but he's a lot of fun, and I think we should hear him out."

Asmodeus joined in. "Yeah! I'm sure he has a good reason for all this."

"Oh, shut up, you two." Mammon sneered.

What followed was a minor squabble worthy of five-year-old kids. Still, Striker was a bit touched that two Deadly Sins at least tried sticking up for Blitzo.

Satan had none of it.

"Why don't we take a vote? Who wants to listen to hours of testimony?"

Striker, Moxxie, and Millie raised their hands—and turned to Loona, who rolled her eyes and raised her hand. Asmodeus and Beelzebub joined in. Even Bombproof raised and held up his front hoof in the air.

"Who wants to kill this Imp bastard and get home for lunch?"

Unsurprisingly, the entire jury raised their hands—seven against everyone else.

With a menacing chuckle, Andrealphus lowered himself toward Blitzo.

"You should've remained in your place, Imp. The peacock dug his heel into Blitzo's forehead. "You see, this is what happens when lesser demons try to step out of line."

With that, he disappeared in a swirl of frosty mist.

Travers's eyes were hidden under the brim of his hat as his platform disappeared into the pit.

Satan gave his verdict. "For the treacherous crime of stealing a Goetia's grimoire for illegal use, bringing harm to a Goetic prince, and accessing the mortal coil without clearance or procedure: you, Blitzo, and your crew—save for the horse and the female Imp—are hereby sentenced TO DEATH!"

Floating cameras appeared from the pit, all pointing at Blitzo.

"And due to your bold actions against the laws of Hell, your execution will be broadcasted across the seven rings. To remind all of Imp-kind why our power must never be challenged aga–"

Satan came to an abrupt halt, his four eyes snapping open. The Goetia demons looked down at the stand, many gasping in shock. Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie, and Loona whipped toward Striker, utterly horrified.

Satan's claws dug into the stony armrests of his throne.

"What did you say?"

"No wonder Lucifer is in charge," Striker repeated with an odd calmness. "I'm sure he wouldn't have condemned a bunch of people without a fair trial regardless of their social standin'. Perhaps we should wait for 'im–oh, wait. If we did, he might discover how his second place is managin' things."

If looks could kill, Satan's seething glare would have thorn Striker to shreds on the spot.

"What would a lowly Imp like you know?"

Striker narrowed his eyes. "This 'lowly Imp' is a member of the Deadly Court."

"The fuck, Striker?!" Moxxie hissed.

The entire room echoed with jeers and laughter, Satan's included.

"You? Don't make me laugh! Do you think we're buying that any of your kind would have the skill to be part of the most infamous assassins in the seven rings? Even the weakest Goetia could easily handle an Imp!"

Far from being offended, Striker's sneer grew wide. "Then ye admit that there's no way an Imp could lay a scratch a Goetic Prince, let alone 'force himself on him' and 'steal his grimoire.'"

The room went silent. Satan's expression changed into one of shock, realizing what had just happened.

An Imp had tricked him.

"Ye know, ye ain't very smart for someone who's supposed to be the 'judge.' If only ye had as much brains as ye have of anger issues–"

The courtroom trembled in a thunderous quake as Satan got to his feet, eyes glowing. Dark smoke billowed out of his nostrils as he got up personal to Striker—the cowboy's lack of a frightened reaction seemed to piss him even more.

"You're testing my patience, Imp! Watch your mouth–!"

"Or what? What will ye do? Kill me? Ye were gonna do that from the start. Ye think I don't know how this works? This 'trial' is nothin' more than a charade; ye never intended to hear us out. If it were up to ya, we'd just be thrown into a lava pit and be done with it. Am I wrong, your Highness?"

"SILENCE!"

Striker met the Sin's eyes defiantly. If he's going out, he's going out on his terms.

"You make me, Smaug."

As Satan's eyes opened wide, something seemed to snap in his mind. Striker saw something… strange in them. He couldn't put his finger on it, but… the Sin looked like he'd seen a ghost from a bygone past.

The courtroom began to tremble again, but this time, all the candles flared up, making the room feel darker. Many Goetias teleported themselves out of there as Satan transformed into a massive red dragon. Crimson flames spewed out of his maw when he glowered down at Striker.

"YOU INSOLENT LITTLE–!"

"Uh, Satan!" The therapist interrupted, his robe changing into a fiery dark red. "Heh, sorry. You know what? Today is an amethyst, and you're acting kind of like ruby. Yeah? Try some meditatioooon, re-align your chakraaaas."

Slowly but surely, the spines disappeared, and the claws and wings shrank as Satan changed back into his regular form, but he looked down at Striker in contempt. At least, until Blitzo finally managed to get the muffler off.

"Your Highness, it was all me, okay?! Y-you can't expect to teach anyone a lesson by killing all of us! All that Hell is gonna see is you executing imps who are just trying to do their job! I'm the rogue here, not them!"

"Blitzø, what are you doing?!" Moxxie called out.

At last, Satan let out a heavy sigh as he sat down on his throne. "Fine. Just axe the mouthy one," he growled.

"Oh, shit, I did not see that coming. I'm sorry, Striker, I did everything I could–"

"He's talking about you, Blitzo!" Striker pointed out.

The chains around Blitzo disappeared.

"Do you have any final words?" Satan asked without paying attention. He sounded more… offish than he was at the beginning of the trial.

Blitzo furrowed his brows, fists clenching. "All I was trying to do was rise above this stupid fucking place YOU ALL FORCED US INTO!

"Your Highness, please. Blitzø just–!"

"Satan, you're makin' a grave mistake–!"

"Striker, Moxxie, stop."

"Blitzø, I'm not lettin' ya–!"

"You said it yourself, Striker; the big red bitch never planned on hearing us out!" Blitzo looked down. "Just… Take care of I.M.P. and Loona for me."

"NO–!"

A muzzle cut Striker off. He was about to lunge forward when a collar like Loona's appeared on his neck, and his arms were chained behind his back. Still, he trashed wildly, desperately trying to free himself. But he could only watch as another set of chains and a collar appeared on Blitzo's neck, forcing him down to the chopping block.

The reaper conjured a big ax, its eyes glowing an ominous red.

Moxxie collapsed into Millie's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Loona turned away with a dog-like whimper.

Only Striker and Millie dared to keep looking despite the tears in their eyes. Blitzo himself was weeping as he met their helpless gazes.

The reaper raised the ax. Blitzo smiled sadly.

"…I love you, guys."

The axe was brought down…

CLANG!

…and was stopped in mid-air by none other than Stolas himself.

This seemed to bring Satan out of whatever was running in his mind as he grabbed his therapist like a squeeze toy. "What IN LUCIFER'S HELL IS THIS?!"

The chains disappeared from Blitzo's neck with a flick of Stolas's wrist.

"I am about to explain everything in the only way I know how! Singing!"

Despite the situation, Striker rolled his eyes while Vassago cried out triumphantly. "YES! Yes! Cántalo, baby!

I came down just as soon as I heard of the imp

Stood accused of a devilish crime

Could it be that a worm such as this half a brain

Could concoct such a plot so sublime?

Does this fool deserve the flame?

Or is someone else to blame?

Striker's heart pounded as he watched the performance. Stolas claimed to be the 'mastermind' and was taking the blame for Blitzo's actions. What did he think he was doing?!

Satan laughed darkly. "Well, isn't that adorable? We have been betrayed by one of our own. A Goetic demon. Your hubris has gotten the better of you, Prince Stolas."

The Sin of Wrath stood up, wings spreading out.

I am the mastermind, and here I am the law

I've ruled the endless dark

Since long before the golden angel's fall.

So you see

Next to me, your master plans all look so small

The fire pit below exploded into violent flames, catching Stolas off guard. Satan's pointy yellow teeth glistened in a wide, sadistic sneer.

Little mice

When you break my rules

You pay the price!

This time, it was Stolas who was pulled down to the ground by chains around his neck and wrists. The shackles were removed from Blitzo and the gang at Satan's command.

"Stolas of the Ars Goetia, you are a disgrace."

"No!" Blitzo cried. "No, th-Stolas, you- you can't!"

The reapers were deaf to his pleas, simply putting a collar on him to drag him out of the courtroom alongside the rest of I.M.P. Stolas spared them no glance. His gaze was cast downward as he grimly accepted his fate.

"Stolas! STOLAS! Stolas! Fucking-use your powers, do something! Stolas!"

SLAM!

The door slammed shut after they were thrown out, but Blitzo wasn't done. He tried pulling the door, and when it didn't budge, he punched and kicked.

"Ah, let me back in! WOW, this is a sturdy door! OW! My supple wrist!"

"S-Sir…" Moxxie croaked.

Blitzo had barely turned around when everyone approached him in a tearful but relieved group hug. Even Bombproof, who had shown nothing but contempt to Blitzo until then, joined in with a sad nicker.

"Dad!"

"You're here!"

"If ye do that again, I'll kill ya myself, ye stupid, reckless airhead!"

"Don't you ever do that to me again, you fucking idiot!"

The group stared at the sealed door as Blitzo returned to pounding on it, spewing out curses. In a rare show of solidarity, Bombproof kicked the door with his hind hooves. But, other than a loud metallic clank, it did not budge.

Moxxie whispered. "D-Do you really think Stolas is…?"

"DON'T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE, MOX!" Blitzo cried out. "YOU! Uh, urgh-YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT-AHH!"

Blitzo was knocked back as the door was slammed open from the other side. In the doorway stood two reapers holding a weak but alive Stolas, who was unceremoniously thrown to the floor like a piece of used garbage before the doors were slammed shut again.

"Stolas?" Blitzo instantly went to check on him. "What happened in there?"

The owl weakly stammered to get up. "I have been banished–"

A coffee struck his head, spilling the drink all over his feathers and clothes. The perpetrator was an Imp janitor a few meters away.

"You suck, Stolas!"

"Hey, fuck off, fuck-o!" Blitzo shouted, flipping the janitor off back.

"No, it's fine, Blitzø." Stolas got up but didn't seem to mind that he was covered in coffee. "I'm okay."

"You need a ride home?"

Stolas sighed. "I… I have no home now. Everything I have is gone."

Striker stared at the Prince–former Prince with sympathy, as did the rest of the group. The owl had sacrificed his title, wealth, and power for Blitzo's sake. This meant he had nowhere to go.

"Look, come with me, alright?" Blitzo grabbed Stolas's hand. "Let's get you out of here, n' you'll need a place to stay."


The first thing Striker did after leaving the courthouse was check his phone. Much to his worry and disappointment, there were no messages from his son. In fact, the messages weren't reaching Jake's phone. Wherever he was, there must be no signal. Where are you, pup?

After accompanying Moxxie and Millie to a quick doctor's check-up—the baby was okay, thank Lucifer—Striker accompanied them home. On the way there, Striker was met with cheers of admiration and glee from hundreds of Imps they came across. He even spotted some holding signs that depicted him kicking a dragon's ass—undoubtedly a representation of Satan himself.

"Looks like you're popular now." Moxxie teased.

The cowboy pulled his hat down to hide his face. "Thankfully, they'll forget about it in a week."

Still, Striker was sensible enough not to show up in Wrath for now. He had the feeling Satan wouldn't just write off the humiliation Striker had made him go through. He'd be out for his blood, at least for some time. In the meantime, he figured the best course of action would be to stay in Pride, out of the Sin of Wrath's jurisdiction. Since Stolas would stay with Blitzo, Striker figured it'd be better to stay with Moxxie and Millie.

"Will Bombproof be okay outside?"

"Don't worry, he'll stick 'round in the empty lot around the corner. He'll stay ." Striker explained as he followed them into the apartment. "Thanks again for lettin' me stay at yer place tonight."

Millie smiled. "It's alright, Clayton. It's been quite a day for all of us."

"And I don't think you should show up in Wrath after how you practically made a fool of Satan of all people." Moxxie pointed out. "Seriously, Striker, demon royalty is one thing, but a Deadly Sin?! I thought Satan was going to obliterate you on the spot!"

Striker smirked. "Ye gotta admit that his face was priceless."

"… A bit."

The apartment only had one bedroom, but the sofa was big enough for Striker to sleep in. Millie brought him a pillow and blanket.

"No word of Jake yet?" Moxxie asked.

"…Nothin'."

"That's worrying. I'd thought he would at least call when he saw saw the TV. I mean, Satan did say it was being broadcasted in the 7 rings."

"Maybe he didn't see the trial. My messages ain't reachin' his phone, so he's most likely in a place with no signal." Striker removed his hat, sighing sadly. "I… I'm glad he wasn't around when this whole shit happened."

Moxxie and Millie went to bed shortly after, leaving Striker alone with his thoughts.

He checked his phone for again. By then, he wasn't really expecting to see any reply from his son. Yet, some part of him told him that Jake was alright. He was Jane's son, after all.

Deep down, he knew things would never be the same between them. But it still hurt.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he typed one last message.

*Pup… I don't know if ye saw the trial on TV, but…

*Wherever ye are, please take care.

*No matter what happens, I want ya to know that I love ya so much…

*Ye mean everythin' to me, my boy.

*I'll wait until ye're ready.


Yeah, I decided to leave Jake out of this chapter. We already know where he is.

Don't worry; he'll be back for the season 2 finale.

Again, Happy New Year!