Black blood coats impish hands, fresh and dripping down his forearms.
"They took everything."
He drifts forward, bare hooves clicking on hard tiles.
"Why shouldn't they get what they deserve?"
He draws a handgun, stained black with imp blood from 'close' kills.
Jade. A slender, pretty imp with slim horns. A gun is forced in her mouth. The fear in her eyes looks so ugly. So fitting.
Bang. She instantly disperses into a disappointing puff of dust.
"Just like that? It's good, but…"
The handgun warps into an amorphous lump of metal, soon to transform into an elegant, engraved saber.
"…impersonal."
He raises the sword over his head, enticing a shine from nowhere. The glint of the blade is like the loving caress of a mother. Comforting. Reassuring.
In the reflection, Jade's face watches in horror.
Down it slashes, toward another manifestation of the bitch. The fear this time is palpable, savored. Warm blood sprays out of a wide-open gash from neck to groin.
"They need to suffer."
A horizontal sweep takes her legs. She falls to the ground with a hard thud. Vainly, her hands scrape and slip against the tiled floor, desperate to get away from the threat in front of her.
"Mercy…" She whimpers pathetically, smudging her filthy blood over the pristine floor, shedding tears like a helpless victim.
"They need to die by my hand…"
He raises the sword overhead. Her eyes widen as they follow the blade upwards.
"…watching as an agonizing death approaches."
Her breathing accelerates, as does his. One beholding Death's black door, the other sending her there.
"RAAGH!"
Blitzo's empty hand comes down on air. His breathing hyper, eyes staring into the dark cabin ceiling. He blinks through residual tiredness, pacing his trembling breaths as he looks over to his alarm clock.
1:43
He sits up and sluggishly rubs his face. Every nightmare grows more lucid, each time coming out more desensitized to the notion of killing.
However, he at least has a target for his hatred. He recalls small pieces of what happened, pieces he has all the time in the world to mull over.
He breaks out his sketchbook from under his pillow. Flying swiftly through pages of random doodles, horses of varying completion and detail, faces of his family, sword designs, a picturesque double-page landscape, he lands on the most recent pages.
The portal. Ovular, coarse, unsteady. His gut feeling tells him it's a prominent Ring of Hell on the other side.
Then, sketches of Jade. The mercenary responsible for their suffering. The image of her is as ingrained in him as the next one.
He flips to a bust of 'Oracle'. That stupid fucking nickname and his general look - a gruff, wide-shouldered brute with a deep crack up his left horn - is all Blitzo has on him. All he needs.
"Bastard…" He snarls, a tight grip crinkling the edges of his notebook. "You'll get everything that's coming to you and more. Mark my fucking words."
After stewing on the imp's loathsome face, he glances to the bedroom door. It wouldn't be the first time Cedrik's knocked on his door in the middle of the night, but this time… he hears footsteps, without a knock. The creaking of wood moves past his door, once to the living room and then back toward Cedrik's bedroom.
Blitzo quietly huffs through his nose, stowing his sketchbook as he turns his back to the door, eyes to the moonlit forest outside his window.
It's been 8 years since the day he was thrown into the human world. So far, there's been neither sight nor sound of any other demons.
Why him?