Chapter Text
“Dance with me?”
Blitz blinked; his environment unfamiliar. An endless ocean of blue painted upon a background of parchment, waves beneath his feet, solid as any ground yet ever shifting, triggered inertia. Strokes of black ink trailed in the path of his fingers, as he raised his hand to contemplate if it was all a dream.
Stolas stood before him, cloaked in a cape of stars, his gloved hand outstretched invitingly. A smile, one that frequented Blitz’s waking and unconscious mind, beamed down like a warm ray of sunlight. Too familiar to the spotlight that blazed upon him in his youthful circus days, a sense of avoidance turned his head.
The sky: empty. The horizon: vast. The air: still.
Odd; the water didn’t smell like water. In fact, it lacked a smell altogether. No fish, no piss, no foam or salt. Solid and dark, a particular beauty hummed from its unknown depths. Blitz couldn’t see beneath his feet, save a canvas, and its oddness unnerved him to the core. No matter how long he deliberated on a response, Stolas didn’t move. He didn’t clear his throat, shuffle his feet, blink, or show any sign of impatience.
A dream, it had to be a dream; what else could it be? Something so lucid, so unnatural, couldn’t be real; at least not to him. It was then that he recognized the absence of sound altogether. Despite all of the water, he couldn’t hear the lapping of any waves. Blitz stared into the distance…and felt a sound.
It was mute to the ears, but its presence droned against his skin. In the beginning, it was soft, like a tiny case of ringing ear. As seconds passed, a presence blanketed the sky; staring, buzzing, admonishing. Hot impatience burrowed against him.
Itching. Humming.
Glaring. Burning.
Pressing. Breathtaking.
Rising and rising.
Faster and faster.
Need to breath.
Can’t breathe.
Heat. Panic.
Panic.
Panic.
PANIC!
Air flooded his lungs in a typhoon of released tension, like he had breached the surface of water. Blitz clutched his chest and heaved, spikes upon his back flexed with each expansion of his torso. The struggle crackled within his chest and interrupted the natural rhythm of his body.
He had to pee.
Had to breath.
Had to blink.
His lips were dry.
His tips were toes.
They couldn’t move.
They were stuck.
Move them.
Move them.
Must move them!
Another gasp, and his skin crawled like it didn’t belong to him. Every trace of his fingers trembled against red, scarred skin in fearful doubt. Deep pain pulsed within his most sensitive physical region; enough to make him huff to reset his breathing. A groan mashed against the rocks within his throat, and a lubricating cough pulled phlegm from his chest. He spit it out. At least, he thought he did.
Stolas appeared before him, knelt upon a knee, hand still splayed outwards in offering.
Blitz grasped hold without a second thought.
Purification washed through his body; all the pain, all the discomfort and dread vanished. With it came the warmth of royal finery, the soft embrace of Stolas’ hands to his own, and a whisper of cool air as he spun in the prince’s shadow.
The water swayed with their steps, each twirl a splash of the primordial, each dip of their tails a wave to compile elsewhere. Peace stilled Blitz’s tongue, while something unknown stilled Stolas’. Together, they danced amidst the world in trails of black ink, eyes fixated ahead. Intimate, yet distant, until the darkness of the ink bled into the shell of water below. Eldritch blue was slowly stained, and the waves eventually ceased altogether, which slowed the dance. Parchment that made the sky darkened with dried red veins that spilled outwards to become wet spots; like a nosebleed left to dry on tissue. Feathers drifted down from on high, and as Blitz tilted his head to observe them, he immediately found his hands empty.
Stolas had vanished.
Every negative sensation returned in force; the humming, the agitation, the primal fear of something watching. Panicked backsteps spun the imp’s head in search of the prince, but he could see no one else. He was alone, yet he could feel another.
It was then that two colossal red eyes opened beneath his feet.
Wide, horrific, gaping eyes of pure malice glared at him from below. Mania filled them, and their malevolent presence brought a sickening heave to Blitz’s stomach. His feet froze, but his legs trembled and twitched in fear, and it was with a pathetic yelp that he leapt backwards and tumbled onto the water below. Crashing water rushed around his ears, and gravity sucked at his lower body from behind. A gargantuan shadow, one so encompassing that it felt like an eclipse, hovered over him. Blitz turned…
…and stared directly into the nightmarish gaze of a monstrous owl.
A second pair of eyes, filled with equal amounts of menace as the first pair, threatened to swallow him whole. The sight shuddered his very soul; enraged and mortified, those spotlights melted his very skin. What had he done to deserve such a look?! That simple question terrified him more, and panic returned to his chest. Upon the ground, fingers slick with the goopy ink, his tiny body heaved with the desire to breath.
Calm down. Calm down.
Can’t.
Too fast.
Too much.
Breathing hurts.
Can’t catch up.
Dead.
I’m dead.
I’m going to die.
Blitz’s eyes widened as his chest rapidly bounced, fire in his lungs. No matter how fast he breathed, he couldn’t get air. No matter how much he tried to wrangle his fear, it yanked him down. His heart was about to explode.
I don’t want to die!
Dark wings burst outwards and feathers rained down. Blitz curled into a ball and sheltered his head within his arms; his panic having brought him to tears. Nothing was safe from the shadow’s petrifying gaze, as its presence burned through the imp’s pitiful defense. Through splayed fingers, terrified eyes peeked, and the tips of said fingers dug against a burnt and scarred face of white and red.
In pure fear, his voice finally roared out with all the power his lungs could muster.
“Is he doing okay?” Loona’s inquisitive snout peeked over Stolas’ shoulder. Both of his arms were spread wide over the motionless figure of her father, trapped within crystal, as magic brimmed in his splayed hands.
Outwardly, the imp appeared to be in simple slumber, but Stolas was privy to the contents of his mind. “He is struggling.” It was, perhaps, not the news a daughter wished to hear about her father, but a lie would only kindle false hope. With his attention fixated upon the crystal, Stolas could only feel the hellhound’s anxious pacing behind him.
“Back in Greed, in that warehouse, what…what did you do to that guy?” Hesitation mingled with her clear curiosity. Whether it was borne of fascination for his magical prowess or a disdain for his actions, was unclear. Either way, she was brave enough to ask, and thus deserved an answer.
“I induced a comatose state within his mental plane.”
Unspoken emotions brewed, and all while Stolas didn’t turn his head to peek at her expression, her energy spoke volumes.
“You know…it blows, seeing you like this.” She waited, and when all that met her was unflinching silence, she continued. “You’ve changed, and not for the better.”
“Apologies if my permanent state of duress is of inconvenience to your conscious.”
Footsteps softly approached from behind, and he could feel her eyes upon the crystal. “I used to feel that way, you know; what you felt when we f*cked up. That sh*tty feeling that no one is coming to help, that no one cares, that you’ve been forgotten…and thrown away.” Gentle claw tips touched the crystal prison and traced over the immersed, frozen visage of the imp within. “I had that feeling for years, locked up in that orphanage. You go through stages, and none of them were easy. It became easier, to hate everyone…and myself, for where I was and how helpless I felt; all I could do was armor up, lash out, say f*ck ‘em. Then he showed up.”
Stolas unconsciously shifted his eyes towards Blitzo, his magical incantations on auto-pilot.
“He could’ve chosen anyone else in that rancid sh*thole, been anyone else’s hero, but…he picked me. So, I’m here for him, because he was there for me.”
“Is there a point to this?”
“Yeah, just wondering who this whole edge lord tantrum is pointed at.” Biting words, but spoken with an undertone of honesty. “Blitz is just a guy with so much love for everyone else, that he’s got none leftover for himself. He f*cks up, a lot, but he cares; and I think you know that.”
“You cannot rush forgiveness.”
“Yeah, well, if he had never saved me, then he would’ve been able to save you.”
For the first time since their conversation started, Stolas turned his head. A steadfast gaze met his own, one of silver and red; beautiful, wounded, but resolute. Within those eyes, he could sense the self-loathing, the guilt. This wasn’t someone looking to cast blame aside, this was someone redirecting it onto herself. That innate, selfish desire within Stolas that fueled his anger towards Blitz evaporated, and he sighed.
“You should never feel guilty for existing. It was his choice.”
“Hard not to, when my dad’s boyfriend dumped him over it. If you don’t wanna get over yourself for you, fine, but do it for everyone else. There’s already enough sad*stic assholes in Hell."
Before Stolas could say anything else, Loona walked off, her peace seemingly said. As a father, he pondered what he would’ve done in Blitz’s place; if it had been the other way around. Octavia always took priority, and even though he wasn’t perfect, Stolas strived to be a proper parental figure for her. In that light, he couldn’t fully blame Blitz’s decision; after all, he had thought to at least send someone, but it was difficult to forgive over the trauma. Hours of torture at the hands of that…
No, it was better not to dwell when there were more important matters at hand. To escape his immediate thoughts, Stolas allowed his mind to sink deep within its on subconscious and grip the thread of magic that kept his spell powered. Retrieving Blitz was taking longer than expected; Andre’s enchantment truly worthy of a Goetia. So it was that the prince allowed himself to slip away from the physical realm and immersed himself within his arcane incantation…all to the benefit of a foreign shadow that crept amongst his ceiling.
Loona sank down into a chair across from Moxxie and Millie, then planted her face atop the table. They had commandeered some plates and glasses from the cabinets and raided the fridge while Stolas worked in the other room. Sullen silence shared between them all, their individual guilt a group effort. Not even orange juice and cinnamon buns were enough to take their minds off recent failures.
“So, how are things going in there?” Moxxie asked, a freckled cheek planted in his palm.
“Slow.” Loona groaned, and alternated cheeks to look towards Moxxie. “Anyone else feel like utter sh*t about everything?”
“Oh, come on, things ain’t that bad.” Millie spun the tip of a serrated dagger atop the table, her fingertip pinned to the end of the hilt. “We got Blitz back, didn’t we?”
“Practically in a coma, but that’s not what I’m talking about. We ruined Stolas’ life.”
Moxxie and Millie exchanged a look, their faces wrought with the same guilty expression. “That ain’t got nothing to do with you, shu’g. Moxxie and I were the ones who couldn’t get that slippery varmint in time.”
Despite the words, the hellhound turned her head to look straight down at the table. Rich oak; old and well used, yet polished, was full of smells to tempt her canine nature. She ignored every jab. “If I had just told him I didn’t wanna get that stupid shot when he got the phone call; if I hadn’t been so…f*cking scared…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Blitz trusted us to get the job done, and we let him down.” Moxxie folded his hands together and pinned his fingertips together in a minor struggle. Thumbs twiddled, and knuckles popped as he worked over the truth behind his words. “It doesn’t feel right, him taking all the blame for us.”
Nearby, the door creaked open to reveal Octavia. “Everything okay in here?” she asked, a tray of sandwiches in her hands.
Loona, who possessed the most familiarity with the princess, gave a small smile through her grunt. “Trying to be. It’s been one hell of a day.” Her nose perked at the sandwiches; freshly made with veggies and cheese, the bread plush and airy.
“Well, maybe these will help?” she placed the tray onto the table between the lesser demons, and they all took a sandwich. Such a small thing, but as they bit through the bread and felt the crunch of pickles and freshly washed lettuce, groans of satisfaction rumbled to life around the table. Octavia beamed for a moment, then blinked. “Oh, damn, should’ve brought drinks too! Give me one second, I’ll be right back.”
Through a cheek full of bread, Moxxie commented, “At least his daughter seems to be doing fine.”
Loona slowed the pace of her chewing. It was odd that her father was such a gloomy sad sack of tacks while she remained seemingly normal. That could only mean one thing, “Do you think she knows?”
“What do you mean?” Millie asked.
“What her dad just did; what he’s been doing.”
They’d all heard the rumors; how could they not with how rampant they had spread? Stories of how Prince Stolas had scared an entire factory of workers sh*tless with an act of magic, or how he broke into a casino in the Pride Ring? There had even been mutterings about bodies hidden inside a hedge maze, with the Goetia having been seen in it only moments prior. Of course, they were just rumors, but there were too many to ignore.
“Do you…think we should say something?” Moxxie sat the sandwich down, his appetite momentarily gone. “It might be a bad idea.”
“I don’t wanna get involved in any family drama. Stolas probably wouldn’t want us to either, and we’ve done enough to him already.”
Loona ripped off a sliver of lettuce and rolled it into a ball; something to play with as she listened and thought of what to say next. Even as she spoke, her mind was focused on the follow up. “Something’s bugging me; why was Blitz kidnapped in the first place?”
“He had a lead on Striker.”
“Right, but Striker wasn’t at the warehouse, just that other bird and…whoever the second guy was. What do they have to do with this?”
An expression of worry flashed over Moxxie’s face. “Prince Stolas said he was summoned there, but why? Was it for a ransom?”
“Maybe it was just to try and kill him?”
“Then why give him a heads up by inviting him? Something ain’t adding up.”
Loona flicked her ball of lettuce into the distance and frowned. It was quite the puzzle; one that she didn’t have the answer to. No matter how many thoughts she chased, none of them could come to a reasonable conclusion. Just as her mind was about to become too mired, a pang of instinct made her look upwards. There was nothing there, just an empty ceiling.
“Everything good Loona?”
She wasn’t sure, even with the evidence of nothing staring back at her. “I think so, just had the sudden urge to look up.”
Crashing glass rang out from the other room and a brief scream stabbed at their ears.
“Octavia!”
All three demons bolted from their seats and into the other room, where they witnessed a chaotic sight. Multiple glasses had shattered upon the ground to create a mine field of caltrops, their contents spilled into one huge puddle. There was no sign of the princess.
“Where is she?!”
Loona’s nose perked and caught a scent trail almost immediately. It carried out of the kitchen through a backdoor and into a hallway. “Through there!”
They all vaulted over the glass and rushed through the backdoor, only to skid to a dead stop. In one of the open windows, Octavia was tied to someone’s back! Mouth gagged with a tightly bound kitchen rag, her wrists and ankles tied, and her torso covered in rope, she was properly restrained. Wide eyes and muffled cries for aid cascaded upon the trio, as she spotted them. Her kidnapper turned and revealed themselves; it was Striker.
“Well, look’y here, if it ain’t my three favorite cricks in the neck!” he cackled, perched halfway out the window. “Didn’t expect to find you all here; don’t you know when you ain’t invited to someone else’s shin’dig?”
“Let her go, sh*t cake!” Moxxie growled, his pistol already half drawn.
Striker gave a sigh of exasperation, “Or what, little man; you gonna shoot me? I know you ain’t that good of a shot not to pepper the little blueblood.”
Moxxie grit his teeth; sh*t, he was right. Octavia was large enough to act as a perfect shield for Striker’s back. Firearms were useless in this situation.
“How about we just pull you out of that window and beat your ass the old-fashioned way?” Loona snarled; her hackles raised.
“You three couldn’t take me on your best day. Two of you already tried twice and failed, and I can handle some kennel mutt. Your boss was the only one who could go toe to toe with me, and he ain’t coming to this rodeo anytime soon.”
“Tough talk, for a dirty cheat using a hostage as a shield!” Millie’s tail flicked, the knife in her hand flipped over and over; she was egging for a shot, just one opening would be enough to stick this pig.
“Aw, honey, your words sting worse than a cattle driver’s whip.” His head turned as Octavia squirmed and let out further muffled pleas for help. Striker grinned, “Don’t waste your breath princess, your daddy ain’t coming for you.” Laughter bounced from his chest, and his spiked tail cracked the air like a serpentine whip. “Not unless he’s willing to let his little race traitor die, that is.”
Loona froze, her thoughts raced at his words, then it dawned on her; everything slid into place. “The crystal…”
“That’s right! Round of applause for the dumb animal, everyone!” He cackled at their looks of astonishment. “Did you think I actually gave two sh*ts and a shake if you all found me? The only one I’ve got to worry a little bit about is that gloomy parrot in the other room. See, him and I got real intimate in that mine shaft. I found out what makes him tick.” Striker raised his voice, unable to properly suppress his malicious glee. “He’s got a real soft spot for your boss, a big, tender one; so, I figured, hey, why not give him a choice? If he tries to follow me and save his only daughter, the magic in that crystal kills poor little Blitzo. If he stays here and saves his little f*cktoy, then he loses his daughter to the same imp that took his eye.”
“You motherf*cker!” Loona barked, teeth bared, red eyes tense and savage.
Moxxie’s trigger finger itched, his fingertip mashed against the side of his gun. He’d been seeking an opening this entire time, same as Millie, but couldn’t find one.
“Don’t you all worry, I’ll take good care of our little princess here. I know a few Overlords who’d pay a king’s ransom to slap a soul collar around her pretty little neck!”
A single gunshot rang out, and Striker leapt out of the window. One bullet hole marked the wall just below his boot, and Moxxie silently cursed as they all ran to the window. Down below, atop a fiery steed that reared back in the cold night air, Striker waved his hat at the trio with a villainous cackle.
“Get Stolas: now!” Loona barked, then launched herself out of the window! At least three stories up, the hellhound tucked into a roll as she hit the ground and gave chase, just as Striker’s horse took off into a gallop.
“Loona, wait; sh*t!” Millie cursed. With a swift tap to Moxxie’s shoulder, both imps turned from the window and ran through the manor. “I’ll talk to Stolas; you take the van and pick up Loona!” There was a jingle of keys as they exchanged hands, and Moxxie gave his wife a nod before taking a sharp detour to the front steps of the manor. They couldn’t let Striker escape.
“Blitz, would you dance with me?”
Dull yellow light beamed down from above, as the imp opened his eyes. He stood in the middle of a vast and empty ballroom; white marble beneath his feet and empty tables all around. Stolas stood in front of him, a hand extended down in a simple offer. Déjà vu jumbled his mind, so much so that he stared at the owl’s hand for a solid minute without speaking. What the hell was going on?
He took that hand, the same he had touched so many times before, and was surprised to find how solid it was. Warmth spread into his hand, and a blanket of security descended over him as those black digits gripped it back. With one smooth swoop, he found himself pulled into a slow dance with the tall owl. Dexterous heels and clingy hands took point for each spin, turn, and pivot of the nameless dance. It wasn’t a waltz, or a tango, or a shuffle; just their own thing.
A long-forgotten smile spread onto the imp’s face. Spinning, twirling, smiling, laughing; all of those things were what kept him locked in step with Stolas. Blitz had never danced like this, yet found his feet drawn to it with ease, almost like it was second nature. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw a…stutter?
Black blinds, like smears or static, crackled in a brief flash over everything. It happened so quickly, like when the lights go out for a millisecond, but you’re unsure if they really did turn off or not. He willingly ignored it and continued to dance; this was a moment he didn’t want to lose. In the heat of the dance, he found courage, and with courage, he opened his heart.
“Stolas, I’ve never been good at this relationship sh*t, but…I want to get better. I know that I’ve been an ass and there’s no number of apologies I could give to ever make up for it, but…f*ck it, I love you.” Blitz’s tone remained steady, despite his speech being trapped on the border of rambling. “The first time I ever tried to tell someone that, someone who mattered to me like you do, it bit me hard. I lost…everything, because of that and it’s kept me afraid ever since. I’ve hated myself for so long because of what happened, but I’m f*cking tired of…of hating myself. I’m tired of being me; so, I want to be a new me, a better me.”
Everything stretched on forever into a void of white, but all he could focus on was Stolas.
“I want to be better for you, for myself, for my team…for my family; Barbie and Fizz. I—”
Everything trembled; the ground beneath his feet, the air above his head, and even his core.
“What the—” Their dance came to a slow halt, as Blitz looked around at the suddenly empty world. The ballroom was gone, the tables were gone, the dull yellow light was gone. Confusion swelled and ran rampant; the f*ck?
Then, a voice echoed from above.
“Blitz, you need to wake up.”
It couldn’t be, but it was: Stolas. Blitz looked between Stolas and the sky, then alternated his attention to try and piece the two together.
“Blitz, you’re under an enchantment. It’s imperative that you listen to me.”
“Stolas,” he said to the owl he was hand in hand with. “How are you doing that?”
“That is a projection, meant to ease your mind into a more conscious state of being. I am not there; I am out here; you are not within the physical realm.”
“Okay, cool trick, but I’ve had my fill of those. I was kind of having a moment with you!”
“Listen to me; I can only maintain concentration for so long. If we do not act quickly, you may never wake up again. Look around, do you see a tree?”
Blitz turned on a swivel and saw nothing but white. “Nope, no tree.”
“I will conjure a guide; whatever you do, do not lose sight of it.” In a puff of dark feathers, a tiny owl appeared out of nowhere and flapped at a steady level around the imp’s eye level. “Follow it, and once you find the tree I will be able to pull you out. Pay no attention to anything you see along the way; none of it is real. Do you understand?”
“Sure, but…how do I know you’re real? Why should I listen to you?”
A heavy wind whistled through the empty realm, and Blitz realized that the physical version of Stolas had vanished. “Because there are people out here who are waiting for you to wake up. Your daughter, chief among them.”
“Loonie?” Involuntarily, his tail flicked with happiness at the thought of his adopted daughter waiting for him. “Alright, but if this is some kind of trick…” he began, and jabbed a finger at the sky. “…I’m gonna be f*cking pissed as all sh*t!”
Millie found Stolas deep within a trance; arms wreathed in an astral glow that matched the crystals’ own. She had no idea what was going on between the two, mechanically, so hesitation put an anxious pep in her little feet. It might be impossible to get his attention, but she had to try. What if it broke his concentration, though? She needed to test the water.
“Prince Stolas?” she whispered, with a frantic wave of her hands. “Can you hear me?” When no answer came, she swore under her breath and spoke with in an inside voice. “We’ve got a problem. You need to wake up!” Again, no answer. With the grace of a scorpion, she hopped onto his towering leg and scuttled up his body until her mouth was right next to this ear. Maybe a little shake would stir him awake?
So, she did just that, and gave the owl’s shoulders and wiggle, then a squeeze; damn it, all this puss* footing around wasn’t doing anything! The alternative was too risky, but she had to tell him what was going on…or did she? If Loona and Moxxie could get his daughter back before he even knew she’d been taken, it would surely be a load off his mind. No moral dilemma, no choice, no mess no fuss. The diminutive imp fished into her back pocket and pulled out her phone, then hit the speed dial for Moxxie.
One ring, two rings, three…four.
Rumbling tires and gunshots filled the speaker, the moment that the line picked up.
“Honey buns, we got an issue.”
What sounded like rock against rubber echoed in the background, as well as Loona’s voice. “Get closer Moxxie!”
“He’ll shoot the tires!”
“Then give me your gun!”
Ruffling fabric; Loona must have delved into Moxxie’s pockets for his gun. Right thigh: always. Compared to her husband, Loona’s voice was farther out, almost like she was halfway out a window. “Sorry Millie, what was that?”
“Stolas is in the middle of some magic mumbo jumbo and I can’t snap him out of it!”
Gunshots popped through the speaker, and the ping of metal responded. The momentary silence lasted far too long for Millie’s liking, her tail a menacing whip of anxiety until her husband answered again. “Do what you can, honey. It looks like Striker is heading for the rail yard. We’re gonna head him off!”
“Get his ass, baby!” Three resounding beeps signaled that the call had ended. It hadn’t exactly been productive, but at least she now had something to tell Stolas once he woke up. With Loona with him, Moxxie could easily take Striker. They had the van and all the firepower stashed in the back; surely, they’d be fine. Millie tried to push it out of her mind, as she slowly pulled back against one of Stolas’ eyelids. Ruby red, no iris, no response: sh*t.
Whipping winds blew back Loona’s mane and dust peppered her face, in an attempt to ruin her aim. Narrowed eyes of red and silver concentrated down the sight of Moxxie’s pistol; a well-rounded and reliable handgun that gave a satisfying pop with each pull of the trigger. Her core had never been more engaged, stomach clenched tight as steel to steady her aim. The uneven terrain that caused the van to bounce and rumble fought her every step of the way, but she fought back just as hard. It wasn’t easy to hit a pair of galloping hell stallion legs; between the flames that obscured them and their unnatural speed, she missed every shot. After the twelfth bullet, the gun clicked.
Just as it did, a hail of gunfire rained towards her, and the van swerved to avoid the shots. Loona grabbed the roof and jammed her knee against the dash to stay locked on, then dipped back inside to grab more ammo. “Damnit, we’re not getting anywhere!” she growled, body bent forward in search of a mag to load.
A half vacant rail yard loomed on the horizon; Striker’s purpose for choosing it unclear, as there were no active trains that could be seen. Whatever the case, Moxxie slammed the pedal to the floor; he wasn’t about to let the outlaw escape him for a third time. They’d abandoned the roads long ago, almost immediately, and the rough terrain only made keeping up that much more difficult. All the while, Striker had returned fire each time he’d been fired upon. His hostage was the ultimate deterrent; they couldn’t afford to hurt Octavia.
“Have you tried shooting something other than the legs?”
“If I shoot its’ head, they’ll crash and Octavia could be squished! If I shoot his head, he’ll fall off and she’ll get trampled!”
Moxxie grimaced as he hit a particularly rough rock that tilted the van. Hostage recovery wasn’t exactly their specialty, but there wasn’t anything that could trump quick thinking. “I’ve got an idea! Get in the back; I’m going to get close and spin the van. When I do, you throw open the doors and jump onto his horse.”
“How do you know he won’t shoot me out of the air?”
“Because this is a pretty dumb idea; he’ll never expect it!”
Loona snarled at the horseback outlaw, her ire drawn from the permanent and co*cky sneer that plastered his face. Their destination was getting close and they were running out of options. “Fine,” she slapped the pistol onto the dashboard closest to the steering wheel. “But you better cover me!”
Moxxie’s hands strangled the steering wheel in a death grip and made the worn leather squeal as he stomped on the gas. One eye on the off road and another fixated-on Striker, determination fueled his fierce concentration. Slowly, they began to gain ground; the power of modern engineering outpacing that of nature. Inch by inch, the van got closer. “Ready?!” he yelled.
“Ready!”
“Alright, on my go!” The van veered to Striker’s left, as if to pass him, and the thunderous clopping of flaming hooves poked above the roar of the engine. Moxxie jerked the wheel the opposite way, as hard as he could, and the vehicle began to violently whip around. “GO!” He had aimed it just right. Wind surged in from the back of the van as Loona threw open the backdoors and pounced upon Striker’s horse.
She landed on its haunch, right behind Octavia, who greeted her with wide and shocked eyes. Striker growled, and Loona gripped the horse between her thighs; just in time to lean backwards and dodge a dagger that slashed at her face! She retaliated with a wide hook, and in an attempt not to smash into Octavia by accident, it flew wide and missed. For her error, the sting of Striker’s blade burned along her forearm.
With Moxxie mid U-turn, the horse gained significant distance and reached the rail yard. To their dismay, the booming call of a train horn roared out and two bright lights peered out from a nearby tunnel. A gun barrel jabbed over Octavia’s shoulder, and Loona barely dodged the following shot; its ear-splitting crack rang in her ear as a reminder of good fortune. Both hands gripped the rope around the princess’ waist and pulled, in an attempt to free her, only to feel herself partially lift off the horse as it vaulted through the air and onto a moving train car.
In that moment, Striker swung his right leg out of the stirrup and stabbed Loona in the side with his spur. The strike doubled as a kick, and combined with the sudden change in gravity, knocked her off completely. She hit the metal roof with a cry of pain and held tight; body mashed tight to resist the wind that threatened to yank her backwards.
Finally, the horse trotted to a stop. Everything they had just drove through played back with startling speed, the landscape whipped by as the train cascaded towards an unknown destination. Striker hopped down from his horse and drew his revolver. “Sorry mutt, but I only bought tickets for me and daddy’s little brat; you’re gonna have to step off!” Nothing but teeth, gleaming white with a single sharpened pillar of gold, split his face, as he pulled back the hammer. “It’s been a hoot.”
Loona lunged to one side, splayed on all fours, and felt the heat of the bullet ping off the train. Adrenaline surged through her veins, her irises narrowed into feral slits of rage, hackles raised and muscles taut with the strength of a predatory carnivore. She shot forward, then slammed her heels down with explosive force and spun to evade a second bullet. A third lunge got her close enough to swing, claws at the ready to rend his smug face to pieces, but the imp leapt backwards with a swipe of his dagger.
“Springy little sh*t stain!” he cackled, then fired again, this time at her feet. As she dodged the shot, Striker leapt forward and went on the offensive, a blade in one hand and his gun in the other. Slices and jabs alternated with aggressive footwork, like a co*ked-up honey badger mixed with a pissed off cobra. As Loona co*cked her elbow for a counter attack, two more shots rapid fired at her feet, and she maneuvered her body’s momentum into a spinning leap. She momentarily corkscrewed through the air, then slammed the back of her foot against the side of Striker’s face and followed through.
“GAH!” he recoiled, but quickly regained his footing and leapt back towards his horse. One arm dipped into a saddle bag with lightning speed and yanked out a bundle of dynamite! “Here mutt, have a bone!” In a single flourish, a hidden match lit the fuse, the dynamite was thrown, and the entire bundle unfurled mid-air to become a bombardment of explosive death.
“sh*t!” Loona dashed forward as Striker leapt back onto his horse, but she wasn’t quick enough to escape the rain of red sticks. Some exploded mid-air, some exploded after they hit the top of the train, but they all posed equal danger. An inferno arose; it’s heat intense, the sheer concussive force enough to shock the hellhound’s muscles, tendons, and organs. None of them hit her directly, but as she ran forward to escape, Striker’s horse turned…and kicked her square in the chest.
A ragged gasp burst from her lungs as she flew backwards. Her back hit metal, then her head, and she flipped onto her front. Harsh steel and an incessant, deafening ringing filled Loona’s entire world, as a spring of liquid rose inside of her. Blood oozed from her mouth, her head pounded, her lungs crackled and crinkled like an empty chip bag.
When she finally was able to lift her head, she saw Striker three train cars ahead. What was worse than watching the outlaw speed away was the look in Octavia’s eyes. No, she couldn’t let that bastard have her! Loona willed her body to move, and in a roaring growl of agony, she pushed up onto her knees.
As her vision began to blur, Moxxie suddenly appeared in front of her.
He shouted something, but she couldn’t hear a word of it. Greater heat warmed her back and shoulders, and the smell of smoke began to fill the air. Oh, the train was on fire. Able to hear or no, she couldn’t quit, but as she stood, a stake of pain impaled her chest and made her bend forward. Moxxie appeared below her, his eyes wide and flickering; panicked, worried, but his mouth still moved with the energy of someone shouting.
They locked eyes, Loona gave him a nod, then stepped forward in pursuit of Striker.
Moxxie did his best not to leave Loona behind, but it was clear that her injuries had hobbled her. At this rate, they wouldn’t catch up to Striker. The countryside rolled by; the van long left behind back at the rail yard. He had barely made it onto the train, but he was thankful he had; otherwise, Loona would have been all alone. That explosion had seemingly deafened her. Moxxie prayed it was only temporary.
Every step from Loona brought a wince to her face; minor cuts along one of her arms and an apparent lack of breath signaled she had taken quite the beating in her one on one with Striker. The fire he started crept along after them; every train car an appetizer for its constant hunger. They had to keep moving or it would eventually swallow them alive.
“Come on Loona, you can make it.”
Even if she couldn’t hear him, he hoped the words would somehow invigorate her body to fight through the pain.
“Moxxie…wait…” she groaned, then sank to a knee. Slow and shuddering heaves of breath never grew above a whimpering, shallow huff. Gingerly, twitching fingers hovered over the sides of her torso. “…I think my ribs are broken…”
“sh*t.” Moxxie jammed a hand into his pocket and whipped out his phone. They needed backup; they needed Millie. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then four…and was followed by a pre-recorded message. No, not voicemail; not now! “Just hang in there Loona.” He encouraged; his gaze turned towards the encroaching blaze.
“Go…get that f*cker, I’ll…” a violent cough leapt from Loona’s chest, and she covered her mouth with one hand. As she pulled it away, blood stained her palm. “…I’ll catch up.”
“No, I’m not leaving you here.” Moxxie stepped forward and grasped Loona’s furry shoulder, then dipped his own shoulder to try and help her up. A weak shove pressed to his chest, and a clawed hand slapped onto the metal roof below.
“Stop…you need to save her…she’s so scared, Moxxie.” Another weak push to deny his aid, but this time, she raised her head to give a weak smile. “I just…need a second to catch my breath, but I’m right behind you. Go, now, before he gets away!”
Sharp teeth ground against each other as Moxxie’s jaw clamped shut in desperation and indecision. Loona was right; if Striker got away, a grim fate was sure to await Octavia. Stolas would be decimated, and who knew what would happen as a result? He couldn’t leave an innocent girl in the hands of someone like Striker, but he also couldn’t abandon Loona. Moxxie’s eyes brimmed with apologetic moisture, and he gently touched foreheads with Loona, “You better not be lying.”
Then, grief in his heart, the imp spun on his heel and sprinted further down the train. It was too painful to look back, and so he didn’t, but the shadow of abandonment weighed upon his back with every step. Despite being at a significant speed disadvantage, there was only so much train to travel along; so eventually, Moxxie would catch up to Striker, horse or no. Soon, the chug of the train and the tapping of his hooves was all he heard, and the blazing heat faded to be replaced with cool, summer air.
Sloth stretched out before him; cotton-candy skies, floating islands, and cascading waterfalls filled the horizon. Was this where Striker had been hiding? About six cars ahead, he spotted the outlaw atop his motionless horse and drew his pistol. It appeared as if he’d been waiting for quite some time, as the princess was no longer strapped to his back, but instead placed upon the back of that fiery steed.
With absolutely zero cover, Moxxie rushed forward. “Striker!”
The outlaw turned, and even from that large distance apart, Moxxie could see the gleam of his golden fang slide over his bottom lip. Three hops between train cars later, they stood face to face, and Moxxie raised his gun in both hands. “You finally made it, eh pipsqueak?” Hands on his belt, shoulders relaxed, tongue pressed to his teeth in thought, Striker seemed completely at home. “Gotta admit, that trick with the van back there was slick, but you lose points for not being man enough to jump me yourself.”
“You think I give a sh*t about what you think? Drop your weapons and hand over the princess, now!”
A short scoff blew through tight teeth. “Like it’s that easy? I gotta tell ya, for someone so dainty and f*cking sophisticated, you don’t think about the bigger picture much, do ya?”
Moxxie’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on the grip of his gun, finger ready to squeeze. “What are you talking about?”
“That stick bundle of feathers back there is our ticket to stopping all this bullsh*t, and you wanna just give her up.” The brim of that cowboy hat fluttered in the wind, as did the open flaps of his vest and the tassels on his sleeves. He stood resolute, unbothered; eyes locked more on the passing landscape than the gun pointed in his direction. Far below them, an open and rocky valley of green yawned with the majesty of untouched nature. “You’ve seen it; I know you ain’t blind. Stupid, sure, but blind: no. That moody blueblood who’s got you running around after me has been slowly tearing up the place, and he don’t care whose garden gets dug up.”
“That’s because of you!”
“Just a feller doing his job, same as any other.”
“Oh, like that’s an excuse!”
“Ain’t that different from what you lot do; you’re killers, just working for different folks with different ambitions.”
“Then you know I won’t hesitate to put a hole in your head.”
“You’d rather gun down one of your own than fight the real enemy? Do you know the only thing that’s gonna stop all of this? You get this girl, this key to the throne, on a f*cking leash!” Striker’s face dipped into anger for a moment, a snarl clawed onto his face like he’d swallowed his own venom. “I get her to the right people; they slap her soul with a binding contract that not even a Goetia can break. With her as a bargaining chip, we might actually get somewhere. Our communities can prosper again, we can get into government; hell, we might even be able to get one of our own into the royal houses and shake hands with Lucifer himself!”
“So, what, you’re doing all of this because you’re some hero of the people? Why should she have to suffer through this for any of us; you didn’t ask her to. It’s no different than the oppression you’re talking about, except you’re the one punching down.”
“I’m doing this because I’m tired of being on the bottom, of being thrown scraps while demons who haven’t worked a day in their damned lives are served the first helping just to pick the bone clean. It ain’t fair, it ain’t right, and I’m sick of wallowing around while people tell me that I’m in the wrong for wanting better!” Striker jabbed a finger in Moxxie’s direction. “You and I should be on the same side, but you don’t wanna lose your meal ticket. How’s that make you better than me, ya reckon; willfully ignoring the plight of every imp who’s ever served these royal f*ckers, just because you’ve got a cozier collar?!”
“She doesn’t deserve this!”
An explosion shook the entire train. Moxxie and Striker both stumbled. A gunshot rang out. Striker’s horse unleashed a whinnying cry and collapsed onto its side, a bullet hole in its head. Shocked at the misfire and the death of his noble stallion, Striker was unprepared as Moxxie tackled him to the ground.
In the scuffle, all the smaller imp had was the element of surprise, which quickly vanished as his gun was slapped away. They rolled atop the train car, and Striker ended up on top by the time they reached the edge. Moxxie’s head dangled over the side, and his arms raised to resist the downward thrust of a gleaming dagger! Sweat poured down his brow, the larger imp’s superior strength pulling its weight as the blade dipped closer to his face. Moxxie grit his teeth and fought back with everything he could muster, but it wasn’t enough. His strained features shimmered in the reflection of cold steel and gazed back at him; inevitable pain on the horizon.
A blur of white slammed into Striker and soared with him over the edge of the train. Moxxie barely turned his head in time to see who had saved him, only to see a battered Loona roll along a grassy, floating island below. Three small landmasses in total, as if cracked apart by some aerial earthquake, floated near one another at differing elevations. Striker landed on a slightly higher patch of land than Loona, and didn’t appear to be moving.
Working on pure reactionary instinct, Moxxie leapt from the moving train and landed on the same landmass as Loona, just in time to lunge for her as she began to slide off! Nothing but a grassy abyss lay below, amongst a chorus of cascading waterfalls that never touched ground. Before she could fall, he grabbed her hand and held tight!
Moxxie dug his hooves into the dirt, muscles stretching from wrist to chest as Loona’s weight threatened to pull him over as well. Their eyes met as she dangled mid-air, and it took all that he had not to lose an inch of ground. “Loona…!”
The co*ck of a revolver snapped their heads to attention.
Striker stood above them, the sun at his back and his hat discarded. “You shot my horse.” Surprise filled his tone, and a chuckle bubbled out from his lips, pushed by his chest. Ringed eyes slowly looked between the pair, as if his brain was behind. Then, something within them clicked, and a sharp sheen crossed along his iris. “One dumb animal for another.”
Searing pain erupted in Moxxie’s hand as a bullet passed through it; too great and sudden to resist.
His grip loosened. “Moxxie!”
Blood and sweat disabled it entirely. “Loona!”
She slipped from his hand. It was the first time he’d ever heard her scream.
“LOONA!”
