Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the heart of the First Ring of Hell stands a city. A monument to Lucifers hubris, to mankind's failings. Through the streets of which, blood, money, power and sex flowed like water. On a rundown street in an unfriendly part of the Pentagram stood a two story building that contrasted the decay around it by simply being in one piece, downstairs a bar, upstairs a business run by an unusual individual. An individual who made a trade in solving problems. An individual who had accumulated many names and a poor reputation among the upper crust. But somehow his phone number seemed to be the only solution to a problem being faced by a Prince of the Goetia. With shaking hands, Stolas dialled in the number for this individuals business, his heart in his throat as the dial tone whirred in his ear.

The voice that answered was gravelly and unpleasant, “Clean-Up Crew Odd Job and Private Investigation Agency. You make the mess, we clean it up. How can I help you today?”

There was a tone of irritation to the way the call was answered, as if Stolas had bothered the owner by trying to give him business, and that sensation alone almost drove him to hang up on this Sinner, still, he pushed on. “Hello, yes, I heard that you were a Sinner capable of tracking down any soul that happened to disappear without warning in the Pride Ring? I would like to contract your services to help find a friend of mine.”

“A friend eh?” The voice said, the irritation clearing from it's voice almost immediately, “Been a while since I had a missing persons case cross my desk that wasn't just some pimp chasing whores. Colour me intrigued then. Who am I looking for, are they a person of importance and what information can you give me to help me track them down? Y'know, like what was the last place anyone saw them, that sort of thing?” The tone of this voice almost seemed pleased at the sort of case he was being offered. That was good news. It meant he'd take this seriously, for a while at least.

“If you don't mind, I'd prefer to discuss the specifics in person, I can't help but feel that his disappearance may in some small part be related to me and I don't want anyone who may have involvement in this case overhearing me. What time would suit you for a sit down meeting?” Stolas' voice wavered slightly. He did not like the idea of going to some unknown Sinner's place of business, he most certainly did not like the idea of visiting one of the more unsavoury boroughs of the Pentagram, however he also didn't know who in his employ could be trusted at this juncture. “The sooner the better, and if needed I can pay a small advance fee to compensate you if you should need to move other clients meeting...”

“Right now is fine, Business has been a little slow recently,” the voice said, cutting off Stolas' offer of compensation, “I imagine if you got my number you also have my address, turn up whenever you want, I'll be waiting. No advance necessary. Just let my secretary...” The sound of clamouring in the background and indistinct shouting filled the receiver for a moment, “Sorry, my organisational assistant know when you get here and that you were the one who called just now. We're the upstairs business, not that that matters since if I don't open it the Bar doesn't open anyway. Ha. Look at me, some sorta legit business owner. Anyway, I'll see you in short order Mr...uhhhh?”

The questioning pause gave Stolas time to answer, “Stolas, thank you dearly for being so willing to meet.”

Barely a quarter of an hour passed before Stolas found himself standing outside the door to the office space of this business. He knew he could have just appeared within the office, demanded or pleaded for help, but Sinners were unpredictable and he needed the help, he had to do things properly, play by this Private Investigators rules for a while at least, until he agreed to take the job.

He rapped lightly on the door, and a gruff voice responded from the other side, “Come on in, the boss man will see you in a bit, he's just got some paper work to file away.” The door swung open, opened by an...imp? Stolas hadn't expected the front of house to be operated by a Hellborn, even a lower class, he had expected to see a Sinner of some sort. The imp seemed to regard Stolas for a split second before his eyes widened, in shock or terror, who could say and he quickly ran back in, knocking on a door at the back of the room with a certain urgency, while whispering urgently, “Hey boss, this isn't a me situation, this is the real deal Stolas out here and you might wanna hurry up,” before turning back to Stolas and stammering out “Can I get you something your, uh, royal prince...li...ness? Is that proper etiquette or am I messing up?”

It was clear as day that this was maybe the first time they'd ever had a Goetia as a client and it showed with how unprepared they were. As Stolas slowly raised a hand and began to speak, hoping to soothe the stressed Imp, the door he had just knocked on was slammed open, nearly tearing itself from the wall in the process.

“Well holy shit, an actual Goetia. Guess I should have accepted the offer of that advance huh? Welcome, welcome, step into my office, sorry about the mess, we usually don't get clients of status. Mostly we end up chasing down runaways or doing odd jobs for middle class Sinners.” A sharp toothed grin and uncomfortably piercing red eyes met Stolas as he looked toward the noise. So this was the infamous Private Investigator, he didn't look like much. Scruffy, smelling of stale smoke and liquor and...was his shirt burned? Like it had been on fire? This was who Stolas had been recommended? Disappointed was the word of the hour but he'd already come this far, he might as well follow through, after all, he'd been surprised by appearances not matching capabilities before, and so he followed the Sinner into his office.

The room smelled like a graveyard for cigarettes and dreams. The unmistakable scent of stale smoke, liquor and blood filled Stolas' nostrils and yet oddly there was also... “Tea?” He asked, looking at the two steaming cups neatly set on the otherwise cluttered desk, and was answered with a gentle laugh as the Sinner sat heavily behind his desk, the chair creaking in tortured protest under the sudden weight, before he gestured to the chair opposite for Stolas to sit.

“Tea.” The Sinner said, before rifling through a few drawers and pulling out some papers, pens and a notepad. “Please, sit, I take it someone has kidnapped a noble then? Some friend of the Goetia? Or like a cousin or something? Oooh, or is it a celebrity friend of yours, I'm sure you have a few? A bit odd I haven't heard rumblings of anyone important being kidnapped from my sources out here but I suppose you'd know before I did since you're close to them.” With a click and a playful flourish, a red pen was spun around the Sinners fingers, ready to take down notes as he lifted a cigarette to his lips with his other hand, the faint glow of the embers casting odd shadows on his face as he drew in a breath.

“Oh no, no ones kidnapped a Goetia or any other nobility, we're all quite alright. No this is a personal friend of mine. You see my dearest friend Blitz has been kidnapped, I fear. Normally I can keep a close eye on him if needed but unfortunately he seems to have disappeared from my sight and this fact has forced my hand.” Stolas swallowed thickly. He had seen that this Sinner had no issues hiring Hellborn, so he hoped that meant he'd have no issues trying to track Blitz down, but if he had to, Stolas would not shy away from paying a premium or threatening this soul if necessary.

“So we're looking for...Blitz...you say? He wouldn't happen to be an obnoxious asshole imp would he?” The Sinners voice took on a note of amusment. Oh dear. He knew Blitz. This could be bad. What if this Sinner was yet another of Blitz' exes? Or someone he had insulted or crossed? The thoughts and consequent fear began to well up inside Stolas, and it must have shown on his face because the Sinner followed up with, “I know him by reputation. Yeah, I think I can track him down for you, Your Highness. However if you're going to lie to me, please pick a more believable one. You and he aren't just friends and I don't think anyone who cares about the gossip in Hell doesn't know that. Wait was that a triple negative? Does that make sense? Point is, I know about you two, and I know who you're looking for. Standard consult fee plus a flat fee per day, and depending on what dangers I run into, a hazard fee will be added on after I find your boyfriend, yadda yadda, here, read this, it explains it better than I can.” He handed a contract over to Stolas, it was very wordsy, plenty of legalese, however Stolas had no issues at all breaking through it all and found the contract very agreeable, as he picked up a pen and prepared to sign.

Pen had barely touched paper when Stolas stopped and locked eyes with the Sinner. “I have one more stipulation, Mr... Oh my, I seem to have been remiss in not asking your name.”

“Halford.” He said, politely.

“Mr Halford then, I have one more stipulation.” The pen shook slightly in Stolas' hand, something Halford seemed to notice.

“I'll provide you with half daily updates on the investigation, Prince Stolas, I know how important...”

“No, that is not what I want, I wish to accompany you on this case, I feel responsible for Blitz' current state of endangerment and I feel that I need to personally contribute to finding and saving him from whatever dire threat he now faces.”

“Well now...” The sharp toothed grin spread across Halfords face once more, and he ran a hand through the rough, hyena like stripe of hair on his head, “Did not expect that. Alright then, consider yourself a temporary employee of the Clean-Up Crew Odd Job and Private Investigation Agency, feathers, effective immediately. Now, let's get to figuring out the last place your boyfriend was seen in the Ring so we can get to saving his ass.”

Chapter Text

The sound of conversation and cursing slowly stirred Blitzo from his sleep, or maybe it was the pounding in his head. He didn't remember drinking last night. Which meant one of two things. It was a fucking great night, or he hadn't been drinking and this was a problem he might need to solve with violence. Which was still a good thing, nothing did wonders for a headache quite like some good old fashioned bloodshed. Actually there was the equally likely third option, plenty of liquor AND an opportunity to handle the hangover. He found himself hoping it was the third now. The conversations began to slowly break through the haze of his grogginess, and among the still somewhat muffled words he managed to pick out a few choice words: Ransom; Goetia; Toy and Murder. It was clear whoever had decided to fuck with him knew who he was and knew how he was connected to Stolas. That might be a problem. He tried to move and found his hands were bound, actually he should have expected that much since he had woken up in a chair and his shoulders were killing him but sometimes strange things happen while drunk.

“Well fuck,” He muttered under his breath, not eager to let whoever was talking nearby know he was awake. A little pain was kinky, sure, but he wasn't keen to find out how far his captors might be willing to go for whatever their schemes were. As he struggled against his bonds, he found that whoever had tied his wrists in place clearly had all the knot tying know-how of a corpse. The ropes began to give way and soon enough his hands were free, and it was some very convenient timing, because at the exact moment the rope loosened to the point he could easily free himself, he heard the telltale sound of a door opening, and the smell of a cheap and nasty cigar's smoke filled the air like a miasma. He half expected to hear an unpleasantly familiar voice, and almost let out a sigh of relief when the voice he heard wasn't Crimson's.

“So you're sure this clown's the fella we're looking for? I don't wanna have to dirty my hands killing a damn Imp, so this better be Blitzo,” the unknown captor said, as he rounded the chair, and locked eyes with his captive for the first time. As if the situation wasn't already tenuous enough, Blitzo was met with the uncomfortable reality that he had been captured by Sinners. Who were a pain to kill in any way that mattered.

A round faced Sinner with a cigar in his mouth exhaled a puff of acrid smoke into Blitzo's face, his eyes bulged disturbingly as he contemplated his captive, eyeing him like a predator, as his lips split apart to reveal pointed, tobacco stained teeth. “So, you're the infamous Blitzo huh? I got a business proposition for you,” his voice had an unpleasant, slimy quality to it, like he had a throat full of jello, and the suit he was wearing was ill fitting, to put it politely. To say he hardly looked like an intimidating mafioso type was an understatement and then some, he likely couldn't have seemed less threatening if he put bows in his hair and offered Blitzo a tea party. Actually that likely would have been more terrifiyng.

“It's Blitz, asshole, the O is silent. Fuck me how many times have I said that now? Pretty sure every fucker in Hell has heard me say it,” Blitzo spat in response, and he decided at that moment he wasn't about to even hear this guy out. His head was killing him, he was certain he hadn't been drinking and this fish eyed son of a bitch clearly did not have his or Stolas' best interests at heart. His hands were free and with adrenaline now pumping through his veins, he swung his arm in an admittedly disadvantaged uppercut. Still that was enough. Whatever the Sinner had been saying fell on deaf ears, and the perfect timing of the punch caused him to bite his own tongue off mid sentence, dousing Blitzo in a wash of crimson. It felt good to shut him up though, and Blitzo couldn't help but run his mouth a little, “Yeah, how's that taste bitch? Getting fucked up by an Imp, how's that feel? Huh? Yeah that's fucking right!” His celebration was short lived as he realised that he had to leave, now. Despite the lead Sinner drowning in his own tongue juice, the others that were flanking him seemed to be overcoming the shock of seeing their boss lose his tongue to a Hellborn, and without some sort of blessed weapon, or even just a good old fashioned regular gun, this wasn't a fight he felt he'd win.

It took Blitzo exactly zero seconds to run out the door behind him, and come to the genius conclusion that he had to dramatically dive out a window to escape. As it turned out, his seemingly needless showmanship ended up being the right call, as it was clear the handful of Sinners he had been in the room with were not the only goons in the building, and the sound of shouting, threats and gunfire filled the air behind him as he fell from the third floor window of what appeared to be an abandoned building into a dumpster, landing on the corpse of some poor son of a bitch who had probably been in the wrong place at the wrong time, which put him in the right place at the right time. Destiny is like that sometimes. Climbing free from his safe landing, Blitzo took off running down the alleyway he found himself in, towards the street, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the beehive he had just kicked as he could on foot, before 'commandeering' a car and driving back to Imp City. He had to find Stolas and warn him. This wasn't some hick snake with a supremacy complex, this was clearly something more dangerous, and being Sinners, it was certainly easier for them to get their hands on Carmine brand weapons. He wasn't about to let Stolas get hurt. Not again. So he ran. He ran until he couldn't anymore. And when he felt he couldn't keep running, he dragged some unlucky Sinner from their car, and set off to warn the Prince, completely unaware of how things were unfolding around him.

Chapter Text

“So, Feathers, now that all the overly annoying paperwork is out of the way, what say we get a start on the fun part of this?” Halford leaned over his desk, elbows resting on top of the paperwork they had just finished, fingers interlaced, his attention back on Stolas, “I assume you have more info to go on than 'Oh dearie me oh my, my sweetheart didn't make it to our appointed rendezvous' right? You got some clues? Or a suspected crime scene? That always makes my life easier. Fuck a good crime scene is a real treat too. Please tell me we gotta go to some sleazy motel or something.”

Stolas was taken aback somewhat by the almost casual approach Halford had to the situation after the seriousness he had displayed during the tediously long winded contract negotiations. Still he supposed if you were the sort of soul who'd choose to spend their potential eternity solving mysteries, you may as well enjoy them. He took a short breath in, before answering, “Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but the only place even adjacent to a crime scene was Blitzo's apartment. When he didn't show up as agreed, well, I rushed to his place of work. His employees agreed to accompany me to his home and, at least according to them, the state of the apartment wasn't anything out of the ordinary. All we have to go on is this, I'm afraid,” to which Stolas produced a little leather bag that looked handmade, placing it on the desk in front of Halford.

Unable to resist, Halford opened the bag immediately, and pulled out one of it's contents. It was a piece of jerky. “HO HO, now that IS a clue. Raum!” Halford yelled, and the Imp that had shown Stolas in entered the room, bowing to Stolas before shooting a glare at Halford, “Try this, I wanna know what you think, it's clearly home made which means Wrath Ringers, but you know your Jerky, got any insights to share? It's for the case.”

Catching the bag in midair, Raum pulled a piece of Jerky free and took a bite, mulling it over, chewing slowly. His face went through what could only be described as every emotion one could feel, and several you couldn't, before he spoke, “It's West Wrath I think? The meat is well smoked and tender, and that's not really an Eastern Wrath thing to do, they prefer a bit of chew, good for the jaw. Why? We got a case for Rattles?” Raum swallowed thickly and pulled another piece of jerky free, popping it into his mouth with carefree ease, despite it being evidence of all things.

“Was this entire organisation this carefree?” Stolas thought to himself before speaking again, “So then, I take it that's a good lead for you? You have some employee in the Wrath Ring you can rely on? That's fantastic news, Blitzo's employees were very keen to help look for him and set off for the Wrath Ring as soon as they saw the bag but, well between you and me, they seem more eager than competent, so it's likely good news you have someone you can trust there.” A relieved sigh escaped Stolas. He didn't even realise he had been almost holding his breath with concern about the whole situation, but knowing that they were about to employ a proper professional to help the search of the Wrath Ring took a great deal of weight off his shoulders.

“Employee is a bit of a strong word, Feathers,” came Halfords reply, as Raum exited the room and reentered with a phone in hand, “Rattles is more like a private contractor. Weirdly sexy too... He gets the job done at least, even if he costs a pretty penny and says some weird things.” Halford took the phone from Raum and dialled a number, before holding the receiver to his ear and waiting.
To a demon from any other Ring, the blazing heat of Wrath would keep them from sleeping well. Too sweaty they might say. The swamp ass ring said others. But Striker wasn't just any demon. He was the top dog around here, and that included his ability to take siestas. Didn't matter how hot things got, he could sleep through it all. What he couldn't sleep through was the damn phone ringing.

Half asleep and far from feeling up for a social call, he picked up the call, and his voice, still rough from sleep, carried all the palpable disdain he could muster. “Who is this? What do you want? Can't a man get some sleep?”

“Hey Rattles,” came the unfortunately familiar voice of Halford, “I got a job for you, good pay, and its on your home turf, mostly, you want it?”

“Every fiber of my being is telling me to tell you to fuck off, but I know you're good for it and I do need the money, fine, what do you need me to do?” Work had been a little sparse on the ground since the incident with the clown and that prince's fucktoy. He wasn't broke by any means, but Bombproof needed the good quality feed, and Halford did pay quite well, he wasn't too insufferable for a Sinner either, he was just a bit too fruity at times.

“Wonderful, oh you and your weird fucking hatred, it's so refreshing, not like normal hate. So bland and vanilla down here,” Halford's laughter filtered out of the phone, before he seemed to move away from the phone to ask someone some questions. Probably their new client. “Alright, so, you should be able to meet the clients agents near the, let me see here, Rough'n'Tumbleweed Ranch, I assume that you know where that is. Somewhere along the road there you should be able to meet up with them. According to our client, the people you'll be working with might push your buttons so, I'll throw in a bonus if you resist the urge to kill them, sound like a fair deal? Normal rate for your services, plus a 50% bonus after the job is sorted.”

“You got yourself a deal there then, Hal. Always a pleasure,” The last three words oozed sarcasm, and frankly, had Striker not still been in the process of fully waking up, he might have made the mental connection necessary to realise this job would have needed a lot more than a 50% bonus to make the suffering he was about to endure worth it. But it was too late now.

A long yawn escaped Striker as he began saddling up Bombproof for the ride. He'd have time enough to wake up from his siesta on the trail, and once he got there he could make sure whoever this clients mystery agents were knew he was calling the shots now. No one knew the Wrath Ring better than him, and he damn well knew it.

Back at the office, Halford stood from his desk and stepped over to his coat rack, pulling a leather jacket free and fishing some gloves from the pocket, “Right then, we're off Feathers, gotta be thorough. The kidnappers might be Wrath Ringers but they kidnapped someone from Imp City. It might be a safer bet to stay here in Pride. So, you and I are going to go hit the pavement. You ever heard of Motorhead?”

Stolas shook his head in response to the question, “I'm afraid not. Who or where is Motorhead? Is that one of your contacts?”

“Oh, you'll see I guess. Hey Raum,” Halford gestured for Stolas to stand and follow, and he did so, “Mind opening up the bar for me this evening? Feathers and I got business to attend to.” He didn't wait for an answer as he walked out of the office and down the stairs, leading Stolas to a beat up convertible that had clearly seen a lot of use.

“Ah, are you certain you want to drive, I could use my grimoi...”

“Absolutely the fuck not, part of the job is the drive. It's time to talk, plan, compile evidence, the mystery just doesn't hold up without downtime,” Halford said with total seriousness. It was clear he wasn't about to budge on this and it was probably fine to drive with Halford, they were both functionally immortal, a little car crash would only hurt for a moment, and it might be an adventure to see the Pentagram from street level after all.

“Very well, we'll drive then.” As if a thought struck Stolas he suddenly chimed in as Halford opened the door for Stolas who entered the, admittedly far too small for him, car with all the grace he could muster, “I fear I may have assumed before that your contact in the Wrath Ring was a nasty fellow named Striker, but I feel I should confirm that's the case? It's not, is it?”

“Oh so you do know Rattles, I was wondering why you were telling me to tell him not to kill your boyfriends workers. Why is that?” The engine roared to life. The motor screamed the scream of decades of abuse and redlining.

“Well, I may have to call them to make sure they don't shoot him in kind. Striker and Blitzo have something of a history and it may not end well if he approaches peacefully and they're not aware. That Millie is a terrifying woman on her own.” A frown creased Stolas' face as he began to pat his pockets down, looking for his phone, all the while the car began to roar down the roads of the Pentagram, and suddenly the car's cabin was filled with a cacophonous roar of...was that meant to be music? Stolas couldn't tell, it was certainly an attempt at it if so, but far, far from his tastes. Still, the off putting music and the need to call Blitzo's employees to potentially save that vile Striker didn't seem to dampen the unexpected excitement of the impending adventure. It was like something from one of his novels, if less romantic and ideal.

Chapter Text

The car he had so carefully commandeered groaned in protest as it finally shuddered it's final breath outside of Stolas' palace, and promptly died. Blitzo had been unable to keep his worry in check, and had driven like a maniac to the Palace to warn Stolas, causing, and involving himself in, several multiple car pile ups. That would definitely make the nightly Vox News segment at the very least. Still he had no time to worry about the cars state of repair. Falling from the seat through the hole where the door had come off several crashes earlier and dragging himself to his feet, Blitzo broke into a sprint, scaling the estates fence like a lizard. A trained lizard. He'd done this so many times it was almost nostalgic and the sensation almost brought tears to his eyes. He and Stolas hadn't exactly parted ways on the best of terms but he wasn't about to let that fight or the party stop him, he had to help Stolas, no matter what.

As he drew closer to the front door, he cast a glance at the raised balcony of the bedroom they had shared on more than a few occasions and he debated if he should try the front door or. “Fuck it, those butlers might stop me, better to go right to him.” He said under his breath, redirecting toward the balcony and beginning the arduous climb. At the pinnacle of the climb, his foot caught on the banister and he slammed unceremoniously into the floor with a thud, and dramatically dragged himself through the door of Stolas' room, only to find it empty. “Fuck, where could he be?” He thought, as he began to look around the bedroom, even making sure to check under the bed, before he took a deep breath and stepped out into the labyrinthine halls of the Palace. From what little he remembered of his time outside the bedroom here, this place was huge, so he picked a direction to go and started running, screaming Stolas' name. Each scream strained his voice more and more and he found his cheeks were wet all of a sudden. The growing sense he was too late, that he hadn't made it in time settled in his stomach like a lead weight, poisoning and sickening him to his soul. But he still ran until he stumbled upon one of the houseservants at work polishing what looked to be brass doorknobs. How he hadn't heard Blitzo prior to this was anyone's guess

Desperation won out over the fear of being thrown out and not being able to warn Stolas and Blitzo shot over to the servant, an incomprehensible wail was all he could manage, all semblance of his ability to speak was stolen from him by the fear he was feeling. The Imp in question turned calmly in response to the noise and calmly said, “Home at last, your Highness?” Before he fully took in who he was talking to. His eyes narrowed and his face contorted into a hate filled scowl, his scorn apparent, “Oh, it's the unwelcome guest. I suspect you've come to grovel for His Highnesses forgiveness after realising your mistake? Well it won't work, he deserves far better than you, so I suggest you leave before I am forced to make this physical.”

“Stolas is in danger!” Blitzo managed to yell, breaking past the choking fear he felt, and the sheer desperation in his voice caught the manservant off his guard. “Please, please just...Please tell him there's some Sinners who are after him! I don't care if he doesn't want to see me, but he needs to know! I can't let him get hurt again.” His tears were flowing, perhaps too freely, and he could feel himself shaking. If this motherfucker in his fancy ass little suit didn't agree to help him, he wasn't sure how he would react. Images of seeing Stolas hurt by Striker flashed through his mind again. And the look Stolas had given him when he finally told him about the plot to kill him. He wasn't letting that happen again, his fists balling up, ready for something, anything. He'd knock this bitch out if that's what it took.

A shaking head was all the answer Blitzo got initially. “Even if I trusted you, which I do not, His Highness is out on business right now. I fear if you are not a liar that he may well be in more danger than even you fear.” Despite his calm tone of voice and decorum, the butler's face betrayed a hint of fear and concern for Stolas' safety and he seemed to exhale his doubts to give Blitzo a chance. “He has gone to deal with some business within the Pentagram. He left this morning and left me with this note with a phone number and an address, should we or Her Highness need to contact him for something. I am putting a lot of faith in you, faith you do not deserve, I might add. So I am entrusting you to find him and warn him. I shall call ahead, and if he is there I shall inform him you are coming. I wish him to be forewarned of your arrival so if he does not desire to see you, he may choose not to.” With that final statement, the note was passed to Blitzo, with the number torn off so the call could be made.

Blitzo turned without a word and began the mad sprint to one of the many balconies. He was on autopilot now. This was his usual exit and he had no time to spare looking for a door. Or seeing one, as he smashed through the glass door to the pool deck, diving over the banister, and clearing it this time, hitting the ground with a practiced roll, and immediately rolling back into his run. Every second spent not moving was a second he knew he couldn't waste. Fence scaled, Blitzo considered the car but it was dead. “Rust in peace, shitbox, you did a good job,” he said as he continued his sprint back towards more populated streets. He'd have to steal yet another car. Cause more accidents on the way too probably. But he had a mission. One he realised he was willing to do anything he could to accomplish.

At the roadside, traffic roared past. Seeing his moment, Blitzo deftly dived onto the hood of one of the cars, before swinging in through the passenger window, catching the drivers face with a savage kick that sent him tumbling out the door and under another cars wheel, the sickening crack and pop of their bones and meat being pulverised by traffic fading into the distance as Blitzo threw the car into top gear and sped off, weaving between cars and causing more and more chaos, a true force of nature uncaged and powered by anxiety.

The drive passed in a blur of speed and fear, and finally he arrived at the address. He let out a sigh of relief that he'd made it, before clambering free from the car. The opposite issue to the previous car had happened to this one, and the doors had been slammed in so hard they no longer opened, but at least this one didn't die upon arrival. The shards of broken glass in the window he had broken bit into his skin as he climbed out but he barely noticed them, and began to sprint toward the building. It seemed whoever it was that worked here was opening up for the evening, as the door was partially open and lights and music were spilling from within.

Crashing through the door, Blitzo soon spotted the presumed owner of the and rocketed over to him, grabbing the much shorter Imp by his leather vest in his desperation. The Imp in question, Raum, glared at Blitzo and simply said, “Johannes, we got a crazy,” before Blitzo was hoisted from his feet by a gargantuan Hellhound, covered head to toe in dense, fluffy fur, and clearly insanely strong as he was holding Blitzo by the scruff of his neck without even using his whole hand.

“Wait! Wait wait! I'm here looking for Stolas, he said he had business here!” Blitzo said, desperation still evident in his voice. Raum and the Hellhound, Johannes, exchanged looks, before the Imp nodded and the Hellhound softly put Blitzo back on his feet, taking a step back and offering him a bow of apology.

“Deeply sorry my good man, we often get distasteful types in here you see, so we are always on guard.” The giant offered, before returning to whatever he had been doing prior.

“So, you know our client huh? What's the situation? You got evidence? Cmon, chop chop I got a bar to open fuckass.” The Imp narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he straightened out his vest and went back to work, cleaning glasses and wiping down the tables, but still clearly listening to Blitzo.

“He's got some Sinners after him. I gotta warn him!” Blitzo seemed to be coming down from his anxiety spike now at least, but that didn't mean he wasn't still incredibly worried, “You know where he is right?”

Raum shook his head, and shrugged, “The boss doesn't tell me everything so I can't be sure, but I got some ideas. There's three bars he likes to go to to investigate and dig up leads. I'll give you their addresses and you're on your own, got it?” He picked up one of the napkins from the table he was cleaning, and produced a pen from the pocket of his vest, before writing down something for Blitzo.

“Shit, not more reading, I had a hard enough time reading the address for this place, now there were three more?” Blitzo found himself lamenting, but still took the napkin. “Thanks for your help. I'll uh...” He paused and though for a moment, before speaking again, “I'll buy you a drink from here after I find him. Yeah, that.” finally he turned to leave the bar and in a flash he was back on the road, trying to decipher the terrible handwriting and find the place he needed to go. This drive was going to suck. He just knew it.

Back in the bar, Johannes and Raum exchanged a glance, and Johannes spoke up, “Should we call Hal and let him know about this?”

“Nah, fuck him, not our problem, let's just get this place opened up.” Despite his cold indifference, Raum found himself silently rooting for Blitzo now. He was clearly worried about this Goetia, and that was oddly endearing. He'd never say it out loud of course, but the sentiment was there.

Chapter Text

The heat of the desert around Striker and Bombproof shimmered, the air almost looking like ripples on a pond as the pair rode to their destination. A hefty paycheck and a bonus made the heat more tolerable. Striker wasn't too eager to be this close to the Ranch, not after what had happened there during the Harvest Moon, but it was where he needed to be, and if he needed to, he could slink about, keep out of sight and snap a neck or two. No one around here could touch him, not as long as those two weren't around. He was king of this ring and no one could touch him. No one!

That delusion was shattered by the same gunshot that shattered the comfortable silence he rode in. You don't live long in the Wrath Ring if you don't learn how to tell the difference between a gunshot, and a gunshot aimed at your head. And this, judging by the soft thud of a bullet hitting the earth near him was the latter. With a kick of his spurs and a shout, he spurred his horse into a run. If whoever was shooting at him wanted his head, they'd be in for a fight, one he planned on winning. As Bombproof took off and the flames billowed from his mane, Striker stood up in the stirrups with a practiced stability and slipped his revolver from it's holster, turning to look behind him and see if he could spot his attacker.

Kicking up a mountain of dust behind it, a black van bearing an annoyingly familiar logo began to speed along behind Striker, and his expression dropped. Mental gears began to turn and he realised he should have demanded a 100% bonus MINIMUM as a familiar figure leaned out the window of the Van with a rifle in hand. “Fuck, dammit, life sure is a bitch huh?” He swore to himself as he wrestled with his desire to gun this little piece of shit down and take the financial loss. He reasoned himself down to simply trying to shoot out their tyres and chalking any bruises they got up to the job, and then renegotiating the bonus. At gunpoint if need be. He lined up a shot as carefully as he could while keeping Bombproof running in an unpredictable pattern. Another hollow boom as Moxxie fired a shot, another soft thud into dry earth, before Striker fired back, the van swerving to try and avoid the bullet, and finding itself down a headlight as a result, the glass and plastic shattering into the dust that filled the air of the Wrath Ring.

Inside the van, Millie leaned over and yelled to her husband, “You'll get that snake next shot, honey, I'm sure of it.”, as she pushed her foot down even harder on the already floored pedal, as if that might somehow coax more speed from the already redlining van. She swerved to try and avoid yet another shot from Strikers revolver and unfortunately caused Moxxie to miss his next shot. Still that was better than the possibility of him being hit.

Moxxie, rifle in hand, tried his very best to remain stable despite the speed at which both he and his target were moving now, although every shot he had fired had missed. He had a feeling that Striker was somehow involved in Blitzo disappearing and he intended to find out, one way or another. He shouldered the rifle again, a steady breath out and the trigger was pulled again, the shot missed again, but each time it got a little closer to hitting home, and then they'd have him. He had to be careful though, if it hit wrong, Striker ran the risk of bleeding out before they could interrogate him. If he bled out after, more's the pity for the population of assholes in Hell. Another shot from Striker and another swerve and Moxxie lost his footing, falling from the window before his tail was caught by Millie. Hanging there, he shouldered the rifle one more and fired, the bullet whizzing through the air to graze Strikers arm.

The situation kept getting worse. The shots kept getting closer and closer, wouldn't be long now before he was eating lead, Striker reckoned. So it was time to change tactics. Turning on a dime, Bombproof was suddenly speeding towards the Van, before running up its bonnet and window, and as the horse jumped off the back, Striker slipped off the back of the saddle and landed heavily on the roof, planting his feet wide to steady himself on the roof, before slowly walking toward the front of the vehicle. A gunshot sounded from under him and the van swerved, and these two factors knocked him off his feet and off the roof, but his reflexes caught him as the knife he kept on hand flashed into his grip and punched through the cheap sheet metal of the vans wall, anchoring Striker in place as the Van continued it's breakneck rush across the rocky desert, the wind blowing Strikers hat loose and sending it spiraling into the distance while Striker could only shout out, “Fuck!”. The knife bit into the metal, but it was now, slowly, carving a gash in the cars body, as Striker was forced toward the back door by the wind. He had to move, and fast, so he lashed out toward the rear with his tail, finding purchase on the outer handle and opening it, watching it swing fully open before leaping for it, latching on with all his strength and smashing the rear window, riding the door until it was almost closed before slithering with all the haste he could conjure through the broken glass and onto the floor of the van.

Moxxie heard the cacophony back there and turned to face back, his rifle replaced with a black and crimson pistol, keeping it trained on the currently empty space behind them as Millie tried to wrangle the van back under control. Not much point speeding now that there wasn't a chase happening. At the precise moment Moxxie thought he saw a peek of Strikers tail, his phone began to ring, throwing him off for a moment before he quickly picked up, his gun still trained on the space.

The immaculately fancy, “Hello, is this Moxxie?” through the phone told Moxxie exactly who had called.

“Your Highness, now is not the best time for a call, even if you have managed to find Blitz.” He said curtly, his gun drifting about the space, waiting for the shot as the van finally stopped and Millie hopped out of the drivers seat to circle around behind the van and trap Striker.

“No, I'm quite sure it is. Tell me, you haven't happened to run across the nasty piece of work Striker have you?” Stolas asked. Moxxie could swear he could hear someone singing very out of tune with something approaching music in the background of their call.

“We have, your Highness, why? Have you found evidence he's responsible for all this? I knew it as soon as I saw...”

“I'm afraid not, you see. In fact I suggest you speak to him. As distasteful as it may be, he happens to be working for us this time around.”

A sour taste filled Moxxie's mouth as he lowered the pistol, and shouted into the phone, “You're joking? There is no way we're working with Striker, your Highness, that's just not possible!”

From outside, both Striker and Moxxie heard Millie cuss incredibly loudly, and Striker began to stand slowly, his hands raised in surrender. “Yeah, you heard your boss's blue blood fuckbuddy. I'm getting paid a lot of money to help you idiots out. So your boss is missing. Shame. I'm not a fan of helping fix that but here I am.” He shrugged and scowled at Moxxie, slowly clambering through the car to sit in one of the seats behind the drivers cab. “So I take it you have some idea where we're going then?”

Moxxie shot a glare at Striker. If looks could kill, he wouldn't have needed the gun, still that was a good question. All he and Millie knew was they were looking for news of suspicious figures in the Wrath Ring. But since the only suspicious figure they knew about was Striker, who was now sitting within strangling distance and apparently working with them, that didn't leave them many leads. “Do you have any new leads for us, your Highness?” He asked, not taking his eyes off Striker for even a second, even as Millie climbed back into the drivers seat, and turned to glare just as venomously at Striker who was now sat there, looking pleased as punch at how much his presence seemed to irritate them.

“Ah, yes, the detective I went to meet had an associate who narrowed the search down to the Western Wrath Ring, just by tasting some jerky, it was quite impressive really.” Stolas replied, and Striker quickly snatched the phone from Moxxie.

“You mean to tell me that your only lead in this search, is jerky!? And your best efforts only eliminated, oh let's be really fucking generous and say, HALF of the Wrath Ring from the search area? Pass the phone to Halford, princey, I wanna have a word with him.” Striker growled menacingly. As much as Moxxie and Millie hated this, they were currently sympathising with him. Western Wrath was a very broad place to search for a single Imp, even one like Blitzo.

“V-Very well then, I'll ask him if he can take the phone,” There was a moment of silence before Stolas could be heard again, “...Well I hardly think that's a polite thing to call him so I won't, but I'll tell him. He says he's not going to talk on the phone while driving. Something about accident statistics?”

The confusion between the four of them was palpable, what the hell was Halford worried about car accidents for? He wasn't going to die. With that sensation now hanging in the air, Striker hung up the phone before carelessly tossing it back to Moxxie and letting out a groan of annoyance. Half of the Wrath Ring. He was damn good, but not even he was that good. And now he was saddled with these two morons. He'd be renegotiating as soon as he saw Halford again, that was for sure. 200% bonus. Nothing less.

As the Van started to move again, now heading Westward, Striker leaned forward and as his hand neared the radio, Moxxie's hand swatted it away. “What exactly do you think you're doing? The driver picks the music, Striker, that's just common etiquette.”

“Well, you ain't even got it on so what's the harm letting me pick the music for our little road trip, huh?” Striker retorted as his hand began to snake back toward the radio.

Another swat, “It's the principle of the thing, if Millie doesn't want the radio on, it stays off.”

The hand creeping again, “Well have you even asked her, or are you assuming things about your lady?”

“Fine, Millie, do you want the radio on?” A very, very hard swat.

Millie groaned quietly, and let out a sigh. “I don't really mind if it's on or off, long as you two stop bickering over it and distracting me. I gotta drive remember?” She shot them both a glare, and while Moxxie shrank away a little, feeling a touch ashamed for not considering his little tiff with Striker might be a distraction for her, Strikers hand shot out and turned the radio on, before fiddling with the knobs until he found a station he liked and turned the volume up.

Despite the station being a local one, there was a decent amount of music popular with a certain demographic of Sinners in the mix, and it wasn't overly long before Striker was singing along with one of them. Some country number about fried chicken, cold beer, well fitted jeans and radios. Millie shook her head as she drove. At least they weren't arguing anymore. Still, this promised to be a long and awful search. More than half of the Wrath Ring. Insanity. They had no choice though. Without Blitzo, there was no IMP. With no IMP, there was no job. With no Job, there was no reason to hang out with Blitzo literally all the time. It was truly a vicious cycle. At least to Millie. Moxxie might enjoy the peace. For a while.

Chapter Text

The bar Stolas and Halford found themselves out front of filled them both with very intense sensations. Stolas with apprehension, excitement and slight nausea. Like heartburn. Halford with thirst. This was the one place they could easily find information pertaining to any interesting 'business opportunities' for the Sinners with no morals and a willingness to dirty their hands. And it was the sound of music and laughter that greeted them as they entered.

Neon lights, fashion atrocities and a song by Duran Duran filled the space and Halford let out a loud, displeased groan as he realised, “SHIT, I forgot it was fucking 80's night. We are dressed way too well for this place, Feathers, damn, shit.”

“80's night?” None of the Sinners here appeared to have passed away in their 80's. “What's an 80's night?”

Halford turned, his face a mask of disbelief at the question, before laughing loudly, drawing the attention of a few clientelle and the barman. “You're fucking with me right, Feathers? 80's night? As in the 1980's? You've never heard of that?”

Stolas' four eyes widened, realisation dawning, and at that moment Halford finally realised that Stolas was an owl, not just a generic bird. “Oh, this is a celebration of the human realms 80's? How did I not gather that faster?” A heat spilled into Stolas' cheeks as he realised how obvious it had been. Was he truly that sheltered or...

“Actually that's fucking fair enough. Everyone in here is dressed more like a caricature, and that song, that's from the 90's. 95 if I remember right. Just because Duran Duran sounds 80's.” His head shook slowly, and he cast a disparaging glare at the barman, before shoving his way through the crowd, leading Stolas to the bar, and settling on one of the stools, shoving the Sinner next to him to the floor to make space for Stolas with a snarled, “Move bitch, we have a royal with us tonight.”

Stolas stopped and knelt down, offering his hand to the Sinner that had just become intimate friends with the sticky floors to help him to his feet and earned himself a tirade of curses and slurs for his efforts. “Well then, I suppose I won't help you.” He took a seat, next to Halford who began to drum out the beat of the song, mouthing along with the words, taking in the ambience of it all. He'd heard that the Pentagram was a lively place, but this was far more than he had expected. Sinners of every shape and size, mingled with not just each other, but also Hellborn of all types. It seemed like this might be a melting pot of all social strata and he found himself aching with a need. He wished dearly that Blitzo was here now. That they could dance to the music and express themselves in this space where it didn't matter who they were.

“You cunt's know the theme is 1980's not 1880's right?” The gruff voice of the barman cut through the reverie, followed by a hearty belly laugh, deep and jolly. “Nah you're always welcome in here, Halford, mate, no matter who you bring with you. So, who's the owl looking fella? Some cute piece of ass you're tryna wine and dine?”

“My good sir, I will have you know I am Stolas Goetia, of the Goetia family, and you would do well to respect this fact.” Stolas replied, incensed at the disrespect he was being shown by this Sinner, as Halford began to laugh quietly, his hand lightly slapping Stolas on the back. He was suddenly a lot less enthused about this place.

“Nah, he's the real deal royal. Be nice hey? I think this might be his first time in a joint like this.” It was becoming increasingly clear to Stolas that he had just been brought to one of the detectives regular drinking spots and as he was about to voice his discontent, two pints were placed in front of them.

“Well then, guess I better endear myself, eh mate? Welcome to the Frog and Toad, Mr Goetia. The shittiest pub this side of Pandemonium. Whatever your spirit, I can keep you swimming in it.” The barman said, offering a grubby, furred hand. His odd rat like features stirred up a deep hunger in Stolas, but there was something off about them. They were perhaps a little too soft, too friendly, his ears too round on his head.

Stolas found he could not resist the desire to ask, “A pleasure to meet you then, my good fellow. I pray I am not prying too deeply, but I am deeply confused by what animal aspect you seem to have inherited in your afterlife. If you don't mind my ask...”

He was cut off by a raised hand, and another deep, cheerful laugh. “I'm a wombat mate, cute, fuzzy, fat as fuck and Australian. Suits me fine too.”

“He says the ladies love the fuzz, but I've never seen him bag a single girl in the years I've been coming here.” Halford picked up his pint and offered it to Stolas in a toast. “I know it seems like I'm just here to drink, Feathers, but there's someone who comes here every night I need to ask some questions about your missing sweetheart.”

Stolas felt the heat return to his cheeks at Halford so casually just accepting and asserting Blitzo and his romantic entanglement and he almost felt like he was deceiving the person who was helping him by being unable to own up to the fact that, well, they weren't an item. As much as he may long for that, he couldn't deny the truth of things. But the falsehood did seem to be contributing to some level of Halfords enthusiasm for the case and he wasn't about to jeopardise that. “I appreciate you clarifying that, Halford. I'll admit I had some concerns.” But by that point Halford was already taking another sip, and the closest thing he got to a response was Halford singing along with the song currently playing, and so he left it, taking his own drink and taking a sip, and immediately being reminded of why he wasn't a big beer drinker when there was perfectly good wine in the world. Still, he committed and by the end of the first pint he found he didn't hate the taste quite as thoroughly anymore.

A cacophony of cheering and applause filled the bar, drawing Stolas' gaze toward the center of the establishment, where his eyes chanced upon a stage that a Sinner was stepping down from, and another one was taking their place, picking up a microphone and fiddling with some screen nearby, and Stolas' eyes lit up. Karaoke. He'd seen it before, but he'd never had a chance to go to a place that actually ran Karaoke nights. He turned to Halford, who was starting on his third beer already, and asked, “How long do you think we have until this person you are waiting for arrives?”

“Long enough to sing a song I reckon.” Halford took another sip and jerked his head to the side, an unsubtle insistence that Stolas go kill some time on stage.

And go he did, slipping as gracefully as he could through the crowd, earning awestruck looks from Sinners, Imps and Succubi alike as he approached the stage, joining the line of demons waiting for their chance to sing, and casting a glance over toward the bar, seeing Halford disappear into the crowd himself.

Song after song was sung on the stage, and Stolas found himself clapping along and singing to the few he recognised, applauding after each performance until he found himself on the stage himself, scanning the crowd quickly for Halford and finding him dancing alongside another Sinner. “That must be the contact,” he reasoned as he let himself return to browsing the song list. It was quite exhaustive. There's no licensing fees in Hell after all. Finally, his clawed finger settled on a song that he vaguely remembered being very into as a teenager, and although it technically wasn't from the 80's, the song they'd heard when they walked in wasn't either, so who was going to complain.

With a press of a button, the song began, and the entire mood of the bar seemed to shift. Actually it had been doing that the whole night depending on the song choice, and Stolas found he enjoyed the somber, almost romantic ambiance as many of the demons began to dance in pairs to the opening notes of Enjoy the Silence, including Halford and the mystery Sinner, for a while anyway.

As he sang, Stolas caught sight of the pair settling back down at the bar, and laughing, touching one another softly, a hand on a thigh, a move to brush hair from a face. He felt a twinge of jealousy. He wanted that. All of that. The quiet moment of connection, in a space where he didn't have to hide. His voice began to strain a little as his heart ached, and tears burned their ways to the corner of his eyes. It was such a silly little thing to see, not just Halford, but the entire bar filled with everyone having their moments of being somebodies somebody, while he stood here alone. And he struggled on with the song, until the moment all hell broke loose and the sound of shattering glass could be heard from the bar.

In his defense, Halford had tried the polite approach and had tried flirting, but if this little shit was going to be so belligerent about helping him find the Prince's lover, he'd remind him of why he kept getting work from the sorts of demons with a lot of money and more enemies. His hand wrapped lightly around the twelfth pint of the night, and with a polite smile, shattered the glass in the Sinners face, functionally tearing it into pieces, before pushing him from his seat and planting a foot on his chest, a frown on Halfords face. “A real shame about that pretty face. If you'd played nice we coulda found that birds boy and had a cute double date, but you just had to be all 'Oh no I couldn't tell you that my boss would kill me' like I fucking won't. Damn, you really fucking fumbled. I got a huge dick and I got a prince for a friend and you fucking fumbled.” He narrowed his eyes to a squint and brought his fingers up to tap on his temples softly, “You should think, hot stuff, god damn. Either you didn't know who I was or you assumed you'd get away with not playing ball but either way...”

The Sinner on the floor was too busy screaming to really respond, but Halford sighed quietly, shaking his head slowly, “Alright alright, look, if you wanna play ball now, then I'm sorry I did this. Hell we can forget this happened and we can go on that double date like we planned. So romantic right?” He picked up the Sinners forgotten shot of vodka and poured it onto the open wounds on his face, flooding the shredded meat, eliciting a much louder response, “Right. Glad we agree. Now then, we gotta go and get the bird and the entire bar wants to kill me, typical. You glass one son of a bitch, suddenly you're the bad guy and a buzzkill. Fine, I get it, I won't glass any of you guys, just let me have this one thing as a little treat.” Halford, turning on his heel, grinding it into the prone SInner, came face to face with the entire bar, weapons in hand menacingly, scowls on their faces, closing in on Halford as a collective mass of barely contained violence, and all Halford could do was shrug, and raise his fists into a boxers stance, throwing a few air jabs.

From his spot on the stage, Stolas saw the entire situation playing out, and he looked around for some way he could help defuse the situation. He'd left his Grimoire in the car like an idiot and he wasn't even sure his gaze would work on Sinners to begin with. And at that exact moment, a large revolver flew on stage to clatter to the floor in front of him. “You know how to use a gun, Feathers? Just point and click and let Lucy do her thing!” Halford yelled at Stolas from behind the crowd, and Stolas quickly picked up the gun, holding it awkwardly, so incredibly awkwardly that both he and Halford immediately realised that giving him the gun was possibly the worst choice, but he still took it. He could at the very least use it to try and defend himself.

With a bloodthirsty shout, the first of the mob charged at Halford, the knife in their hand swinging wildly, slashing at the air as it sought purchase, and it was this moment that they realised they might be outclassed as Halford swayed lazily out of the path of each savage swing, before catching the Sinner in the ribs with a low hook, earning a snap like thunder and a sudden pain in their chest that caused them to topple to their knees, where they got an impromptu make out session with Halfords knee, sending them sprawling backward, watching another Sinner stepping over their prone form to take a shot, and finding there was suddenly the weight of someones head between their legs.

Halford caught another two Sinners by the wrist and doubled over, charging forward headfirst into a thirds stomach, as he yanked his arms toward his shoulders, popping both arms from their sockets, and toppling forward into a rolling, rising uppercut, giving a Sinner the gift of a broken jaw for his efforts. He heard the first deafening boom, as Stolas pulled the trigger finally, and as he looked up at the stage he saw Stolas had managed to throw himself from his feet with a single shot, but had also managed to put a clean hole through one of the Sinners. His momentary distraction earned him a chair over the back of his head, and all that seemed to do was elicit a growl as he rounded onto the assaulting figure with a wild haymaker that sent them sprawling across a table, before turning again and headbutting another Sinner to the ground. Honestly the bodies were starting to pile up, but so was the fatigue.

Stolas meanwhile had managed to stand again, and holding the gun at arms length with both hands, pulled the trigger again, hitting one of the Sinners trying to approach the stage in the leg, despite being sure he wasn't aiming there. He levelled the gun at another approaching Sinner and as he squeezed again, another loud boom, and Stolas suddenly tripped over a wire, scrabbling backwards and aiming for a particularly nasty shark like fellow who seemed very stabby. As Stolas' eyes locked onto the knife he found himself back in Strikers cave and panic set in as he realised he was in danger. The gun shook in his hands and he couldn't find the strength to squeeze the trigger until a familiar voice shouted to him.

“Pull the fucking trigger Stols!” In that second he found the strength in his fingers and blew a hole through the Sinners chest, breathing heavily as the Sinners swarming the stage turned to look toward the voice, and one of them found themselves acquainted with an airborne barstool.

Blitzo had been all over the Pentagram by now and he was in no mood for this shit anymore. Pulling one of the chairs out from under a table he smashed it over the head of the Sinner closest to him before kicking the next closest square in the crotch, with a satisfying pop letting Blitz know it was a one hit knock out. Chairs, pool cues and bottles began to break against the bodies of Sinners as Blitzo carved a path through the mob toward the stage, though the tell tale gunshot sounds let him know Stolas was doing okay at least. An Imp threw a wild left hook at Blitzo, and found their horns suddenly seized by his hands, and their foreheads colliding. “Come on bitches, come get Daddy!!” He bellowed, as he dropped the Imp to the floor and continued his rampage, only to run into Halford and take a swing, that Halford managed to narrowly avoid.

“Hey, sup, you the birds boy? Nice to meet you, I'm Halford, what say we kick their asses then you go make out or some shit? Cool? Cool.” He yelled, before grabbing a body that had charged right at him, tossing it towards Blitzo, who promptly broke a chair over their midair form, driving them into the ground.

“What the fuck did you do to get Stols into this mess asshole?” Blitzo asked, his leg lancing out to trip up a Succubus, that Halford promptly caught in a headlock and tossed to the ground, before wheeling about to shove another Imp into Blitzo, who caught them with a straight arm bar.

“Oh you know, my dashing good looks got some fuckable little twink all obsessed and I had to defend myself, the fuck you think? It's a bar full of Sinners, there was guaranteed to be a brawl, I just didn't wanna miss it, Big Red.” A series of jabs, hooks and crosses caught several Sinners, Succubi and Imps in the jaw, dropping each one with a steady rhythm as Blitzo couldn't help but laugh, headbutting another Imp into the dust.

“Ha, funny, so why are you at this bar with him then? You fucking him? He get a taste for human?” Blitzo felt his choler rise, but he swallowed it down. Stolas was allowed to get laid. He had to remember that. If he wanted to be better for Stolas he had to make the effort. Instead he spent all that anger punching one of the dwindling Sinners right in the dick, earning another delightful pop.

“No chance man, he's too tall for me. I like my men short enough to bully.” Halford tossed another Imp Blitzo's way, the poor Hellborn following a graceful arc through the air, before being hit like a baseball with a chair leg now firmly within Blitzo's hands. Finally the mob seemed to be thinning out, and more than a few of the figures not on the floor were making a beeline for the door, hoping to escape. As Blitzo, Stolas and Halford cleaned up the remaining few daring enough to pick this fight, Halford let out a bestial howl that echoed about the empty bar, followed by a strained, screamed, “Yyyyyyeaaaaaaaahhhhhhh babyyyyyyyy I still fucking got it you fucking pieces of shit! One hundred fifty fucking years and you still can't fucking drop me!!!!”

“One hundred and fifty years?” Stolas asked as he sat down on the edge of the stage. He didn't seem to quite register that Blitzo was there. It was probably the shock.

But Blitzo certainly saw Stolas. Really saw him. Every self loathing sensation he could feel filled him wholly and he began to cry. He had been so close to getting hurt again and he hadn't been there to stop it. Only. He had. As Stolas turned to look at Blitzo, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The last time Blitzo had seen Stolas was at the party, the last time he heard him was a drunken voicemail asking him to meet. If he hadn't been kidnapped he'd likely have been there waiting. He knew Stolas probably wouldn't have shown up. He wouldn't have blamed him at all. He'd been terrible to him. But he would've been there waiting all the same, just for a chance to say the sorry he owed Stolas.

Every second stretched into infinity as Stolas spoke words Blitzo couldn't hear. He was lost now. He burned every inch of Stolas into his mind anew. The heart shape of his mask like face, the fluffiness of his feathers, the curve of his beak. He observed them, seeing Stolas was dirty, but unharmed, and a single word fell from his lips, uttered reverently, a prayer whispered in the presence of the divine. “Stolas...”

Halford saw what was happening, shaking his head as he walked back over to the bar, hopping over and pulling the barman to his feet. “Where's the speaker system here? I gotta do something.” The barman could only point. He was used to Halford starting brawls but this was something else. He really should ban the bastard. Letting the barman go, Halford walked over to the speaker set up, and picked a song to play over the bars speakers, before nodding confidently to himself and giving himself a little thumbs up.

Stolas heard the song and finally the shock seemed to pass him by, and he teared up, wailing, pulling Blitzo into his arms. All sense of decorum forgotten for the moment. He was here. He was safe. “You stupid...”

“Yeah, yeah I am...” Blitzo murmured, as he pulled back from the hug. He felt...wrong...being touched like this. After everything that had happened he didn't believe he deserved to be touched like this.

“Never get kidnapped again, promise me right now.”

“Kind of hard to promise in my line of work-”

“Promise. Me.”

“Fine, I promise not to get kidnapped again geez.” Blitzo hated he was like this. Why couldn't he just say it for Stolas' sake. Why did he feel that stupid need to be snarky.

“I find it hard to believe you when you say it that way, Blitz. You know I...”

“Just say love dammit, why is that so hard,” Stolas urged himself, the voice in his head screaming.

“Care so very deeply about me, yeah I know.”

“Yes. That. I do care, so very deeply for you Blitz. Deeper than I think I can say. So please, just... Just humour me this once.”

“Fine. I promise. No more being kidnapped. So, what's up with the Sinner giving me an aggressive thumbs up?” Blitzo turned and pointed over at Halford behind the bar, a massive sharp toothed grin spread from ear to ear, and a single fist raise, giving Blitzo a shaking thumbs up.

“Halford? He's the man I hired to help me find you, Blitz. I suppose in a way he did?” Stolas tilted his head to the side as Halford brought up a second thumbs up.

“Now KISS!” He shouted.

“What the fuck did you tell him, Stols? That we were starcrossed lovers or something? Like some gay ass love song?” Blitzo smirked, chuckling awkwardly.

“He came to that conclusion himself I fear, I did tell him you were just a dear friend.” Stolas shook his head, and Halford began to frown visibly. The rustle of his feathers was almost soothing to Blitzo and he suddenly recalled why he was even here.

“Shit, fuck, Stolas, you're in danger, there's a group of Sinners out for you. That's why they kidnapped me, to try and get to you.” Blitzo faced Stolas gain, his eyes deadly serious.

Stolas gasped quietly. Blitzo assumed it was the shock of the news. But it was the concern Blitzo showed. It had hurt him beyond all reason that Blitzo had kept the assassination attempt from him, so to know he not only escaped danger, but willingly dove back in to warn him... “Thank you Blitz. It's good to know about...”

“Sounds like a conspiracy to me.” Halford was suddenly in the midst of things again, his hand on his chin as he eyed Blitzo up and down. “So you're Blitz with the silent O hey? Nice to meet you, said that already of course but a fights no place to make pals. Your friend here thinks the world of you you know. Even if he's too chicken shit to show it. Since you're not gonna kiss, I figure we should get out of here sooner rather than later, also you look like total shit Blitz, no offense, it's like your bags have bags.” A hearty slap hit Stolas back, and Halford suddenly found himself on the floor, knocked from standing by a punch he assumed came from Blitzo.

“Fuck, that was kinda hot...” Blitzo muttered under his breath, looking at Stolas' fist where Halfords face had been moments earlier.

Chapter Text

Dust billowed up from behind the van as it sped along the roads of the Wrath Ring, the heat inside nearly intolerable. Apparently one of Strikers stray bullets had put the already struggling air conditioner out of it's misery, and now the trio were drenched in sweat, and confined inside the metal shell of the van, the smell was getting unbearable even with every window open. So it was no small fortune for Millie at least that their first stop was finally in view, after all, Striker and Moxxie could hang out the windows to escape the growing smell, but Millie was stuck driving, stuck inside the miasma, and while there was the familiar, comforting smell of her husband in the mix, Striker was either not a fan of deodorant or genetically cursed to just smell so strong it was comical. Either way, they were nearing the infamous Ride-A-Cowboy ranch, and that meant she could finally get out of the van and breathe, and maybe force Moxxie to drive.

The ranch itself wasn't anything to scoff at, although how much of it could still be called a ranch at all these days was questionable. After a particularly lean year of crop and produce sales, the owner had apparently gone into business with Asmodeus and turned the ranch into a fetish club that capitalised on a growing trend of cowboys being sexy again. 'Give 'em the real cowboy sexperience' was the idea, and it sold well. Really well. Even now there was clearly a large number of visitors today, if the sheer number of cars and horses out front was any indicator. “So, Striker, you ever work here before?” Millies taunting voice reached the back of the Van where Striker was currently hanging out a window, and elicited a chuckle from both Moxxie and Striker.

“Maybe, why, you curious about ridin' the cowboy?” He sneered in response, “And what's it matter anyway?” No one could know he'd worked here as a much younger Imp. No one could be allowed to know. He'd spent too long cultivating his image of being the damn king of the Wrath Ring to let these two know his shameful past of leather vests and assless chaps working at an establishment who's motto was literally 'Save a horse, Ride-A-Cowboy'. It was bad enough he somehow ended up back here, he could only hope none of his old workmates were still here, or if they were, that they wouldn’t recognize him, or have the good sense to just ignore him. To Striker there were far too many variables to his return for him to be fully at ease, and even as the van pulled into the packed parking lot, he found it difficult to focus entirely on the job at hand. “Right, we’re here, let’s get in there and get out of here fast,” Striker was practically groaning with discomfort now, and the other two didn’t fail to notice it. Not one bit.

“Not a fan of this place, Striker?” Moxxies tone was all venom and taunt, and he turned around in his seat, smiling cruelly at Strikers obvious displeasure at their first stop.

“The demons inside are nothin’ but an insultin’ pastiche of a real badass like me. I just don’t like how they cheapen Wrath down to a kink.” Striker hoped the fact this wasn’t entirely a lie made him sound convincing enough that there’d be no more questions from these two assholes, turning away from the front of the van to open the side door and slither gracefully from his rancid metal prison.

As the trio approached the entrance to the Ranch, they found themselves passing more and more succubi, and a few imps, in cowboy hats, chaps and vests. The doors loomed just ahead and the unmistakable smell of lustful indulgence slowly flooded the air, and soon as the trio entered the building, the words “hot, hard buff cowboys. Their cocks throbbing hard,” played over the speakers and Striker immediately turned on his heel and walked right back out without so much as a word. He was going to leave this one to the other two.

M&M made their way toward what appeared to be the Ranch’s customer service desk, the sense of being watched grew stronger and stronger, like every set of eyes was on them. Or at least that’s how Moxxie felt. MIllie, on the other hand, was entirely unfazed by the aggressive ogling they were receiving as she rang the bell on the desk to get the imp behind the counters attention. They turned and Millie cleared her throat before asking, “Pardon me sir, we were lookin’ for…”

“We’re all full up, everyone is either working, or on break. Unless you came to…” He paused, eyeing MIllie lasciviously, licking his lips slightly, “find work? I’m sure the owner can find a job for the two of you.”

As Millie began an aggravating back and forth with the clerk about how they weren’t looking for work, Moxxie felt a hand on his shoulder, and hot breath washing over his ear that caused a most unwelcome raising of goosebumps on his skin, “Hey there handsome, you and your lady friend interested in some company? Or are you after something else?” The words dripped with sexual intrigue and promise, practically horniness in audible form.

“Oh, no thank you?” Moxie stammered in response, unsure how to actually respond to this incredibly forward figure. “Actually, we’re here looking for some information, hopefully someone here can help us track someone down?”

“Oh that’s a shame. I’d love to show you both a wonderful ride, but…” the androgynous figure cast their eyes from side to side and pulled Moxxie in a little closer, his voice dropping to near inaudible levels, “My guess is you’re after those locals that swung past here to vent some frustrations, huh? I got lucky and didn’t need to deal with them, but the poor fuck who did is out the back in the barn, just tell the idiot behind the desk you’re interested in a job then slip out the back door and go talk to him. If anyone knows what you’re after it’ll be him.”

“That’s very kind of you to let me know, thank you.”

“Just keep me in mind if you two want to add a third, yeah?”

Moxxie quickly distanced himself from the cowperson and stepped in next to Millie, who was still arguing with the clerk and making no progress, before he cut in, “Actually, I think my wife and I would love a chance to explore employment at this, uh, wonderful establishment,” before he quickly looked to Millie, pleading silently with her to play along.

“Oh, well yes actually, I forgot that we were also gonna ask about that as well. Silly me.”

The clerk shot them both a weird look, before shaking his head, looking to Moxxie with a frown before opening his mouth again. “These wrath girls, real pretty but I guess they trade brains for it. Alright, you two, head down the hall and head up the little staircase in the back corner that has a sign that says Manager near it, alright?”

Moxxie would hear Millies teeth grinding at the insult, and grabbed her hand softly. He knew she’d keep it together until they got what they were after, but this bastards days were now numbered. “Come on, Millie, let’s go see the manager.” As the pair finally got away from the front desk and headed down one of the halls toward the back of the main farm house, the sounds of moaning, groaning and other lurid noises filled the air. Things somehow only got worse as they exited the building into the yard.

“Well. Blitz would love this place,” Millie wasn’t wrong. Succubi and imps of all shapes and sizes weren’t just playing at being sexy cowboys, there were a few horses in the mix too, leaving extremely little to the imagination besides what might be on the ends of the extra tails they somehow had.

“I’m sure he would, come on Millie, that…I’m gonna go with cowperson. That cowperson told me that we might find someone who can help us in the barn,” The pair were practically playing hopscotch over bodies, as they made their way to the large barn, expecting the very worst sights to greet them, but as they opened the doors, they found an odd sea of tranquility instead.

“Hey, can’t you guys follow instructions? This is the employee break room. Get out of here.” A handsome succubus in a red vest and brown chaps strode over to the pair. He had a black eye, and the scowl on his face made it apparent he was not in the best of moods.

“Dreadfully sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to be the poor soul who had to deal with some particularly aggressive customers today, are you? My wife and I are trying to track those guys down and any help you could offer could be crucial.” Moxxie took a moment to scan the succubus’ face, and he swore he recognised it from somewhere. But he couldn’t quite place it.

“And what do you guys want with them exactly?” The succubus narrowed his one good eye slightly, and clearly winced as muscles in the other one moved unconsciously.

“We’re tryin’ to track down our boss. We’re workin’ with Prince Stolas, so if you help us he might be…” Millie found herself being interrupted again, and hoped this wasn’t going to be a theme today.

“Stolas? As in Blitzo’s ex boyfriend?” The sour note to the succubus’ voice was gone, replaced with concern. “If he needs help, I’m in. I’ll tell you everything I can. Do you guys smell smoke?”

The three of them began to sniff the air, and sure enough there was the smell of smoke in the air. At that moment, Striker kicked the door to the barn in, lassoed the succubus, before deftly pulling him in close and tossing the already beaten down bastard over one shoulder. “Right, you two, we’re gettin’ the fuck out of here! Let’s go!”

“What exactly did you do?” Moxxie yelled as they began to run from the barn toward a pyramid of bales of hay in the corner of the yard. The smokey smell was even stronger now, and Moxxie felt his eyes begin to sting. He chanced a look toward the farm house, and saw it was now in flames. “Striker! What did you do!?” He called out again.

“It’s called justice, Moxxie, maybe if you were a real man you’d recognise it!” Striker tossed his cargo over the fence before clambering over himself, followed by Millie, and finally Moxxie. By the time the two were over, Striker was already most of the way to the van, his newly acquired hostage well in hand. He promptly tossed this borderline victim of the day in through the side door before holding up his hands, closing and opening his fingers in a grabbing motion. “Keys!” He called loudly, “We gotta get going before the owner comes looking for blood.” And recognises me as one of his ex-workers, he thought to himself.

The keys landed firmly in Strikers hand and he practically dove into the drivers seat, starting the engine as Millie and Moxxie leapt into the back of the van before speeding off, kicking up dust and hitting more than a few of the Ranch’s clientele and staff. Peering out the front of the car, Millie suddenly seized the wheel and slammed the van into the clerk from before, with a triumphant yell, “Yeah, bitch! Who’s fuckin’ brainless now?”

Striker, struggling to get the van back under control, cussed quietly as they sped back onto the road and away from the towering inferno he had created. Perhaps today wasn’t gonna be so awful after all, he found himself musing quietly. The road ahead stretched on, and now they had someone to interrogate. Their next stop, he decided, needed to be somewhere a bit quieter.

Chapter Text

The convertible rumbled to a slow stop back outside of Halfords office, and the bar downstairs appeared to be alive, with cabaret music flowing from the door and patrons of every stripe filling the establishment. Including what appeared to be a few of the patrons from the bar Blitz, Halford and Stolas had just trashed. “You wanna bring your boyfriend inside? I gotta deal with our other passenger,” Halford gestured toward the car boot, from which muffled thudding and screaming could be heard, before climbing out and stalking toward the noise, a smirk on his face that promised incredible violence given the chance. As the detective opened the boot, Stolas found his eyes drifting to Blitz, asleep on the back seat, curled up into a little ball and snoring softly. A smile drifted across the prince's features and he ran a finger tenderly along Blitz’s cheek, before getting out of the car himself, and opening the back door. He tried to gently shake Blitz awake, to no avail, and the horribly loud screaming and thrashing of the Sinner Halford was now dragging from the boot by the scruff of his shirt also did nothing to wake the sleeping imp. Although the noise was short lived, as Stolas glanced over toward the struggling pair and saw Halford crouched into a squat, one hand clasped firmly over the Sinners mouth, his blackened fingers digging cruelly into the still ruined flesh of their face, Halfords mouth grazing softly against the Sinners ear in mock flirtation as he growled a threatening, “I suggest you keep it down. You wake up Big Red, and I’m gonna make sure that you want to be found next extermination, okay sweet cheeks?”

The screaming abruptly stopped and Stolas looked grateful at Halford, who nodded softly, before standing again and dragging the now limp Sinner into his office. Finally all the noise, save the soft melody of the cabaret bar downstairs, filtered away to nothing. Perhaps this was the benefit of living in a run down part of the Pentagram. No life after dark. Relative peace amongst the hustle and bustle of Pride. Stolas scooped Blitz into his arms, cradling him softly against his chest, and felt the funny sensation of a purr begin to trickle out of the comatose imp. “You’re safe now, my dear Blitz.” Stolas found the words simply came out, a whisper and a promise in one breath. He softly kicked the back door of the car closed before following Halford toward the office.

At the door, Halford promptly turned to face Stolas, gestured to a small door off to the side of the waiting room and whispered, “Take him in there, Feathers. I got a couch set up for when clients need to lay low. It’s not the comfiest but it’s both of yours for the night if you need it. And hey, don’t worry.” His voice lacked that chaotic, mirthful edge it had carried all day and there was genuine concern in its place, “you’re both safe here with me and my boys. Take a load off, when he wakes up. Talk to him. Find out what he remembers.” With that said, Halford pushed the door open, and stepped inside, dragging his victim into the office, as Stolas turned to enter the room off to the side.

The couch was one of those fold out futons, and once set up would almost fill the room, but it was better than nothing, Stolas supposed. He’d never worked one of these before, but luckily Halford had left instructions on how it worked on the arm of the couch, and within a few minutes, the bed was folded out to use. Stolas stooped to pick Blitz up from the spot on the floor he had left him as he worked, and set his precious cargo down on the bed, before crawling in alongside him, his hand hovering tentatively above Blitzo, unsure if he should give in to his growing desire to touch. A soft sob broke his resolve instantly and he pressed himself in against Blitz, his chest pressed softly against Blitz’s back, the familiar jab of his spines an unexpected comfort amongst the chaos of the day.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Stolas.” The words weren’t conscious but they were genuine. Stolas could hear the heart break evident in them and it was shattering him to the core, his arms tightening around Blitz protectively as he felt the cruel sting of tears in his eyes again. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, that I keep hurting you. That you keep getting sucked into my bullshit. I don’t deserve any of your kindness. Just leave me. It’s better that way.”

“No, Blitz.” Stolas wasn’t sure if Blitz could hear him, feel him, but he was here and he wasn’t going anywhere now. Not after hearing that. “It’s not better. You do deserve this. And more.” He found himself nodding off slowly. The familiar comforting smell, the weight in his arms, that voice. It was a better lullaby than any musician could compose in a thousand lifetimes, and finally pressing his beak against the back of Blitz’s neck, he let his tears flow, a mixture of relief and sorrow, and soon, he was asleep.

When Blitz awoke, he felt a familiar sensation against him, cradling him in safety. Safety he felt he didn’t deserve. Slowly, trying not to wake Stolas, he untangled himself from his comfortable entrapment and walked toward the door. Stolas was safe, and that’s all that mattered. He heard his name slurred sleepily from the bed and every fiber of who he was told him to turn around. To let this happen. But he couldn’t. He knew better than that. He was a destroyer. A ruiner. If he stayed, things would just get worse for Stolas. Just like before. He couldn’t let anyone hurt Stolas, and that especially meant him.

As he exited the side room, he heard a thump from the roof, and he instinctively grabbed a baseball bat conveniently located near the door. Clutching it like a sword and ready to swing, he stepped outside of the office, and down the stairs. The cabaret club was quiet and empty now, and Blitz began to circle the building slowly, trying to determine what exactly had made the noise. He found a ladder leaning against the wall to the roof, and began to slowly climb up, baseball bat still gripped in one hand, ready for a fight.

At the top he found Halford, tumbler full of whiskey in hand and cigarette lit, gazing off into nothing. “Was that noise you?” Blitz asked, looking around to make sure nothing else was up here.

“Yep. Dropped my glass.” Halford didn’t turn to look at Blitz, but he patted the roof next to him, “Come have a drink with me, be nice to have company for once.”

Blitz pulled himself up onto the roof and plodded over to Halford, noting that he did indeed have a second glass, as if he expected company. He also saw that Halfords shirt and face were stained with blood. “What happened?” Blitz sat heavily and immediately was offered a drink.

“Interrogation. He didn’t know a damn thing we don’t already.” Halford took a sip from his drink, then pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pants pocket and offered it to Blitz, “You smoke, Blitz with the silent O? You look like you could use one if you do.”

“Thanks,” Blitz took a cigarette and immediately was met by a lighter. He inhaled slowly, and hated every second of the bitter acrid taste. Even he had better taste than Halford when it came to tobacco it seemed.

“You and feathers are something special huh? Even if you’re both too damaged or stupid to see it,” Halfords spoke, dryly, like he was simply stating a fact, “Who in Hell hires a guy like me, and puts their own life in danger for a ‘Dear friend’? No one, that’s who.” He took a drag of his own cigarette and continued looking straight ahead, toward the centre of Pride. “You’re incredibly lucky you know.” Finally he turned, and Blitzo finally got a good look at Halfords face, his piercing red eyes seemed to drill into Blitzo, demanding nothing but truth, unfiltered and undiluted.

“Lucky? The last time I spoke to Stolas properly I told him he didn’t deserve an apology for the awful things I said to him. Last time I saw him he was so drunk it wouldn’t have mattered what I said. I don’t think that’s very fucking lucky of me.” Blitz spat the words. He had had no intentions of opening up like this, but here he was. Something about this asshole on the roof next to him was dragging the angry bitter truth from Blitz and he hated it. “What the hell do you even know, huh? Sinners have got it way better than imps. You probably have no trouble getting what you want when you want it. Sex. Attention. Love…” The last word caught in Blitz’s throat, the word almost choked out, and Halfords eyebrow quirked upward.

“Love? You’d be surprised there, Blitz. Even at the top, Love isn’t easy at all. It sucks even.” Halford looked Blitz up and down and turned back to the view, “We’re not all that different at the end of the day. Whether born down here or up there, we all want. I want…well let’s not talk about what I want. But you obviously want the Prince. In every way. And you’re up here drinking with me instead of enjoying the warmth of his embrace inside, so safe bet is you also want to keep him at arms length. Some nonsense about being not good enough, or unworthy I bet. Contradictory isn’t it?” He took another sip to punctuate his break, prompting Blitz to speak up.

“Yeah, well…F-Fuck you asshole! You don’t get to pull some infestor demon shit and crawl up inside my head. The fuck do you know about me?” Blitz wasn’t willing to admit he’d got it.

“Oh god I hate infestors, so gross and fishy. Please don’t compare me to them, thanks.” Halford snorted derisively, and tossed his glass from the roof, followed by the sound of shattering glass. “I can tell a lot. I can tell you’ve had it rough from the tapestry you have on your face and arms. I can tell that the moment you saw Stolas that you were frightened, not just of seeing him, but of what might have happened to him. You were wringing your hands, swallowing and sweating. You are painfully obvious, to everyone but the Prince it seems.” Halford let out a loud sigh and lay back on the roof, his voice dry again, “You two never actually sat down and talked properly once, did you? You never told him your fears, and he never told you his. So you were two morons with unreasonable expectations of one another and yourselves, playing off a fantasy of the other rather than the awful reality. Because you didn’t want to chance that he would hate the real, rotten you behind whatever facade you put up. Am I hitting near the bullseye, Big Red?”

Halfords words were pointed. He wasn’t beating around any bushes or leaving any stone unturned and it was starting to fuck with Blitz. “How…?”
“I’ve been both of you and I’ve saved both of you countless times down here. This is Hell. We don’t tend to get a happy ending down here. What we get is hurt. Over and over. By ourselves and others. Forever. Because we’re all too stupid to realise that love is the ugliest thing imaginable. It’s not all skipping through fields, and having great sex and snuggling up to watch a film. It’s…” Halford seemed to choke up, before swallowing thickly and sighing again, “It’s being able to say no to someone. To tell them you hate this. To let them know this scares you to your core. And to know that whatever hideous part of you they see, whatever twisted creature you are under all the pomp and glamour of being human, or imp in your case, they will still sit there and call you beautiful. Say you are worth it. That you did good. And acknowledging that even if those words they say are ones you don’t feel like you deserve, that you don’t get the choice of telling them that they don’t get to feel that about you. Especially not if you love them back” He sat back up, and slowly stood. “The real best parts of love suck so much to get to. But they’re worth it, I think. Even if it means getting hurt. Wounds can heal. Time can pass. Scars…well….they can be sexy. Running away from Feathers because you’re scared of hurting him is doing both of you a disservice. And not telling him your issues is the same. You might need to hurt him a little to make things better.”

“But I can’t! I couldn’t keep him from getting hurt by Striker, and now you’re telling me that I might need to hurt him myself!?”

“I’m just saying that love is an ugly, raw thing that can hurt like a bitch. If you’re struggling…I dunno, think of it like cutting off an infected limb or something. Better to lose a hand than lose everything. Trust me, I know a thing or two about lopping things off.” Halford dropped his cigarette to the roof and stomped it out, before walking past Blitz without another word, the last words Blitz heard from him were, “Gotta make a phone call…”

Blitz was alone now. The silence seemed intent on drowning him in his thoughts. Halford was terrible company but at least the rancid stench of his cigarettes and his ranting kept the negative feelings from taking centre stage but now…

“Blitz?” That familiar gentle voice. Blitz was certain he was just imagining it now. Stolas was still asleep downstairs and the cruel silence was playing a trick on him now. “Blitz?” It was singsong this time. The reality was slowly sinking in for him that he might never get to truly hear it again. That no matter what he chose there was a real chance he’d never… “BLITZ!” His self destructive spiral was stopped when it clicked that it was Stolas calling him, for real.

Pushing himself to his feet and walking over to the edge of the roof, he called down, “Hey, Stolas I’m up here, the roof, there’s a ladder on the side.” He went back to the spot he had been sitting to wait for Stolas, and noticed the bottle had been left here, along with two glasses. But Blitz was certain that Halford had thrown one of the glasses down off the roof.

“Halford said you needed to talk to me about something?” Stolas’ head popped up over the rim of the roof and he slowly climbed up, settling down next to Blitz and cocking his head expectantly.

“Never trust a Sinner, gotta remember that. But… Yeah. I guess I do.” Blitz tried to swallow the lump in his throat, tried to push past his anxiety and fear, and just talk, but when he looked into those big red eyes he suddenly found it impossible to find the right words, to speak, to even breathe. Finally, after what seemed like an endless struggle, Blitz choked out, “Stolas…I…”
“Hey, Feathers, Big Red, get in here, we might have made some progress on your case!” Halfords sudden appearance broke the moment, and the two of them stood slowly, making their way to the ladder.

“Blitz, was there something you needed to say?” Stolas gently brushed his hand against Blitz’s shoulder, a gentle invitation to speak up before they got to the ladder.
All Blitz could manage was a non-committal, “I’ll tell you later.”

Chapter Text

“Aye lad, so what did the boss want ta talk ta ye about?”

Blitz was entirely unsure of which snapped him back to reality. The question, or the fact this imp, who had been speaking in a perfectly typical hellmerican accent when he arrived at the bar downstairs had gone from that to Scottish? “Uh, relationship advice I think?”

“Ach, no, pay nae mind ta him, he does nae ken whit he’s on aboot. A real gobshite.” Blitz could not understand a fucking word but somehow he got what the words meant.

“So you’re saying to just ignore what he said up there? About relationships and love being ugly and all that shit?”

“I mean, if he told ye to be honest with yer boy, then that’s sound advice frae him. But all that weird love is ugly shite? At best it’s a bad joke, aye, at worse he’s out ta harm ye. He’s got a right fascinatin’ track record wit love, lad. Fucked a lot, but the closest he is ta love is an unhealthy fixation on one o’ his employers, a dead ex-boyfriend who was near enough ta bein a fuckin’ Angel himsel and even then I cannae be sure he and Hal even dated, and a horrible cat person who causes insurance rates to climb by his mere presence. I’d nae take love advice frae him in a million years.”

Blitz had to take a moment to process things. This was some utterly insane shit if true.

“What are you two discussing over there hmmm?” Halfords voice cut through the air like a knife, and Blitz felt a cold sweat break out. He’d seen this guy fight in the bar. Add on to that he was immortal, and possibly armed and he was suddenly very worried that he might be in danger if he found out he’d just been badmouthed.

“We wis just shit talkin’ yer relationship advice, Hal.”

Fuck.

“Oh word? Good. My advice is absolutely awful and frankly I have no clue what I was saying to you up there. I think it was supposed to be helpful but I mean I was married while alive and that ended in bloodshed so don’t ever actually listen to me.”

“So wait, there was absolutely no point to us drinking on the roof? What the fuck, man?”

“It was good booze right?”

“No!”

“Shame. Anyway, business. Feathers. Big Red. I have no clue who kidnapped you at all BUT I am blessed with knowledge that helps us paint a bit of the missing picture in. So. You weren’t kidnapped by Sinners. To start with. That happened later. My little informant here.” Halford gestured at the Sinner he had dragged inside who was now curled in the corner, shuddering violently and covered in wounds that appeared to be mostly bite marks, “Has given me a little insight into what happened. You were in the care of a handful of imps and some of those shark looking fucks…not infestors, you know the ones, Seamus help me out here.”

Blitz looked over at the imp Halford had gestured at and right as they were about to speak Stolas spoke up. “I thought your name was Raum…rather odd for an imp to have a Goetia name but…well come to think of it your accent has changed too. Why is that?”

“I owe some very unpleasant folks a lot of money.” The fake accent was back for this one sentence before suddenly he was back to the thick accent he had now. “So, nae more questions aboot my accent, aye? Yer makin’ a mistake askin me aboot the sharks, boss, all I ken is ye fucked that one called Chaz that one time, but beyond that…”

“Wait you fucked Chaz too? Motherfucker gets around.” Blitz could scarcely believe how far that disappointing dick appointment had made it.

“Ah, Chaz. Disappointing, but oh so eager to please. Was he like that with you, Big Red?”

“Ha, fuck no.”

“Shame. He dead yet?”

“Probably.”

Halford clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Damn, I was gonna kill him myself as soon as I could. Shit. Oh well. Fuck we got wildly off track here huh? Anyway, you got double kidnapped by sinners, I wanna confirm, were any of them wearing anything that stood out? Garish tie? Ugly suspenders? Bondage gear?” Somehow without anyone noticing, Halford had a notepad out, and a pen.

“Uhhh…why?”

“Humour me.”

Blitz scratched his cheek as he tried to recall any details. Everything was a bit of a blur of action but he did remember… “The fat ass I fucked up had a tie with hearts all over it.”

“Tie with hearts…Seamus we on the same page?”

“Valentino, aye.”

“Or someone connected to him at least.”

“Valentino? As in the porn guy Valentino? The one that delightful Angel Dust works for?” Everyone turned to face Stolas. “I’m royalty, that doesn’t mean I have to be a prude.”

“Look I knew you liked the porn studios stuff but I never caught on how much of it was Angel Dust’s stuff, Stolas.”

“In your defence, Blitzy, barely anything has come out in the past decade that he’s not in. Apparently Valentino has a type and it is deeply damaged traumatised twinks. Quite the specific taste but then again, I’m clearly also into that since I have so many of his films.” Of course no one had the heart to tell Stolas the reason he liked Angel Dust was because he likely saw a lot of himself in there.

“Still, that gives me some ideas about why Valentino might be after you. Angel brings in a consistent paycheck for sure. But when it’s not an Angel Dust production it’s almost always experimental, pushing some bound.” Halford took a drag of his cigarette and jotted a few things down, and for a split second Blitz was sure he saw that jovial, carefree facade he’d kept up drop. “Most likely the rumours of you two fucking that have been circulating for as long as you two have actually been fucking have reached the Vee’s, and the awful brain worms inside Valentino’s head that make him do utterly terrible things said ‘it’s time to exploit the lower classes’ and he decided now was the time to kidnap Blitz, hold him ransom, and probably have you two fuck on camera. Which would be bad, by the way, it would absolutely rile up the wrong crowd in Hell and you’d both suffer for it.” He added as he glared at Blitz who, judging by his expression, seemed somewhat on board with the idea. “That’d mean you die, Big Red. And Stolas probably loses his station or some shit. Hells bureaucracy is a bitch to navigate.” 

In that moment something seemed to shift in the air, a new tension arose and everyone seemed to hold their breath. “But what if it’s not just that?” The detective ashed his cigarette, and then looked between Stolas, Blitz and the bitten to hell Sinner whimpering in the corner. “He said something worrying. Change things in a big way. What the hell could he mean?” Within a blink, the Sinner was propped back up, held on his feet by burnt hands clasping his shirt collar. “Tell everyone here what you told me, if you’d please.” There was a palpable menace in these words. An unkind reminder to everyone present that Hell existed first and foremost as oubliette and abbatoir. A place for those who fall to suffer, forgotten and lost, until their slaughter.

“Don’t you think this poor Sinner…” Stolas was cut off by a sharp eyed glance from Halford, lasting less than a second before he smiled again, and dusted this victim, there really wasn’t another word for him, down with one hand.

“Ah of course, you’re the person who contracted me, so you get to decide how we proceed. So, my friend…” He turned his gaze back to the Sinner shifting the roaming hand from the Sinners clothes to his shoulder, and ran a finger softly around the rim of what could only be described as a hole ripped from the flesh, “You’re getting a free pass to just talk. You’re good at that, yes? So I suggest you tell the nice Goetia here who’s holding your unlife in his talons exactly what you said to me, it’s in both our best interests.”

Blitz felt an odd shudder run down his spine at this disturbed and intimate moment. Somehow it felt both disgustingly cruel, and unnervingly familiar. He couldn’t place his finger on the reasons why, there was just…something. He looked over toward Stolas, and caught the Prince in a dry swallow. Clearly something was dreadfully wrong here.

The moment passed as suddenly as it came when the Sinner spoke, like the breaking of a spell. “A-All I said was the big spender said he’d gotten a big bonus for a big job from an overlord who’d said it was gonna change things ‘in a big way’. You know getting a Goetia on camera would be a big thing right? There’s the sex tapes sure, but actual professionally produced porn? Come on, you’re being paranoid, that’s all he’d want to make.”

“Paranoid?” The word fell like a lead weight from Hal’s mouth and his fingers tightened their grip on the shirt collar. “Paranoid keeps me in business then. Paranoid solves problems. Paranoid…” He grinned slightly and set the sinner down on his feet, “isn’t what I am, clearly. Just concerned. You know how Overlords can be. All schemes and malice. It could have been some sort of blackmail plot or…”

“Halford, I do hope you don’t mind if Blitzy and I take a moment to discuss this? This is quite a lot to take in all at once after all.” Without waiting for an answer, Stolas dragged Blitz into a nearby closet and shut the door. It was filled with similarly burned clothes, all suits of course, all in varying states of burned disrepair, except for one in oddly perfect condition and even more oddly familiar, almost royal, colours.

“That guy said big like 7 times. I’d get hung up on it too.”

“Blitz, focus, I don’t know if I trust the man I hired to do this job…”

“I mean he sorta found me, right?”

“Yes, that’s true but he also seems a touch…”

“Fucking nuts? Yeah I’m getting those vibes too. You wanna fire him?”

“I was thinking of something like that…perhaps a tactful and delicate…”

The doors were kicked open by Blitz who inhaled, climbed up onto the table and stared at the PI, legs in a power stance and hands on his hips. “Bad news pal, Stolas and I have decided that we’re satisfied with your work so far but you can fuck off now. You’re too crazy for us both.” Failing, of course, to notice Seamus the imp and the colossus of a hellhound both frowning and doing the cut it gesture, hands waving frantically in front of their necks. “So yeah, thanks for all your hard work, your cheques in the mail, we’re out of here.”

“Oh you are huh?” Halford shoved the Sinner he had been neatening back up aside and stepped up onto the table with Blitz, glaring down at him as he closed the distance between them with a bend at the hip, vertical and horizontal gaps snapping shut in one motion. With a flick he sent the cigarette in his mouth careening through the air into an ash tray nearby, and that smile that had been on his face almost this entire time only seemed wider. “You’re done with me? Well that’s a shame, because I’m not anywhere close to done with both of you. Did you read your contract closely, Stolas, Prince of the Ars Goetia? Or did you simply agree to it out of desperation to save your boytoy? I mean if we let any fucker just get out of their contract then what? The order of Hell itself breaks right the fuck down. Anarchy! Violence in the street! Spiders fucking wolves! Moths running the porn industry! It’d be downright irresponsible for me to contribute to an end state like that by letting you just get out a contract you signed. Even if I like you both, because you are fucking entertaining.” The cocked head swivelled to face Stolas’ as he stepped from the closet.

“Hey, you’re gonna get paid, why the fuck do you…” Blitz felt the words die in his throat as he met the ruby red glare of the Sinners side eye, like the air around him had, spontaneously, decided to change its mind about being breathable or used to speak, and it fully rebelled against being trapped inside meat tubes inside a bigger meat tube.

“Answer me, o Prince of Stars.” His voice sing-song, Halford looked away from Blitz to focus on Stolas, and Blitz gasped audibly, as if the unbreathability of the air was a genuine quality it had taken on and after being released from the gaze it had returned to its usual fresh, delightful, two hundred percent humidity and ninety percent horrid diseases and aerosolised blood state. 

“I…I read through it, I simply didn’t find the terms disagreeable. I figured it would simply be a case of rescuing him and being done with this. I hardly thought that you’d…” he gestured at the shredded meat shaped like a man who was still sat on the floor where he had tripped and fell after being pushed. “Torture just seems extreme. Blitz is safe and sound and…”

“Oh ho ho, is he now? Safe and sound? First I’m hearing of this? Did Valentino call you up on your cellphone while you were in there? Tell you his interest in you and your pet here waned and you wouldn’t be followed and chased down? That you were safe and sound? No? Then the contract stands. Until this situation is resolved…” Halford turned back to face Blitz and seized his chin in his hands. “You and your fucked up fantasy dildo reject here are stuck with me.”