Helluva Boss Season One Episode Five: "The Harvest Moon Festival"

 

 

Yet Another Mission

 

Sunlight cast a cheerful reddish light against the polished walls of the exterior of Stolas’ palace. The double doors displayed half a sun and a crescent moon on them, while thin see-through drapes curved over the balcony. Stolas’ sigil glowed on the wall below the balcony. An array of coffin-shaped stained glass windows added to the decorative design.

 

Inside Stolas’ bedroom, Stolas let out a deep sigh of passion. Sunlight shone through the stained glass windows. The tied up curtains, walls and hanging banners all bore small crowns within the family crest designs. Blitzo lit up a cigarette and proceeded to smoke with his hands folded behind his head against the pillows. Blitzo glanced over as Stolas leaned his head toward him.

 

Stolas smiled. “I’m sorry for having to move our little rendezvous early. I have an engagement this month on the full moon.”

 

 

 Stolas briefly moved his head upside down playfully. His gray feathery chest was visible, with leather straps crossing his chest and shoulders. Both his black hands were tied over his head with rope to the headboard. A red ball gag was around his neck and a harness. Blitzo’s chest was a natural red and white and a small black sleeveless jacket was the only thing he wore.

 

Blitzo reached up and pressed his cigarette tip against the rope, freeing Stolas’ hands. Stolas took a long drag from Blitzo’s cigarette.

 

“When this happens, it’s not really something I fuss about,” Blitzo mentioned. “But do you really need the book for this farm bullshit? I have like fifteen new clients waiting for heads to roll.”  Blitzo tapped a finger to his palm several times for emphasis.

 

“As shocking as it may seem, Blitzy, my grimoiiiire is actually incredibly important,” said Stolas. “And it isn’t supposed to be lent out to itty-bitty imps like yourself.”

 

Stolas put out the cigarette on Blitzo’s head and pinched the imp’s cheeks. An annoyed Blitzo grunted and shoved his hand away.

 

“The Harvest Moon is a very special occasion!” Stolas explained. “It’s been my annual duty to showcase it in the Ring of Wrath.” Stolas flexed his thin dark arms while Blitzo pulled a stray white feather out of his mouth in disgust. “It’s celebrated by a very charming little festival with the locals,” Stolas added. Stolas rested his head on his hand close to Blitzo.

 

“Wrath, huh?” Blitzo asked. “My employees are from there. I’ve never really been there. I’ve heard it’s full of inbred chucklefucks.”

 

Stolas sat up in excitement. “Oh! Why don’t you all join me at the festival? I can guarantee you all…”

 

With a playful shake of his shoulders, Stolas pulled the cover over his head. His grinning face then appeared near Blitzo’s crotch.

 

“…special access.” Stolas chuckled, holding onto Blitzo’s legs.

 

“Look, I told you, we’re not bodyguards, okay?” Blitzo explained. “That was a one-time thing we did badly.” The Loo-Loo Land event wasn’t something he’d forget anytime soon.

 

“I’m simply offering a work-free day of fun!” Stolas mentioned. He stood up with the covers on his head and did a playful owl head tilt. “I feel quite safe at the Harvest Festival. It's the same every year.” He smiled, eyes briefly closed.

 

Blitzo sighed. “Well if you promise this isn’t some fuck fest invite, it does sound like it could be a blast and a half. Plus, it’s not like we can do jack shit without your book anyway.”

 

Stolas leaned toward Blitzo and spoke in a baby talk voice. “Aww, I’m sowwy your clients will have to wait.”

 

Blitzo chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, fuck my clients!”

 

0 0 0

 

Meanwhile, a yellow billboard displayed the face of the jester Fizzaroli. The sign read “Own Fizzaroli Bot Today.” The sign was above Moxxie and Millie’s dilapidated house. The windows were boarded up or broken in several places. The two imps slept peacefully in their bed. The design on the magenta headboard was heart-like and resembled imp horns. The top was decorated with pinkish diamond designs, while several daggers and knives were stuck into it.

 

Just then, Moxxie’s phone lit up beside a white alarm clock with a music note on it. An organ sound from the Phantom of the Opera played from his cell phone. Moxxie groggily opened his glowing yellow eyes, pressed a finger to the phone and turned over.

 

The note blared again.

 

Moxxie pulled the covers over his head before grabbing the phone and sitting up.

 

“What do you want, sir?” Moxxie asked groggily. He wore lavender striped pajamas.

 

“Hey, hope I didn’t wake ya, Mox!” called Blitzo’s voice. “How would you and Mils like to visit the Wrath Ring for some harvest bullshit this year?”

 

Millie sat up in excitement, wearing a black tank top. “The Harvest Moon Festival?! Yee-fucking-haw!”

 

Moxxie pinched his nose and sighed in annoyance. “Well, Millie likes the idea.” He paused. “Wait…where are you calling from?”

 

Blitzo then fell down onto the bed in surprise, his phone bonking his head. He had been spying from the ceiling and was now purring.

 

Moxxie narrowed his eyes. “Of course.” 

 

0 0 0

 

Before long, the I.M.P. members were traveling along the road in the Ring of Wrath. (They had traveled from the Pride Ring via a magic elevator: the Hellevator ™.) The sky was a brownish orange with dusty colored clouds in a spiral shape. A tall wooden arched sign was decorated with barbed wire and had a carved eye design and a cow skull attached. The sign read “Rough N’ Tumbleweed Ranch.” Millie wore a torn red sleeveless jacket, a torn black tank top and matching shorts. Moxxie wore a long sleeve white shirt with a dark gray bow tie and long dark pants. Blitzo wore red tipped and black cowboy boots, dark pants, suspenders, a collared long sleeve white shirt and a jacket with red and white spot patterns. Loona wore black shorts with torn red trim, a black tank top and a red plaid sleeveless jacket.

 

Blitzo drove the dark gray van under the sign and stopped not too far away from a white house with dark brown roofs. Standing near a fence were two red-faced imps, a woman and a man. The woman waved as I.M.P. arrived.

 

The red-faced imp male had black and white striped horns and a white mustache. He wore an earth colored vest, a black belt and tall dark boots. White swirl-shaped tattoos decorated his beefy arms. His wife stood next to him with straight black horns with small white stripes on them. Her hair was messy and similar to Millie’s, except it was dark gray. She wore light pants, a white shirt, a red scarf and brown working gloves. Her tail was long and red with white spots on it. Both imps had yellow sclera eyes and black pupils.

 

Millie beamed and raced out of the van with a light-hearted laugh.

 

“Mamma! Daddy!”

 

Millie jumped into her father’s arms. The man happily embraced her. He spun her around before placing her back on her feet.

 

“Yeeee-hawww!” He ruffled Millie’s black hair affectionately. “How’s my deadly little pumpkin spice doing?”

 

“I’m good, Pa!” Millie beamed. “Thanks for lettin’ us stay here for the harvest jamboree!”

 

“It’s no trouble,” her mother said with a dismissive wave. “We know you aren’t making as much anymore since y’all went ‘freelance.’”

 

“Freelance pays fine, Ma!” Millie exclaimed, trying to hide her nervousness. “We’re doing fiiiine! It’s fine.”

 

Millie walked over to Moxxie, who struggled to carry a suitcase.

 

“Anyway, y’all remember my husband, Moxxie?”

 

Millie happily shoved a nervous Moxxie in front of her parents. Both of them glared in disapproval, arms crossed. The father let out a “hmph.”

 

As soon as Moxxie witnessed their judgmental eyes boring into his soul, he knew that he was going to be screwed. “Play it safe,” he thought.

 

“Greetings, Lin! Joe!” Moxxie waved nervously, holding out his hand. “How have you been, uh, with all the…flaming twisters and stuff around here?”

 

“We lost our old farm hand to one of them terrors last week,” Joe deadpanned with a drawl.

 

Moxxie laughed nervously. “Oh crumbs! My bad!” He scratched his horns. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to open that wound… sir.”

 

“Hey, watch it!” Blitzo protested to Moxxie, “I’m the ‘sir’ here, bucko!”

 

“Oh yeah!” Millie added, mentioning toward her co-workers. “Y’all haven’t met my boss Blitz! And his hellhound!”

 

Loona leaned forward in anger, hands on her hips. “I’m not just his hellhound.”

 

“Yeah, she’s my daughter!” Blitzo added, pulling her into a tight side hug to her annoyance.

 

“Only on paper,” Loona said as Blitzo let go. “Y’all don’t deserve to know my name.” She went back to tapping on her cell phone.

 

Blitzo walked over to Millie’s parents, shoving Moxxie backwards. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the sperm and egg factory that popped out this little gem of an assassin! You two raised a sturdy bitch!” He playfully elbowed Millie.

 

Joe chuckled. “That we did! So, Blitz, is it? Heh heh. That’s a fine name.”

 

Blitzo and Joe shook hands as Moxxie peered over with a glare. Leave it to his boss to make friends with all sorts of shady people.

 

“It reminds me of war,” Lin said happily.

 

Joe sighed nostalgically. “Nothing like a little war to make a strong man.” He flexed his bicep.

 

“I like you people,” Blitzo smiled.

 

“War, huh?” Moxxie thought. “So that’s what they’re into. Not surprising. Well fortunately, I happen to know all about it! Time to impress them with what I know.”

 

Moxxie walked over. “You know, more battles were won by technological advances in warfare. I’ve researched the history of weaponry extensively. And it’s inspiring how…for example, the progression of guns utilizing angelic technology has changed the landscape of Hell’s combative…”

 

Moxxie paused as everyone stared blankly at him. Millie made a “cut it out” motion with her hand. Moxxie realized he must have sounded like a geek.

 

“I mean…” he spoke in a deep awkward voice, “War fun.”

 

“Guns get the job done,” said Joe. “But a man ain’t nothin’ if he can’t tear off the head of a hellish beast with only his bare hands!” He rammed his fist into his hand.

 

“Haaaa!” Blitzo called with a laugh. “He’s right, Moxxie!” He then baby talked to Moxxie. "You got cute little baby hands like your baby dick!” He touched Moxxie’s hand and reached toward his crotch. Moxxie angrily slapped his arm away. “Refrain, sir.”

 

“Speaking of strong hands,” Joe said. “Y’all should meet our newest help.” He then called out, “Hey, Striker!”

 

The sound of rapidly clopping hooves approached. Black legs with golden hooves raced across the ground. Small plumes of smoke emitted from the legs and sparks flew off the hooves and onto the rocky path. An imp dressed in cowboy attire rode atop his horse, using his long tan pointed tail to whip the horse’s flank. The imp’s tail moved and hissed like a rattlesnake. The hell horse leaped over a wooden fence and galloped toward the group. With a mixture of a demonic roar and a neigh, the hell horse Bombproof reared up on his hind legs before lowering to a complete stop.

 

Blitzo stared in complete and utter awe.

 

The inferno equine was magnificent. He had a coal black coat and three black ribs exposed underneath him. His underbelly, mane and tail consisted of dazzling crimson and orange flames that matched the speed of the creature’s movements. Three golden circles were decorated near his flank and his flaming tail was also black with small spikes on it. The horse had glowing small holes in his face for eyes, seven black spikes jutting out from his long neck and a few sharp fangs from his elongated mouth.

 

But Blitzo wasn’t prepared to witness the sheer hotness of the rider.

 

“Well, howdy!” Striker greeted.

 

The tall imp had a faded red face with reptilian-like features. He smiled a dazzling grin of sharp teeth, a gold tooth standing out. He had a small black mustache and white hair with two jagged black and white striped horns that pointed upward. His long tail was pointed, with four black stripes and eight accompanying sharp spines.

 

Striker wore a stereotypical brown sun hat, tall cowboy boots, a red scarf and torn white pants. He had a black shirt and a dark navy vest with black cuffs. A light red scarf was around his neck. A straw of wheat was in his mouth. His eyes were yellow and hypnotic with a spiral pattern.

 

“Oh, lookie here!” Striker spotted Millie and jumped off his horse. “You must be the famous Mildred!”  He playfully poked her with the wheat stalk. “Heard some good things about you from your folks, little lady.”

 

He winked at her and Millie laughed sheepishly, waving her hand. They both shook hands.

 

“What’re y’all doing so far away from Imp City?” Striker asked. “Heh. The free working finally slowin’ down?”

 

“Oh no! Freelance isn’t free! It’s a…” She paused. “Never mind. We’re just visiting for the festival. The prince is our boss’ boyfriend!” She said “boyfriend” dramatically.

 

Blitzo glared at her, making a slapping gesture. “Millie, I’m not above hitting a female in front of her daddy.”

 

“Boss, huh?” Striker asked before noticing Blitzo. “Ohhh, so you’re the bold imp to start his own killing biz?”

 

Blitzo grinned smugly. “Yeah, well if you’re good at somethin’, you should probably capitalize.”

 

“Not many imps start businesses on their own. That’s pretty impressive, sir,” Striker complimented with a snap of his fingers.

 

“Oh. Yeah? It is…” Blitzo stuttered. “I-I-I guess, I guess it is, isn’t it?”

 

“So you even conned that ditzy blueblood into gettin’ you to the surface?” Striker asked.

 

Striker and Blitzo shook hands again.

 

“Well, it’s long and complicated but the short answer is, yes,” Blitzo answered. “But he’s not like, you know, we’re not like, we’re not doing it…” Blitzo stuttered. “It’s a transactional fucking, you see.” He did a motion of putting a finger through a hole.

 

“Y’know,” Joe called, “You boys should enter the Pain Games!”

 

Blitzo walked sideways toward Joe in excitement. “I heard games! What games? I’m in!”

 

“Every Harvest Festival, there’s a competition to be the roughest toughest bastard in Wrath!” Lin explained.

 

“Yeah! Wish I could play!” Millie pouted, crossing her arms in disappointment.

 

“Millie,” Lin chided, “You know you get too carried away. The last competition ended in fifteen separate funerals.”

 

“I’m aware, but I only caused nine of them!” Millie protested. “How come Sallie May still gets to compete?”

 

“Your sister doesn’t have a neighborhood head count.”

 

“She so does!”

 

In the background, Sallie May carried a sack while a smaller imp dragged an imp body on the ground.

 

“Doesn’t count if they don’t find the bodyyyy!” Sallie May sang as Millie seethed.

 

“Still, you get to root for her and your brothers and now you can cheer on your boss!” her mother encouraged.

 

Moxxie put a hand on Lin’s shoulder much to her disgust. “You know, she can also cheer for me.”

 

Joe laughed and slapped his leg. Then he raised an eyebrow and pointed. “Wait, you?”

 

“Yeah! I can compete, can’t I?” Moxxie asked. Lin elbowed him hard in the side and he teared up in pain. Joe chuckled.

 

“Sorry boy, but I don’t think sensitive thespian types would last very long in the games.”

 

“I was born here too!” Moxxie protested. Then he drawled, “I have some fight in me!”

 

Striker put a hand on Moxxie’s shoulder. “Huh. Well then little fella, why don’tcha help me wrangle one o’ them hogs for dinner?”

 

Striker mentioned to a large sleeping gray hell hog in a pigpen with large black tusks, spikes along the back and closed eyes on its side.

 

Moxxie held up his head, nose in the air. “Simple. Watch me!”

 

“Nah. With these,” Striker said. He tossed a red knife and some rope into Moxxie’s hands.

 

“Bullets can’t pierce the shell. You gotta get the knife underneath them and pry yourself an openin’.”

 

Moxxie gulped. “Oh, right, right. I knew that.” Moxxie was better equipped for long distance shooting. He was an expert marksman, but not so proficient when it came to raw physical strength. To say Moxxie was out of his comfort zone would be an understatement.

 

To make matters worse, Blitzo leaned in toward Moxxie and grabbed his shoulders.

 

“Now just remember, your rep with the in-laws is on the line here! So no pressure at all, you totally will not make an ass of yourself in front of everyone important in your life.”

 

Blitzo’s words were laced with sarcasm and mockery. Moxxie’s eyes twitched, his pupils dilated in fear. He could already envision being beaten up and sent away from Millie by her parents.

 

“Go get’ em tiger,” Blitzo grinned, shoving Moxxie forward.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Mox, you don’t need to do this,” Millie countered.

 

But her words fell on deaf ears as Blitzo remarked, “Oh, he totally does!” 

 

There was no turning back now.

 

Moxxie hopped over the pen fence and nervously stalked through the mud, rope and dagger in hand.

 

“Kick its ass, Moxxie! Yeeeeaaaaah!” Blitzo hollered, making punching gestures.

 

Taking a deep breath, Moxxie leapt forward and wrapped the rope around the hog’s neck. He brought down the knife, which bounced harmlessly off the hog’s armor shell. The glowing eyes on the hog opened up and the beast let out a ferocious roar.

 

Moxxie yelled out as the hog raced around the pen, trying to buck him off. He held onto the rope for dear life. Blitzo’s cheers added to the intensity and stress.

 

“Fuck yeah, Moxxie! Ride it, Moxxie! Making that bitch you won’t call back in the morning!”

 

Loona snickered. “This is fucking beautiful.” She held up her black cell phone and recorded a video.

 

“Doing great, Moxxie!” Blitzo said with a thumbs up. Then he whispered to Loona, “Send me that video later.”

 

Moxxie screamed and tried to stay on as Millie watched in concern.

 

A shadow fell over Moxxie and he was soon knocked off. He landed in the mud and glared at the figure above him.

 

It was Striker. He twirled the red knife with his fingers and held it high above his head in a smug pose. He brought the knife down hard, straight through the hog’s tough skin. The hog roared and squealed before dropping dead. Striker had slaughtered the beast.

 

“Ow…My clavicle,” Moxxie cried, rubbing his neck. Striker towered over him with a grin, his tail rattling.

 

“Don’t worry, little one. You never stood a chance.”

 

Moxxie bared his teeth in anger as a proud Striker carried the dead hog on his shoulder back to the group.

 

“Hey, boss man,” Striker called to Blitzo, looking at him with a sideways turn of his head. “You wanna help the men skin this thing for dinner?”

 

Blitzo puffed up his chest in pride. “Oh, I am always down to skin the manly meat with the manly men!”

 

“That’s what she said!” Loona called out, as she tapped on her phone and followed the imps inside.

 

“What, ‘who said?’” Blitzo asked before asking in anger, “Wait, what bitch is talking shit about me?!”

 

Moxxie watched the other imps go as he sighed sadly. Millie supported his neck and shoulder.

 

Millie said, “Don’t let ‘em get to you. And hey, you don’t need my parents to respect you. They will eventually.”

 

“No, they won’t.”

 

Millie glared at her transgender sister who had appeared beside them. She wore torn white shorts, a torn black tank top and a red headband with holes. Her black hair had a white spot near the top and covered one of her yellow eyes. A white mark was visible, crossing her eye and thick eyelashes. Interestingly enough, she had the black and white striped imp horns of males.

 

“What? I’m right, ain’t I?” she shrugged in a low drawl.

 

Moxxie couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“Oh I‘mma enter in those games,” he drawled in determination. Millie sighed sadly, already knowing that the outcome would not be good.

 

Sallie May stood up and mentioned to Millie. “Hmm, how pissed would you be if I bet on him dyin’?” She pointed to Moxxie. Millie glared at her again.

 

 

0 0 0

The Festival

Wally Wackford stood on the wooden stage, holding a gray microphone decorated with an eye in the center and small horns on the top. He wore his usual white shirt, vest, white pants and dark boots. He twirled his black cane and tipped his black top hat. Large speakers with skulls on the inside stood off to either side. Nested under a stripped tent in the back center of the stage sat Stolas on a stool. He wore his usual crown, black top hat and royal red robes. The grimoire lay on his lap. A white banner held up by high spears read “Harvest Moon Festival” in bold blood red letters. Stolas’ sigil and a pentagram decorated the banner background.

 

Wally Wackford spoke dramatically through the microphone.

 

“Welcome, I say-a welcome all to Wrath-a Ring’s annual Harvest-a Moon-a a Festival! To kick things up, we have the great prince Stolas-a here to user in this here Pain Games!”

 

Stolas took the microphone from him and chuckled in slight embarrassment.

“How kind, Wackford.”

 

Stolas then addressed the audience. “Greetings tiny Wrath Ring imps! I hereby welcome you all to another year of celebrating the spoils of your labor that continue to feed the citizens of Hell!”

 

A crowd of imps glared at him and several boos were heard. Many of these Wrath imps were impoverished farmers who lived on scraps, meat or good crops if they were lucky. The food they worked so hard to produce was consumed by royalty and those in the other Rings. But the reward for their work was being underfed, underpaid and underappreciated instead. The unbalanced cycle had lasted for generations.

 

Striker too, stared at Stolas with a burning hatred. Here was this owl prince who paraded around in his garb while he had to deal with war and a daily battle for survival.

 

Stolas obliviously continued. “I’m happy to kick off the start of these games that will challenge the toughest imps to show their skill and dominance.” He did a little wave with his fingers. “Good luck to you all!” He noticed Blitzo in the crowd beside Moxxie and Striker and spoke lower. “Especially that sexy little one there! Yoo-hoo! Blitzy!”

 

“Ugh. Fuck me,” Blitzo scowled.

 

A gun went off and the games began.

 

 

The first event was the race. Moxxie was instantly trampled by the other racers.

 

The second event was the high jump. Striker climbed over the high wooden ramp structure with ease and raced after Blitzo who jumped past him. Moxxie struggled to keep his balanced as he reached the top. He slipped down, trying to use his claws to hold on. He fell with a splash in a small puddle…and was promptly chewed on by a monstrous black and white shark with several red eyes.

 

The third event was an event with rope. Striker grinned as he held a tied up Blitzo. Blitzo’s arms, legs and horns were all tied up. Moxxie gulped as a stronger grinning imp tied him up with ease.

 

The fourth event was tug of war. The crowd cheered as the two teams pulled hard. Striker, Blitzo and Moxxie were on a team. Moxxie stumbled and fell into nearby water, where the shark attacked him again.

 

The fifth event was mud wrestling. Blitzo and Striker grinned as they wrestled each other, Striker getting the upper hand as he held Blitzo down, arms locked. Moxxie was instantly crushed in a football hurdle by a group of imps. As they got off of him, Moxxie sat up. And the shark leaped out of the water and over the fence.

 

“Mother fucker!” Moxxie screamed as the shark crushed him. (Moxxie somehow survived all this.)

 

Wally Wackford was back on stage.

 

“I say, I say for the first year ever, we have a tie for winner of the Harvest Moon Pain Games!”

 

Stolas took the microphone from him again.

 

“The winners are…Striker, aaaand my darling Blitzy!” Stolas did a one-legged pose as the crowd cheered.

 

“Just say my name right!” Blitzo hollered. He muttered “Fuckin’ dick!” as he and Striker walked onto the stage.

 

Millie and Moxxie watched from the stands. Moxxie was dirty and bruised, one of his eyes was swollen. He crossed his arms.

 

“Alright, so he has the ‘physical advantage.’ I’m better at other things. Like singing!” said Moxxie.

 

Just then, Striker pulled out a slender dark indigo guitar with knobs made of bones at the top. It was decorated with a brown horseshoe in the center, the guitar curling up into uneven horn-like shapes arching toward the strings.

 

“I’d like to take this opportunity to sing a quick song I wrote just now, about me winnin’.” He strummed the strings.

 

“Oh, what the fuck?!” Moxxie bellowed in disbelief, both his arms extended. The crowd began to cheer. The backstage lights turned pink as Striker began his song. 

 

 

 

“Sweet victory

I smell it sweet

From up in stinkin’ Heaven

To the rugged rocks of Hell”

 

“Sweet victory

With everything I do

With every talent

I’m so much more talented than you

Every time I tryyy

I push it and succeed…me!

Every first attempt at every single deed”

 

 

“Me! I’m totally the best!

The super cool me, handsome guy”

 

 

A fangirl imp squealed with tears in her eyes as she raced over to the stage. Striker kicked her in the face, sending the happy imp into the arms of a larger imp. The girl was then mauled by a group of vicious imps.

 

Blitzo arrived with a slice of Swiss cheese on a stick. He happily jumped into the spot next to Moxxie and Millie, taking a bite of his snack.

 

“Isn’t this guy great?” Blitzo asked, his mouth full.

 

 

“False!” Moxxie declared. From the moment he first saw Striker, Moxxie’s instincts told him that he was not a trustworthy person.

 

 Blitzo squirted some red hot sauce onto his cheese and took another bite. “It’s gonna be nice workin’ with him!”

 

 

Moxxie couldn’t believe his ears. “Working with him? What?!”

 

 

“Yeeeeaaaah! I asked him if he wants to join I.M.P.”

 

 

Moxxie’s worst fears had come true. Not only was he not good enough for Millie’s parents, now his own boss was turning on him. Striker taking his place at work was unthinkable. There was no way he could bear to be around that pompous cruel bully of an imp every day. Was he really just a slapstick joke to everyone? He could already see Loona laughing her ass off.

 

It would surely only be a matter of time before Millie would leave him too. At worst, she’d be with Striker and they’d all be murdering buddies at I.M.P. without him.

 

“You asked…but…” Moxxie began.

 

 

Moxxie lowered his head, visibly hurt. Millie sensed that something was wrong.

 

 

“Mox, I think you’ve had enough for now. Let’s head back to the house and get you clean.” Millie lifted his chin up and Moxxie smiled a sad smile.

 

Striker glanced over at Moxxie with a cruel grin. He sang, “Heh. Moxxie go fuck yourself!”

 

Tears spilled out of Moxxie’s eyes as he scowled and turned away. Millie led him back to the house.

 

“Did you hear something? It was just the wind.” Striker finished in song as the crowd cheered. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

 

The sky was blazing red and yellow lava spheres glowed at the top of large volcanos. Back at the ranch, Bombproof the hell horse ate a dead animal carcass near a bladed windmill. Blitzo lay on his stomach, feet in the air, watching the horse with utmost adoration.

 

Meanwhile, Millie and her parents watched as her brothers helped load jack-o-lanterns onto a wooden cart in front of the house. A large eye was part of the house design. Millie happily waved to her siblings and wandered off.

 

0 0 0

Inside the house, Moxxie walked glumly up some stairs. A growling red bull head hung on the wall from a plaque. Moxxie glanced over at a portrait from inside a red skull frame. It was a black and white picture of Millie’s family. There stood Joe and Lin in the very center. Then there was Millie May, her sister Sallie May, and her three brothers: Billie May, Willie May and Tillie May. Moxxie ran his hand along the smiling Millie in the picture.

 

She and her family looked so happy.

 

Sure they were crass, and very wild…but they were still strongly bonded together. A real family.

 

 “I’ll never be a part of her family,” he thought. “No matter what I do…I’m just not strong enough.”

 

He then thought back to his own parents. The negligent assholes who were more preoccupied with alcohol, money and violence than their own son’s well-being. No wonder he dreamed about them being murdered. Theater helped Moxxie escape his harsh reality for so many years. On stage, he could sing, act and become someone else. Phantom of the Opera had always been his favorite. In a way, his love of theater and murder (to some degree) was how he bonded with Blitzo and Millie (and even Loona at times). His expertise with weaponry had made him a great addition to I.M.P. Now, more than ever, Moxxie wanted to prove he was good enough…to help the others see reason.

 

Moxxie closed his eyes, lowering his head as his horns softly impacted the wall.

 

 

A faint humming sound made Moxxie open his eyes and lift up his head. Moxxie noticed a sliver of light coming through the crack underneath one of the white doors. He raised an eyebrow. His cloven hooves stopped in front of the door, catching the light. The humming grew as he stepped closer.

 

“Well that’s troubling,” he commented.

 

Moxxie opened the door and peered around. No one was in the bedroom. Nothing but a gray ceiling fan, a bed with a skull on the headboard and a nearby vanity on a dresser.

 

Moxxie almost froze when he spotted the source of the light and the humming sound. It was coming from a box on a table. He walked closer to inspect it.

 

“Oh my crumbs!” he breathed, his yellow eyes wide and shining.

 

Sitting in a brown gun case lay an intricate and very expensive looking rifle. It was a dark reddish color with glowing white swirl-shaped designs along the side. The area near the trigger was decorated red. A white Ichthys fish Christian symbol was on there as well.

 

In fascination and dread, Moxxie ran a hand along the side.

 

“A genuine carmine crafted blessed-tipped rifle!”

 

A weapon with angelic bullets.

 

Moxxie stared in disbelief. “How…how in the fuck did he get one of these?!”

 

“Why don’t you ask me, little dude?”

 

 

That familiar dark southern drawl…Moxxie’s hairs stood on end.

 

 

Moxxie whirled around. “Shit!”

 

 

Striker was leaning against the doorframe.

 

 

Moxxie glared in suspicion and anger. “W-why do you have this?! Mister!” He pointed a finger at him. “You are aware this kind of weapon can kill…”

 

 

“…demon royalty,” Striker finished.

 

 

“Yes. That.”

 

 

“No shit. That’s kinda the point,” Striker remarked. He flicked the wheat stalk away, running his claws along the door before shutting it.

 

Moxxie stepped back and stuttered. “Okay. Well I’m…I’m relatively concerned by your possession of this…”

 

Striker grinned sinisterly, advancing toward Moxxie like a predatory rattlesnake. Striker’s pointed tail hissed in anticipation. Moxxie was cornered by the table behind him.

 

“I’m also glad my instant dislike of you has been vali…dated!” Moxxie added before gasping.

 

Striker wrapped his tail around Moxxie’s throat, causing the imp to gag. He tossed Moxxie hard against the wall, where he slid with a thud to the floor. Moxxie sat up and clutched his head…then Striker was upon him. Strong hands firmly gripped Moxxie in a chokehold. He struggled to free himself but Striker held him down with his body weight. Striker’s butt and legs were dangerously close to Moxxie’s crotch. Striker easily avoided Moxxie trying to claw at him. A glint caught Moxxie’s eye and he noticed a red glass vase on a nearby table.

 

With a grunt of effort, Moxxie kicked at the table, sending the vase crashing onto Striker’s head. Millie heard the crash from outside and raced toward the house. A freed Moxxie stood up and ran as fast as he could toward the door. Panting…panting…almost there…

 

He managed to open it before Striker pulled him back by his tail with a forceful yank!

 

“Aaah!” Moxxie screamed before his mouth was covered by Striker’s hand. Beams of red light shone into the room as Moxxie struggled in vain to get free. Striker leaned down and pressed his body weight against Moxxie, pinning him in place. The seconds dragged by, Moxxie losing consciousness. Moxxie’s eyes started to flutter, his body going limp and weaker as Striker held his chin.

 

Striker chuckled evilly. “Pathetic.”

 

It was all over…

 

A sudden slash of pain shot through Striker and he screamed. He let go of his captive and Moxxie fell to the floor.

 

Through bleary eyes, Moxxie could see the fierce figure of Millie. She was stabbing Striker in the back repeatedly with a knife. Her mouth was open in a snarl, her sharp teeth revealed, veins popping out near her glowing red pupil-less eyes. Little crosses were shown in her eyes instead. She was feral, ferocious…and never looked more beautiful.

 

She jabbed and stabbed again and again, black blood splattering this way and that. She then leaped onto his shoulders, a knife against his neck. Striker angrily moved around and gripped one of her hands. He grinned and rammed Millie hard against the wall.

 

Thud!

 

Millie collapsed to the floor next to Moxxie, grimacing in pain as a fresh wound in her leg oozed black blood. Moxxie weakly reached for her with a shaking hand. Striker had wounds of his own, but his thicker skin had saved him from the brunt of Millie’s attacks. Striker grinned triumphantly above them, grabbing them both by their hair.

 

A cellar door was opened.

 

“Millie!” Moxxie cried as he tumbled down the stairs and onto the floor. Millie tumbled and followed suit. Unfortunately for her, one of her legs got caught in a black bear trap.

 

Snap!

 

“Owwww!” she cried out, black blood pooling onto the floor. Moxxie gasped in horror.

 

Both imps looked up at their captor.

 

“I’d kill y’all but I feel like there’s more leverage with your rodeo clown of a boss if I don’t!” His spiral reptilian eyes gleamed menacingly in the dim light. “Plus you little things aint’ worth the cleanup.”

 

Moxxie raced up the stairs toward Striker, but he promptly shut the wooden doors. Moxxie banged on the doors before racing toward Millie.

 

“Millie!” He leaned down and saw her wound. Oh, Satan!”

 

Millie tried to pry the trap off. “Moxxie, I’m fiiine!” she reassured. “I got worse than this during the flower tufts at my brother’s weddin’.” She let out a small smile and clenched her fist. “But I caught that fuckin’ bouquet and it was fuckin’ worth it. You just have to get out there, and fuck up that brown nosin’ cocksucker for me!”

 

Moxxie hung his head. “But I can’t break through it. I’m not strong enough.”

 

Millie lifted his chin. “Not with your hands, baby. Use what you’re good at.”

 

“I’m not good with my hands?” Moxxie asked. Millie gave him a look and narrowed her eyes.

 

Moxxie chuckled nervously. “Oh right. Yeah. Yeah.”

 

He pulled out a red and black pistol with a music note on it and fired a hole in the doors. The lock fell off. He pushed the doors open, revealing a sunset sky.

 

“I probably should’ve used this earlier, huh?” he chuckled, pointing at his weapon.

 

“I love you hun…” Millie said with a laugh and a roll of her eyes, “but for fuck’s sake!”

 

 

0 0 0

Back on stage, after tapping the microphone, Stolas magically flipped through his grimoire, which hovered in front of him.

 

“My dear commoners of the Ring of Wrath! I Stolas of the Ars Goetia, hereby curse this year’s harvest with the glow of the true Harvest Moon!”

 

The sunset sky swirled above him until a portal appeared with a light purple sparkly rim. The portal revealed a beautiful pink-orange colored full moon in a clear starry night sky. The imp audience oohed at the splendid sight. One of them yelled out that he knew that Stolas would do the portal trick.

 

Not too far away, Striker focused on his target, his rifle drawn. Stolas’ face was shown in the reflector, the glowing white lines centering on his forehead. Striker chuckled darkly and prepared to take aim, wheat stalk in his mouth.

 

A click sounded behind him. Blitzo stood with his tan flintlock pistol pointed at Striker.

 

“Uh, excuse me? The fuck?!”

 

“Bliiitzo!” Striker cooed and turned around in surprise. “I thought you were still at the ceremony!”

 

Blitzo scowled. “You thought I wanted to stand around with a bunch of hillbillies excited about corn n’ shit with a thirsty owl on stage?!”

 

Striker stood up. “Huh. And now you seem disappointed in me.”

 

“Yeah, well I’m not a fan of someone I offered a job to about to off my easiest lanky ticket to Earth behind my back.”

 

Striker casually leaned against the window frame, one leg propped up, arms crossed. Striker spit out the wheat stalk and Blitzo pointed his pistol at him.

 

“Blitz, come on,” Striker said. “You know the two of us are superior than most of our kind.” He strode forward while Blitzo stepped back nervously.

 

Striker continued, circling around Blitzo like a vulture. “And you were so above suckin’ on a disgusting rich pompous Goetia, only to sneak topside for scraps and work for bitter sinners who could care less who you are when you could be slaying Overlords.”

 

Blitzo froze, pupils darting back and forth. How did Striker know all of that? Blitzo stood conflicted, as Striker continued to try and get inside his head.

 

Striker’s shadow darted in the darkness, and Blitzo pointed his rifle again.

 

Striker continued. “Why struggle to run a business that is rigged against you? When you could partner up with me…”

 

Striker appeared in Blitzo’s face, fingers curled, “and kill the un-killable?”

 

Blitzo was soon pinned against the wall, both of Striker’s arms on either side. He watched Striker’s chest rise and fall. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He was sacred…but he also felt something else.

 

“Starting with the one who treats you like a plaything?” Striker said, his eyes glowing, red pupils, long tongue briefly out. Blitzo blushed, a throbbing starting from inside his pants.

 

Arousal. The thought of being free from his struggles. Joining this powerful and very sexy man in front of him. He could just leave Stolas and the others behind…pursue his carnal desires without judgement or limitations. Defeating Overlords, becoming rich…no longer the bottom of the hierarchical chain. How easy and tempting it would be to just…forget.

 

“Oooh that’s kinda hot,” he spoke in a low flustered voice. He was already starting to get lost in Striker’s hypnotizing eyes.

 

“We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitzo.” Striker leaned closer.

 

 

Who needed I.M.P. when Blitzo and Striker could do a special business of their own? He would no longer be obligated to please Stolas with various sexual shenanigans. He could finally decide things for himself, get full control over his life.

 

 

“Wow. That was a good fuckin’ pitch,” Blitzo whispered.

 

 

“Been workshoppin’ it.” Striker moved Blitzo’s pistol away.

 

 

But wait. His employees… He couldn’t leave them all behind. Where would they go? What would they do without him?

 

Loona. Stolas. They actually cared about his well-being, didn’t they? He loved Loona like his own daughter. And he had to admit; as pompous as Stolas was…he tried his hardest for both him and Octavia. Striker only liked the strong and powerful. If Blitzo were to get hurt, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Striker only cared about himself.

 

 

Blitzo sighed and stared off to the side. “Y’know what? Fuck it.” He grinned. I’m in!” Striker grinned too. Now he could use Blitzo to his heart’s content. No one would mess with him now.

 

Click.

 

Striker hissed as Moxxie appeared behind him, holding his prized rifle.

 

“Huh?”

 

Blitzo grinned. “Took you long enough, Mox! Ha ha! Wow, you should’ve seen your dipshit face!”

 

Striker seethed in anger.

 

“Wait…woah,” Blitzo began. Striker’s tail had wrapped around Blitzo’s knife as he held it behind him.

 

“Okay, cliché much?” Blitzo asked.

 

Striker punched Blitzo in the stomach before moving Blitzo’s pistol. The gun went off. Moxxie gasped as he blocked the bullet with the side of the rifle. Blitzo seethed in anger at Striker trying to use him to kill his friend. 

 

“Oh, you daddy fucker!”

 

He clamped down hard onto Striker’s arm, the cowboy imp crying out. Blitzo elbowed Striker, sending him back. The two imps them fought and landed punches and kicks. A series of grunts were heard. Striker looped his arm around Blitzo’s arm and shoved him away. Blitzo crashed backward into Moxxie, sending both imps to the floor. Moxxie spotted the rifle and reached for it. Striker pinned down Moxxie’s arm with a boot.

 

“You dumb fucks lost the upper hand fast, huh?” he smirked, scooping up the rifle and aiming at them.

 

“Ha!” Blitzo declared. “You seem to have forgotten something, fucko!”

 

He moved his fingers to his lips.

 

Wheeoo-wheet!

 

His whistled several times. From outside, Loona’s ears perked up, but she continued tapping on her phone, ignoring him.

 

“Ugh, fuckin’ damn it, Loona,” Blitzo muttered. 

 

“It’s a damn shame, Blitzo,” said Striker. “We might actually’ve made a good team.” He chuckled and aimed. “Ah well.”

 

“In your wet dreams, you honky-tonk goat!” Blitzo yelled.

 

He swiped his foot forward, tripping Striker. He got up and karate-kicked Striker away, causing him to drop his rifle. Moxxie grabbed it and growled. Blitzo then raced toward his foe and knocked his head with a vase. He landed hard punches at his face, while also swiping his tail at him. Black specks of blood fell from Striker’s nose and mouth. Blitzo used his tail to wrap around Striker’s waist, and promptly tossed him to the side. He landed in a corner with a yelp. He moved again, but Moxxie fired a warning shot near his head.

 

Striker remained silent as Moxxie and Blitzo closed in. Blitzo aimed his pistol at him, the bronze surface glinting.

 

“I still think it’s embarrassing,” Striker drawled to Blitzo, his gold sharp tooth glinting. “You’re wasting a lot of potential relyin’ on a weak little…”

 

Moxxie fired another warning shot, clipping off part of his cowboy hat. “You gonna finish that fucking sentence? Pard’ner?”

 

Striker just grinned in his defeat. “Vermin.”

 

“Who’s weak now, bitch?!” Moxxie mocked before a door slammed into his face.

 

“’Kay, I’m here,” Loona called as she stepped through the doorway.

 

Striker narrowed his eyes and used the distraction to slap Blitzo’s pistol from his hand. He retrieved the rifle on the floor before racing on all fours toward the open window. He grinned again at Blitzo.

 

“I tip my hat to you, one legend to another. Maybe you’ll get me next time… Blitzy.”

 

He grinned and leaped out. Blitzo aimed his gun again, but Striker had disappeared into the shadows. He stared at Stolas obliviously finishing the festival. Blitzo then hurried outside to warn Stolas of what had just occurred.

 

Blitzo skidded to a stop near the stage. Unfortunately, Blitzo saw the tips of Stolas’ gray tail feathers disappear through a portal back to his palace. The portal sealed and the sky closed overhead, revealing a plain night sky and no moon. The festival was over.

 

0 0 0

Back at the ranch the next day, Lin bandaged Millie’s arm as she sat with her foot in a cast. Moxxie struggled to close a suitcase stuffed with clothes.

 

“I can’t believe you let him trap you, Millie! Haven’t we taught you better?” Lin chided. “Never let your guard down! You could’ve been killed!”

 

“I was seein’ red, Ma!” Millie argued. “And he was slippery!”

 

“Excuses!” Lin barked. “You’re better than that, Mildred!”

 

Moxxie seethed and closed the suitcase. He couldn’t take it any longer. With newfound determination, he marched over to Joe and Jin.

 

“You know, she protected me. And maybe I’m not a…” he drawled in a low voice, “…strong beefy dickhead…” he continued. “But Millie has the strength enough for both of us!”

 

Millie smiled and gave him two thumbs up.

 

“You two are getting on her case about her getting hurt by a psychopath you hired?!” Moxxie waved a nagging finger and drawled in a cowboy voice. “Shaaame on you!”

 

Blitzo appeared beside Moxxie with puppy dog eyes and his baby-talk voice. “Aw, Moxxie, look at you. Speechin’ like a big boy with his big paaaants!”

 

Blitzo pointed toward Moxxie’s crotch and Moxxie glared.

 

Joe stared at Moxxie for a moment, surprised by his sudden determination. Perhaps he felt guilty about not knowing who Striker really was. At a loss for words, Joe nodded curtly to Moxxie and went with his wife into the house.

 

Millie beamed in amazement. “Wow! He nodded!” She stood up and walked with two crutches. “He’s never acknowledged your input before!”

 

Moxxie stood in thought and confusion. “Sooo, is that progress?”

 

0 0 0

Somewhere in Wrath Ring lay a very shady motel. The sign had a border of round lights and a neon yellow cowboy hat on it. It read in bold letters “Hideaway Motel.”  “Hideaway” was in white cursive, while “Motel” was in bold neon yellow with horns sticking from the “M.” “Vacancy” was in a red neon cactus. In movie theater style font below, it read: “The guy that tried 2 kill u def isn’t here.”

 

The windows were dark, broken and bordered up. Save for one room on the second floor that had a light shining from it. Lopsided broken blinds were in the lit up window. Inside the room was peeling wallpaper and a bathroom with a sink and a broken mirror.

 

A long pointed imp tail hissed as the figure pressed a phone to his ear.

 

“So…is it done?” came the other voice.

 

“Huh,” came the drawling male voice. “I failed to kill the target at the festival.”

 

“I granted you that weapon. Just because I could afford it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to get,” said the other caller. “You still have it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good. Perhaps you can prove me wrong about my assumptions of your kind.”

 

“Don’t forget how much money you offered me. And additional food.”

 

“You’ll only get it once the deed is done. Only the most infamous assassin is worthy of this job.”

 

Striker was lounging on a bed, an orange old fashioned phone in his right hand, while his left hand twirled the glowing angelic rifle. He beamed with pride. “That I am.”  

 

“I’m not doing this out of kindness, imp. You’re a means to a greater end.”

 

Striker hid his distaste. He was willing to do whatever it took to get that money…and the potential fearful respect that came with being the one to kill the prince.

 

How satisfying it would be to see the living symbol of all the hardships of the denizens fall before them. Royalty itself would feel the pain that the Wrath imps had felt for years. If royalty could be killed…who knows how much more powerful Striker could become. He already envisioned himself wealthy and leading the imps to a greater prosperous future. No more moments to be shoved aside like dirt.

 

Striker would be the rootinest tootinest cowboy in all the…

 

“Do not disappoint me again,” came the other voice, snapping Striker from his daydreaming.

 

“I failed. But don’t worry, ma’am, it won’t happen again.”

 

On the other line, slender clawed fingers drummed the table. “It better not!” Another hand slammed down on the table.

 

“I want this cheating prick dead!”

 

It was Stella Goetia, Stolas’ wife. Her glowing pink eyes radiated in fury, her white feathery face devoid of its usual regality.  “I don’t care who you have to go through! Make it happen!”

 

Stella sat with her family at the dinner table at the palace. Plates of pancakes, meat and peas were in front of them. They sat in purple cushioned throne-like chairs. She bared her teeth at her husband, who stared at her in concern, a pancake hanging onto his fork. He held a book in his other hand at the dinner table titled “Imps in the sheets.” In another chair, Octavia was bobbing her head to some music. The imp butler peered over the table with worry. No matter what side he’d decide to take, he was probably screwed. Stella briefly worried that she had gotten caught, but neither one of them had noticed.

 

“Understood,” replied Striker before Stella hung up the rotary phone.

 

Striker twirled his rifle again. He’d go through anyone he could. Succubi, imps, sinners, the Seven Deadly Sin Ring rulers. Perhaps even fallen angels. He knew how smooth his words were. There were bond to be other enemies of Stolas and I.M.P. around.

 

Striker twirled his black rifle, which had a glowing eye, white crosses, six glowing white wings and a small white halo on it, another angelic weapon. “I’ll get him next time.”

 

Striker chuckled darkly before turning off the lamp. His eyes glowed in the darkness as he emitted a rattlesnake hiss.