Stephie Ombre

.7 - 𝙨𝙖𝙙 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; s3lf harm, depression, bulimia, mental health issues, self hatred, stuff like that, and just like my other stories... lots of angst!

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐀𝐃 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

─ ✩ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 ; here

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

as striker rode off with bombproof, you were left alone in the dimly lit hideout. the minutes ticked by slowly as you sat there, your thoughts swirling with confusion and uncertainty. you couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, and striker's cryptic conversation with his 'client', had only added to your unease.

with striker gone, you decided to explore the hideout a bit more. you gingerly got up from the bed, wincing as the pain from your injuries throbbed through your body. you moved through the dimly lit space, taking in the eerie ambiance created by the rivers of molten lava that flowed nearby.

as you walked, you couldn't help but notice the rather bizarre feature of the hideout—the large statue of striker. it was an imposing sculpture, capturing striker's imposing figure in all its glory. however, what drew your attention was the... unique detail of the statue.

you couldn't help but stifle a laugh as you took in the sight. there it was, a large and rather exaggerated rendition of a certain part of striker's anatomy. the juxtaposition of the fearsome demon and the comically oversized feature on the statue was both absurd and amusing. it left you wondering what kind of demon would commission such a piece.

as you examined the statue more closely, you couldn't help but wonder if it was an accurate representation or simply a humorous exaggeration. after all, demons in hell were known for their penchant for extravagance and eccentricity. the thought that striker might have had a say in the creation of this statue, even indirectly, made you chuckle despite the bizarre circumstances.

.. moving on

the hideout held an odd mix of roughness and comfort. the bed you had been resting on was not surprisingly uncomfortable, and the makeshift saloon had a rustic charm to it. it was a strange place to find yourself in, trapped with a demon who was both your protector and a source of fear.

you decided to make yourself useful while striker was away, partly to distract yourself from your worries. you found some ingredients in a nearby cabinet and attempted to cook a meal. however, it quickly became evident that striker wasn't much of a cook. the result was a rather unappetizing and burnt dish that you couldn't force yourself to eat.

with your failed attempt at cooking, you resigned yourself to waiting for striker's return. you sat by the window of the little saloon, gazing out at the rivers of lava and the eerie glow they cast across the hideout. your mind was filled with questions, but for now, all you could do was wait for the enigmatic demon to come back and provide some answers.

you sat there in the dimly lit hideout, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. striker had left you alone with no explanation, and you couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. the hideout was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint crackling of the molten lava rivers outside.

suddenly, the silence was shattered by a cacophony of voices singing in an enthusiastic chorus. your heart jumped in your chest as you looked around, bewildered by the unexpected intrusion. who on earth could be making such a racket?

but before you could even process the situation, striker burst into the hideout with a dramatic flair that sent a wave of heat and ash billowing into the room. he looked positively furious, his eyes blazing with anger as he yelled at the unseen singers.

"shut the fuck up! i'm tryna do my fuckin' job! you comin' in here singing about me for the millionth. fucking. time! leave me the hell alone, you freaks!" striker's voice echoed through the cavernous hideout, and you couldn't help but cower under the intensity of his rage.

the singing abruptly stopped, and there was an awkward silence in the wake of striker's outburst. but then, from behind the imposing cowboy, another voice chimed in, "how does one get their own theme song?"

you couldn't see the speaker clearly at first, but as striker turned, you caught a glimpse of a tall and regal figure tied up on the back of a horse. it was none other than stolas, the prince of the ars goetia, looking disheveled and thoroughly unimpressed with the situation.

your confusion deepened. why on earth was stolas tied up on the back of striker's horse? it was a bizarre sight that made no sense at all. stolas' expression shifted from annoyance to mild curiosity as he noticed you sitting there, bewildered and uncertain.

for a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to react to this surreal scene. the tension in the room was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble striker had gotten himself into this time.

striker's intentions became painfully clear as he roughly lifted stolas from the back of bombproof and tied him upside down to the nearby train tracks. stolas struggled against his bonds, his feathers ruffled and his dignity in tatters. his eyes, once filled with annoyance, now held a hint of desperation as he realized the dire situation he was in.

"so, my wife paid you for this, hm..? wouldn't a holy bullet have sufficed?" stolas quipped, attempting to maintain some semblance of composure despite his precarious position. he couldn't help but taunt striker, trying to get under his skin.

striker's smirk momentarily vanished as he turned to face stolas. "or could you not afford those?" stolas' words had clearly struck a nerve, but striker quickly regained his cocky demeanor. "i was paid to give you the real royal treatment! your wife must really hate you," he sneered, brandishing a strange-looking knife and twirling it between his fingers.

stolas, still hanging upside down and clearly uncomfortable, sighed dramatically. "you have no idea," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for something. they landed on you, and he suddenly seemed even more perplexed.

"who is this?" stolas inquired, his voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity as he looked directly at you. "what are they doing here? are you going to kill them too?" he snorted

striker sighed in annoyance, the tension in the room thickening with every passing moment. "they're just a... guest," he replied cryptically, unwilling to divulge any more information.

stolas continued to observe you, his mind clearly racing with questions. "a guest, you say? in the middle of an assassination attempt? that's quite unusual."

striker didn't say a word to that, but you were even more confused. assassination attempt? no way...

"so... train tracks... really? reems a bit cliché, doesn't it?" stolas remarked, his tone laced with sarcasm. striker shot him an annoyed glance. "it's a classic," he retorted defensively, his irritation mounting.

stolas couldn't resist needling further. "is the giant statue of yourself also a classic or..." he began, his words trailing off as he glanced at the imposing figure of striker's statue. the absurdity of the situation was not lost on you, and you couldn't help but let out a small, involuntary snort of laughter.

striker's patience wore thin. with a hiss of frustration, he removed his hat and flung it up onto the statue's exaggerated anatomy. "are you seriously judging me right now?" he snapped, his voice dripping with annoyance.

stolas, however, was undeterred. "i'm just impressed you seem to want to suck your own dick this badly," he quipped, his sharp wit cutting through the tension in the air. striker's temper flared, and he closed the distance between them in an instant.

"look, not every ring is some fancy-ass city, with some fancy-ass mansion, that only fancy-ass royals get to live in," striker seethed, pointing an accusatory finger at stolas. "some of us have hard lives to live. and some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you." his tail lashed angrily, and he was now inches from stolas' face, his fury palpable.

"i have no- " stolas attempted to protest, but before he could utter another word, a guttural yell tore from his beak as striker plunged the strange knife into him. your gasp of horror was drowned out by stolas' agonized cry, and striker, after delivering the blow, turned his gaze to you. his eyes bore into yours, not saying a word.

you were left stunned, your mind racing with questions.

striker was relentless in his assault, cut the rope, making stolas roll all the way down. striker's rage was boiling over as he circled around the helpless stolas. the demon prince's attempts to assert his royal status were met with violence, and striker made it clear that he would not tolerate being talked down to.

"you. don't get to talk over me!" striker slapped stolas with his tail, the force of the blow causing stolas to wince in pain. "i don't have to listen to your bullshit!" he jammed his foot into the fresh wound on stolas' shoulder, making the prince cry out in agony. "all you royals ever do is try to talk over us!"

stolas, despite his dire situation, tried to use his petrifying gaze to subdue striker. however, the ropes that bound him prevented his powers from working as intended. striker, seemingly immune to stolas' magic, grinned wickedly.

"don't bother trying to use your little eye trick on me; those ropes ain't gonna let you do anythin'." he turned the knife to stolas' face, taunting him. "got somethin' to say about that, your highness?"

his fury was palpable as he stepped on stolas's open wound once again. "well, you seem to be forgetting; you are working for a royal right now!" stolas retorted, a hint of arrogance in his voice. in a swift move, he kicked striker in the face.

striker's grip tightened as he grabbed stolas's ankle and lifted his foot to stomp down on stolas's leg, breaking it. stolas grunted but refused to show any pain, instead offering a twisted smile. "blitz handles me rougher than that in bed; nice try." striker's frustration grew, and he retaliated by stabbing stolas in the leg. "blitzy's knife is bigger... and hits sooooo much deeper."

striker's patience was wearing thin, and he released stolas's legs. "being a smartass hmm?" he moved to stolas's side, grabbing him by his hair or feathers, whatever was on his head, and moved the knife threateningly to stolas's neck. " 'cause, once i split your neck open and let you choke on your own blue blood, you won't be worth any more than the tombstone you'll be buried under."

you watched in horrified fascination, your fear of striker intensifying with each passing moment. you couldn't understand why you were still here, unable to tear your eyes away from the gruesome spectacle unfolding before you.

but then, stolas uttered words that cut through the tension like a knife. "blitzy says far dirtier things to me with much sharper objects at my throat."

striker's anger boiled over, and with a snarl, he threw stolas to the ground and stormed away in frustration. stolas, now lying on the tracks, shed a few tears.

as striker's figure disappeared into the distance, you found yourself trembling and breathing heavily. the encounter with striker had revealed a darker, more sadistic side to him that you hadn't anticipated. 

turning your attention back to stolas, you found him gazing in your direction, seemingly aware that you were watching him through the small saloon window. despite the dire circumstances, he started to speak, as if he needed a distraction from the impending doom.

"what are you looking at?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

your throat felt dry, and you struggled to find your voice. stolas's eyes bore into yours, waiting for an answer, but you couldn't bring yourself to respond. what could you say in this surreal situation?

stolas raised an eyebrow, seemingly undeterred by your silence. "you're not very talkative, are you?" he remarked, his tone almost conversational. "well, i suppose that's understandable. it's not every day one finds themselves in the company of princes and assassins."

still, you remained silent, unable to articulate your thoughts and emotions. stolas's attempts to engage you in conversation only added to your sense of unease.

before the silence could stretch any further, striker reappeared with a violent entrance, his face contorted with anger. your attention shifted from stolas to the imposing imp, his earlier charm now replaced by a menacing presence in the dimly lit mine shaft.

without a word, he descended upon stolas, his blows landing with brutal force. the atmosphere grew tense as each strike seemed to echo through the mine shaft, punctuated by stolas's pained grunts.

stolas, despite his earlier bravado, was now unable to maintain his composure. he winced and struggled under Striker's relentless assault. every attempt to speak or resist was met with more aggression.

as the beating continued, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the brutal spectacle before you. the initial shock and fear you had felt now gave way to a sickening mixture of dread and guilt. you were an unwilling witness to this display of violence, trapped in a nightmarish scenario that seemed to have no end.

as striker continued to circle stolas, the prince's labored pants and whimpering filled the air. the room seemed to shrink in on itself, the tension nearly suffocating.

"well, this has been fun, but every good thing has to come to an end. shame you won't see your kid, again," striker taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

"don't you dare breathe a word about my daughter," stolas retorted, his voice heavy with anger and desperation.

striker's tail began to rattle ominously as he crouched closer to stolas, their faces mere inches apart. "ohh. finally hit a nerve, huh?" he hissed, his yellow eyes locked onto stolas's.

stolas's breathing grew heavier as he threatened, "i swear, if you go near her, i will destroy you."

without warning, striker drove the knife into stolas's shoulder again, eliciting a pained cry. "big talk. but, just that. any last words, goetia?" striker's voice grew colder with each passing moment.

stolas, bloodied and broken, managed to muster one final plea, "blitz... will..."

a sinister chuckle escaped striker's lips. "that rodeo clown told you he ain't coming," he sneered, lifting the knife, ready to deliver the fatal blow "nobody is coming."

the room seemed to hold its breath, and you couldn't bear to witness the gruesome end any longer. just as striker prepared to strike the final blow, his phone rang, shattering the nightmarish silence. he picked it up with a casual "yello?"

striker's reaction to the unexpected call was a mix of surprise and annoyance. he scratched his head as he listened, his expression growing increasingly irritated. you strained to hear the conversation on the other end, but the caller's words remained a mystery.

the callers demand for a change of plans seemed to unsettle striker. he glanced back and forth between stolas's wounded form and the knife in his hand. stolas attempted to speak, but striker swiftly used his tail to muffle any words.

"i'm kinda in the middle of killing him," striker grumbled into the phone. again, you strained to catch stella's (you thought) side of the conversation, but it remained elusive.

after what sounded like a frustrating exchange, striker relented with a resigned, "yes, ma'am," and snapped his flip phone shut. his annoyance was palpable as he stretched back, still seated on top of stolas. he emitted a few rattles, his agitation evident. he threw the flip phone against a nearby rock with a resounding crash, causing you to flinch at the sudden noise.

striker, now phoneless, turned his attention back to stolas, a dangerous glint in his eyes. he uncovered stolas's mouth and delivered the unexpected news with a cruel twist of his lips.

"well, good news for you, feathers. your royal cunt said she don't want you dead no more." his grip on stolas tightened. "but, she didn't say what condition you had to be in."

the blade hovered dangerously close to stolas's eye, the threat palpable in the air. "i think these reds might be a pretty trophy; can't have you seeing me again, can we?"

amidst the tense standoff between striker and stolas, a distant car horn pierced the cavern's eerie silence. striker's head snapped in the direction of the sound, his eyes narrowing as he scanned for the source.

suddenly, the cavern's stability seemed to crumble as parts of the ceiling gave way. a deafening crash echoed through the chamber as the i.m.p van crashed through the embankment, tumbling and somersaulting until it came to a rest. with the dust settling, the van's door creaked open, and a little imp emerged, gripping a rifle with unwavering aim at striker.

in a swift, almost inhuman motion, striker dodged several bullets, his nimbleness defying belief. with a deft flick of his wrist, he sent his knife hurtling through the air, striking the rifle and causing another bullet to ricochet wildly, hitting a nearby boombox. the cavern was suddenly filled with music, but striker paid it no mind.

just as striker drew two revolvers, chaos erupted as another imp attacked him from behind with a longsword. striker, displaying incredible reflexes, seized the sword mid-swing. the imp, undeterred, abandoned the broken sword and charged with a katana, while moxxie unleashed a flurry of bullets from his two revolvers. it was a whirlwind of clashing metal, gunfire, and desperate maneuvers.

meanwhile, you huddled in the corner, terrified by the sudden eruption of violence. your hands instinctively covered your ears as gunshots rang out, and your heart raced in fear. but as the dust settled and the cacophony of battle continued, your eyes widened with recognition.

amidst the chaos, you realized that the couple leading the assault against striker was none other than moxxie and millie, the very duo you had encountered during the harvest moon festival. the familiarity of their faces brought a strange mix of relief and confusion.

as the battle raged on, you watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation, unsure of what fate had in store for you in this perilous underground encounter.

the brutal confrontation between striker and the couple reached a fevered pitch, each combatant determined to gain the upper hand. the cavern echoed with the clanging of metal, the thunder of gunfire, and the grunts of exertion as they clashed.

in a decisive move, striker managed to kick moxxie down, temporarily incapacitating him. millie, meanwhile, found herself pinned to a rock by her own axe, struggling to free herself. striker's cunning and agility seemed unmatched, and he was relentless in his assault.

spotting moxxie still stirring on the ground, striker acted swiftly. he lassoed a nearby stalagmite with unnatural precision and slammed it forcefully into moxxie's vulnerable back. moxxie's breath left him in a painful gasp as he fought to remain conscious.

with a predatory gleam in his eyes, striker moved in for the final blow. he saw noxxie, weakened and reaching for his pistol, and couldn't resist taunting him sadistically. "oh, i remember how easy you are to choke the life out of, little one," striker hissed, his hands tightening around moxxie's throat.

but then, in a shocking twist, moxxie's response was anything but expected. weakened and struggling for breath, he uttered a breathy, provocative phrase that froze striker in his tracks. "ohhhh, harder," moxxie murmured with a perverse tone.

disgust contorted striker's features, and he immediately released his grip on moxxie, recoiling as if burnt. moxxie seized the opportunity, kicking striker's legs out from under him and lassoing striker by the neck. he spun the sadistic cowboy around and hurled him to the unforgiving ground with a resounding thud.

moxxie, his eyes blazing with fury, spat out words of contempt, "you cowboy piece of shit!"

in the midst of this chaos and violence, you were a silent witness, trembling with fear and disbelief. the deafening sounds of battle, the sight of striker's brutality, and the desperate struggle of the couple left you overwhelmed. tears welled up in your eyes as you covered your mouth, muffling any sound that might betray your presence. your ears rang from the intensity of the fight unfolding before you, and your heart pounded with dread.

then, a sudden and thunderous crash tore through the cavern, and your gasp was stifled by your hand. the source of the noise was a massive statue, striker's own twisted monument, hurtling towards him. you watched in a horrified trance, unable to comprehend the unfolding disaster. did striker get crushed beneath the colossal weight of his own ego? what had just happened?

as the dust settled, your wide, terror-stricken eyes remained fixed on the scene before you, desperately seeking answers amid the chaos and uncertainty that surrounded you.

you huddled in the corner of the cavern, you were a silent, trembling specter of fear. your heart hammered in your chest, a cacophony that matched the chaos erupting around you. ears still ringing from the deafening clash of combat, you clamped your hands over them as if it could somehow muffle the terrible sounds that had assaulted your senses.

tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the dust and dirt that clung to your face. it was overwhelming, the violence and the uncertainty of the situation. all you could do was shrink further into the shadows, desperately trying not to be noticed, praying for the nightmare to end.

striker was dead (you THOUGHT), buried beneath the shattered remnants of his own arrogance. the cavern was fraught with tension and lingering danger, and you were trapped in its midst, a helpless witness to the brutality that had unfolded before you.

as the dust settled and the echoes of battle faded, you watched in silence as moxxie and millie quickly moved to untie stolas. their hurried, whispered words and furtive glances were not lost on you. they were trying to right the wrongs that had unfolded in this dark corner of hell, attempting to rectify the violence that had threatened to consume them all.

once stolas was free, the trio made a hasty exit, leaving you alone in the cavern's oppressive silence. it was a chance to breathe, to collect your scattered thoughts. 

as you sat there in the eerie stillness of the cavern, your trembling breaths gradually began to steady. the ordeal had been nothing short of nightmarish, and the aftermath left you feeling both relieved and apprehensive about what lay ahead.

just as you began to gather your thoughts and process the harrowing events that had unfolded, there was a sudden movement in the shadows. before you could react, striker, seemingly risen from the dead, lunged towards you with surprising speed. his hand clamped over your arm, and he yanked you to your feet with a force that left you breathless.

you found yourself staring into his wild, furious eyes, and his grip on your arm was unrelenting. striker's once-imposing figure was now battered and scratched, his bandana torn and hanging loosely around his neck. he was a mess, but his determination burned brighter than ever.

"come on, sweetheart, we ain't got time for dilly-dallyin," striker growled, his voice strained from the recent battle. without waiting for your response, he dragged you towards bombproof, who stood patiently nearby, unfazed by the chaos that had unfolded.

you clung to striker, holding onto him for dear life, your heart pounding in your chest. the events of the past few minutes had left you in a state of shock, and you couldn't find the words to express your thoughts and emotions.

as striker mounted bombproof, he pulled you up in front of him, securing you with a firm grip around your waist. as bombproof sprung to life beneath you, carrying you both away from the scene of the battle, you couldn't contain the questions that flooded your mind. with a shaky voice, you asked striker, "were you actually about to assassinate stolas? what kind of relationship do moxxie and millie have with stolas? why'd they save him, and who ordered to kill him? was it stella?"