OOOH I GOT A GOOD BLITZSTRIKE IDEA FROM EPISODE 6!! So you know that blitz had a I'm assuming was a illusion with poorly drawn moxxie and striker, etc yea that but striker just came to save the day! Da da daaaaaa (I am morning drunk-)
I made a post about just how badly I needed this exact thing in my life so THANK YOU SO MUCH for sending it to meeeeeeeeeee!! <3 <3
Now normally I'm all for the AU idea of Striker joining I.M.P. and just kind of automatically jumping in as an official member of their unofficial family, but I have to say for this.....I actually kind of like it better if I stick more to the canon here. Striker's not a member of I.M.P., he's still got his angel weaponry and the bounty on Stolas's head to settle after the mishap at the Harvest Moon Festival, and--most importantly--hasn't crossed paths with Blitz [or any of the others for that matter] since.
He hadn't been expecting it to happen when it did that night, either.
There wasn't much on Striker's mind other than his target as he slithered his way through the servant's quarters entrance of Stolas's manor house, entirely uncaring of the numerous cameras and other security features that he passed along the way. He had it on good faith that they would just happen to be disabled that night--a pissed off royal birdie had told him so. He'd also been told exactly how to navigate his way through the house undetected, exactly which rooms to avoid, and exactly where he would find the "cheating prick" at this hour. What he hadn't been told--and what he'd deliberately chosen not to ask--was just what the Goetian Prince would be doing by the time he made his soundless entry into his study. There was a small part of him, somewhere deeper than he usually cared to try to reach, that couldn't help but think of a certain impressive imp Boss that might be involved. There was an even deeper part of him, though, that felt the sharp sting of conflict as he found he couldn't make up his mind on whether he was hoping to see said impressive imp Boss there or not, considering what he would probably be doing.
His tail unconsciously flicked once, causing Striker to coil it tightly around himself in order to prevent what would have become a full blown rattle otherwise. This was ridiculous. He was here for one thing and one thing only: he had a job to do.
A job he was fully intending to enjoy.
A slow grin spread across his face as he shrugged the strap of his angelic rifle down from his shoulder, catching the weapon effortlessly and feeling the warm sting of its power against his fingertips. He really was going to enjoy this, he thought to himself as he silently crept into the study, taking advantage of the many outrageously sized pieces of furniture casting shadows around the room to stay hidden.
Just one shot. He just needed one shot.
The flickering glow of what he presumed to be firelight seemed to beckon him, encouraging him, and before he knew it he had the butt of the rifle pressed firmly into his shoulder and his right hand hovering just beside the trigger--ready and waiting to take aim and fire. All he needed was one glance now, just enough to see where exactly Stolas was in the room, and then it would be over. The fact that he couldn't hear the owl demon moaning in ecstasy strangely pleased him at his core, confirming that he in fact wasn't enjoying the company of his favorite plaything tonight. Good. It meant he didn't need to spare a second thought for who else might get caught in the crossfire. Anyone else honestly wouldn't matter.
.....He tried to distract himself from thinking aboutĀ that thought too deeply by finally taking his glance, trying to focus back on the one who didn't matter to him at all.
Instead, he found himself looking straight at the one being that did.
"Blitz--" The half-whisper caught in the back of his throat, thankfully stiffling the majority of the sound as Striker's eyes went wide. He didn't know how the hell Stolas was doing this--he didn't know this was something the Ars Goetia could do--but somehow, in the middle of what he'd previously thought was just a fireplace casting the twisting forms of light and darkness across the room, was a strange mirror-like orb that seemed to be reflecting an image to the Prince sitting across from it in one of his high-backed chairs.
An image of Blitz, tied to a much smaller chair, struggling as some strange green something started to pool beneath his feet.
What the flying fuck was happening?
"Oh darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Stolas cooed from across the room, completely oblivious to the hitman staring at him as he watched the scene unfold before him as if it was his favorite daytime drama. "Let's be extra careful about what we say from here on out, shall we? You're not going to be very happy with me if I have to come down there and take my book back from your charming daughter. Especially since that's going to delay her rescuing of you by quite a bit."
Striker didn't know what to do. There was a part of him that felt the unmistakable urge to just raise his weapon and fire, to carry on with the plan just as he'd intended and figure out the rest from there. But there was that other, deeper, part of him that had frozen, leaving him unable to look at or think about anything other than the imp that was now spilling his guts out in whatever room he was in as easily as if he'd just been sliced open.
And the vermin was there with him--apparently tripping balls as he slumped into his own chair and started mumbling incoherently.
"Now just what is happening here?" Stolas murmured, his voice catching Striker's attention--that urge flaring up in him again, and yet, before he could think about whether or not to actually take aim at him, he instead watched as Stolas lifted his hand from beneath his chin and gave a little wave over the orb. The image within shifted, rippling as if it were made of water, and when it finally settled again it was of something new:
Moxxie, now freed from his bonds, making his way up a marble staircase lined with candelabras towards a cape-wearing Blitz playing piano.....and they were both singing.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening??
"Ooohh my," Stolas chuckled delicately from behind his curved fingers, amusement sparking in his glowing crimson eyes as he watched the scene unfold. "Your little underling here has quite the imagination now, doesn't he? Well if his truth is this entertaining--" He lifted his hand once more, his fingertips hovering over the unnaturally glowing scene. "--I really must see yours now, Blitzy."
Striker didn't know why he felt such a sudden surge of protectiveness for Blitz's privacy of all things in that moment, but seeing the image ripple again as it began to change had him biting his lip hard enough that he could feel it start to bleed. Just what the fuck was this asshole doing? Did he just get himself off to spying on Blitz like this?? At times when he's clearly in trouble and needing help that isn't prying into his drug-induced hallucinations??
If he'd been a better person, he would have killed Stolas then and there just to make this stop. But since he wasn't, his curiosity stilled his hands for another few moments as the window into Blitz's vison settled into view.
He didn't like any part of what he saw.
The memory of himself referring to Blitz as a "rodeo clown of a boss" came back to him with the viciousness of a bite, causing him to tense as he watched as Blitz--stumbling around in a clown costume--started getting tormented by voices and swirling figureless masses of color. The first to solidify was Moxxie, spewing bullshit that honestly Striker could barely care to keep up with, except for the fact that it was so obviously berrating Blitz for.....something. Just what the hell did Blitz care what that little baby dick had to say? He knew he was better than that.
Striker felt his grip on the rifle loosening as he sank back fully onto the floor, his pale eyes glinting and his tail starting to vibrate hard against his shirt. He tried to muster up every ounce of his self control, willing it to stop before the rattling sound tipped off Stolas--only for his tail to go utterly still as something very similar lashed its way around Blitz's throat and threw him to the ground.
And there he was, staring at himself.
"But you don't want to do things alone Blitzo!"
Hearing himself--not himself, that wasn't even his fucking voice--say that made his blood run cold with rage. How fucking dare whoever was doing this impersonate him like this! Using him to torment Blitz like this! And Blitz was seemingly actually buying it--wait, Stolas had called this Blitzās ātruthā.Ā Did this mean.....was this what Blitz thought of him?? What the fuck!? Since when the hell did Blitz ever hear Striker call him "Blitzo" once before in his life?? Never! He wanted to grab Blitz by the shoulders and shake him, screaming right into his face that he would never say his name like that when he knows damn well that the O is silent! Okay, so he mightāve called him āBlitzyā when they parted ways because he was bitter over Blitz choosing to stop him from killing Stolas instead of running off with him to take down Overlords--and that was his bad.Ā And yeah, he might've been trying to get on his good side to have an easier shot at killing Stolas, sure, but...that didn't mean that the things he'd said to Blitz weren't true! He really did want to be partners!
The scene changed again, another set of stairs, and Blitz frantically climbing up them to try and escape the figures that were literally haunting him--Striker feeling that cold burn spread in his chest at the sight of being one of them.
Though nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of feeling that would crash over him in the moment he saw just who was waiting for Blitz at the top of those stairs.
"Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?"
Striker's fingers clenched so hard around his rifle that he thought he was going to snap it in two, his pale gold-green eyes fixed on the sight of Blitz crawling on his hands and knees up that glowing staircase, as golden chains fastened around each of his wrists and around his neck. The rest of the voices were lost to the roar of whitenoise now ringing in Striker's ears as he watched Stolas pull Blitz willingly onto his lap, holding him by that chain attached to the collar at his throat.....
And when he heard that erotic gasp and saw that look on Blitz's face, he finally couldn't take it.
The next thing he knew, he was back in the hallway, making a beeline for the room that he'd been instructed to go to only after he'd finished the job. Oh he was going to finish it all right. He was going to finish it slowly and painfully. But there was something even more important that he had to finish first.
He honestly didn't remember what he'd said when he stormed into Stella's room. He didn't know how long he had been there and he had no idea how he got away with being there for any amount of time without her calling for security to run in and tackle him to the ground.
Most of all, he had absolutely no idea what the hell kind of reason he could have possibly given for her to locate the party of imps on Earth and open him a portal to get to them--but whatever reason he gave must've been a pretty damn good one. The next thing he knew there was a glowing blue door literally opening in front of his face, revealing a blood soaked room and the now united beings of Hell trapped between a steel door and two human fuckers who were pointing pistols at their faces.
The shots rang out one after the other, followed by the distinct meaty thuds of two bodies hitting the floor. Striker didn't particlarly notice the fact that the portal had closed behind him the minute he stepped into the room, rendering him just as trapped as the others, but he also didn't particularly care. That bird bitch was still going to get exactly what she wanted when he got back--he would make sure of it. But for now, at least, it was enough just to be able to stride over to that face--full of disbelief and shock--and cup it tenderly in his palm.
"You ain't gotta do jack shit alone, Blitz," he said, and the sincerity of his own voice shook him from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. "You're not alone, Blitz."
He didn't know it until much much later, but hearing Striker say those words to him had made Blitz feel as though he'd just been handed the keys to his chains.
