#look into my eyes. i wanna see you die. (striker ic)

[dark-ambition]

@hannah-the-small continued from X.

“What I want? Funny you ask that, Firecracker. And no, before you say shit, I’m not calling you by yer name. Far as I’m concerned, that name don’t mean shit to me. Not like that’s the name that gave you that reputation anyways.”

There’s the sound of boots scraping against the pavement.

“Turn around. I want to see the face of the Imp that killed that fucker Tobias. See if she’s still got the makings of a killer and not the face of a weakling.”

[dark-ambition]

@hannah-the-small continued from X.

“Hmm. That so?” The rugged looking Imp, sickly green glowing eyes flitting to and fro Bombproof and Gritt’s frame, seems to frown thoughtfully, his tail giving a brief but rattling flicker, before moving forward to give the horse a soft and idle scratch along the side of his neck to keep it from snarling at Snare too hard. “Didn’t expect ya to clean him up so fast if he went and got outta the pen. How the hell’d you put new shoes on him?” His eyes flick away from Gritt toward Snare, raising a brow.

[dark-ambition]

@lankybirdy

It was pitifully easy to pick the latch of the window. All it had taken was the slim spade of his tail to wiggle through the gap and slowly lift up the thin metal hook that kept it closed until it fell away, and the stained glass panes gently opened inwards, with nary a creak or squeak from it’s hinges. His eyes narrow as he slowly looks around into the dark and dormant hallway, ears pricked for the sounds of any patrolling servants or security, and when he hears none, he slowly slides off of the windowsill and drops to the floor, his bare feet creating a soft but muffled thump as they make contact with the reflective carpeted tile. He’s quick to place his boots down (he had taken them off to scale the wall) and slip them back on, and he gingerly pulls the angelic knife from it’s sheathe, it’s mild holy glow creating a faint white light to light up the darkness around him, much like his own eyes shone with a sickly green hue.

He slowly crept down the hallway, careful to keep his movements slow, his pace gentle and subtle, the echoing clicks of his boots muffled by the carpeting, by the eerie silence of the manor hallways. This place seemed so large and vast and full of prestigious things, and yet it felt so empty in it’s vastness at the same time, and it was enough to make Striker huff to himself under his breath. Some demons really had no taste. But critiquing a Goetia’s decorum wasn’t what he had come for. No…What he was after was something he had been aching to take. And now that there were no more distractions, he was free to do what he pleased.

When he reaches the room he was looking for, he already feels a grin growing over his face. The door was ajar, no lights seemed to be on inside. His tongue briefly flickers free of his mouth, and the scent of blood is still so heavy in the air even after the weeks it’s been since that his knife had tasted Goetia flesh. He moves to flatten himself to the floor, clutching the knife handle between his teeth, and he slowly, ever so slowly, creeps into the room, careful to keep his breathing quiet, his eyes squinted to dull the light from them. He could make out a figure on the bed, a sling for a leg cast still propped up on the foot of the bedframe, but no movement aside from the deep breaths of a man fitfully asleep.

When he reaches the side of the bed, he makes his move. Quickly and decisively moving into a crouch before he lunges up with his knife poised to strike, bringing his full body weight down onto the Goetia’s chest, just as he slaps his hand down onto the demon’s mouth while the edge of the knife is held down firmly against his throat, his tail quick to wrap around his torso to squeeze threateningly. He bends himself over just so, grinning with ghoulish fangs while his green, glowing eyes stare directly into bright burning crimson.

“..Howdy, Prince. Been a while since we’ve had our fun, hasn’t it? Do me a favor and don’t scream. Unless you want your throat cut neat like a squealing hell pig on a hook.”

[dark-ambition]

A shadow soon creeps over where Clem was sitting, and a familiar voice fills the air, a dark and satisfied chuckle. “Well, well. Seems that the Firecracker’s gone and lost her spark a bit. Or is it just that she’s starting to learn her lesson?” The twitching, rattling tail of the assassin lashes behind his back as he lazily dangles a single leg off of the edge of the cliff, staring down at Clem with an intrigued gleam in his eye. “How many of those weaklings have you killed in that there pile? 5? 10? Even if you’ve gone soft, you don’t die easy, do you? That’s what I’m counting on.”

Clem estimated she’d been down this hole a few weeks. To try and keep track she had scratched marks in the skinny tree for each passing day. Sometimes that asshole of an assassin would come a few days in a row… sometimes he wouldn’t come for the same amount of time. Each time he did he had started off dropping down animals for her to eat, live ones she had to fight and kill or be killed. It didn’t help she didn’t have much to light a fire, sometimes it didn’t cook right and her stomach would be unsettled.

Then he started dropping down hellborns. Imps, Hellhounds… whoever he could grab, promising them freedom if they could kill her. They never could. The corpses had built up in a corner, Clem numb to the stench of their rotting bodies by now.

She was sure her head wound was infected, trying to keep it clean by the miserable excuse for a pond down with her, but even that was hard. Especially when those who fought her would leave new bruises or marks. The nights were long and cold, days hot and hard. From the sky she could see Clem knew she was in Wrath somewhere, the walls too soft to climb or try and fashion anything to get leverage. 

The days the assassin didn’t come Clem actually hated… despite the abuse she hurled at him for doing this to her it was better than being alone. She was sick. Tired. Numb. Quiet.

@dark-ambition​

[dark-ambition]

@sevenciircles continued from X.

“Tch..” Striker’s snarling scowl grew just a little bit more as the tip of his tail once more rattled ominously. “..You make a lot of talk, but last I remembered, you went down pitifully easy. Still ended up with your leg caught in a trap like vermin. Got a lucky hit or two in, yeah, but you’re still just as weak as the rest of them.” After a moment, however, he looks off to the side again, moving to cross his arms over his chest, even as his tail slowly continues to lash back and forth, a hand reaching into his pocket to pull out what looked to be a cigar. “I’m not here for you. I’m here on business, so why don’t you go and piss off and get back to yours ‘fore I have to make you?”

[dark-ambition]

@hannah-the-small @rubbcrhose

He had seen the commotion from within the distance at the time. What with all of the firepower they had brought with them, including an entire god damn helicopter, it wasn’t exactly hard to spot, and so, he had made himself scarce, diving right down into the deepest mine shafts that Bombshell was able to traverse. He had taken care to place several forms of emergency rations and equipment down in the depths of the hollow volcanoes, places far from where his home base was in case anyone tried to go hunting him down, and it was there that he had rested for several days, his holy weapons prepped and ready for a fight.

But soon, it was clear that no one had even thought to traverse the old mines, and so, he had cautiously crept back into his hideout. And it was there that he remained now, idly sharpening his favorite knife against a whetstone, trying to not snarl with fury over his lost project. He had been so close. So close to finally breaking the Firecracker under his boot, and it was stolen away from him. Taken from him, and he didn’t even know how. He had taken precautions to deal with any magic that might’ve linked the Firecracker to Mammon, or any of his pitiful robots, and yet somehow he was found out. And it left him filled with fury.

“Fine then, Firecracker…If you really are the weakling that you wanna be, that’s just fine…Will make killing you a lot more satisfying now that I know you’re nothing more than vermin..”

[dark-ambition]

“Awww! Hahaha! Well, I certainly do try to keep these pearly whites nice and sharp! It adds to that salesman smile quite a bit!”

“I always did think blood had a pretty nice look on my feathers.”

“That’s probably the blood yer smellin’. Hard to wash out the stench of someone’s guts from yer boots.”

He says nothing. Just silently raises both middle fingers.

“Oh yeah, they sure are beautiful, ain’t they? Why don’t you let me pick up this scalpel so I can get a nice and close look at yours?”

“Nice try you idiot. I don’t ssssmoke any of that rubbish. Now if you excuse me, I need to fetch my closest blunderbuss so I can take it to your skull.”

[dark-ambition]

Striker has appeared! What to do?

Marry

Flirt

Violate

Worship

[dark-ambition]

❛  can ya say that again, please?  ❜ (Any muse you're feeling)

“I said,” Striker moves to casually scrape the sharp edge of his knife across a whetstone, large sparks flying off the edge of the blade, moving to fix the strange canine sinner with a cold stare. “You’re weak. I got an eye for weaklings. Spineless yellow bellies who couldn’t stomach a bit of violence for the life of ‘em. And you got it written all over you, despite them teeth and claws. It’s a waste.”

[dark-ambition]

@bossblitzy continued from X.

“Heheheh…Well, I’ll be damned…Wasn’t expecting to see anything like a cherub wandering around Wrath today..” The terrified expression on that little lamb’s face was absolutely lovely to see, and he can’t help but want to see more of it. He moves to tighten the ropes just a touch, just enough to make the little thing start to lose breath before he lets it slack, moving to press a single boot down, right on top of Collin’s chest, looming over him with a wide, sharp toothed grin, the sickly green glow of his eyes no doubt making the terrifying sight of his visage so much more palpable. “..Haven’t ever carved up an angel before. This oughta be fun….Even if you’re just a weak little runt. Wonder how a cherub bleeds…”

His grin somehow grows even more darker with sadism, with bloodlust, and his hand moves to pull out a vicious, wicked looking knife, glowing with obvious holy energy, the edges of the blade serrated with sharp jagged edges, designed to rip at flesh, to tear and eviscerate. He slowly lowers the tip of the knife down, down, down, right up until it was hovering just above Collin’s left eye. “Wonder if this will hurt you. After all, ain’t exactly designed for killing your kind. But then again, a knife is a knife, ain’t it?”

[dark-ambition]

“I don’t got all day, you know.” The Imp with strangely glowing eyes and the bristling, spiked tail idly sharpens a jagged looking knife against what looks to be a whet stone, lounging back in an old wooden chair with what looked to be idle indifference, an open tin of chewing tobacco sitting next to him on the table he was sat at. “So why don’ you tell me what exactly you want before I decide you oughta quit wasting my time.”

[dark-ambition]

I sold you to a pet store!

How much do you sell for?

Rosie

Price: 85$

Personality: Loyal. I love making a mess.

Food: Eats a lot.

Notes: Likes cuddles.

Breeding Difficulty: ★★★★★

“I most certainly do NOT make a mess! At least not the kind where I don’t clean up the blood afterwards! What sort of uncouth fiend do you think I am?”

••••

Stella

Price: 552$

Personality: Affectionate. I love meeting new people.

Food: Only eats desserts.

Notes: Likes cuddles.

Breeding Difficulty: ★☆☆☆☆

“How dare you think you can buy me off like some simple street harlot?! I’ll have your head for this!”

Striker

Price: 6,970$

Personality: Loyal. I always stay close to my family.

Food: Only eats in restaurants.

Notes: Rare species.

Breeding Difficulty: ★★★★★

“Tch. What family? All I see are a bunch of walking corpses with a need for a bullet between their eyes.”

“Impressive price though. If I could, I would probably turn myself in.”

Husk

Price: 65,505$

Personality: Curious. I love learning new things.

Food: Likes alcohol.

Notes: Rare species.

Breeding Difficulty: ★★★★★

“…Well they’re not WRONG.”

Vox

Price: 332$

Personality: Cunning. I love making a mess.

Food: Only eats desserts.

Notes: Very cuddly with their owner.

Breeding Difficulty: ★★★★☆

“Eh. About as cuddly as I can be with a giant rectangular flat screen for a head.”

Sir Pentious

Price: 613,117$

Personality: Independent. I love making a mess.

Food: Eats a lot.

Notes: Can bite.

Breeding Difficulty: ★★★★★

“Try and sell me into anything and I’ll bloody rip your head off with my teeth.”

[dark-ambition]

“Heheheh. Rise and shine, Firecracker.” A voice would speak up from high above the gorge, and soon, Striker’s visage would appear around the edges of the cliff’s sheer walls, grinning with a smug look of satisfaction on his face, tail twitching and rattling in the air like a cobra ready to strike. He kneels down on one knee, keeping the other propped up for him to rest an elbow on as he gazes down at his prisoner, eyes glowing with a vicious glee. “Almost thought you wouldn’t wake up again with that head wound ya got. How ya feelin’ down there?”

@dark-ambition​

Clem could hear the caw of predatory birds somewhere in the distance, the feeling of hot dirt against her back and the heat of the day blasting down on her. Her ribs hurt, her head hurt….

Cracking her eyes open she had to squint at the bright light, she certainly wasn’t dead… the void probably wasn’t this bright. Slowly the imp began to sit herself up, body protesting at each moment as she grit her teeth. Where was she? Why did her head feel sticky?

Gingerly Clementine touched her head and drew her hand back, black blood coating her palm. The memories came flooding back as she began to scramble to her feet. The fucking cowboy asshole. 

Looking at her surroundings she seemed to be at the bottom of some small gorge, a pathetic looking pond and a couple of trees left that provided some shade. The cliffs were far too sheer to climb even for her. Maybe Mammon could-… wait.

She couldn’t feel them. It was like a wall. Why was that there, had the assassin done something?! Snarling she limped to the wall, trying to grab on to haul herself up, but the surface was not possible for her to grip and she tumbled flat on her back with a hiss.

[dark-ambition]

“Right, yeah. Arrows. Damn things are always annoying. Make holes in my hat and my clothes if they don’t catch any skin...” He trails off, his tail flickering a little, his heart still unable to cease pounding in his chest as his eyes flick to watch Gritt as he walks toward one of the tables. After a moment of feeling the overwhelming urge to follow him, he’s quick to trot off after him, his cheeks still flushed, tail still rattling and whole body filled with some sort of tension that made his blood crackle and his body feel like it was floating. “..Hope you don’t mind if I got and wait with ya, do ya? Don’t wanna get hit by them things flying around outside.”

Gritt is trying to dodge these arrows, and has ducked into one of Pride's coffee shops... bumping right into Striker, "ACK! Sorry!"

He was already on edge from being hit in the back with that damn arrow, so when he suddenly felt someone bump right into him, almost threatening to knock him into the person in front of him, Striker can’t help but snarl, whipping around to grab the Imp by the front of his shirt and tugging him close. “WATCH IT YOU LITTLE-“

…Oh. Oh. It’s that strange Imp that was at the ranch in Wrath when he went to pick up his horse. For some reason, just the sight of him was enough to make him stare, his cheeks flush, his heart flip in his chest, and for a moment, he was frozen. Then, after a moment, he lets go, awkwardly moving to pat down Gritt’s shoulders, coughing into a fist before he turns away again. “Ehem…Uhhh…It’s nothin’.” What the fuck was wrong with him???

[dark-ambition]

“Tch. ‘Course you wouldn’t recognize the power you got even when you had it in the palm of your hands. The respect. The fear. The drive to take lives and crush them under your boot. Tossed it all away under a meaningless need for what? A boring new start? Trying to pretend something you ain’t?” He moves to idly wipe off the blood on his cheek, dropping her head as he moves to walk around to her leg, moving to grip it in his hand. “Face it, Firecracker. That life you claim to have had? It never fucking died. It never went away. You’re still in it, and I’m going to prove that.”

He turns to flash her a grin full of fangs, his eyes glowing as his pupil thins into a sharp slit of obsidian. “So why don’t you go ahead and have yourself a nap? Take a load off your feet. You and I are gonna have much to do, Firecracker, so savor the break while you can.” He chuckles softly, and after a moment, he begins to roughly and mercilessly drag her limp body across the ground, across the pavement, away from the small puddle of blood where she initially laid.

dark-ambition​:

The blow of her claws actually did land, somehow enough to tear through the leather of his boots and make a small jagged cut, just above his ankle. It was enough to make the strange Imp hiss, finally taking a step back to examine the damage, that menacing rattle only increasing in it’s volume. “Ggh…Hmmm..” His eyes flick up to her, narrowing, his tail lashing as he moves to stand up to his full height once more, walking over to her more slowly, his eyes glowing with menace. “You gone soft, Firecracker…Real damn soft…”

He idly spits onto the ground, his venom beginning to act up a touch thanks to the adrenaline, and he slowly stalks over to where she laid, a hand burying itself in her hair to tug her bruised and bleeding face upward so he could look her in the eyes. . “…I used to hold you in deep respect, you know that? Every fucking street in Imp City feared you, touted you like a monster, like a freak of fucking nature that would tear them to pieces on Tobias’s whims, and you know what? I respected the hell out of that. You fucking had the whole damn city under your heel. Had the kinda power that most weaklings just dream of and never try to seize, even if it was under some asshole’s boot and collar. Hell, you still did even when you came back and murdered him, tore his ass a new one and killed him in cold fucking blood. I thought you would’ve taken it all for yourself, seized power in his little self made Empire, stamped down every yellow-bellied idiot who would try and stand up to you, made yourself a god damn KING among this hell hole of a ring. Made yourself into a damn power house no one could match from the ashes of the blue blood who made you strong…”

He lets out a huff, and he sneers softly in disgust. “But no…No, you decided to go all weak in the knees, get cold hooves, back out of the opportunity for power that most idiots who were too stupid to make it have killed and died for, decided to go pacifist, decided to reform, move on from the Firecracker and become some small little meaningless Imp in Pride called Clementine. Disgusting. A waste. And now look at you, Firecracker. So rusty and out of practice that you got beaten by a bounty hunter from Wrath.”

Clementine felt the pain in her head as it was forced up, blurred vision forced to take into account the wrath imp and his venom laced words. Her good eye narrowed and she spat at him, black blood hitting his cheek.

“I wanted… my own life… not the one… he made me… I’m not… her anymore.” She hissed, ignoring the pain in her chest, “Fuck…. off….”

Yes she killed him, but it didn’t help the anger inside her, the hurt he left. Now Clem didn’t have a need to kill, to tear out throats or threaten anymore. That was the Firecracker’s life. And now her mind was free of him? She wanted the life she was robbed of. The life she fought for.

[dark-ambition]

The blow of her claws actually did land, somehow enough to tear through the leather of his boots and make a small jagged cut, just above his ankle. It was enough to make the strange Imp hiss, finally taking a step back to examine the damage, that menacing rattle only increasing in it’s volume. “Ggh…Hmmm..” His eyes flick up to her, narrowing, his tail lashing as he moves to stand up to his full height once more, walking over to her more slowly, his eyes glowing with menace. “You gone soft, Firecracker…Real damn soft…”

He idly spits onto the ground, his venom beginning to act up a touch thanks to the adrenaline, and he slowly stalks over to where she laid, a hand burying itself in her hair to tug her bruised and bleeding face upward so he could look her in the eyes. . “…I used to hold you in deep respect, you know that? Every fucking street in Imp City feared you, touted you like a monster, like a freak of fucking nature that would tear them to pieces on Tobias’s whims, and you know what? I respected the hell out of that. You fucking had the whole damn city under your heel. Had the kinda power that most weaklings just dream of and never try to seize, even if it was under some asshole’s boot and collar. Hell, you still did even when you came back and murdered him, tore his ass a new one and killed him in cold fucking blood. I thought you would’ve taken it all for yourself, seized power in his little self made Empire, stamped down every yellow-bellied idiot who would try and stand up to you, made yourself a god damn KING among this hell hole of a ring. Made yourself into a damn power house no one could match from the ashes of the blue blood who made you strong…”

He lets out a huff, and he sneers softly in disgust. “But no…No, you decided to go all weak in the knees, get cold hooves, back out of the opportunity for power that most idiots who were too stupid to make it have killed and died for, decided to go pacifist, decided to reform, move on from the Firecracker and become some small little meaningless Imp in Pride called Clementine. Disgusting. A waste. And now look at you, Firecracker. So rusty and out of practice that you got beaten by a bounty hunter from Wrath.”

dark-ambition​:

“Pathetic.”

A blur of orange as a fist slams right into her jaw, knocking her to the ground like a house of cards.

“Miserable.”

A boot slams down hard into her stomach from where she laid, a sneering face somehow being made out among her swirling vision.

“THIS is the Firecracker? THIS is the Imp that had the balls to kill Tobias even when he all but had your mind wrapped all around his damn fingers?! THIS-!”

A swift kick to her ribs.

“WEAK-!”

Another.

“LITTLE-!”

A hard stomp down, right onto her chest.

“RUNT?!”

Clem was knocked down, dazed as she tried to get up only to be met with a boot to the belly, forcing the wind from her lungs. Each blow brought pain, smacking her back down into the ground with every attempt she made to get up until everything hurt.

Get up! She thought, though her thoughts refused to connect to her body. Get up or you’ll DIE!

Fingers twitched, breaths painful as blurred vision only let her see shapes and shadows. It was enough. As he thrust his leg down again she swiped her claws, letting them tear flesh. Clem was in no condition to keep it up, but she had the fight to live.