Chapter Text
A few seconds later, Blitzo peeked out from behind the chair ... where he'd been recovering from being strangled.
He then got up and walked over to where Striker and the book were kicked!
The grimoire looked all right, and in one piece where it lay ... but right next to it ...
Beside it lay a stunted, very small feathery chicken-imp creature ... who looked very surprised.
And it was Striker. Obviously, it was Striker ... Blitzo could tell that from the tail and spiral eyes.
But what the frigging hell?!!!
The boss imp's mind was awhirl with confusion and disbelief as his jaw dropped at the sight of his now transformed nemesis.
Striker's gaze then turned to Blitzo, and narrowed in wariness and confusion ay the boss imp's expression.
The chicken-imp then looked down at himself idly ... and quickly froze in shock!
Striker inspected his new form in growing horror and frustration ... his feathers sticking up in stress.
The chicken imp glanced from Blitzo to himself, and then at the book ... a look of realisation dawning on his face.
Striker cursed at himself inwardly for carelessness as he realised now what had happened to him!
The chicken-imp then whirled around, glared at Blitzo, opened his mouth ... and clucked at him! Lots of angry clucks and squawks!
(Slurs)
———
(I'm sorry, so sorry! Blame the Antarctica short! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist, lol!)
———
The boss imp blinked ... and then collapsed into hysterical fits of laughter!
Blitzo giggled helplessly as he leaned against a nearby chair, pointing at the increasingly-humiliated Striker.
The infamous assassin, the bloodthirsty cowboy, the vigilante with a vendetta against all royals ... was now a small, fluffy chicken.
Even more hilarious was the fact that Stolas considered that ... a chicken transformation spell ... would be THE WORST THING EVER, for thieves!
Seriously, Stolas?! I know that you hardly get out of the house, but come on! You've got to get a better spell than this! the boss imp thought, sassily.
Blitzo's laughter then trailed off as he realised that Striker was trying to make a run for it!
The chicken-imp had had one of the worst nights of his life so far ... and he couldn't even voice his frustrations to Blitzo!
Striker just wanted to get away from the whole bother and soothe his badly-damaged ego!
Unfortunately, the chicken-imp didn't make it more than a few steps ... before he was quickly scooped up and held by Blitzo!
Panicking a little, Striker tried to peck and claw the boss imp ... only to rapidly have his claws grabbed, and his beak pinched shut.
"Oh, stop being a baby, Striker!" Blitzo snapped in irritation. "You're lucky this spell's a temporary one!"
The chicken-imp abruptly stopped struggling and turned to give the boss imp a surprised look.
"Yeah, it's one of the ones in the book", Blitzo explained, rolling his eyes. "It only has a 6-hour effect on its victims ... so I'll watch you until then."
Striker's feathered brows rose higher at this, and he shoots a cynical look at his nemesis.
The boss imp shoots a similar look back at the chicken-imp, and huffs loudly.
"I'm not going to kill you, Striker", Blitzo admitted. "Not while you're like this. Call it ... 'assassin's honour'."
The disbelieving, contemptuous look that Striker then shot the boss imp was legendary!
Assassin's honour! Pah! Is Blitzo sick or something?
The chicken-imp had never heard of anything so ridiculous! Assassins didn't HAVE honour! Honour was only for fools and cowards!
"Plus ..." the boss imp added, grinning wolfishly. "When I finally kick your butt for good ... it'll be in a hellishly awesome fight! Not while you're a little chickadee!"
Striker grinned just as wolfishly back at him, as his confused mind immediately calmed.
"I'll watch you for the reminder of your 'chicken time' ... and then you're fair game!" Blitzo offered. "Sound fair?"
The chicken-imp nodded smugly. Of course. Blitzo only spared him because he wanted a showdown of epic proportions!
Something that Striker rarely got into willingly, but was indeed willing to give to his equal. The boss imp then paused, looking thoughtful.
"Or if you don't want me watching you, Moxxie and Millie could do it instead—"
Blitzo's proposal died away as the chicken-imp violently shook his head, scowling.
Striker wasn't an idiot! The chicken-imp knew perfectly well that there was 'no love lost' between him and the assassin couple.
Striker inwardly shuddered at what couple could and would do to him in his current condition!
Millie would probably use him for target practice first, then chicken stew second.
As for Moxxie ... the chicken-imp had an inkling that Moxxie could be pretty sadistic when he wanted to be.
Striker didn't even want to IMAGINE what Moxxie would do ... he'd rather stay ignorant.
Blitzo just shrugs at the decision made ... and then quickly strapped a muzzle on the chicken-imp before he could react!
The boss imp then stuffs the infuriated, struggling Striker into a hellcat carrier that lay nearby!
Whistling cheerfully, Blitzo carries the fuming, clucking chicken-imp out of the office, and back to his apartment.
(Slurs)
———
In the sitting room, Blitzo's apartment, 10 minutes later ...
The boss imp's positive attitude quickly soured when he entered his home ... and discovered the knocked-out Loona on the floor.
Blitzo had very quickly checked that she was okay, while making pretty creative threats to Striker!
Some of the words involved were 'nuggets', 'taxidermy', and 'stuffed' etc.
Once satisfied that Loona would wake up in a matter of hours, Blitzo flopped himself down on the couch ... while putting the carrier down on the floor.
The boss imp sighed in boredom, grabbed the controller, and switched on the TV.
Blitzo flipped through the channels until he comes to a Wrathian cowboy tv show ... with LOTS of horses!!
The boss imp instantly became engaged, not to mention Striker!
The chicken-imp then started to try to bust through the carrier, in order to get a better view of the show!
His attempts, though futile, eventually got Blitzo's attention.
The boss imp turned away from the show to look down at the carrier, slowly realising what Striker wanted.
Blitzo sighed again, and then bent down to give the chicken-imp a hard stare.
"All right, Striker", the boss imp muttered in annoyance. "You wanna watch the show with me? Fine, but there are rules!"
Blitzo held a finger up, glaring down at Striker.
"No fighting, no pecking, and no clawing, got it?!"
Now, the chicken-imp wasn't exactly happy with being bossed around like that ... but he didn't have a lot of options.
Plus, at least it wouldn't be boring!
Striker walked out of the carrier as the boss imp opened the door, and then hopped onto the sofa with him!
"Right, now ... want a guzzle of this?" Blitzo suddenly said, taking a bottle out from under a sofa cushion.
"It's the last of the Wrath whisky I got in the Pain Games!"
The chicken-imp's eyes immediately lit up in delight, and he nodded vigorously!
———
Several 'guzzles' later ...
A half-conked out Blitzo was lying on his back with heavy-lidded eyes, on the sofa.
Striker, equally conked out, was lying beside the boss imp's chest.
Ironically, the two demons had ended up drunk off their heads from the strong drink!
Wrath whisky was almost as strong as Beelzebub juice, after all!
"Been real hectic around here since I last saw you!" the boss imp burbled drunkenly to his nemesis.
Blitzo hiccuped a little.
"Went to Mammon's clownfest ... felt so good to see that moronic spider's smirk wiped off his face!"
Striker raised a curious eyebrow at this! The boss imp knew the Deadly Sin of Greed?
The chicken-imp knew that Blitzo was 'in touch' with royalty all right ... but he knew the top nobs?!
"Ohhhh, you just had to be there!" the boss imp drawled, a dopey grin on his face. "Fizz did an entire song just to call that jerkface out! Brilliant!"
Striker was completely lost for words! That spineless, fancy, royal-loving jester? Mouthing off to the King of Greed?!
The chicken-imp's curiosity only grew at this new revelation ... and his regret that he didn't see it first hand!
Blitzo then twisted his head around until he looked gazes with Striker.
"You know ... you're kind of right, Striker", the boss imp said, in a suddenly coherent voice.
"We would make a good team, yeah ... if you weren't so gung-ho about hunting royals!"
The chicken-imp just huffed and rolled his eyes, as Blitzo felt around the sofa for the bottle.
"You're still pretty awesome though ..." the boss imp muttered, as he continued to search.
He then finally found said bottle, and lifted it to his mouth.
Striker's head snaps around to look Blitzo in the eyes again, with sincere surprise ... at his nemesis's compliment.
The chicken-imp couldn't help but feel touched by it ... subconsciously snuggling up to Blitzo's chest.
The two demons gradually nodded off to sleep, still on the sofa together.
———
Hours later ... at the crack of dawn ...
The sitting room is suddenly lit up with a large purple flash over at the sofa ... followed by a wicked cackle!
A familiar tall, dark figure abruptly stood up from said sofa, and turned to the other figure on it.
Blitzo was sleeping deeply, seemingly unaware of the clear danger looming menacingly over him.
The boss imp had changed positions in his sleep; now sleeping on his front, with one hand under a cushion.
Striker's rattlesnake tail rattled in anticipation, as he smirked down at Blitzo.
Striker then pulled out a pistol, and aimed it at the boss imp's head, but ... after several seconds of silence ... lowered it.
The cowboy chuckled softly as he slowly put his pistol back into his jacket.
"Assassin's honour indeed ... catch you later, Blitz", Striker murmured, a rare note of respect in his voice.
The cowboy gave the sleeping imp a little salute, and then turned, and walked to the nearby window.
As Striker opened it, and slipped through ... one of Blitzo's eyes snapped open.
The boss imp smirked, and withdrew his hand from under the cushion ... revealing a pistol clenched in it.
He had to hand it to Striker! At least the cowboy was never ever boring or predictable!
———
Outside Blitzo's apartment, Imp City, seconds later ...
Once out of the window, it was an easy climb for Striker down the side of the building to the street below.
Dropping lightly to the ground, the cowboy turned and whistled sharply. Bombproof comes trotting quietly up to Striker, out of the shadows.
*nicker* (So, how did it go? What happened?)
"Too much", the cowboy said brusquely, scowling a little as he swung himself into the saddle.
"It didn't go as expected, Bomb. We'll have to make new plans."
*nicker* (That clown give you anything trouble?)
"Not exactly", Striker muttered as he then kicked Bombproof on. The hellhorse and his rider quickly trotted off into the distance.
"Blitz's book had a damned spell on it. When I touched the book, it turned me into a chicken!"
...
...
*hysterical whinnying*
"SHUT UP!"