Work Text:
***
“Death? I don’t get it… how can I die again?” the girl asked, frowning.
“It’s not always literal,” Stolas replied. “It might suggest an ending or a fresh start. Do you sense something might be changing in your life?” he asked with a soft smile.
“Uhm… I—”
“Hey, Longlegs! You’re on in five!” The manager shouted from across the room.
Stolas let out a sigh, taking his card back. “My apologies, ma’am; looks like our time is over.”
“Wait, but I booked—”
“First time is on the house,” he cut her off, already knowing what she was about to say.
He watched the client reluctantly walk away while lazily shuffling the cards.
As much as he loved dancing — especially when he got to pick the music—this was the part he liked the least. Sure, it brought in a lot of cash, but all the creeps in the room usually had their eyes glued to the dancers, and any one of them could ask for a private session — although Stolas always rejected any offer.
But Stolas was already used to being stared at, even if for different motives. And yeah, being objectified made him uneasy, but honestly? No price was too high for the freedom he had finally gained. Plus, he was slowly building a small crew of clients who actually paid for his spells. Rich, middle-class clients, wealthy enough to give good tips, but not enough to hang out with royalty.
“LONLEGS!” The manager yelled again, clearly his last call.
He gave himself one last glance in the mirror before running to the dance floor.
***
Blitz was pacing in his apartment, shoving a plant halfway across the room and knocking over a chair. His horse plushies were all over the place. The couch was in the bathroom now—he didn’t even remember how it got there, but it sure as hell deserved it. Loona was in her usual spot, eyes glued to her phone, completely unimpressed.
On the TV, the security feed kept looping that moment—the bitch’s hand darting out, swiping his skull-shaped pendant while he was peeling off his blood-soaked clothes. Every slam of furniture, every crash, felt not good enough to burn off his rage.
He was gonna kill that fucking bitch. He was gonna break his leg fist —
The door banged open as Moxxie burst in, gun out.
“SIR, I’M— oh.” he said, probably thinking Blitz was having a fight. “Blitz, what the fuck—”
"YOU!" Blitz stormed up dangerously close to Moxxie. "Our last client. Where the fuck is that bitch’s info?”
“Uh, but she paid us—”
“I don’t give a rat’s dick that she paid us! That fucking excuse of a klepto took something of mine!” he kept yelling, pointing a finger toward the TV.
Only then did Moxxie notice the security feed.
"Blitz, I’m sure you can find another skull at, like, any booth in Greed—"
"Don’t fucking tell me what to do, Moxxie. Now give me that bitch’s address, or get the fuck out!"
Moxxie sighed, then reluctantly pulled open the drawer with the work files: the one place Blitz hadn’t checked yet.
***
Stolas’s boss was a real bitch. And he’d met literally royal bitches before.
Apparently, Brittany had shown up in Hell about fifty years ago and quickly got rich enough (Satan knows how) to open her own club. She crammed it with everything and everyone entertaining enough to lure in as many people as possible: games, booze, dancers, sex, and of course, drugs. She claimed she only cared about money, but Stolas suspected she was secretly trading souls with desperate girls. She gained enough trust from the Overlords and Asmodeus, and soon enough, she was one of the most powerful sinners on the block.
He had to admit, though, sometimes it was kind of cool to see a woman thrive in such a male-dominated scene. She wasn’t his first bitchy boss, but she was his first female boss.
When he had left the palace with no money and no prospects, he had to start from rock bottom. He had lasted about a week before desperately asking the kindest people he knew for help. He had immediately felt ashamed of how weak and inexperienced he was. He had wondered if Blitzo would’ve laughed at him.
Then he had gotten embarrassed all over again just for thinking about Blitzo. That kid burned into his memory had, without meaning to, planted a doubt in Stolas’s head. And like one of his plants, that doubt had only grown with time until it took up every inch of space in his mind.
The imp had never come back to the palace. Probably because of the little thefts during their games. Probably he had never cared about coming back in the first place. But every now and then, Stolas would see the circus tents when he walked through the city. They changed Rings every year, giving the impression of wandering travelers. Free. Happy.
But while he was alone, crashing at a friend’s place after yet another failure, Stolas realized something else—Blitzo was also, without a doubt, very skilled. Unlike him, he had to work most of the time just to be himself.
And that’s why the next day, Stolas had made his move.
He had learned to dance, to strip, even to mix cocktails. Soon enough, he had started to use his magic to be a great illusionist. It was the first time in his life he’d ever felt like his body could give him what he really needed.
Most people didn’t know exactly who (or what) they were looking at: for the first five years, he had used a magic spell to mask any trace of his royal appearance. But soon enough, everyone forgot about Prince Stolas, and he gradually had grown more comfortable showing his true self. By now, no one recognized him anymore.
He had learned just how unfair Hell really was to strangers, nobodies, and outcasts. He went through things no prince could’ve ever imagined.
Despite everything, he was able to make enough to build a decent life. A cozy apartment, some books and plants. He was fine, really.
But he certainly hadn’t planned on just surviving forever—after all, what’s the point of leaving nobility only to end up in another prison? He wanted a peaceful life, maybe even a comfortable one. To swallow as few bitter pills as possible. Maybe even find a partner. A family.
Family.
Unfortunately, those humiliating years hadn’t stripped him of his fantasies. To love and be loved. Children to give everything to, to pass down what truly matters.
But for now, Stolas limited himself to smiling at the colleagues he liked and keeping mental notes of the assholes—just in case, one day, he got the chance to take revenge.
He absolutely hated his previous bosses (real pigs with usually a thing for schoolgirls) and had taken the first chance he got to leave every time. Brittany had taken advantage of his desperation—six months without a job—and trapped him in a shitty contract.
He had been hired a couple of months ago, but so far, it wasn’t much of a gig. But the longer he kept working, the more he started to suspect that bosses sucked everywhere.
Stolas was powerful enough to walk away without facing any real consequences, but doing so meant risking exposure, and honestly, he preferred this life.
Tonight, the club was alive in its usual chaos: music pounding, lights flashing, bodies moving, people drooling. Brittany was drinking too much again, surrounded by dancers and prostitutes, barely coordinating the employees.
Stolas stood near the edge of the floor, watching the crowd like he always did. He liked to keep track of the chaos. Hoping to find something to call ‘home’ in it.
That’s when he saw the front door slam open.
***
Blitz kicked in the heavy doors of the club. Red lights flickered across his face as weird-ass sexy music played.
Of course, the bitch ran a place as shabby as it was chaotic. Typical of sinners—they have no idea how things are supposed to work here. And why the fuck would she need to steal his pendant, when he already has so much to enjoy?
He pushed his way through the crowd. He wasn’t there to dance. Let alone drink.
A very obnoxious but recognizable laugh catched his attention.
Like a fucking bloodhound, he spotted the bitch instantly. The pendant on her waist.
Byngo.
*
Due to the lights and the huge crowd, Stolas couldn’t see the imp properly. But he was definitely suspicious—a very aggressive walk, scanning the room. Stolas tried to follow his line of sight and felt a prickle across his skin.
Brittany.
*
Blitz’s hand was on his gun before he even thought about it. A smooth motion. Practically muscle memory. One second later, he was ready to fire.
*
Stolas didn’t think, he just reacted. A sharp pulse of magic burst from his palm, slamming into the stranger’s chest. The hit sent the imp flying back onto the floor.
“What the fuck!” the imp screamed, having no clue what the hell was happening.
The crowd barely noticed, too busy dancing and drinking.
Stolas stood with one hand raised, glowing with residual magic. The stranger looked up, trying to find the source of his trouble. And that’s when Stolas saw him clearly.
Everything around them seemed to fade.
When he saw the imp’s face, his heart stopped for a second.
No. It can’t be. What is he doing here?
It had been almost twenty years, but he could’ve recognized him anywhere. The once gentle eyes were now veiled with cynicism—or maybe, who knows, with experience. He had several scars across his body. But the mark on his forehead was unmistakable. And Stolas could never forget him.
Older, broken, but one of a kind. The one who’d planted the seed of doubt in his mind— the dream of a different life.
His first ever friend.
***
When Blitz snapped back to reality, able to focus again, the bitch was already gone from sight. Maybe she had bodyguards? Maybe a protection spell? But how the fuck could a fucking sinner have that much magical power? It didn’t make any sense.
He made his way to the bar, acting cool and curious while thinking over his next move, when he felt a heavy presence coming up behind him.
“Hello, sir,” someone said.
Blitz turned his head. A horse-sized tall, barely-dressed twink was staring at him with a fake smile.
The imp instantly felt a weird spark running through him—something between attraction and familiarity.
“My sincere apologies no one offered you the welcome champagne,” the big bird said, handing him a glass. “We’re short-staffed tonight.” He was clearly trying to play it cool, but Blitz was able to see right through the act.
“Uh, no thanks,” Blitz said flatly. He swore he’d seen this stranger somewhere before.
“I see,” the bird said, hesitating as he pulled the drink back. “Apologies again to bother you, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you here. I’m guessing this is your first time?”
“Yeah.” Blitz kept it short, cold on purpose, hoping the guy would take the hint as he tried to figure out why the bird looked familiar. Maybe we—naaah. No way he’d forget fucking someone that tall.
And hot.
“Well then, in that case, would you allow me to show you around? As you can see, we offer a wide range of entertainment suited to all tastes”.
Blitz didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked the guy straight in the eyes.
“What’s your name?”
The guy didn’t hesitate. “I’m Moon, sir. Would you like—”
“I’m not talking about your stripper name,” Blitz cut in, sharp. “What’s your name?”
The bird paused for a moment.
“I don’t have any other name, sir.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“This might sound strange, but would you like me to read your cards?” Moon asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.
Blitz hesitated. He looked around—the bitch was nowhere in sight. Might as well kill some time and try to figure out where the hell he’d seen this guy before?
“Sure, why not,” Blitz said.
“Alright. Then come with me, Blitzo,” Moon said.
“It’s Blitz, the ‘o’ is silent,” he replied automatically. However, he immediately realized that he had never told the bird his name before.
“My apologies. This way, Blitz”, Moon replied.
***
Stolas was lucky that Blitz didn’t seem to catch his mistake of using his name even though he’d never introduced himself. Or apparently not his name—Stolas could’ve sworn it had an “o” at the end, though. He did his best to hide his panic for the rest of the walk to the reading room.
It was his favorite spot. The music thumped in the background, but it was way quieter. Blitz sat across from Stolas at a small round table that forced him to sit in a very uncomfortable position. A single blue light above them casted long shadows. Between them was a moon-shaped centerpiece and some candles burning low blue flames.
Stolas shuffled the cards slowly, thinking.
“You actually believe in this human crap, do you?” Blitz asked, arms crossed.
“I believe in signs,” Stolas said, “And sometimes signs are warnings.”
He spread the deck and motioned for Blitz to pick. Blitz rolled his eyes but pulled three cards.
The Tower, The Moon, The Ten of Swords.
Stolas would be lying if he said the draw was by chance. He knew very well how to trick the cards by now. And he wanted to send a warning.
“I need to be honest with you, Blitz—these cards carry a troubling message.”
“What?” Blitz asked. “What’s it say?”
Stolas leaned in a little. Blitz seemed to be mesmerized by his fur, which gave him a boost of confidence.
“You’re walking towards something that might ruin you,” he replied.
Blitz scoffed. “Welcome to Hell, birdie.”
Stolas ignored him, tapping a finger on the first card.
"The Tower. It is one of the few Major Arcana cards that almost always carries a negative interpretation. It is notorious for representing sudden and disruptive changes, often chaotic and destructive.”
Blitz narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly.
“Then we have The Moon. It may represent illusion, confusion, and deception. It often appears when things are not as they seem. Be careful about your instinct, as it can be clouded by personal feelings”.
Blitz seemed a bit distracted, but Stolas kept going.
“And finally, The Ten of Swords. Betrayal or painful endings. Things can get harsh if you keep this path,” Stolas said.
“So what, am I supposed to just run and hide for life?”
“I am not saying that,” Stolas replied. “But maybe don’t go looking for blood tonight. Go home. Stay there. Just for now.”
Blitz stayed quiet for a few seconds. He was looking intently at the cards.
Stolas took advantage of it to truly appreciate the imp's beauty. Over the last few decades, he became a very handsome man—in a very rough, dangerous way that he bet made people stare a little. He could see the shape of his biceps through the fabric of his shirt. His mouth, sharp and careless, had only gotten more attractive.
For a moment, Stolas forgot the cards, the warnings, the games.
He just looked at him.
And he remembered how important Blitz was—is, to him.
“But isn’t the sword card upside down?” Blitz suddenly asked, interrupting Stolas’s train of thought.
Stolas looked down. He hadn’t noticed he’d placed it in reverse.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Don’t they mean different things when they’re upside down?”
They do. The Ten of Swords Reversed could mean healing through suffering and resilience. For a moment, he wondered if fate was playing a little trick on him, punishing his clumsy attempt to talk to Blitz.
“I’m afraid that’s just a myth,” he lied, hoping Blitz was as clueless about tarot as he looked.
“Wanna know what I think?” Blitz asked with a sly, charming smirk.
“What?”
“I think these cards say more about you than me.”
Stolas blinked a few times. He hadn’t expected that.
“What do you mean?”
“The Tower,” Blitz started. “Disruptive changes, chaos. Like when you walked away from your fancy royal family.”
Stolas’s heart skipped a beat. He laughed, weakly, too quickly.
“I am not sure what you’re implying,” he said.
“The Moon,” Blitz continued. “I mean, pretty fucking obvious. That’s your new name, isn’t it? A mask. An illusion.”
Stolas’s mouth went dry. He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to keep his expression calm.
“And then, The Ten of Swords…”
Blitz trailed off, staring down at the card. For once, he seemed unsure. But then Blitz looked into Stolas’s eyes, staring at him, and Stolas knew he was fucked.
“Are you worried about your future, Prince Stolas?”
Blitz had recognized him after only a few minutes. That’s how long his disguise had lasted.
“I- I am—I don’t—” he stammered, unsure what to say.
“You’re right… maybe I should say former prince?” Blitz said, sliding dangerously close to Stolas’s side of the table, practically crawling over. “What makes a powerful, immortal being like you decide to turn into a slut for a club?”
Stolas could feel his feathers slightly ruffling. The way Blitz said it—half-tease, half-challenge—sent a little jolt through him. He hated how much it worked. Blitz, on the other hand, seemed very comfortable with it.
“Oh, that is rich, coming from you,” Stolas shot back, irritation in his voice. “And what makes a clown want to kill the owner of a club?”
“I’m not a clown anymore,” Blitz said, now only inches from the owl. “I kill people now.”
“Oh,” Stolas replied, his tone sarcastic as he faked a gasp. “How afraid should I be?”
Blitz grinned, leaning closer so his hands were almost on Stolas's thighs. “Depends. You planning on running?”
“Running from fights is hardly in my nature.” Stolas replied smoothly, even as his unsteady breathing betrayed him.
Blitz chuckled. “Yeah? And yet you seem pretty tense,” he shot back, fingers briefly brushing the line of feathers at Stolas’s thighs.
They hovered there, inches apart, tension in the air, both waiting to see who would break first.
Stolas could smell Blitz’s intoxicating scent. He was not at all how he remembered him. In a smooth, quiet movement, Stolas opened his legs just a bit—like a suggestion—and Blitz leaned in—
***
Blitz could hear the faint catch in Stolas’s breathing, see his pupils wide, for just a moment, inside the deep red.
Suddenly, with a very smooth and quiet movement, Stolas opened his legs, just a bit—like a suggestion, like he was giving access to the imp.
Blitz was almost breaking, leaning for a kiss —
***
“LONGLEGS!!” a manager shouted.
He stepped into the reading room without warning, but Stolas and Blitz pulled apart like they’d just been caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“Longlegs! Time to dance! You’re up in ten!” he said, and then, with the same careless attitude, walked right back out.
Stolas sat back, composure sliding neatly back into place, though his feathers still betrayed him.
“Duty calls,” he said, and then started to walk away.
“I’m gonna kill the bitch, Stolas,” Blitz replied.
Stolas just turned his head to him and smiled. “Not on my watch.”
“What the fu- JUST WAIT A SEC—” Blitz screamed, but Stolas was already running away, leaving no room for a discussion.
***
Still a bit turned on, Blitz stood grumpily among the crowd. He had to watch Stolas’s show without laying a finger on the bitch—just waiting for another chance to talk to Stolas, so he could stop the bird from using his fucking powers and keep her protected.
But once the show started, he realized he had no reason to regret the wait.
A deep, fire-red light washed over the stage as Stolas took the pole. He was wearing nothing but a corset and some excuse for underwear. The music was nothing special, just an excuse to get him moving.
He started slow, long legs hooking the metal like he’d been doing it all his life. Every twist of his body was deliberate, showing control and grace, with just enough tease to make the crowd lean in.
Blitz had begun leaning in from the very start. Hell, he was practically drooling.
He watched Stolas bend low, feathers sweeping against the polished floor, then roll back up the pole with a smirk that was technically meant for the room—but Blitz knew better. That one was for him.
Then the idea hit. No way he was letting it pass.
He made his way over to the manager, who was posted up near the bar, and tossed a handful of bills on the counter. “Moon. Private dance. For me.”
The manager laughed. “He doesn’t do those.”
Blitz watched him, eyes sharp. “He does tonight.”
The manager looked at the cash. He took them and shrugged. “If you can convince him, he’s all yours.”
Blitz didn’t even wait for the song to end before grabbing Stolas by the wrist and pulling him towards the violet curtains—the VIP area, where the real action happened.
***
“You know,” Stolas said as he stepped inside, voice smooth but guarded, “I do not usually offer private shows.”
“I know,” Blitz said, dropping onto the couch like he owned it. “Figured since your manager is on your neck and all, we could talk while you’re working.”
Stolas’s beak curved a little. “Talk, hmm?”
“I mean, since we’re here, you could also, y’know, show me what you can do,” Blitz said—not sarcastic this time.
Stolas started slow, closing the distance between them with each careful movement of his hips. There was no music, but it didn’t matter. He noticed Blitz didn’t just watch—he tracked everything. The way Stolas’s hands skimmed over his own thighs and waist. The way he held himself, posture perfect, every move designed to show off the soft lines of his feathers. It had taken him a long time to learn how to feel good in his own body, and he was happy to show Blitz everything he knew now.
He was almost close enough to sit on Blitz’s lap, clearly tempted to give in, but the thought of where that might lead kept him hanging. Teasing him like this was too much fun.
Blitz played along, fingertips ghosting over Stolas’s thighs and waist, teasing as well.
“So,” Blitz murmured, “what’s your story? What brings you here?”
“I could ask you the same,” Stolas replied without missing a beat.
They circled each other in words the same way they did with their bodies: never giving too much, just enough to keep them hooked. Stolas hinted at the fall from his old life, how he’d broken away to claim his freedom - carefully leaving out who had inspired him to do so. Blitz, on the other hand, talked about a huge fire, his escape, and how new jobs led him to his business idea. He got the feeling the imp was leaving something out too, but Stolas decided not to press it.
“Sounds like you became the great boss you always wished to be,” Stolas said, genuinely happy for him. “Do you have a big office as well?”
Blitz barely heard the question, maybe too distracted by just how close Stolas was to finally settling on his lap.
Apparently, he decided to cut the game short. With a sudden move, Blitz grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down onto his legs. Stolas let out a surprised sound, his cheeks instantly getting pink.
“Listen, Stolas, I need you to let me kill your fucking boss,” Blitz said flatly. His hips didn’t move—if anything was going to happen, Stolas would have to start it.
But Stolas, in that moment, felt himself slip back into being the awkward, virgin prince he used to be, flustered by even the smallest touch. Was this always going to be the effect Blitz had on him?
“I —um—I might be willing to risk my job to help you, Blitz. But what exactly do I gain from this?”
“Anything you want. Seriously. I’ll owe you a big one.”
“Really? What has she done to deserve that?”
“She stole my pendant.”
“Your pendant?”
“A skull. Didn’t you notice it on her?”
Stolas had, briefly, but hadn’t thought much of it.
“So you wish to kill her because of that? Or is it that you don’t want to admit you were outwitted?” Stolas asked, teasing again.
But Blitz’s expression was serious. “It was my mom’s,” he said, all humor gone. “Only thing I had left of her. I want it back.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. For a moment, it really was just the two of them, locked in a stare that felt heavier than anything they’d said so far. Just for a split second, Blitz’s eyes fell toward Stolas’s beak. He wanted to kiss him.
And Stolas realized he wanted to kiss him too. Badly.
But Blitz had just confessed something real, something heartfelt, and all the sexual tension suddenly didn’t feel right anymore.
After thinking about it for a bit, Stolas said, “Then I will help you.”
“Yeah? You’ll let me kill the bitch?” Blitz smirked.
“Not quite. But you may take the skull while she is distracted. I may have a plan.” He paused, then added, “Would you like to be my assistant in my next magic show?”
***
Everything shut down, and the crowd suddenly went quiet. The stage lights came alive: deep purples, a bit of pink, shimmering golds, smoke rising.
A spotlight hit the stage, and with a dramatic swirl of his tail, Stolas appeared out of nowhere.
The crowd erupted.
He looked fancy and sexy. He was wearing a tall, elegant black wizard’s hat adorned with two feathers. Draped over his shoulders was a dramatic white feathered shawl-like covering, with a heart-shaped brooch at its center. His black corset was barely covering his wrist, revealing an open back, and he wasn’t wearing any pants - but yeah, his garter left little to the imagination when it came to just how perfect that ass was.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and various degenerates,” Stolas announced with a smooth grin, “prepare to be amazed!”
Blitz wandered onstage behind him, wearing a black crop top and too-tight pants that distracted Stolas for a second. Blitz was much better at pretending not to be turned on by Stolas’s outfit. He gave the crowd a half-assed bow that made someone laugh.
Stolas started simple—some card tricks, stars and lights popping out of nowhere, a few small animals appearing from his pocket or hat. Pretty basic stuff, probably because he didn’t want anyone getting suspicious about the actual magic behind it.
Blitz just made up his part as he went along. At one point, Stolas was levitating a deck of cards when he suddenly flung them at Blitz—who, without missing a beat, shot every single one out of the air.
“Good reflexes,” Stolas said smoothly, his tone just a little flirty.
“Good aim,” Blitz shot back.
The audience ate it up.
***
Stolas was honestly impressed by how easily Blitz could steal the spotlight just by improvising onstage. Then again, he’d grown up in the circus. He was probably the star back then, considering how effortlessly charming and unshakable he seemed even when put on the spot.
The crowd loved him.
And Blitz was barely pretending to be a good assistant. He was clearly not taking any of this seriously, every now and then distracted by Stolas's moves.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” Blitz muttered.
Stolas tried not to blush.
The act kept going.
Until Brittany walked in, taking the best spot.
As always, she was loud and cocky. And the girl brought company: rich assholes who didn’t know when to shut up. All of them whistling like Stolas was their fucking Barbie doll.
***
Blitz wasn't patient enough for that shit. He leaned toward Stolas. “Mind if I make a trick myself real quick?”
Stolas smiled. "Just wait another bit,” he whispered.
But of course, Blitz didn't listen to him.
He turned to the crowd with a huge grin. “And now,” he said, arms wide, “for our grand finale—we’re gonna make some assholes disappear!”
The room laughed.
Blitz pulled his gun.
Stolas sighed.
Brittany didn’t even get the chance to realize what was going on. One clean shot, and she was gone.
***
A beat of silence.
Screams. Chaos.
Blitz fired again and again: one bullet for the guy who laughed, another for the one who whistled too much. Chairs crashed. Drinks spilled. People running.
It was a mess. And Blitz was clearly having the time of his life.
Stolas snapped into action, hands glowing. A blast of light came out from his palm, freezing everyone just long enough for him to cast a second spell—something darker, sharper.
“Ta-daa!!” Blitz yelled when the magic faded.
All the dead bodies were gone. The guests blinked, confused. No one remembered the blood, nor the shots. They just clapped, without even knowing why.
Blitz turned to Stolas, grinning. “Damn, that was fire.”
Stolas stared at him, a bit annoyed. “I told you to wait.”
“Relax. You cleaned it up just fine.” Blitz took his gun back. “Besides, they had it coming.”
Stolas sighed, glancing toward the stage. The crowd was already back to their business, like nothing had happened.
***
Blitz’s skull pendant was lying on the ground like it had just dropped out of nowhere, without a single scratch on it.
Blitz picked it up and gave it a good look, making sure it was still intact. Even though it was already clean, he wiped it off a bit—force of habit. Then he pressed a quick kiss to it before slipping it back around his neck.
At that point, he could’ve just gone home. Cleaned up the mess. Done some paperwork.
But that nagging pull in his gut wouldn’t let up. It told him to stick around. To see Stolas.
The bird had disappeared into the dressing rooms right after the whole thing. Blitz hung back for a bit, pretending to kill time, but his eyes kept drifting toward the stage.
After about twenty minutes, the club began to empty out fast. Blitz checked the time. Just past midnight. That didn’t make any sense.
Looking more closely, he noticed the way people moved—eyes distant, steps automatic. They didn’t look like zombies, exactly, but like a herd being quietly shepherded out. Even the managers were quietly tidying up to leave. Given what Stolas had pulled earlier, Blitz figured this had his fingerprints all over it too.
He stayed behind, waiting nearly an hour longer, clinging to the hope that Stolas was still there—hoping, just a little, that all of this had been for him.
When Stolas finally was in sight again, the club had already been empty for a while. Stolas did not seem to care. He lit a cigarette as if nothing had happened.
***
It took him a long time to calm down, but now the world was finally quiet again. He lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag before letting the smoke vanish into the air.
He wondered where things would go from here. Maybe he’d have to ask Asmodeus for help again, or Vassago. The risk of being discovered was high; he’d definitely have to use the disguise spell again for a while.
It didn’t take long before Blitz caught up to him.
“Mind if I keep you company?” he asked, leaning against the wall beside Stolas.
“Be my guest,” Stolas said, acting indifferent, but barely hiding how nervous he was. He was still overwhelmed by seeing the most important boy—now man—of his life.
For a second, he felt stupid. Blitz had probably gone all these years without thinking about him once.
Maybe he should have kicked him out as well. But he couldn’t help drifting closer. He couldn’t resist saving him, getting the chance to talk to him one last time.
They just stood there for a few minutes without talking. But oh, did they want to.
"Y’know,” Blitz said, breaking the silence first, “For someone born in a mansion, you’ve got good instincts. The memory spell, the shield, even the timing. You kept it together.”
Stolas glanced over, still a bit annoyed. “You didn’t make it easy.”
"Yeah," Blitz admitted. “But you handled it.”
Another moment of silence. Another drag from the cigarette. Then, Blitz again:
“Did you ever think about doing something else? Besides this?”
Stolas blinked. “Like what? Killing people?” he joked.
Blitz smiled. “What I do,” he started, “is ugly sometimes. Fuck, most of the time. You gotta get blood on your hands just to get out of it.”
Stolas stared at him quietly. He had no idea what he was gonna say next.
“But…you could do something else. Like paperwork or something. And I could teach you some good tricks with my gun."
Stolas kept looking at him. Unsure.
"You don't have to depend on just yourself anymore.” Blitz then said.
Blitz’s words warmed Stolas’s heart in a way he wasn’t ready for. How did this guy always know exactly what to say—and how to say it so it hit Stolas right in the chest?
“Why are you doing this?” Stolas asked. He didn’t get why Blitz had suddenly turned so gentle and open.
Blitz shrugged his shoulders. “If I see potential, I go for it. I don’t waste time overthinking.”
Maybe, just maybe, he still had some good memories from when they were kids? Or maybe he just felt really sorry for him?
Stolas stepped closer, folding his hands in front of him. His voice was quiet, but sure.
“You once told me that if I ever applied, you’d hire me.”
Blitz’s face turned questioning for a moment. He probably didn’t remember any of that. But it was smarter to say, “And I meant it. But only if you know what you’re walking into.”
Stolas gave a faint smile. Not arrogant, not amused, just tired and real.
“Looks like my life just changed overnight.”
Blitz smiled, and without hesitation offered his hand. Stolas pretended not to feel his own heart racing when he reached out and shook it.
***
“Just maybe… give me a chance to get prepared next time you're planning a mass shooting,” Stolas said.
“No promises,” Blitz replied, already suppressing something weird in his chest while shaking the hand of his new employee. “Gotta keep the audience on its toes.”
--