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It's in a month after, with Stolas spent and lying on his side, that Blitzo finally musters up the courage to tell him.
"Stolas?"
"Hmm?"
It's always the aftermath that feels the weirdest. The one where Stolas just...lies there, eyes blinking and closing, as the sun builds up warmth from beyond the curtain. Then dawn comes, sometimes punctuated with Stella bursting in while Blitzo jumps from the balcony, but today it's just quiet. Stolas is still wearing the collar. Blitzo unlatches it and takes it off, the softness of down brushing his fingers.
"I'm sorry."
At that, Stolas' head swings around, and Blitzo tries not to wince at the movement. Stolas looks shocked--or as shocked as a demonic owl could be--and it's probably because Blitzo said some semblance of an apology. Maybe.
"Sorry for what?"
But the courage that had bubbled seconds before is already receding. Blitzo stares at Stolas, just for a few moments, his brain trying to figure out what exactly he wants to say. Can you die? is the first thing boils up to his tongue, but lately Moxxie's been on his ass on using a bit more tact, and How powerful are you? also sounds really, really appealing now. But Stolas is staring at him with all four eyes, and what comes out is--
"Can I kill you?"
Stolas blinks.
"Fuck, fuck--wait--I meant--" Blitzo flinches back, fully prepared to see some eldritch owl horror looming over him like a creepy wax statue, but Stolas only tilts his head. Waits for him to continue digging his grave. "No. No. But--could someone like me kill you?" Okay, no, that didn't sound better. It sounds like he's trying to rouse up a posse to smother Stolas in his sleep. "No--! I--"
Stolas lays a hand on Blitzo's hand, and there's a brief moment where his talons slide past his claws. It's a weird, but not exactly an unpleasant feeling, and the words die down. "I understand your question. You're wondering if an imp--or any demon of lower strata--possesses a method to overcome my abilities."
"Kill," Blitzo clarifies.
Stolas gives a small laugh at that. "The answer is no. And before you claim I'm stating this from pomposity, I'd like to point out--" he pokes at Blitzo's side gently, "I have been the target of more assassination attempts than I can count. Blade, bullet, fire, asphyxiation, drowning..."
"Choking?" Blitzo suggests.
"Only when you do it, Blitzy." As always, Stolas says his name like a purr, like a sweet he caresses with his tongue. It still creeps him out, honestly, but it also makes a weird feeling fill his stomach. He chalks it down to cramps. "A quite memorable one was the time a rival demon tried to fill my conference room with melted cheese. He believed the heat, at the very least, would present itself a roasted avian by the morning."
Cheese with bird meat doesn't sound that bad, but Blitzo knows better than to mention to Stolas the feasibility of his own flesh being food. "I'm guessing that plan went ass-up, then."
"I ate him." Blitzo jerks at that, but Stolas runs a single talon lightly along his ribs. "I joke, my little imp. Only partially. He still was to be killed, however."
Nothing gets Blitzo hotter under the collar than murder, but nothing shrivels up his dick faster than cannibalism either. Partial or otherwise. And that's--not really the point, because Stolas essentially states he's invulnerable--and why wouldn't he be? It's not information that's commonplace especially to imps, unless you happen to be very, very proficient with weapons.
"What about angelic weaponry?"
To anyone else, there would've been no change in Stolas' expression at all, but Blitzo isn't anyone else. Instead, there's the slight tenseness of feathers, the way the red eyes glow ever so slightly, like floating lamps. A slight change in the air, It smells--more metallic, now, and Blitzo knows that smell as well as he knows the creases of his claw.
Blood.
"An interesting question," Stolas says quietly. The amusement is gone from his voice.
Blitzo scoots back, a rare moment of fear rippling up his spine. "Look, whatever you're thinking, I'm not--"
"Blitzy. Blitzy." The tenseness is still there, but Stolas strokes along his tail. Usually it arouses him, especially when Stolas squeezes it ever so slightly--but right now it's just absentminded stroking. "You don't ever need to fear me. And, as...interesting as your business company is--"
"Hey!"
"--a professional assassin would not be insipid enough to ask for my weaknesses while naked in bed with the subject in question." Stolas shifts so that Blitzo is pulled closer, half-resting across his lap. "But I presume there is more to your question. And your apology, for the matter."
"I..." He's glad that he can rest his head among a patch of feathers, and the smell of sex isn't as bad as it used to be. Or maybe he's actually starting to like Stolas' company. Yikes. "You remember the Harvest Moon Festival, right? The one where you singled me out like a prom girl covered in vomit?"
Stolas smiles at that. "I couldn't help it! You were doing so well against the other imps."
"Yeah, well, there was this one psycho--" and the memory of a dark room emerges in the back of his mind. "One of the imps there. He was going to..." Blitzo glances up at Stolas, and not the first time wonders how the actual fuck he ended up in a Prince of Hell's lap. It's comfy, at least. Stolas strokes a talon around his horn.
"He was going to kill you."
"I see." Stolas continues to stroke his horns. "And from your line of questioning...I'll presume with angelic weaponry."
"Yeah," Blitzo says softly.
The talon traces along his scalp, drifting down to his cheek. Blitzo leans into the touch despite himself. If he had just showed up a second late--just one fucking second late--it might have been over. It would have been over. Stolas doesn't directly answer his question, but his non-response is answer enough anyway.
"It would've worked, wouldn't it?"
Stolas' talon stills.
"Blitzo..."
"Oh, fuck." Fuckfuckfuck. He's too used to Stolas' power--how that damned owl can just conjure objects out of nowhere, or walk through starless voids like a stroll through a park. He's too used to Stolas being untouchable, both physically and--here, as well. Angelic weaponry. He's heard some circulating around the black market before, but most of the weapons were faulty and couldn't be operated anyhow. He's never considered it. Sure, he's a nut for weapons, but the chance of it misfiring--accidentally sinking into Loona or Moxxie or Millie's flesh, watching them crumble into absolute nothingness--makes him feel like a pit has opened in his stomach. There's hurting them, and there's hurting them.
"What happened to the imp?" Stolas asks, almost casually.
"He's out there. I couldn't kill him."
"Is that what you're sorry for? That you are unable to defeat him?" Stolas kisses one of Blitzo's horns. "You know how I feel about your prowess. Your ability. You have nothing to--"
"He made an offer to me," Blitzo blurted out.
This time Stolas does look visibly surprised; red gleaming eyes turn a shade paler, the feathers squeezing in tightening in a way that rings the upper part of his head. His beak parts, and for several agonising seconds all he does is stare at the imp. It's almost a comedic tableau, with the way the blankets bunch around his waist.
"He offered me a place alongside him. To take down Hell's nobility." Blitzo speaks faster now, like some invisible hook wrenches the words from his gut. "And you know? It didn't--sound bad. At all. I'm an imp--a fucking imp--and that puts me at the bottom, and he offers me a way right to the top. Not even greater princes can survive it. We would've been feared even more than Exterminators." He clenches and unclenches his hand, watching the white scar tissue blend with red flesh. "Everything I wanted--I could've got--just had to stand aside. He wouldn't have missed." He looks up and stares straight at Stolas, hating the feeling of tears building up behind his eyes. "You wouldn't have known."
Stolas says nothing.
"Would you?" For a mad moment he just wants to shake the bird. Assure him that he's untouchable, that he would've laughed off Striker's bullet like flicking a flea. "Jesus Christ on a pole, just answer me--"
"You are apologising for considering, yes?"
"Of fucking course! Anyways--" Blitzo's brain finally catches up with his mouth. "Oh. Um--"
"You have no need to." Stolas, however, has quite an unreadable expression, although it looks the tiniest bit sorrowful.
"But--"
"You are here, are you not? You threw away an entire lifetime of opportunity for me." A smile curls on Stolas' beak; in the rising light, it looks rueful. "I have no doubt that you would've came out on top had you accepted his proposal."
"You don't get it, asshole! I would've killed you. If that day you pissed me off more than usual, and I didn't care, then--"
"We are in hell, my dear," Stolas said, his voice soft as silk. "I never expected you to be perfect. I expected you to be you, with all your quirks and flaws and strengths and weaknesses. You considered it. Why wouldn't you?"
"Aren't you mad?"
Talons grip his shoulders, and Blitzo's heart leaps into his throat--but then Stolas is tugging him closer, hugging him so that his face is mashed semi-comfortably in a sprawl of feathers. It's...not bad. Really. It's warm and smells vaguely of flowers.
"I don't know if I would have," he mumbles into Stolas' chest. He hears the prince hum.
"You didn't. And that is enough for me."
The sun continues to rise. When he was younger, Blitzo used to question it--there was a sun on the mortal plane, but that didn't necessitate why there would be one in Hell as well. Was it the same sun? His sister had laughed so hard at the question that he had never asked it again. Yet here he was, watching beams of red-gold spread across the room like ink, unfurling another llife that demons like him never even had a chance to see.
"Don't worry, Blitzo," Stolas whispers above his head. "I am not done with this existence yet. You have nothing to fear."
Blitzo buries his face deeper, but doesn't say a word.