Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Horse of a Different Color
There are times when the bonds of friendship comes in unexpected forms. From unexpected people and creatures. While unlikely, or even impossible, friendship can last a lifetime. Even in Hell. With a place filled with misery and chaos, it would be expected that such things would survive. But Hell, surprisingly, was much like Earth. With cities, oceans, forests and jungles. While the humans on Earth did wound up there, Hell had it's own population. From imps to Hellhounds, succubesses and incubis, Fallen Angels and Eldritch horrors, all citizens of Hell.
While Hell was similar to Earth, there was some differences as well. Hell was separated into Seven Rings. Pride, Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, Lust, Envy and Sloth. Each ruled by a Prince. Each with their own unique landscape. But while the Rings were ruled by an individual Prince, the real King of Hell, the Fallen Angel Lucifer, was the most powerful being throughout the Seven Rings. But the story is not about Lucifier or the other Princes. No. This is a story about an imp, and how he created a bond with someone who changed his life.
Living in Wrath was like living in a real-life western. More or less. Wrath had tons of volcanoes, which made it the prime farming ring due to how fertile the land was. The largest of the Volcanoes, the three of them, were homes to Wrath's suns. Underneath said suns, in the harsh landscape was a certain Imp who was trekking through the harsh climate.
His name is Striker Sharpshoot. Technically he was a Wrath and Envy imp. His father from Envy and his mother a Wrath imp. His tail rattled like a rattlesnake's. He was currently on his to his newest hit job. He couldn't afford a truck or a horse, so he was currently traveling by walking or the bus. But, he had no money at this time. So walking was his only option.
He raised his eyes to the sky, checking to positions of the sun on the time. It was two hours after high noon. Which meant that the suns were at its hottest. He gave a irritated sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Being an assassin for higher was a lonely job. Especially when there was no family or friends to lean on when you arrived home. One would think that all the time alone would cause someone to start talking to themselves in order to have some sort of conversation.
And you'd be right.
"Suns are unusually hot today." He murmured himself. "And it's Flamin' Twister season."
He sighed. While the twisters were a problem, he couldn't dwell on them. There was a lot of work that he had to get done. He had to get where his target was living. As he continued going down the road, he saw a sign for the newest towns. Which meant that he had several more hours of walking for him to reach the newest one. Wonderful.
He continued on.
He had no idea on how long he had walked. Enough that he knew that he was hungry. He shushed his growling stomach. He had to focus on his mission. While he was mulling in his thoughts, he noticed that it was starting to get dark. He looked up, his instincts telling him that something was wrong. As he looked up in the sky, he saw the beginning of a flaming twister almost reaching the ground.
"Shit!" He shouted, running to find shelter. "Of all the times I had ta be out fer a mission!"
He could hear the whistling of the wind the moment it touched the ground. The uprooting of trees, bushes, anything that was in the vicinity. If he didn't find a place to hide and take cover, he'd be a goner for sure!
"Find a hiding place! Find a hiding place!"
He looked around frantically for any stripe of land that could shield him from the inferno that was wreaking havoc across the land. Looking around, he noticed a large cliff. Desperate, he ran towards it. This was the only place he knew that could keep him alive! He glanced back to see that the twister was getting closer. Increasing his speed, he managed to duck into the cave.
But the mouth of the cave wasn't the best place to hide.
He continued moving deep into the cave. The further away from the entrance, the less likely he would be sucked into the twister's pull. Once he was able to find a good group of rocks firmly mounted on the ground, he dived behind them, clenching his hat to ensure that it didn't fly off. His tail and his free hand gripped on the rocks. Making sure to keep him grounded.
He gritted his teeth feeling the strength of the wind and intensity of the heat. He ducked his head to avoid the flames that were lapping at the entrance of the cave. He dared not move or relaxed. Doing so would spell his fate of an early death. Despite the fact that he could feel the winds and heat dying down, he didn't bother to look up, the fear keeping him stationed.
Once he was sure that he couldn't hear the shrill train whistle that was the wind and the coldness of the cave was unbearable, did he finally glance out. With the sense of danger was gone, he let out a sigh of relief. He survived. He survived another twister. Now to continue onto his hit. As he stood up, he was startled to see a foal at the entrance.
Its coat was black like night. With an orange and yellow flamed mane and tail. It's underbelly showing the heat of what fueled the fires on it. It's hooves orange as well as it's eyes. It was neighing as it pranced around what looked like a body. Pawing at it. Curious, he went up to see what had gotten the foal so upset. Once he was next to it, he saw that it was an adult horse. A mare. Most likely its mother.
She was dead.
Striker felt a pang of sympathy for the young foal. He knew what it was like to lose a parent. Or well, parents in his case. He rubbed the back of his neck. There wasn't much that he could do in this situation. Maybe he could find the horse's owner? Though he wasn't sure if a foal that young would be branded. Where horses branded? He didn't know. He never dealt with horses before. He couldn't allow it to wonder on its own. Especially when it looked so very young.
"Uh... hey there... little foal."
It whinnied in surprise, moving away to look at him. He held his hands up, hoping to calm it down.
"It's okay. It's alright. I ain't gonna hurt ya. It's jus' me. Ain't no one out here but me."
He was talking to a horse. He was talking to a horse.
Fuck it. It was better than talking to himself. And no, it wasn't weird. He wasn't lonely. He was content. He didn't need anyone. He's had himself and only himself throughout his entire life since he was a small child. He didn't need anyone. He looked around for something to help coax the foal over to him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a carrot. It was the only food he had left. Whatever. He could wait till he got to one of the towns to eat. He held it out for him.
"Here you go little one. A nice juicy carrot."
It felt like several hours, when reality it was only a few minutes, the foal finally went up to him. After a bit, it finally took a bite of the carrot. Once it the vegetable was fully eaten, he dusted off his hands.
"Well, you officially cleaned me out of my rations for the day."
He looked across the land. several plants scorched by the twister's flames. He looked back at the dead mare. He couldn't exactly leave the baby colt by himself. He reached into his bag pulling out a rope and wrapping it around it's neck while it was distracted eating. He gently tugged on the rope once it was finish.
"Alright lil' fella'. Looks like we're travelin' together until we get to the next town."
When the two arrived in town, Striker made quick work of finding his target. The quicker he killed them, the faster he would get his money. Then he could finally get some food.
Which would be good if only…
"Hey! Fella! No horses in here! Take your animal outside!"
Striker sneered at the motel owner but lead the hellhorse outside towards the back of the place. The imp thought that once they made it to civilization, or at least a place where there was grass and shelter, the horse would leave. But no! Instead, the beast trotted behind him like a duckling following its mother.
"Come on, buddy, scamper off," Striker tried to coax the horse to leave. But the beast just cocked its head and nuzzled his nose against this chest.
Striker huffed. "Ya don't want to make this easy, do ya?"
Looking around, he spotted a row of windows alongside the building. The motel wasn't that large. Just one floor and build along a rectangular shape. If his info was correct, his target should be in one of the these rooms. If not here than the other side. Might as well check it out.
Striker crouched down against the wall and started heading towards the windows. Peeking through each other to check for his target. And hoping that no one would come around back and take him for a creeper.
Half of the rooms were empty, while the other had patrons either sleeping or watching tv. But none where his clients. Come on ya bastard. Where are you?'
As he neared the final window, Striker nearly shot up out of his skin as a loud neighing sound filled the air. He spun around to find himself inches from the hellhorse foal! The beast still hadn't left!
"What the fu-!" Striker hissed. "I told ya to…"
"Hey! Who's out there?!"
Instinctively, Striker ducked underneath the windowsill as the people inside opened his window and peeked his head. Thankfully, they didn't look down, but Striker both praised and cursed his luck.
It was the target!
"Huh? A horse?" The target started at the Hellfoal in confusion before waving his hand away. "Shoo! Piss off!"
The colt blinked, not understanding. He neighed at him.
"Stupid horse!"
They went back inside the room. Striker sent a glare at the foal, trying to shoo him away, making sure to keep his voice low.
"Shoo! Scat! Yer gonna cost me the job!"
But the horse didn't scat. Instead, he came closer, licking his face. He pushed him away, wiping off the saliva. He could hear his target moving in his room. He couldn't risk getting caught! Just as he was going to rise up to the window, his Target beat him to it, throwing a beer bottle at the foal.
"Get lost ya lil' shit!"
The foal squealed when the bottle hit its flank. Something clicked in Striker. He didn't know why, but seeing the innocent animal get hit sent a surge of rage through him. He sent a sudden punch at their face. Causing them to stumble back into his room. Well, looks like it wasn't going to be discreet as he liked for this job.
"Pick on someone ya own size, fucker!"
The target yelped in surprise. Was it wise to make his presence known? Probably not. But he felt a rage on behalf of the baby horse. No one was going to harm a defenseless animal in his presence!
"You mother-ark!" Striker tackled the target to the ground and shoved his face into the carpeted floor, muffling the screams.
Guess he'll have to make the kill messy.
He grabbed the man by the horns, tall and straight, and yanked them backwards, nearly snapping his neck, before plunging his knife into his throat. His short screams turned to horrid gurgling, blood pouring form the wound and hole. Striker gripped the handle and pulled back, slicing open the neck and letting it all flood the ground below.
In the span of a minute, the target was dead.
Striker took several deep breaths before slowly getting back up. He pulled his knife from the target's throat, wiping the blood off on his pants. Thankfully he was wearing gloves so no fingerprints, not that this crummy motel would give a shit about a dead patron, but you could never be too careful.
Like checking the pulse.
Yep, dead.
Before he could continue, a loud neighing broke his thoughts.
"Satan Bless, horse! Ya nearly ruined my kill!" Striker hissed at the animal, now poking his head through the window.
Instead of answering him (not like it really could), the foal licked his face. He sneered, wiping his face off.
"Ew, horse drool!"
The baby animal blinked at him. Neighing once more. He rolled his eyes. Shit. Needy little thing. He crawled out of the window.
"What? What now?"
He look up towards the front of the building and cursed. A loud pink convertible driving into the parker if lot. The target's mistress! She came early!
Bitch isn't supposed to be back for another couple of hours! Striker gritted his teeth and quickly made his way towards the front. From his intel, the woman would start screaming and alerting every fucker within a 10-mile radius about the target's death.
He needed to get out.
If only this damn horse would leave him alone!
"Leave!" Striker tried to shoo the animal away but it kept following him.
He just gave up and make a break for it. The space between the motel and to the other building wasn't large but it wasn't small. The imp didn't run, that would draw attention, instead he walked briskly. Not fast walk that would make him look like an idiot and gain some looks and attention. Just quick enough pace like someone was trying to get out of the sun or needing to get somewhere.
Thankfully, the streets around the places were semi-busy and he was able to blend in. And more importantly, lose the horse! He felt a pit in his stomach about doing it, but he couldn't waste it getting soft for an animal. Especially with his life on the line. By the time he read the edge of the town, a high-pitched shriek echoed in the air.
Right on cue, Striker thought as all heads around him turned to the direction of the sound, his as well. Needed to keep up appearance.
Some started heading towards the location while others just stood and stared, leaning forward as of hoping to see something from their position. Not Striker, he kept going forward. As he turned a corner to disappear into an alleyway, he felt something tug on his tail. He glanced back to see what it was. Only to groan.
It was the foal.
Damn it!
He wasn't in the mood to deal with it. He just needed to get the fuck out of there. Collect his pay and then move on to the next job.
"Alright, fine, you stubborn thing. You can travel with me for a while. But once I find someone who's willing to buy you, you're outta my hair for good. Got it?"
His answer was nuzzled to his stomach. Striker sighed and simply patted the thing on his head. He poked his head out. No one looking in his direction or nosy demons following him. He continued down the alleyways, taking a few corners before he managed to find his way towards the edge of the town. Near the location he came in from, but far enough where no one who saw him would see him away.
Gazing out into the horizon, Striker scanned the area. No fire tornado or hell quakes that he can feel. But he knew how difficult it was the first time travel down the area and he dreaded going back out there again.
A neigh near his head nearly gave him a heart attack.
"Damn beast! Didn't I tell ya…" Striker stopped when he noticed the animal holding something in his mouth.
A water bottle.
"What that?" Striker took it from the beast mouth and the thing started swinging his head in a backwards direction.
Looking up, he saw that the hell horse had open the backdoor to one of the buildings. From what he could tell, a convenient store, with boxes of food, water and some bags to carry it in. Striker looked at the creature then back at the open door. No one nearby to stop him.
"…good beast." muttered Striker, taking a nearby bag and stuffing it with a couple of bottles of water and some snacks nearby. At least he won't go thirsty or starve.
Speaking of, he opened one of the bottles and took a long swish, downing nearly the entire thing. It had been hours since his last drop and between the wasteland and the messy kill, he needed it.
The horse nudged him again, this time pointing at the water bottle. Striker raised an eyebrow before opening another one, full, and tipping it into the horse's mouth where it drunk greedily. Guess he wasn't the only one that was thirsty.
Once the bottle was empty, he tossed it. He looked back at the creature next to him. He reached into his bag, pulling out his rope and retying it around its neck.
"Okay, off inta the desert we go. Again. Time to collect my pay 'nd get home till the next job."
The horse just shook its head and neighed. Striker took this as an agreement and led the creature back into the landscape. At least this time he knew where he was going, making sure to remember the landmarks back to Brimstone Valley where his client was.
Thankfully, it was nearing the evening so the sun wouldn't be as blistering hot, and the evenings and nights were a bit cooler. He couldn't risk sleeping, not with the deadly animals and bandits that hid in the terrains. Even packing, Striker didn't want to take that risk. He should make it to the location an hour after the sun set, collect the bounty, rest up in a nearby motel and then set out for another job.
But what to do about the horse? Striker glanced at the animal next to him. Probably could find a good owner for him. Brimstone Valley has a couple of horse farms. Might even fetch a good price.'
And that was the plan: collect his money, sell the horse and get out of town. Simple.
So why did he feel sad about it?