Behind you { English Version }

Hands on neck

« Why struggle to run a business that is rigged against you, when you can partner up with me and kill the unkillable? Starting with the one that treats you like a plaything. We can be the most dangerous beings in Hell »

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Hands on neck, back against to the wall.
They hold you fierce, preventing you from breathing.
No matter how hard you struggle, how much force it takes to break free.
They remain there, motionless, thirsty for your blood.
Of your own breath.

Asking for help is useless.
Hoping for a miracle ... impossible.
This is hell and you ... you're in it.

Does it really have to end like this?
Is it really possible to cease to exist?
What will remain of you, if not the echo of your misdeeds?
Everyone will forget the sins you committed to get high, to be considered one of the few who made it.

So ...
What was the point of getting there?
What are you really risking your life for?
To save those you love, or to inflate that bit of ego that is needed to hide a personality born insecure?

This is what you think, while yellowish eyes glow in the dark.

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Blitzø woke up with a startled, breathing heavily and with sweat-soaked hands.
He ran his red claws at his aching temples to massage them, the alcohol he ingested hadn't been enough to save him from the nightmare that tormented him for more than a week. The same scene repeated itself over and over, a bittersweet chant that restart every instant he closed his eyes.

He felt a shiver sliding down his spine during the moments of solitude, the dark corners becomed the worst of enemies, not even the poster-covered apartment seemed to be a safe place. Often he heard invisible footsteps breaking into the silent corridor, sudden hisses forced him to jump.
And the cause of his troubles was a single IMP.
Striker.

Blitzø gritted his sharp teeth when he thought he let that snake escape, that traitor, an enemy so low and slippery that hell spitted on him for no apparent reason.
He sighed deeply before falling back on the pillow, keeping his gaze on the ceiling, his arm placed on the sweaty forehead. The stake was getting higher, the responsibilities were growing as well as feelings. Everyone had a good reason to attempt at the prince's life, but for the first time the matter got personal.

It was no longer a business issue.

Blitzø chosed to protect Stolas, Moxxie's intervent doesn't turned the tables. Right in front of him there was the great opportunity to have a chainless life devoted to sin.
Standing next to Striker he really had the opportunity make his place on the hierarchy, the rival doesn't lied, becoming an Overlord was the desire that piqued the interest of many.

But the price was too high.

Blitzø wasn't ready to give up on what he created, nor the IMP, nor the bond that forced him to crawl into the bed of that pompous rich man.

He left the soft bed with those thoughts still in his mind, approaching the wide-open window. He stopped in front of it, allowing to the night breeze to caress his naked body, urging him to let out a sigh of relief.
He immediately shuffled into the small bathroom, turning on the tap to begin wiping off the traces of sweat. He start looking at the reflection on the mirror, stopping for a moment to examine the dark circles around his eyes and the appearance of someone who hasn't slept in days.
He began clenching his fists to control his anger, labeling himself in the worst possible ways.
He felt like an incompetent, a loser, a spineless IMP.
He kept on damning himself for being so weak, so distracted to miss an easy target.
... so ...
Attracted by that damn rattlesnake.

The idea of meeting him again, having a direct confrontation with him.
The ooportunity of perceive that perfect body close to his own, the warm and tempting breath, the mocking smile of who want to make fun of the weakest.
In his most hidden fantasies he imagined those rough hands sliding on his chest, his hips, his legs. He wanted to feel those warm lips on his shoulder, those sharp little teeth piercing his skin. He could continue to deny it to himself, but every night ...
He was helding the windows open in hopes of seeing him enter.