Hooked (yandere hazbin hotel/helluva boss x angel reader) (Long Ass Break)

chapter seventy one: Western energy (pt 2)

Blitzø groaned in frustration as the line went dead slamming his hands on the wheel.

Millie leaned forward, "sir, let me and Moxxie handle this one." She said, soothing his frustrations and stress slightly. Blitzø sighed relenting, he had stuff to do, these two were capable of handling themselves.

"Okay, are you sure you two got this alone?" He was asking just to be sure, moxxie nods, "We can do it, sir. Together, we are a lethal combo. And we both have a score to settle with that dickhead."

Millie smiles putting a cowboy hat on moxxie's head, blitzø nodded calming his nerves, "Alright. Well, hurry. Stolas sounds like he might be in real shit this time, make sure that dickhead doesn't touch y/n too will ya?"

Moxxie nods as blitzø pulls up to the hospital getting out, carrying his daughter into the hospital for her hellbies shot.

The couple already had a good idea as to where striker was, considering his aesthetic, he was definitely in wrath, no doubt about it.

Catching the keys Millie started the car back up, driving off to wrath. She'd need to pull into a gas station for some more gas and some information as to where or if someone had saw a cowboy riding through here.

~>~

"How does one get their own theme song?" Stolas asked, not taking the situation seriously, how could he when this man had his own damn theme song?

He receives no response from striker who moves around chucking his hat off, deciding to make small talk stolas started up again as striker fixed his fingerless ripped gloves.

"So, my wife paid you for this, hmm? Wouldn't a holy bullet have sufficed? Or can you not afford those?" He made a light jab, striker maintained his composure.

"I was paid to give you both the real royal treatment, but I'm leaving y/n out of this, you're gonna be getting the treatment though; your wife must REALLY hate you." He said chucklibg darkly as he loaded up his blessed pistol.

Stolas responded with a sigh, rolling his eyes looking off to the side, "oh, you have no idea." He looks around a bit before looking back at striker who was busy tending to you. "So. Train tracks? Really? Seems a bit clichéd, doesn't it?" He questions watching as striker stepped away from you, having removed the rope, knowing you wouldn't get far much if you ran. Which you wouldn't because stolas would still be here.

"It's a classic." He says watching as you shook off the tenseness in your body, you looked around looking up at the statue. "Um, about that statue..."

"Yes, actually, Is the giant statue of yourself also a 'classic' or...?" Stolas trails off waiting for an answer.

Striker's tail lashes slightly, looking over his shoulder at stolas a bit pissed off, "Are you seriously judging me right now?" He says tossing aside the whetstone he had been using to sharpen his blessed blade.

The whetstone scatters across the rocky floor of the cave, sliding to a stop at your feet. It was sharp enough to be used as a weapon, as striker turns away from you to face stolas you quickly grab it, it wouldn't do much damage but a weapon's a weapon and in this case anything would help.

Stolas continues, "I'm just impressed you seem to want to suck your own dick this badly." He says as striker approaches him slowly with a menacing gleam in his eyes.

"Look. Not every ring is some fancy-ass city, with some fancy-ass mansion, that only fancy-ass royals get to live in." He starts ranting, his grip tightening on his knife, getting closer to stolas, "Some of us have hard lives to live. And some of us have everything we care about taken away by fuckers like you,"

Stolas friend trying to sit up, "I have no- AAAGH!" He cries out in pain as striker jabs the angelic blade into his shoulder, drawing black blood.

"Stolas!" Without thinking you rush to his side, holding his upper half on your lap, trying to shield him from further harm, you couldn't use any of your powers, striker had clipped onto your wrist what seemed to be a blessed bracelet, the only thing you had was your still dinky looking wings, they looked like juvenile wings, scrawny and featherless.

In a pitiful attempt to cover him your slightly featherless wings covered around him, keeping his face covered.

"Now, now darlin' I ain't wantin' to bruise that fragile skin, but I will to prove a point." Striker threatened, picking you up by ears and setting you in a mine cart off to the side, out of the way.

He has a job to do, regardless if he loved you, if you got in his way he'd hurt you too if it meant proving a point that he gave no fucks about anybody, but you to an extent, and that extent would be dropped if you continued getting in his way.

Word count: 845