Helluva Boss - After the Party

And Blitzo was his name-o

He stood in the gloom of the bar, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the imp slumped over the counter. The creature was nearly unconscious, the murky liquid in his glass slowly diminishing as he took weak, instinctual sips. The drink wasn't even necessary at this point, just a final indulgence. The real magic was already well at work, winding its way through the imp's mind, dissolving memories like sugar in water.

The bartender smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips, and leaned against the counter, looming over his... customer. His shadow, ever-present, clung to him like living tar, writhing and twisting as if feeding off the intoxicated haze that enveloped the room. It moved without his command, a reflection of the deeper currents swirling within him, a reflection of who he truly as, unseen by most who came through his doors. But that was how he liked it—quiet, unnoticed, until it was too late.

The imp named Blitz was a mess. A tragic little creature. The bartender could see it in the imp's posture, the way his hands trembled when he wasn't holding a glass, the way he muttered incoherently, even in his stupor. His mind was a storm of confusion, regret, and resentment, and beneath it all, a hollow pit of loneliness that the bartender knew intimately. The perfect remedy for him to apply his trade.

The bartender's smile widened, his oily shadows rippling as he considered his handiwork. Blitz hadn't stood a chance the moment he walked through those doors. The imp had been doomed the second he laid eyes on that shimmering, inviting drink—a drink he didn't even realize he was ordering. The Lethe had been so subtly offered, dressed up as an escape, a way to drown out the noise. And oh, how Blitz had drunk deeply.

"It's always the same," the bartender mused to himself, his voice a low, slick whisper in the dimly lit room. "They come in here, thinking they're running from something. They think a few drinks will numb it all away." His fingers brushed the rim of a glass absentmindedly. "But it's not the drink they need. It's the forgetting."

Forgetting. The ultimate gift he provided, though few ever saw it as such until it was too late. The Lethe didn't just erase memories—it consumed them, devoured them like ravenous beasts. Painful ones, yes, but also the ones tied to those pains: the faces, the places, the moments that shaped a person, that grounded them. It was a purification of sorts, leaving the mind blissfully blank, free from the weight of history.

The bartender's eyes gleamed as he studied Blitz again, feeling a deep sense of pride swelling in his chest. The imp was such a perfect subject. All those scars, those wounds—mental and physical—that had weighed him down for so long, soon to be washed away. Blitz had been staggering under the burden of his past for far too long. Losing lovers, betraying friends, and worst of all, the guilt.

His self-loathing was so potent and he found himself wondering what exactly had caused him to be like this. He hadn't gotten that far, not yet. But soon, if he could get the imp to visit one more time for a session of heavy drinking, he'd get to the root of it. How he longed to drown that memory, to free the imp of everything and to take him into oblivion's embrace forever.

As a bartender he was more than happy to play the role of savior, to listen and to unburden Blitz from the one thing that had always held him back: himself.

The shadows twisted around the bartender's feet, curling along the bar like serpents. He'd played this game for a long time, and it always fascinated him how each soul broke differently under the weight of forgetting. Some clung to the fragments, desperately trying to remember who they were, what they had lost, while others welcomed the emptiness, eager to rid themselves of the pain. Blitz? He wasn't quite sure yet. The imp was still in the first stage, the memories slipping through his fingers like sand, but the true test would come soon enough. Perhaps he would walk out of his doors a better man, never to return again and to live his life a much happier way. But then again, few ever did. In the end, they all craved him. They loved oblivion. Everyone did.