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“Understood. I’ll get him next time.”
CLANG!!
Striker hung up the telephone, slamming it down onto its resting place as he leaned back against the headboard behind him. At the same exact time, he pulled down the string on the deskside lamp, turning it off and drowning the entirety of the hotel room in darkness. After a long day that began competently enough and led into a real doozy of events, the tall (for his species), snake-looking imp, dressed in his attire of a light grey coat, prime black top, dark grey, yellow-buttoned vest, red scarf, brown cowboy hat, black fingerless gloves, white-coloured jeans, and red and black boots, had been recovering at a nearby motel in the Wrath Ring. Before the arduous complications that sent his latest mission into a state of failure, he had the upmost confidence that taking out that Goetian prince would be like child’s play. One shot with that rifle would have done him in. If only weren’t for those imps who prevented him from executing his plan, and his target at that. Especially that taller one who had gotten into the Goetian’s pants for some time. Striker scoffed at the mere thought of that “transactional fucking” once again. A tiny fraction of his being still believed that he and Blitzo could have been an unstoppable pair in the pits of Hell and all of its rings. If only that torn imp would have fallen further into his charming words and personality. If only…
“What a fuckin’ day.” Striker mumbled to himself, feeling not only fatigue run through his body, but the injuries sustained by those from I.M.P. Despite having bandaged them up to the best state possible, he nevertheless continued to feel the limited pangs of pain that seeped through his covered-up, blood-stained wounds. A subtle grunt or two escaped from the imp as he tried to lay down, covered in the same outfit as he had worn throughout the day, all while he adjusted his position atop of the sturdy, white-coloured bed. He used both hands, pushing against the sheet-covered mattress, to move himself from leaning against the headboard, onto the bed itself. After a short struggle, he eased himself down, flat above the blankets and bedsheets, resting his head onto one of the pillows towards the top of the comfy mattress, which he nearly sunk into, granting him a comfortable relief from his currently injured, albeit stable condition. Striker let out a well-deserved sigh of relief, wriggling his well-built body and spiked tail on top of the bed. “Mmmm… let’s just see how things go in the mornin’. Tomorrow’s another day.” He told himself, pressing his head further into the pillow. Before he knew it, the sheer comfort that surrounded and engulfed him took over his entire being. Eyelids began to grow heavy, as did the cascading waterfall of thoughts that had trickled inside of Striker’s mind across the Harvest Moon Festival, and especially from this very day. Everything that happened. Every twist and turn that occurred. Every stab, punch, and attack inflicted on those pathetic imps. He just wanted to get over it and figure out how to take out his still-living target. As he slowly let go of these conflicting thoughts, ceasing in their activity for the time being, Striker shut his eyes, and soon delved into a deep, unavoidable sleep...
“Greetings. Did you have a pleasant sleep?”
Not wasting even an instant, Striker’s eyes shot open, looking up and in front of him, only to be met with a most concerning sight. At the end of his bed, towering above and staring him down, Prince Stolas gleefully smiled at the imp, briefly unable to contain himself as he looked over his would-be assassin. All that lit the interior of the room was the limited morning daylight that seeped through the shuttered drapes. The two Hellborn demons stared at each other without any additional words spoken for a few seconds, with Stolas continuing to smile down at him. Striker, meanwhile, used this short opportunity to determine what the best course of action would be in this sudden situation. His yellow eyes darted around frantically during this time, looking around the room and his close-by surroundings. Afterwards, and with this speedy re-evaluation of what was closest to him, he acted accordingly. Through a quick zip of movement, Striker launched towards his weapon – a white-decal riddled revolver - which had been resting next to him on the bed only a mere foot away from where he laid down. Right as he managed to lay his claws on it, Stolas raised his right hand in front of himself, snapping the corresponding digits on it as he let a smirk grow more prominently across his face.
Immediately, a blue aura, reminiscent of a starry night sky, appeared around this hand of his, triggering the bedsheets underneath Striker to seemingly spring to life, flailing around and launching him upwards while flinging the blanket and pillows off of the mattress. Striker flew into the air above him – only by a few feet – lasting the span of a handful of quick seconds. If he had grabbed onto his gun, he might have had a chance at preventing this current event. Even if his usual loadout was not the same kind of angelic weaponry that would have instantly offed Stolas; an oversight on Striker’s quick thinking, as he quickly realized in his mid-air state.
THUMP!!
In a single collision, Striker fell back onto the bed, landing with an initially-comfy landing, before realizing that everything that was applied to and on top of it had vanished. A confused look washed over his face in an instant, as he spotted the very bedsheets that gave him his brief air-time wrapping themselves around his wrists, ankles, and tail, having been torn up into multiple lengthy pieces of fabric. On their own accord, they wrapped themselves around the four cornering bedposts that stuck out all around Striker, with his tail joining his right leg, all but restricting the use of his limbs and tail, even causing him to slightly rise from the mattress he had just fallen back onto seconds earlier, due to its strong tightness. Striker ferociously grunted as he tried to free himself from the newly-set restraints around his limbs, turning himself from side and side as he did so, to the point of violently thrashing. All in order to obtain some semblance of escape from his restricted self. Stolas watched closely as the snake-like imp did his best to free himself, showing nothing other than the same giddiness that his face first showed the bed-bound demon. This ultimately useless movement on Striker’s part lasted several seconds, before hopelessness sank into the tied-up imp, unable to escape his sudden meeting with the prince. Such a strong feeling inside caused him to stop moving, leaving him dangled just above the bed.
“Ahem!” Stolas cleared his throat, only letting a few seconds more pass between it and the next set of words he spoke. “I know you’ve been conspiring with someone to off me.” He told Striker, revealing his knowledge of the plans to assassinate him. At first, Striker played dumb, putting on a façade for a face and casually telling the prince that “I’m afraid you’ve got it all mixed up. I’m not the guy yer looking for.” A quick move of Stolas’s right hand, still glowing bright with the blueish night sky, tightened Striker’s bedsheet restraints, forcing out a grunt from within him, as he felt them deeply dig into his wrists and ankles, plus his tail. “Don’t play dumb with me, imp. I’ve got it all figured out.” He further revealed, now displaying a more serious demeanour in both his expression and tone of speaking. “Is that so? Hnnng… tell me, prince… how the fuck did you find out?” The cowboy imp asked through bated breath, letting out another grunt. From the asking of that question, Stolas began to pace around the room, allowing himself to concisely explain to Striker what brought him here.
“Oh, it’s rather simple. You see, that imp you’ve been competing with at the games, the same one who beat you down along with those other two, all informed me rather well of your attempt to kill me. From there… well… long story short, I managed to intercept a most concerning phone call that… Stella… had during dinner, to which a servant of mine went on to trace. It all led me here. Now look at us. I’ve got you all tangled up, while you’re stuck at my mercy.” The owl went on, laughing a little as he returned back to his position over the bed by the time he finished speaking, going back to looking down at Striker. He put his left hand up to his face, stroking it as he spoke aloud a concerning question. “Now then, just what shall I do with you?” He asked with a sneer, seemingly ready to torment the tied-up imp. Striker, sensing his impending doom in more ways than one, chuckled a little bit while grunting in discomfort, before telling Stolas “If yer gonna kill me, I suggest you do it now and get it over with.” He bluntly spoke to Stolas, staring back at him with daggers in his eyes.
“Hahahaha… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!” Stolas greatly laughed and hooted, seeing Striker give himself up to a so-called fate by the Goetian’s hands. He let out this hearty reaction for a long minute, as the mustached imp looked at him in confusion. “Oh… that- that’s priceless. You really think I’m just going to end you here and now?” The prince humorously said in a now partially-laughing state, doing his best to regain composure in the midst of this moment. He released a sigh of relief afterwards, concluding his uproar of laughter; all as Striker could only look at him with uncertainty. “Actually, I have something else in mind for you. Something far better than ‘turning off your lights’, so to speak.” Stolas informed the imp, giving him a tick of nervousness throughout his restrained body. Before the constricted demon could ponder over the prince’s recent words, he raised both hands into the air and greatly concentrated towards them, the same aura appearing around his left one, closing his main set of eyes as he did so. Striker could feel the ground underneath him quake to some extent, shaking everything in the room (including himself) as Stolas stood unaffected by it. Several seconds later, a portal began to manifest from his hands, showcasing part of a room with a potted plant, visible in its palm-sized starting form.
With Stolas’s efforts, he continued enacting his latest manifestation of magic. The portal grew in size, engulfing the hotel room in a steady motion, leaving only himself and the bed-bound Striker intact, as everything else remained on the initial side of it. As it spread throughout the limited space, the imp could clearly spot more of the portal’s other side, noticing weak reflections of himself and Stolas, alongside more potted plants in these faint details he picked up on. Through the proceeding moment of unbroken concentration, Stolas teleported himself and Striker into another space entirely, firmly leaving behind the hotel room, all except for its bed. This new locale, surrounded by giant glass walls and various potted plants of different shapes and sizes, formed a most peculiar setting that a being like Striker had not seen before. Each of these plants, the majority of which were coloured green, all displayed many rows of sharp teeth, as they took up much of the area inside the spacious room. The likes of which stretched out akin to a few sizeable fields, while boasting a ceiling that soared as high up as a hangar. Coming from the sunny skies outside of the room, a pink tint shined through the surrounding glass panels, giving the space a glaze of this particular shade, as many rays of sunlight brightly lit up throughout it, being its only source of light.
Several feet away from where he and Stolas were, Striker spotted a few items of furniture within the room that stood out from everything else it contained. The main one of these, covered in a light purple tablecloth, was a small, rounded table, which sat at the centre of this space in perfect stillness. Its original form, which could be spotted from the base and singular leg that stuck out from underneath its centre, showcased a glossy white appearance with outlines of gold, practically made with the resources that luxury like Stolas easily had within his grasp. At each end of the table, two sizeable chairs, formed out of the same material, complete with immaculate purple felt along its back, bookended the purple-clad furniture item. Out of what Striker’s eyes barely caught in his restrained state, he additionally saw a few items on top of said table. Two white and gold teacups, with the latter colour lining itself along the top and bottom of both, had been placed at each end of it, with a silver kettle at its centre. In addition, a small, silvery box of teabags were set up, seemingly containing a decent selection of flavours for one to choose. Most peculiarly, however, Striker spotted a white ceramic bowl on the middle of the table as well, completely filled with a collective blue mass. As for what exactly was inside of the dish, he could not determine, for his quick glimpse at it did not last long, as Stolas began to speak to him once again, several seconds after the portal had closed and finished its intended transportation.
“Welcome to my garden.” Stolas formally announced with unmistakable humbleness, letting the starry aura around his left hand disappear as he returned it to his side. “I spend a lot of time attending to these lovely creatures you see before and all around you. They are among the upmost pride in my life… where nearly all of my time has gone towards.” He spoke furthermore about the room. As for his right hand, he used it to free Striker from his current position, before lifting the imp up into the air, moving him into the closest chair, gently lowering him into it, and pushing the chair in for him, leaving him with his hands, feet, and tail untied. In the middle of this action, Stolas utilized his magic to get rid of the hotel bed, making it disappear into thin air, finally ridding any hint of where he caught up to his would-be assassin. With that, Stolas allowed his right hand a well-deserved rest, as he himself walked over to the other available chair, and took his place at the table. The Goetian allowed a few seconds to properly adjust himself atop of the roomy seat, perfectly fitting himself while being fairly too big for Striker, who looked across at the prince in annoyance.
“What? Are you expecting me to sing wonderful praise about your fucking handiwork?” The imp asked without a care in Hell, eyeing the prince in utter annoyance. The other demon raised his right hand into the air in front of himself, holding up only his index finger as he gently moved it from side to side. “Hush now, little imp. You have no right to say such a thing. Not after what you were going to do to me.” Stolas coyly replied, leaving Striker in a state of silence as the prince took in another breath, preparing himself to speak yet again. “Would you like some tea?” He asked with an odd display of kindness. Striker looked at him from across the table in confusion, letting the question sink into his head for a few seconds before letting out an answer. “Uhh… sure. It’s not like I can get too much else in my situation.” “Very well. I shall take the liberty of choosing your teabag.” Stolas responded, before doing just that for the other demon and himself. While Striker watched the prince pour both his own and the imp’s cups of tea, he got a better look at the bowl in-between the two of them. Inside, filling it up from top to bottom, the imp could see nothing but blueberries inside, which he took a mental note of for the time being. Once the Goetian had finished his short-lived task, he gently placed Striker’s cup of tea towards his end of the table, leaving it there for him to drink.
“Just so you don’t get the wrong idea here, if you try anything on me, I will not hesitate to crush you to a pulp and feed you to my plants. Is that understood?” Stolas firmly told the imp, letting loose a sinister tone from his mouth as he did so. Striker, not wanting to end up with such a fate as that, showed a forced smile and answered the prince with “Of course, Your Highness.”. Immediately after, Stolas picked up his own cup of tea, taking a sip of the hot liquid as he continued being the driving force of this one-sided conversation. “As it stands, and as I’m sure you are aware of, things simply do not look good for you right now. You have conspired with Stella to shoot me with that forbidden rifle, nearly killed my darling Blitzy and his friends, and tried to make a run for it. It’s a good thing I found you when I did, for I have something far more important for you to fulfill than any of that dirty work you must have done over Satan knows how many years. Think of it as penance for your actions towards not only the Ars Goetia and myself, but towards those closest to me.” For the most of Stolas’s short spiel, the snake-like imp looked on with nonchalance. Even when the mere suggestion of owning up to his actions was verbally brought to him.
Striker took a long sip from his partially-cooled tea, setting it back onto the table and leaning back in his chair, gulping down the mouthful of tea he had drank before answering Stolas, who awaited his verbal thoughts on what he told him. “Just what do you have in mind for me, prince? You gonna dress me up in a white suit and keep me as one of your many imp butlers or something?” Striker jokingly proposed, letting out a loose laugh afterwards. Stolas waited with a neutral look on his face for the imp to cease in his laughter, lasting a meagre handful of seconds. “Actually… I have something much different than that in mind. Something that will not require such attire. In fact, you will take on a role that is far more important than that of any of my servants.” He happily revealed, shifting his position within the chair to now sit with one leg over the other. “Oh yeah? What would that be, then?” Striker asked Stolas in a jokey fashion, eager to hear his answer. “It’s quite simple, really. You will provide for my garden.” Stolas promptly replied, sounding chipperly in his tone of speaking.
A strong bout of confusion, much more than the one showcased earlier, washed over Striker’s face, ridding it of any humorous mannerisms that it possessed mere seconds ago. He leaned forward in his chair, removing himself from the casual, leaned-back stance he had just been in. “Excuse me?” He simply uttered, the confused state of his mind strongly persisting in accordance to those two words of his. “I think you heard me loud and clear.” Stolas said in a smug fashion, retaining his cross-legged stance upon his seat. The imp scoffed at such a proposal, as he delivered a daringly defiant response. “Absolutely not! There’s no way in all of the nine circles that I’m doing whatever it is you want me to.” Striker went on. “‘Provide for my garden’- what a load of shit that is!” He mockingly repeated Stolas’s earlier words, before speaking of the illegitimacy of such a claim. “If you think I’m gonna help your royal ass… hahahah… you sure are mistaken.” Striker proclaimed, refusing the prince’s proposal for the imp to make amends.
In the midst of this moment, Striker looked down at the table, once again noticing the bowl of blueberries right before him. Without speaking a word, despite his face continuing to convey his refusal at what Stolas was telling him, he reached his right hand towards and into the bowl, grabbing and holding onto a handful of the tiny, ripe, succulent fruit. From there, in an instinctive manner, the imp brought said hand up to his mouth, where he released all of the berries into it, biting into, chewing and swallowing them with ease and spitefulness. In his mind, Striker thought about the sheer juiciness that the berries contained, feeling the rich juice packed in each and every one of them coat his tastebuds, submerging his mouth in a rich aura of deliciousness, as their remnants entered and fell down his throat, into his lean stomach. At the same time, he could not quite pinpoint exactly why he grabbed and ate them in such suddenness. Hunger did not seriously affect him at this moment, nor did anything resembling the kind of action to break up a growing moment of cold, silent tension. No matter the hospitality of drinking tea and snacking on blueberries in the middle of the prince’s garden, Striker was not going to give in to this nonsense, and he had the right, albeit choice words to back this particular sentiment up.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself!?” Striker suddenly shouted at the prince, his anger over the ongoing situation deeply getting to him. “Find some other pathetic imp to handle your worthless garden… and while we’re at it, screw your wife, for getting me wrapped up in this shit!” He continued on, using whatever words came to his head to launch back at the prince. It was the closest he had to ammo at this point, even if it wasn’t as sharp or accurate as his traditional weaponry. Despite these harsh words flying over towards the other end of the table, Stolas smiled brighter than ever, especially given the comments regarding his “wife”. As his expression shifted in this moment, half-lidded eyes took form above his stretched mouth. “To be completely clear with you, I couldn’t care less about what you say about my wife.” He verbally flung back at the irate imp, a smirk becoming present on his bone-like face. From there, in the midst of his persisting glee, the Goetian carried on. “Everything I have just told you, about providing for my garden, is merely no request.” Stolas slyly informed Striker, bringing the imp down from his angered state, back into his confused self. “For you, this penance I spoke of is how things will proceed from here on out. You do not have a say or choice in this matter.” The demon firmly told the other one, who looked on with great uncertainty.
As this reignited feeling engulfed Striker, his attention began to be overtaken by something else; something that had come up unexpectedly. Through sudden occurrence, his hands had started to tingle, in a fashion that the imp had never felt before. He looked down at both of them, noticing that his exposed claws had turned blue. Right away, a strong bout of panic overrode the demon, as he immediately began to remove his gloves, which he wore on top of them at nearly all times. Instinctual decision-making led him to pull off his right one with the use of his altered left hand. As soon as the first one came undone from its usual resting place, Striker noticed a peculiar blue hue that had also appeared on and taken up most of his palm, replacing nearly all of the long-lingering tanned skin tone that he had possessed on that very spot, as though the majority of it had been painted over with this new skin tone. Upon this discovery, the imp failed to notice that he dropped the removed glove on the ground, forgetting about it as he eyed this peculiar shift in appearance. “Huh?” Striker muttered to himself in his state of shock, confusion remaining as high as ever in his system. He wasted no time in taking off his other glove, revealing much of the same.
The demon stared dead-on at both of his hands, taking in the look of their new blue colouration without saying a word. If anything, the imp’s mouth had unintentionally been left hung open in his ongoing state of shock. As he looked on, however, Striker began to realize there was more to his odd-looking hands than this blurring of his usual tanned skin-tone and prime blue complexion. The tingling that had been taking place inside of his hands grew monumentally, as the partial splotch of blue that formed upon the pair proceeded to spread out further, immediately freaking out the cowboy imp. “What the fuck!?” He shouted in surprise, taken aback by the sight that his nerve-wracked eyes were now met with. Right before them, clear as the daylight that entered inside of the garden, his hands rapidly lost the rest of their original colour, as this shade of blue spread out across them entirety, increasing in coverage and prominence until Striker’s hands and pointed claws were completely blue; nothing like they had ever been before. He raised his right hand up towards his eyes, where he rotated it back and forth a few times, taking in the freakish appearance that became of the ends of his upper limbs.
During this closer examination at it and his claws, Striker’s periphery vision picked up on an equally-concerning sight; one that caused his eyebrows to move around in further confusion. “What the?” He mumbled, noticing his nose, which he could see through this particular mode of minimal concentration, had a blue tint to it, much like what he had already seen with his hands. At the while, the same tingling that affected his hands, which had since faded from them, began to form not only across his face, but the rest of his thin body. With quick thinking, Striker turned his head to look at the row of lined-up glass panels that formed much of the garden’s structure. Through their reflective nature, he was able to confirm the very thing that he had started to suspect only seconds ago, of his face being internally washed over in the same fashion as his hands. “My face! Wh- what’s happening to me?!” The demon shouted, moving his already-raised hand onto his bluing face, feeling it around while any traces of its former colour up there completely vanished. From when he first spotted his altered nose, the blue must have only formed atop of and spread of it, for when his eyes linked up to the glass’s reflection, it had gone on to move outwards to the rest of Striker’s face and head; the likes of which he looked at as it carried on in real time. Before he could keep on looking at it with worry washed over his face, however, the blueing imp snapped out of his near-dazed state, turning away from the glass panels, and returning to his former position at the table, facing it as he had done until just a moment ago.
Desperation seeped into Striker, leading him to roll up his coat sleeves in a hurry, in order to examine more of his body, and quickly at that. Across the frenzied motions of his hands and arms, the demon fumbled with pushing up his top clothing’s sleeves, his blue digits trembling in the midst of it. Stolas watched on without much concern of his own, practically relaxing and taking another sip from his tea as the cowboy of an imp managed to greatly roll them up, after what felt like an unending amount of time from his own perception. With the self-done exposure of his upper limbs came the most startling revelation yet: The same prime shade of blue that had taken over the colour of Striker’s hands had progressed downwards from them, staining his arms in the exact same hue. From seeing this unwanted progression, the demon gawked at the shifting sight on both sides of him, holding his arms out as his head moved between each one, a considerable sense of fear brewing within, growing every time he turned his blue head to look at either side of his upper limbs.
In several seconds flat, they too had become completely blue, leaving Stolas delighted while Striker looked on, mortified at his changing self. Having the suspicion that this colour change was not merely confined to his hands and arms, plus his face and head, the imp looked down at his midsection, using both hands to quickly grab onto and lift his top upwards, particularly the material that covered this centrepiece of his body. Words could not be formed and released out of Striker’s mouth, which barely moved from the second he saw the upper half of his once tanned-coloured stomach shifting into a blue colouration, with the rest of his midsection well on its way to matching it. For many unbroken seconds, the imp watched on in horror, witnessing the last of his middle lose its original appearance in one fellow swoop of a colour change. From there, despite not checking any further, the demon could very well sense that his lower half was being invaded by this ensuing blue shade, due to the ongoing tingling that carried on in immensity.
A quick look behind him showcased his spiked, bluing tail, wagging in nervousness as it too lost its original look, falling victim to this odd bodily change. Everything from its spikes nearing the base of it, to the black stripe that ran horizontally at its end, all turned into their respective shades of blue, with the aforementioned physical traits of it appearing lighter or darker in colour depending on their original colours. He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling unbearably uncomfortable over the colour’s continued presence on his body. Across every inch of his skin, Striker had turned completely blue from top to bottom. All that remained of his original complexion were his hypnotic yellow eyes, set of horns, and white head of hair. His breath had grown a tad rugged, as well as fruit-scented, having become more frequent during the whole ordeal. Before he could rightfully freak out any more from his new appearance, a startling sound made itself strongly known.
GUUUUUUUUUUUUUOOOOORRRRRGGGGGL…
As if his current predicament could not get any stranger, a powerful, ominous growl sounded off from deep inside Striker, causing the blue imp to suddenly stand up from his chair, made abundantly clear by not only his now upwards stance across from Stolas, but the scraping of the chair’s legs against the ground as it was pushed backwards. This odd gurgling, continuing on from its initial occurrence, caused Striker to stiffen up, tensely standing with his eyes glued to his stomach, still looking down at it with his hands firmly at his sides. At the other end of this matter, Stolas watched the blue imp with sheer fascination. He knew what was to come, unlike that poor, naive little demon. Although in his own mind, the prince very well knew that in a matter of seconds, he could no longer refer to Striker as little. The imp of the hour, in the meantime, went back to holding up his coat and top, exposing his stomach, which had now started to shake around on its own. The blue imp and seated Goetian watched on in fear and anticipation respectively as the former’s well-toned midsection quaked around, taking in its last seconds of what remained of its normalcy.
BLORP!!
In a simplistic yet monumental instant, Striker’s stomach bloated up, growing outwards by a few inches, while gifting him a round paunch that jiggled around incessantly. If it weren’t for the blue hue across his form, most everyone would have assumed the imp had put on some uninvited pudge. For Stolas and (soon to be) Striker, however, this was no meagre ounce of fat that had suddenly grown inside of the blue demon. While Striker looked at his new gut in lingering fear, Stolas happily giggled and hooted, clapping his hands together in uncontrollable eagerness as he told Striker something that only set off more alarms within his blue-ridden body. “Oh… I just LOVE this part.” Stolas eagerly clamoured, as Striker looked at him in sheer fear and disbelief. Wasting no time at all, Striker’s stomach proceeded to further lurch out, growing fuller and rounder through a steadily-paced growth. This ongoing pressure in his system caused the imp to let go of his top, letting it fall back onto his swelling stomach.
COUGH COUGH!!
With suddenness, Striker unexpectedly let out a couple of coughs, instinctively moving his head down and his right elbow up to his mouth to properly enact. As he moved it and his arm away from his face, however, he noticed an even odder sight than his blue skin and inflating middle. There, dripping from his arm and elbow, several drops of a bluish-red liquid made themselves known, evidently having come out of the imp’s mouth. Immediately after seeing this, Striker coughed a few more times, further spewing the same bizarre liquid from his maw. “What is this stuff?” He asked himself, before losing his sharp senses from his growing middle, which had now puffed up to the size of a beach-ball, albeit with a strong sense of building liquid inside of it, sloshing with immensity as it filled up and out. Stolas initially spoke not a word, watching intently as the unstoppable growth of Striker’s bulging stomach led to his top clothing pushing upwards, unable to cover his groaning middle any longer. Quickly enough, the stretched materials composing of his shirt and coat completely exposed his gut, now only keeping his chest hidden as they themselves began to look fuller than his toned pecs had been mere seconds ago. “Tch! Gotta be kidding me. First my skin, and now my muscles!? I worked so hard for those…” Striker scoffed, before uttering the rest to himself, feeling his body become more akin to an anchor that pressed him into the floor in an ever-so slight manner. He could do nothing more than stand in place, for his stunned state of being could only focus on the freakish transformation that had and continued to warp his physique; one that he could once use with efficacy.
Everything from Striker’s arms and legs, to his behind and his thighs, began to bloat uncontrollably, filling up with the same liquid mass that had already made his belly the biggest feature on him by far. His two nonexistent buttcheeks pushed the seat of his pants outward, taking on a rounded, practically globular shape that continued to grow by the second, looking closely to two melons that had formed on the wrong side of him. The imp uncomfortably winced as this went on, unable to ignore the feeling of his swelling ass filling up the space of his slim-fitted bottoms that were never meant to house such juicy assets. Striker rubbed his swollen bottom with the use of his right hand, feeling this specific cheek push into his palm as it relentlessly expanded, while the fabric that was positioned above them curved to impossible shapes and sizes, much like his pair of buttocks underneath it. On all four of his limbs, liquid thickness found their way into them, widening them considerably at a speeding rate. Any movements Striker made with them, primarily his arms from feeling around his bloated self, led to the same sloshing sensation taking place inside of them. Not to mention, with every inch in width they packed on, using and bending them took on greater difficulty, to which much of the same applied to his widening thighs and legs, which jostled around akin to the rest of his gurgling body. “Fuck… why am I having trouble moving myself?” He asked himself, as an observant Stolas watched on.
“How fascinating.” The prince spoke in awe, witnessing Striker find difficulty in operating his heavying arms and legs. “At this rate, he’ll quickly be out of luck with using those things.” He spoke to himself, regarding the imp’s limbs. Stolas continued to keenly observe, paying close attention to Striker’s arms, as he watched him struggle to move them around. On various places throughout Striker’s attire, creaking fabric made itself apparent to the demon, as it struggled to contain his swelling form. The sheer size and shape in which the imp now embodied – that of a blue-coloured pear who had grown larger than the average imp in girth and height – was never meant to contain an outfit as well-fitted as his own. From the moment he began to blow up, his clothes would not last long. One by one, the demon could feel air brush against his exposing body, as tears began to form all over him, from his increasingly-busty chest to his chunky arms. While his pants had sported one or two notable rips atop of his legs, their swelling nature, already quadruple that of what they once were in width, caused a few additional ones to appear across his thighs and on his rounded hips; seams and stitches slowly pulling themselves apart overtop of them. The latter of which hinted at a tight, stretching black thong underneath it, primarily the thin string that warped around his expanding waistline. Across his sleeves, several rips roared to life, strongly sounding off as they took on their form, exposing all the bluer flesh that had been pushing out from below.
As for Striker, whose belly had begun to comically overtake his overall body shape, he grunted variably at the tightness of his clothing, struggling to hold back his swelling self any longer. Before he could fully prepare himself to bid farewell to his beloved outfit, the collective entity of it all let out one last final cry for help, before suffering its doomed fate.
CCRRREEEEEEEAAAK…
SCCCCHHHHRRRIIPP!! SCCCHHHHHHREEEDD!! POP! POP! BOOM!!
Throughout various places around his rounding body, Striker’s clothes began to tear apart. Done-up coat buttons and a central pants button popped off of their once-secure places, sending unintentional ammunition flying across the vast garden. Girthy, sloshing arms and legs became fully exposed, with their respective sleeves tearing apart to allow their growing selves to push outwards all the more. Most notably, his coat and top fell apart in a heap of fabric pieces. All in all, initial little rips blossomed out to complete shredding, as his coat, pants, and shirt burst off of his blue, swelling self, falling onto the floor below him in a few piles of scraps. Watching this monumental event commence, Stolas looked at the nearly-naked blue imp in undeniable awe. “Oh my…” He lustfully uttered, as he began to fan himself with his right hand, as a faint blush manifested across his flustered face, practically blessed to be in the very presence of this expanding being before him.
SNAP!
As though things could not get any worse for Striker, his insanely-tight undies broke free from his sloshing, curvy waist, exposing the remaining sliver of his enlarging self that had been kept under wraps. Such an event allowed his member to hang out, with a faint breeze brushing against it. Fortunately for Striker, however, his belly had distended to truly orb-like proportions, all but covering it up. At least, for the time being. From this moment onwards, all that stayed fastened on Striker’s blue form were his fixed hat, red scarf, which had become further stained by the imp’s continued coughing-up of liquid, and his boots, which had stretched by more than triple in their containing of Striker’s bloated feet. Stolas, on the other hand, could not contain himself any longer. “He’s got to be the biggest imp in all of Hell now.” The Goetian verbally thought go himself. His rapid back and forth movements of his hand increased greatly, as did his blush, intensifying all the brighter. Striker proceeded to spot the prince’s peculiar reaction, and in an equally flustered reaction, he himself blushed, revealing that it had now taken on a purple complexion, covering his cheeks, which had swollen to the size of overstuffed stress balls. “S- stop schtaring at me…” He weakly told Stolas with his eyes looking towards the floor in embarrassment; his words being somewhat impacted by his swollen face. This sight only sent Stolas into a further frenzy, as he eagerly stood up from his seat, and approached the still-growing imp.
With every slow step towards Striker that Stolas made, the imp went on to increase in height. In a quick matter of seconds, he had managed to grow to the same height as Stolas himself, with the two of them now able to look at one another at a comfortable eye level. Even if one of them had blown up into an egregiously-round blue mass of swirling liquid. From the complete and final loss of his primary clothing, Striker’s expansion rapidly sped up. With his blue body now free from any restrictions, it had the sheer freedom to expand and fill up as much as it practically desired, leaving the naked imp at the complete mercy of his bodily transformation. Liquid sloshed around in immensity during this surge, during which, his belly had grown out to become a massive orb sticking out from him. The growth of such a body part, coupled with it and his squishy moobs merging together to form one rounded side of him, much like his back and bloated asscheeks, would go on to engulf his stiff arms and legs. The imp’s enormous belly stretched outwards in this fashion, eating up his widened limbs and leaving only his hands and boot-covered feet visible. From here on out, he could only wiggle and flail them around in useless execution, rendering himself unable to use them anymore.
From the loss of mobility in Striker’s limbs, his body soon reached another milestone in its growth. His bloated member and crotch, which had grown rounded and swollen to a great extent, had swelled up to the point where the latter pressed against the ground, lifting his thickened feet up into the air, resulting in the demon only able to lightly rock his body around. Each and every movement he made in this state conjured up further sloshing sounds, as he squirmed and struggled to deal with the ongoing pressure that was running its course through his insides. All the while, his hide creaked increasingly so with every ongoing surge of fluid; the same kind that Striker had been coughing up. “Mmmph!! Nghhh!” It was in this particular phase of his changes that Striker could only moan and groan, mainly being the only noises that his full mouth could muster with its particular inflicted bloating. As this all carried on for the imp, Stolas finally made his cautious yet eager way right up to the inflated imp, bobbing around like an upright waterbed. Although, to call the very liquid housed inside of him water would be drastically incorrect.
GLORP!! GLOOP!!
Across the ensuing seconds after the Goetian prince looked at Striker on equal levels of vision, the blue imp’s transformation proceeded to slow down, still leaving his internals to burble and slosh around as they pleased, but soon granting him the end of his physique’s seemingly nonstop expansion. During this slowdown, and as had been the case throughout most of the ordeal, the strong pressure and sheer amount of liquid that filled Striker left him in a dazed state, to say the least. One look at the spherical imp, whose head had sunken into his own body somewhat, while his blue-stained scarf remained around his nonexistent neck, from it barely sticking out of the divot his head had been constrained to, would lead the average being to assume he was drunk. It did not help that he mainly kept on groaning and moaning to himself, hardly able to speak coherently from what circulated through himself. Such sounds as those, mixed with never-ending sloshes and gurgling, played out indefinitely, well beyond after he became nothing more than a spherical blue mass, matching the same height as the now-standing Stolas, who took a moment to admire the most prized specimen in his garden now.
“Well then, my cute, oversized blueberry, how are you feeling?” Stolas casually asked in an overjoyed tone, caressing the imp’s rounded chest and belly. “F- full…” was all Striker could respond with, as the overwhelming sensations inside of him made verbal communication a struggle to carry out. “That’s good. It means those blueberries you ate did the deed and then some. You’ve become just like one of them! You cannot move. You cannot stop churning with juice. You can hardly even speak. And yet, you have a wondrous amount of nourishing blueberry juice all within you, ready to provide for my garden. When needed, I’ll juice you until you’re nearly empty and watch on in ecstasy as you grow back to your new size. I hope you enjoy it, for it is pretty much all you will be from here on out… a giant, juicy berry.” Stolas went on, taking in the pure delight that came with talking to his new imp for a blueberry. “You are my lovely blueberry now.” He added, a tad bit seductively. During this moment, Striker mustered up the energy within the endless gallons of juice in his body to speak coherently. Or rather, as coherent as he could manage. As he prepared to speak, his mouth leaked out a considerable amount of the sticky liquid, which dribbled down his squishy chest and stomach, forming a small puddle on the floor below.
“Y’know… yer one perversche son of a bitch… getting off to thisch.” Striker clumsily spoke, juice continuing to drool out of his bloated maw with every spoken word he struggled to get out there. Stolas looked at the berry with the same lovey eyes as he did when he first approached him, all while he chuckled at the blue ball of an imp, letting such a reaction out of his system before speaking back to him. “Oh, I’m well aware of that. You should have seen me not too long ago, when I got to ogle at and lovingly take care of another berry such as yourself. Despite such a weird request, my darling ended up undergoing the same transformation as you. His skin turned blue, his insides loudly grumbled, his body grew ROUNDER and TIGHTER until it was nothing more than a HEAVY SPHERE… uhhnn… it was marvellous.” Stolas fell into a brief, passionate tangent, moaning towards the end of it as his mind became further enraptured by his love for large, squirming berries. “Now that I think about it, he looked ravishing in blue.” He additionally mentioned, blushing all the more before returning to the topic at hand, that being Striker. “Unlike you, however, I turned him back to normal. You, on the other hand, are going to stay like that forever.” Stolas revealed, finding immense joy in delivering that news to the unfortunate, albeit well-deserved imp.
Striker stared at Stolas in defeat, truly unable to do anything with his new, immobilized form. Before this very instant, he had retained even the slightest bit of hope towards getting out of this predicament of his; no matter how unlikely that may have seemed. Now, with the prince all but confirming his stuck state of being in more than just one way, he practically sunk further into his juice-filled sphere of a physique, left to take in the fact that this was himself now, as would seemingly be for the rest of time. As if things could not get any worse, Stolas’s next words, which came after he turned behind him and raised his right hand to the corresponding side of his face, only brought added shock to the gurgling imp-berry, along with some purple-blushed embarrassment. “Oh, Blitzy!” Stolas called out in a happy tone, complete with an ascending pitch in speaking. Promptly afterwards, a long-horned imp made himself known to the Goetian prince and other imp in the room, despite the latter having been reduced to a giant living fruit. “Hey there, bitch.” A grinning Blitzo blurted out to the big blueberry before him, as he emerged from a bush within the many plants inside the garden. In his right hand, the imp held out his phone, particularly in the direction of where Striker sat in place, slightly shifting in his current predicament.
The blueberry imp showcased a delayed reaction of confusion across his bloated face, staring at the imp who had thwarted his efforts at the festival. He noticed the phone in Blitzo’s hand, held up in a vertical manner with its camera focused on the rocking orb. This positioning of the device only grew more noticeable and prominent as Blitzo approached Striker across several seconds of near-silence (except for constant gurgling). By all means, Striker came to the correct, yet slow realization that he was being filmed by the other imp’s phone. Soon after, Blitzo stood right next to his Goetian lover, still holding his camera up at Striker, who was unable to stop him, let alone look away from the device, on account of his sunken-in head and lack of a neck. “Y- you! What the fuck are you... doing here?” Striker spoke from in-between his bright purple cheeks, accompanied with slurred speech. Blitzo wasted no time talking back to him, smiling continually as he did so.
“Oh, it’s nothing much. I heard about Stolas’s plans to turn you into a fruit, so I decided to hide out and watch from afar. I managed to get one stellar vid of the two of you… especially when you were filling the fuck up just a few moments ago.” He proudly proclaimed, still recording from the instant Striker and Stolas entered the latter’s garden. “The two of you looked to have had such a good time together, and I got it all on camera.” Blitzo remarked, moving the phone slightly to accentuate his spoken point. “Shit… you’ve really ripened up nicely.” The imp teased in a flirtatious tone, further walking up to Striker and rubbing his left hand against the swollen left part of his chest, which the blueberry winced from the established contact against it. “Shut… up.” Striker weakly managed to let out, as more juice poured out from his maw. “But why should I? If anything, you seem to be against all this.” He nonchalantly carried on, sounding strongly sarcastic as he spoke on. “Believe me, I was super fucking hesitant to do it, no matter all the convincing this bird-brain here had to do. But the next thing I knew, I decided ‘Why the fuck not?’ and was left alllllll big and blue.”
All Striker could do was listen to Blitzo’s words of utter teasing, unable to shy away from it. His spherical body rocked furthermore, shifting from side to side, and causing the grandiose amount of blueberry juice inside of him to slosh in tandem. During this movement, Blitzo went on to rub more of Striker’s chest and belly with his left hand, as his right one ended his video recording and put away the phone that let him do so. “You seem nervous… tense much? Is it because you’re so helpless, round and blue, or because we can see all of your nude self? Don’t you worry any longer. The two of us are going to take real good care of you.” Blitzo teasingly informed an increasingly-embarrassed Striker, whose body rocked around faster as the mobile imp spoke on. “Your juicy ass is going to be juiced and getting juicier over and over from here on out.” If I were you, which, I have been before, you’d best enjoy it. If you don’t… well… you’ll come around to loving it. I just know it.” The red and white imp seductively carried on, his grin stretching all across his face.
“Why don’t we roll this ripened fruit to his new resting place?” Stolas joyfully asked Blitzo, who shook his head affirmingly, as he started to walk towards the back of the groaning berry. “Gladly.” The cheeky imp happily responded with, eying Striker’s rounded back and bountiful cheeks in complete, stunned awe. Stolas followed after the mobile imp soon after, approaching behind the giant blueberry known as Striker, while standing next to Blitzo. As this commenced, the immobile imp could not turn his head around to spot what was going on behind him, which in turn prevented him from seeing what the lovers were about to do with him. “Whu- what are you two- ngh!… doing?” Striker sloppily asked as he let out another moan, his voice travelling away from the other demons on account of his head’s fixed position. No amount of preparation could help the spherical fruit, for two sets of hands pressed and sank into his squishy buttocks and back, deeply feeling his newly-acquired, unwanted body.
Striker’s purple blush multiplied exponentially as soon as this contact was established. His thick stub of a tail, which had been sluggishly-swaying since filling up with juice, kicked into overdrive, as it swung from side to side in a frenzy, unable to stop as the Goetian and imp began to push against his cheeks, causing Striker to fall forward onto his sloshing belly. “Ngh! Watch where you touch me…” Striker weakly spoke back, in as best of a stern tone as possible. Alas, his drunk-like state made it tough to properly convey his words. In a matter of seconds, Striker was swept up in a rolling motion, the process of which was the only feasible way to move him around now. He let out a stuttered groan as his head pressed against the floor, seeing only darkness for a few seconds before coming out from the other side, where he spotted the smiling faces of Stolas and Blitzo as they pressed around the divot where his head rested at, propelling his round form forwards, and in relation, Striker’s point of view. From there, such sights would repeat over and over, around and around again, much like the very shape that Striker was stuck embodying. Nothing more than the tiny little fruit he had innocently gobbled up not too long ago, albeit, nowhere near as little as any of them.
“Careful, Blitzy. We wouldn’t want our esteemed fruit here to pop, now would we?” Stolas teasingly remarked as Striker’s head showed itself from underneath the floor for the umpteenth time. “P- pop?!” Striker messily shouted in fear before Blitzo could respond, leaking out another bit of juice from his mouth. “Yes, that’s right, but do not fear. We will not let you suffer that fate, for you have plenty of delectable juice inside that must be harvested.” Stolas replied while pushing his hands deeper into the ball of an imp for emphasis on his words, letting his positivity over Striker’s forthcoming penance shine over him as he carried on planting his digits into the sloshy blue mass in front of himself and Blitzo. The couple proceeded to roll Striker out from this main part of the garden where he lost his mobility, and therefore his former self entirely. Further into this luscious green place, he would soon find his new resting place, where Stolas would take care of and obtain his bodily juices; the likes of which would refill and expand the blue imp again and again – no matter how much juice would be let out of him. Until such activities could begin for him, Striker could only ponder his current state of being amidst his dull, drunk-like brain, surely blue from all the juice that had filled his head too. As that carried on at the imp’s slow pace of thinking, Stolas and Blitzo continued to push into Striker’s squelching hide, rolling him off into the deeper unknown of Stolas’s vast garden, to become one with the rest of the vegetation and fruits within.