Owl anon getting dragged along on one of I.M.Ps part 2

from /hhg/ Helluva Hotel general #784
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>You do your best to return the gap-toothed smile she shines at you as she hands the folder over
>You can't help but swing back and forth between genuinely enjoying her company and being just a bit creeped out
>Sure, she's a capable fighter and she's got hips for days, but something about the spritely country girl attitude matched with a sadistic bloodlust throws you off
>But whatever
>On to the details of the target

>Garden variety human cult leader
>Claims to have inherited the mantle of one of Heaven's prophets, specifically, a "King Solomon" (he hasn't, and he's not even remotely related to anyone in that lineage)
>Claims to have all manner of divine powers (he doesn't)
>He claims to have imprisoned a host of demons in his "vessel of bronze" (an oil drum with some paint on it) and "bound them to his divine will for the betterment of Heaven's chosen people on earth" (a fancy way of saying "enslaved")
>But if any of these supposed members of the Goetia family actually exist, you've never seen them at any family gatherings
>You're not sure what he's actually got locked up in that oil drum, other than severe delusions of grandeur
>Blablabla...rods of iron...hundred and forty four thousand...great red dragon...
>Ah here it is
>Underneath all of that bullshit, this little operation's ultimate purpose is the same as any other human cult's: financial and sxual exploitation of a bunch of easily manipulated people
>"Great King Jed" demands "tithes" from all of his subjects that amount to pretty much all the money they have, and he's fking everyone behind everyone else's backs
>And he's got a type
>Perfect
-
>"Gentlemen"
>"Also Millie"
>"I have the solution"

>You rise and take a step back from the imps
>A quick flash of violet flame, and you're in your human disguise
>Sort of
>You learned this back when you were kid, but you've hardly had to use it since, so you're a bit rusty
>"Rusty" in this case meaning that you didn't get the number of eyes correct
>You've still got the four
>Whoops
>Okay, second try
>Alright there we go
>Perfect

>For all intents and purposes, you now look like a sleek, slim human with a really expensive outfit
>The perfect thing to appeal to the so-called chaste and hermetic prophets boundless lust and insatiable greed
-
>"So, all I have to do is get Motel 6 Merlin down there out in the open, you pop him, and we can all go home and have coffee, right?"

>"No!"

>"The fk do you mean no?"

>"I mean I absolutely forbid it!"
>"If I bring you back to Hell with even one feather out of place your mother is going to have me drawn and quartered!"

>"And how do you propose to stop me from just going down there and luring your target out anyway?"

>Blitzo's face falls

>"Uuhhhh...I'll ground you?"
-
>"Sir, this does seem like a tactically sound plan"
>"Neither the target nor any of his acolytes have gotten near the windows of their little hovel all day because they're convinced that stray balloon from earlier was a hunter-killer drone from the government"
>"Per the files, the last time they did this it was over a week before they came out again"

>"Yeah and ah have a load of laundry ah needta fold back home."

>"Fine, fine, just be careful. And to be clear, WE still do the killing. I'm not paying you for this."

>You didn't expect him to, the stingy fk
-
>Okay, game plan should be simple
>Just go over to this dingy little cluster of shacks that's supposedly going to be the only place safe from the coming apocalypse (which isn't coming any time soon), yell something to stroke the stupid bastard's ego, when he comes out, get low and wait for the rifleman hiding further up the hill to blow him away
>Then, more importantly, leave the mortal world behind and get back to Hell where you can relax
>Alright, Anon, really lay it on thick no

>"Ooooooh great and divine prophet!"

>You can see a greasy face at the window almost immediately

>"I have had a vision!"

>Etcetera, etcetera, throw in some references to a few other (real) prophets
>Namedrop a few archangels
>Yeah, that's right you dumb mortal, come on out and meet your newest brownnoser...

>"...and the angel proclaimed that I must give up all my worldly wealth and go here, to the promised lands, to serve under Heaven's final prophet!"

>Perfect
>The imps' target and a couple of his asskissers have come out into the open
>You can see the hunger in the target's eyes, because he's looking only at you, probably already daydreaming of the creature comforts he'll buy with the money you've supposedly come to surrender to him, not egret checking his surroundings
>You drop to your knees in a false gesture of supplication
>Silence, for a moment
>Then you hear a gunshot

>But you don't hear a body hit the ground