WARNING: this is a fart fetish story. Includes mentions of 18+ stuff

Back to season 2 episode 4 of Helluva Boss. A small fantasy about what it would be like if Striker got gassy after all that had already happened there~

Cover art: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/52.....oad-successful

WARNING: this included brief description of violence

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When the horse finally stopped in front of the entrance to the old train tunnel, Striker gladly hopped down from the animal’s back. “Fuck my soul, just a little longer of this racing, and my stomach would combust”, - he grumbled, yanking the sack with his stuff off the saddle.

The imp staggered through the passage, leading his horse by its reins. He could swear it felt like a cactus with improbably sharp spikes was rolling around his intestines, the pain echoing through the whole abdomen. That only irritated Striker more – today was not his day as a whole. “First that annoying band of failed musicians kept on following me, bellowing their stupid tasteless song”, - he pondered darkly as he walked, staring down at the ground with the spite of someone able to melt it: “Then my perfect revenge on the Goetia bastard gets double ruined. THEN I’m forced to gallop around the district to make sure I’m not being followed…..”. In those thoughts, the imp and the horse have walked deep into the cave and reached Stricker’s improvised dwelling.

Striker stopped near the long, sturdy and pointy rock that somehow survived the battle for Stolas’ life and threw the horse reins over it. There was already a bucker full of water for the animal to drink from so Striker didn't have to go fill it at least. The imp seemed to have thought of something else. He straightened up his back and chuckled, shrugging shoulders and shaking his head to himself. “Looks like a new challenge came my way, huh?”, - he quipped, glancing at the horse who has already started drinking the water: “Well tomorrow I better be back to catching up with those fuckers in suits and getting my fingers on the scrawny owl’s neck~”.

The concept of acting like an inevitable karma for the royal individual make Striker feel much better, and he looked at the ceiling of the cave, eyes brimming with manic intent but overall posture calm and relaxed, hands resting on the back and a straw stick clenched between the teeth to help the imp fixate on something simple and stimulating.

“But for now, let them think I have cowardly fled the scene to give up on the Goetia”, - he thought: “Or died from a falling rock – those fools would believe any bullshit. Especially that little one, even though he got a tad better at fighting me, he’s still got the brains of a chicken”.

At that moment Striker felt something build up in his colon. “Finally… I thought nothing would ever come to put a stop to this stomachache”, - he grinned. The imp lifted his leg and pushed the fart out.

His tail lifted to give way to a rather loud crude rumble. It bellowed out of imps’ ass in a swift 2 seconds release and echoed through the vast space of the cave. The horse got spooked and lifted its muzzle out of the water to snort in confusion and stomp its front hooves.

The whole thing amused Striker, so he broke into a chuckle fit. “Oh man, this is what I get for eating those tacos earlier”, - the imp fanned his ass: “They catch up with me big time…”. Letting some of the winds out felt good, but didn’t stop the entirety of the incoming gas from filling Striker from the inside.

He knew that when mere minutes later, another clamour of flatulence begged to be set free, prompting Striker’s belly to churn with dirty gurgly groans. The imp sighed and put the small knife-sharpening machine back onto the old rusty nightstand that he managed to steal a year ago. He was about to get his weapons ready for the arranged hunt but had to succumb to the interruption.

“Aw, shit, this’ll be a gassy evening for me. Alright then - just a quick fart and I’ll be back to my doings” – Sticker whispered and leaned forward, putting his hands onto the nightstand and sticking his butt into the air to allow the gas to travel out faster. The incoming amount was humongous, so the imp clenched his eyes shut and strained his anal muscles to force the entirety of it out.

The result was an even louder and longer fart that almost left a ring in Striker’s ears. It sent such powerful vibrations through his ass, that it felt sore by the end of the 6-second release. But Striker’s stomach felt a lot better after that, and the imp let out a long sigh, his snaky lips stretching in a serene smile as he rested his head on the folded arms, his behind still higher in the air.

He often got bad gas due to his diet which consisted of any random food he succeeded in stealing or snatching. It was a rarity that he actually earned money to afford food legally.

“Too bad that sissy birdshit definitely will not pass me some cash for all the trouble I went through because of her”, - Sriker’s thoughts went back to Stella and her contract with him: “I was just about to end the Goetia’s meaningless life and there she goes changing the rules and wasting my time”.

His stomach growled again and sent a whiny windy fart flying out of Striker’s ass, making him go wide-eyed at how spontaneous that was. He quickly snapped out of it, tsked and muttered to himself: “So where was I… Oh, right. Patience…. Have to be patient. When I’m finally done with them both, more than enough fortune will come my way. And then I’ll see if I’d like a certain whimp’s head on the wall of my cave. Of course, his wife will accompany him there, heheheh”.

With that Striker got his body off the nightstand and proceeded to sharpen his knives and axe. All the while the imp was sitting on a small but thick towel he laid on the cold ground. Periodically he let small sharp farts blow out of his ass and invade the space between his crotch and legs, serving as an additional warming. The imp finally felt at peace, planning out his next outings and watching the blades’ edges thinning and thus getting deadlier and…. shinier. It was mesmerizing.

Eventually, with such a position, the smell of Striker’s own farts accumulated and was able to reach his nose. The imp stopped the machine and put down his axe. He used his own hat to fan the air.

“This stinks to high heavens. At least I have an air freshener around just in case”, - he thought, annoyed that he had to deal with his own stench.

Suddenly there was a rustle behind him. From how the invader moved, Striker instantly knew it was one of those usurper wannabes.

Before the dark-red imp even had the chance to plunge his dagger into Sticker’s neck, the latter dodged the attack and kicked him into the nearest rock wall. The imp collided with it and fell flat onto the ground. The invader, despite his shorter stature, looked and was pretty strong, but still no match for the professional whom Striker was.

Striker wasted no time jumping on top of the defeated imp, pinning the latter down.

“I’ve seen plenty of aspiring assassins like ya”, - Striker hissed into his face: “And every single one of ya'll doesn’t have the patience to handle having a competition at the very start of their career. Which is a grave mistake, for the inexperienced ones”.

The dark red imp struggled not to show fear, which was rather pointless because Striker’s steel-strong hands didn’t give him any chance of escaping, cupping his throat with a force that wasn’t big enough to break it or squeeze the air out of the windpipe. Yet.

“Now what should I do with ya…?”, - Striker hummed, liking that he had an opportunity to vent his frustration onto the one deserving it: “Maybe gouging your eyes out and letting ya wander off into the desert is fair enough game. Such a tempting idea for me~”.

The smaller imp gulped, the last ounces of his bravado crumbling under Striker’s terrifying demeanor. Despite the horror of the situation, the invader looked surprised when he heard a loud grumble. It certainly came from the area… that was Striker’s stomach?

Striker himself reacted to his growling stomach with a slight wince before beaming sinisterly at the imp below him and saying: “Although there is a better idea that suddenly came to me. Ya hear that?”. He glanced pointedly down at his abdomen which continued making growling sounds.

A vision of being cannibalized appeared in the trapped imp’s frantic mind. Striker noticed how pale he turned and laughed: “That’s right. Ya got yourself into big trouble, little fella. And I’m going to enjoy it to the fullest”.

Striker roughly sat down on the imp’s face. The little guy blushed at the feeling of his enemy’s leather-clad firm behind settling on his face. When the imp realized that his nostrils were right between Striker’s cheeks, and remembered the growling stomach and put two and two together, he understood just what kind of an idea Striker had in mind.

The imp tried breaking free but Striker didn’t even have to worry about that. He was much heavier, pressing down the smaller imp like it was nothing. Also, Striker wrapped his legs around the invader’s knees to restrict their mobility and pinned the imp’s hands down. That way Striker was firmly sure that the victim had no opportunity to pull some kind of trick.

When the dark red imp continued to squirm, trying to get his head from under the opponent’s butt, Striker simply clenched his wrists as painfully as he could. That made the trapped one whimper.

“Heheh, we haven’t even started yet, and ya’re already on the verge of tears”, - Striker teased: “How pathetic”.

The imp breathed hard in panic, his nose inhaling the tangy scent of the sweat that built up on Striker’s unwashed ass and legs after such a hectic day of fighting and horse-riding. It made the invader squeak, trying to hold back his gagging.

“Awww, don’t like how I smell, huh?”, - Striker continued to taunt, rocking his hips to squeeze the imp’s face further into his asscrack: “What a weak nose… I can’t wait to see how ya react to my farts~”.

Ignoring the imp’s pleading whining, Striker rubbed his stomach. Then he arched his back and let loose a sweltering whiny fart into the guy’s face. Because of the fresh ripe gas getting trapped right between Striker’s buttcheeks upon the release, it felt like a set of lightened matches was shoved there.

“That fucking burns”, - Striker laughed: “I bet all this gas stinks reeeeal bad~ What do ya think, boy?”.

The imp beneath him had stopped trying to break free from Striker’s grasp and just laid there, coughing profusely, his whole body shaking from the fit. Striker’s gas smelled bad enough to make anyone’s lungs shrivel and cause plants to wilt.

“Ya’re not being very fun right now”, - Striker said with disappointment: “I expected more…. Maybe a little more of the good stuff will stir ya up. I have just the right fart coming~”.

Striker lifted his leg and prepared to cut another one. A sputtering bubbly fart burst out of his bum, hitting the imp like a ton of bricks. Striker moaned blissfully, his stomach finally venting out such a huge torrent of gas that was cramming it up the whole evening.

“Ahhh, nothing like a good wind-breaking at the end of the day”, - Striker sighed happily before noticing how imp finally lost it, writhing around in his grasp and grunting angrily. That brought Striker satisfaction, watching the invader fail more at escaping the torture.

“Not so brave anymore?”, - Striker said: “However, I don’t think ya ever were brave. Just an ordinary nervy namby-pamby who wasn’t ready for what was coming to ya. And look how it turned out”.

While the imp suffered, Striker got a few sniffs of his own gas again. The miasma reeked of putrid cabbage and filth. It was horrible and nose-burning. Striker could perfectly imagine how it felt to receive a good amount of that right in the face. He had perfect revenge on the one who disturbed his peace.

“That’s enough of fooling around. Time for a big finish”, - Striker said, getting off the imp. The latter made a weak attempt of standing up but received a massive punch in the gut and then another one in the face from Striker. With blood oozing from the imp’s nose and his mind being in a half-daze, Striker tied him to another long pointy rock and pulled a real set of matches out of his jacket’s pocket.

“There are plenty of humiliating ways to make a whimp like ya a goner…”, - Striker said, dragging three matches against the box and igniting their heads: “But this one is the most fitting for today”.

The imp’s vision became less blurry, letting him make sense of what was happening. He saw his torturer turning back on him and… holding a few burning matches in front of his butt?

There was a single profanity that ran through the bruised imp’s mind: “Fuck…”.

Faithful to the profuse gas attack, there was another big one creeping down Striker’s tummy already. “That was fast”, - Striker whispered and then apathetically addressed the tied imp: “Well, it was nice knowing ya. Oh, wait, it wasn’t”.

A strong fart that rushed out caught up on fire successfully, turning into a rapid fire column that rammed into the dark-red imp’s face and chest. The poor thing wailed in pain, his skin burning. Striker gritted his teeth, getting every last iota of gas out of his system and then sighing in relief.

“Can’t remember the last time I did this to anyone”, - he said, blowing the matches out and wafting the smoke off his ass with a hand. Striker turned around and sent one of his own daggers flying into the smaller imp’s chest, finishing him off.

“Poor fella, he didn’t stand a chance”, - Striker said, quite proud of himself: “Nor did he put on a good fight. Lived as a half-wit and died a fameless death”. He fed the dead body to his horse, as usual, and started getting ready to have a peaceful doze in his small leather hammock.

In mere moments Striker was dreaming about riding his horse across the vast sandy hills of the wrath ring, setting out on another thrilling adventure and proving himself to be the most capable and free-spirited imp in the entire hell.