Chapter Text
“That f*cker’s back!” Adolf growled , his claws digging into the table. Wrenched marks were cut into the wood.
“Yeah, I thought he was gone for good too…” Benito waltzed behind Adolf, his obsidian robe flowing like a waterfall down his back. A devil-may-care smile played faintly on his lips.
“It’s been seven years!” fumed the dictator, his brow furrowed and teeth bared. Why couldn’t Benito be more focused? This was a serious matter— at least, between him and the red tzar.
The Duce only smirked. “ You still pissed he almost beat you that time?” twirling his slender fingers in the air, then finally tracing them across Adolf’s cheeks, Benito chuckled as he stared right into Adolf’s eyes. Adolf couldn’t help noticing the hint of sarcasm in the Italian’s voice— almost? Rather entirely! His troops had perished in the Russian winter!
“Uh, f*ck you?” Adolf groaned, utterly irritated at Benito’s … blunt response . This was exactly where the dart hit home— of all things, Adolf hated anyone who dared to reiterate his defeat.
“Just sayin'…” Benito let go of his hand, then residing to the corner of the room. How he loved to see Adolf riled up… it was as if an obsession.
“Things have changed a lot since World War 2*!” Jerking backwards and settling into his armchair, Adolf swung a map of Earth out of the wall as he jabbed frantically at the German border. Even though he was in hell now for his sins, it would NEVER stop his burning desire for more, more and MORE land. He now owned a massive portion of the new realm he was in, and he was determined to crush the last bit of ground out of the Soviet.
“That's for sure…” Benito nodded in approval , his mind wandering back to the time when he was still the Duce of f@scism. Yes, he was weak, he relied on the Germans, and he couldn’t even beat the sh*t out of North African countries. Trailing his hand over his chest, he shuddered as his finger scaled the small puncture in the flesh. The bullet, shot by the partisan fighters , had created the everlasting scar below his heart…
Now, he was powerful.
He wasn’t the shadow of the bald f@scist who screwed everything up on the North African front lines, he wasn’t even a shred of that nuisance who made Germany disappointed.
Spreading his gigantic crow wings as he leaned back on the wall, he let out a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Mauve shades of fumes snaked out of his mouth, as he heaved a small sigh.
What he needed to do was only to listen to the insane demon rambling on and on. Then hype him up. Then he could finally retreat back to his bedroom.
“I gotta send a message of who's really in charge of things now!” Adolf cackled, spinning the map back into place again in the wall. Swivelling his chair as he laid both hands on the table, he arose and faced Benito.
He was much taller than the Duce , a towering 197 cm—20 centimetres taller than his human height. Tilting his head , he sauntered away, flexing his four pairs of wings jauntily.
Then, he disappeared behind the heavy metal doors with a deafening slam.
Benito merely grinned as he lowered the cigarette.