Chapter 3

                                    

                                          
Spawn trudged through the twisted maze of Pentagram City's alleys, his frustration mounting with each step. No matter where he turned, every dark corner, every shadowed alleyway was already claimed. Squatters and gangs infested every nook and cranny, their presence a constant reminder that in Hell, there was no such thing as unoccupied territory.
He had been walking for hours, his mind churning. The encounter with those bull-headed demons played over and over in his thoughts. Maybe he should just take a place by force, drive out whoever was in his way. It wouldn't be the first time he had claimed something that didn't belong to him, and this was Hell, after all. Might made right down here. The weak lost, and the strong ruled.
Spawn glanced around, his eyes narrowing as he considered it. If he was going to survive, he would need a place to lay low. He didn't have time to keep wandering aimlessly. He needed somewhere to plan his next move.
But then something in the distance caught his attention. A flicker of color amidst the dreary, muted tones of the city's skyline. He stopped, squinting as his gaze focused on a large, gaudy billboard that loomed over a cluster of decrepit buildings.
The sign was bright, cheerful even, with vibrant colors that stood in stark contrast to the grim surroundings. A smiling, animated image of a young demon woman-cheerful, with golden eyes and flowing blonde hair-stood at the forefront, gesturing toward a large, inviting building behind her. Below her, bold, looping letters proclaimed:
"WELCOME TO THE HAZBIN HOTEL! REDEMPTION AWAITS!"
Spawn's eyes narrowed. The sight of it was jarring, absurdly out of place amidst the decay and despair of Pentagram City. A hotel? In Hell? And what was that nonsense about redemption? He snorted, about to dismiss it as some kind of twisted joke, another trick of the city's cruel sense of humor.
But something about it nagged at him, holding his attention. It was...hopeful. Hope was a rare commodity in Hell, and the idea of it being offered so openly struck him as bizarre. And then, against his better judgment, he felt the faintest flicker of curiosity.
What kind of place was this?
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on broken glass. Spawn turned, his body tensing instinctively as his eyes scanned the alley behind him.
A figure stepped into view from the shadows, moving with a deliberate, almost unhurried gait. The man was older, dressed in a long, worn coat and a wide-brimmed hat that cast his features in shadow. He carried a simple wooden cane, tapping it lightly against the ground as he approached.
There was something familiar about him, something that made Spawn's senses prick with recognition. He looked...ordinary, too ordinary, like he didn't belong in this place. And yet, he moved with a quiet confidence that spoke of someone who was far more than he seemed.
"Lost, are we?" the stranger asked, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. He stopped a few paces away, leaning on his cane as he regarded Spawn with a faint, knowing smile. "Not many newcomers have the gall to wander these streets alone. You've got the look of someone searching for something."
Spawn's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way this man spoke, the casual ease in his tone. It reminded him too much of someone else, someone he hadn't thought about in a long time. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The man's smile widened, just a fraction. "Just a concerned citizen, my friend. Name's Callister. I've got an eye for spotting lost souls." He glanced at the billboard in the distance, his expression turning thoughtful. "And it looks like you might be in need of some direction."
Spawn's gaze followed his, settling once more on the garish sign advertising the Hazbin Hotel. He scowled, turning back to the stranger. "I'm not interested in some cheap gimmick," he growled. "I'm looking for a place. A real place."