Later that evening, as the soft hum of the hotel's nightlights filled the air, Spawn approached Charlie, who was tidying up the lounge. His heavy boots echoed faintly against the floor, and she glanced up, noticing the unusual hesitation in his posture.
"Al," she said gently, setting down the clipboard she was holding. "Is something wrong?"
"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low but firm. "Privately."
Charlie nodded, her expression softening with concern. She led him to one of the quieter corners of the hotel, away from prying eyes. Once they were alone, she turned to him, her hands clasped in front of her.
"What's on your mind?" she asked, her tone as kind as ever.
Spawn hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a brief second, Charlie could see the battle raging inside him. Finally, he reached up and began undoing the straps of his mask.
"You deserve to know," he said gruffly.
"Know what?" Charlie asked softly, her brows furrowing.
Spawn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he removed the mask and held it at his side, revealing his face. The scars were deep and jagged, crisscrossing his features like a roadmap of pain. Burned flesh, partially healed wounds, and the hollowed remains of what once might have been a strong jawline painted a picture of suffering beyond words. His eyes, glowing faintly, bore a haunted look, as though they carried the weight of countless lifetimes.
Charlie's breath hitched. She had seen her share of horrors in Hell, but this... this was different. This was a pain that spoke of betrayal, of loss, of a life ripped apart. It was heartbreaking.
Spawn braced himself for her reaction, his jaw tightening. But what came next wasn't shock or revulsion. Instead, Charlie stepped closer, her eyes filled with nothing but compassion.
"Al..." she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. She reached out, her hand hovering just shy of his cheek, as if asking for permission.
He didn't move, didn't flinch away as she gently placed her hand against his scarred skin. Her touch was warm, delicate, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn't feel judged or pitied. He felt seen.
"You've been through so much," Charlie said, her voice trembling with emotion. "But none of this-none of it-changes who you are to me. You're still Al. You're still someone worth saving. Someone worth caring about."
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. Her words hit him like a blow, but not in a way that hurt. It was unfamiliar, almost unbearable, the way her acceptance wrapped around the jagged edges of his soul.
"I'm not good, Charlie," he muttered. "I've done things-things I can't take back. Things that'd make you hate me if you knew."
Charlie shook her head, her thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. "You're more than the worst thing you've done. I see it in you every day, Al. The way you protect the others here, the way you've let yourself start opening up. You're changing, whether you realize it or not. And I'm not going anywhere."
For a long moment, Spawn said nothing. He simply stared at her, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he replaced the mask over his face, securing it with care.
"Thanks," he said finally, his voice gruff but carrying a hint of something softer. Gratitude, perhaps. Or relief.
Charlie smiled, her heart aching for him. "Anytime, Al."
As he turned to leave, she called after him, "And for the record, you're not as alone as you think you are. You've got me. And Vaggie. And everyone here. Don't forget that, okay?"
Spawn didn't turn around, but he paused for a moment before nodding. And with that, he disappeared back into the shadows of the hotel, leaving Charlie standing there with a determined glint in her eye. No matter what, she would help him see that he was worth fighting for.
As Charlie stood in the quiet of the room, the dim glow of the nearby lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Her mind was a storm of thoughts, all circling the inevitable truth: Satan wasn't going to let Spawn's actions go unnoticed. As much as she hoped the situation would blow over, deep down, she knew better. If Spawn was dragged to court, she needed to be ready. And more importantly, he needed allies.
Beelzebub had already expressed her support, but Charlie knew that one voice, no matter how strong, wouldn't be enough. There had to be more. Picking up her phone, she scrolled through her contacts, her finger hesitating over a name she hadn't called in far too long: Asmodeus.
With a deep breath, she hit the call button. The phone rang twice before a rich, booming voice answered, full of charm and warmth.
"Charlie! Well, if it isn't my darling niece! It's been ages! How the hell are you, sweetie?"
Charlie couldn't help but smile at his exuberance. "Hi, Ozzy. I know it's been a while. I'm good, just... a lot going on lately."
"Oh, don't I know it! This mess with Spawn, right? Beelzebub and I were just talking about it. You've got yourself a real firestarter there, huh?"
Charlie blinked in surprise. "Wait-you already know?"
"Sweetheart, news like that doesn't stay quiet in Hell. Especially not when Satan's sniffing around. And let me just say, I'm loving it. That Crimson guy? Absolute scum. Spawn did everyone a favor."
Relief washed over Charlie. "So you're already on his side?"
"Of course I am!" Asmodeus exclaimed. "Listen, anyone who takes out a dirtbag like Crimson is a hero in my book. And don't even get me started on how much Fizz owes him. That poor darling's been through enough."
Charlie felt a flicker of hope. "That's... really good to hear, Ozzy. I was worried I'd have to convince you."
"Nah, no convincing needed," Asmodeus assured her. "Spawn's got my full support. If Satan thinks he's going to bully his way through this, he's got another thing coming. You just let me know what you need, sugar, and I'll be there."
"Thank you, Ozzy," Charlie said sincerely. "It means a lot."
"Anything for you, doll," he said warmly. "And hey, don't be a stranger. Next time, call just to chat, yeah? We miss you."
Charlie laughed softly. "I will, I promise."
As the call ended, Charlie felt a weight lift from her shoulders. With Beelzebub and Asmodeus on Spawn's side, she was starting to feel a little more confident about what lay ahead. But she knew there was still a long road ahead, and she wasn't about to stop here.
If Satan wanted a fight, she was going to make sure Spawn had an army behind him.
Charlie sighed as she leaned back against the wall, her phone still in her hand. She was weighing her options carefully. Mammon? Absolutely out of the question. Not after what Spawn did to him.
That left one name on her mental list: Belphegor.
Charlie didn't know Belphegor well. Out of all the Sins, the embodiment of Sloth was by far the least social. She rarely attended Lucifer's events, preferring to stay holed up in her corner of Hell. Still, the few interactions they'd had were pleasant enough. Belphegor even let her call her Belle, a nickname not many could get away with using. It was worth a shot.
Scrolling through her contacts, Charlie found Belphegor's number and hit dial. The phone rang for what felt like forever before a groggy, half-awake voice finally answered.
"...Hello?"
"Hi, Belle. It's Charlie."
There was a pause, followed by the faint sound of shuffling. "Charlie?" Belphegor's voice perked up just slightly. "Hey... uh, what's up? You never call me."
Charlie smiled. "Yeah, sorry about that. I hope I didn't wake you."
"You did," Belphegor admitted, her tone more amused than annoyed. "But I'm always kind of asleep, so it's fine. What's going on?"
"Well, it's about this... situation with Spawn," Charlie began cautiously.
"Spawn? Oh, right. That guy Satan's been talking about." Belphegor yawned audibly. "What about him?"
Charlie hesitated. Belphegor wasn't exactly known for her enthusiasm when it came to Hell's politics, but she had to try. "I was hoping you might be willing to back him up if it comes to a trial."
"Hmm." Belphegor's response was noncommittal. "Why should I care about some random sinner?"
Charlie bit her lip. She'd anticipated this. "Because he's more than that, Bell. He's been making real progress here at the hotel. He's not like the other sinners. And honestly, if Satan gets his way, it's not just Spawn who'll suffer-it could cause a lot of ripple effects."
Belphegor let out a long sigh, the kind that could only come from someone profoundly unmotivated. "You make a good point, but... getting involved sounds like a lot of work."
Charlie softened her tone, trying a different approach. "I get that, Bell. But you wouldn't have to do much. Just show up, lend your support. It'd mean a lot to me."
There was a pause, and then a soft chuckle. "You're really pulling the 'for me' card, huh?"
Charlie grinned despite herself. "Is it working?"
"Maybe," Belphegor said, her voice teasing. "Tell you what-I'll think about it. But you owe me one."
"Deal," Charlie said quickly, relief washing over her. "Thanks, Belle. Really."
"Yeah, yeah," Belphegor mumbled. "Now let me get back to my nap."
"Of course," Charlie said with a laugh. "Talk to you soon."
As the call ended, Charlie set her phone down with a satisfied sigh. Belphegor might not have committed fully, but even a maybe was better than nothing. She was slowly but surely building the support Spawn would need. Now, it was just a matter of time.
Looking over, Charlie saw Niffty in her usual manic state when cleaning, clearly ready to get all of the clutter of the art day out of the way.
With a nod, Charlie stepped in to help her.
Charlie carefully stacked brushes and wiped down the tables, her thoughts drifting to everything that had transpired recently. The hotel was livelier than it had ever been, filled with a chaotic but hopeful energy that made her heart swell. For the first time in a long while, it felt like her vision of redemption wasn't just a pipe dream.
She glanced over at the large mural that had become a centerpiece of the day's art therapy session. Each guest had added their own touch-swirls of color, abstract shapes, or small scenes reflecting their personalities and emotions. It was a beautiful, chaotic tapestry of progress and expression.
As she approached the mural to inspect it more closely, something in the very corner caught her eye. It was subtle, nearly blending into the vibrant chaos around it. But once she noticed it, she couldn't look away.
It was a symbol. Dark and sharp, drawn with a meticulous precision that stood out starkly against the freer, more abstract contributions. At first, Charlie wasn't sure what it was supposed to represent. A circle, intersected with jagged lines and faint shapes that could almost be letters or runes. But as she stared at it, a chill ran down her spine.
It was Spawn's work. She knew it instinctively. He must have added it when no one else was around, slipping it in quietly, almost as if it were a secret.
For a moment, Charlie wasn't sure how to feel. The mark carried an undeniable weight, a lingering aura of sorrow and defiance. It wasn't like the hopeful expressions the other guests had painted-it was darker, more guarded. But it wasn't entirely devoid of meaning.
"Al," she murmured under her breath.
She crouched down to look closer, her fingertips hovering over the edge of the mural. Despite its somber tone, the symbol felt... intentional. Like a piece of Spawn's soul had found its way onto the wall, whether he meant for it to or not.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He wouldn't admit it, but this was a sign of his progress, too. In his own quiet, guarded way, Spawn was opening up. Bit by bit, he was becoming part of something bigger.
Charlie stood and glanced around the room. No one else seemed to have noticed the addition, and she decided to leave it that way. This was Spawn's moment, his contribution, and she wasn't about to draw attention to it until he was ready.
Still, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Whatever came next, whatever trials they faced, this was proof that the hotel was working. Not just for the other guests, but for Spawn, too. And that, more than anything, gave her hope.
_____________________________________________
Belphegor sprawled across her massive bed, her fingers lazily swiping at her phone as Pentagram Pop chimed with tiny explosions of green fire. Her fluffy purple hair spilled over her pillow in a disheveled mess. One of her eyes cracked open, glowing faintly, as she glanced at the level timer ticking down.
"Almost out of moves," she muttered, her voice low and slow, like it was an effort to even speak.
With a sigh, she let the phone slip from her hand onto the mattress, staring up at the melting candle perched on her head. Its flickering flame cast faint shadows across the room, the rhythmic drip of wax the only sound besides her heavy breathing.
Her phone buzzed again, vibrating weakly against the sheets. She groaned, rolling onto her side to grab it. It wasn't another game notification. Instead, it was a reminder of Charlie's earlier call.
"Ugh," she groaned, tossing the phone to the side again. "Why'd she have to go and make this my problem?"
Dragging a hand down her face, she shifted to sit upright, her shoulders slumping. "Satan and his dumb pretrial," she muttered to herself. "Why does it even matter what I think?"
Charlie's words echoed in her head, soft and insistent, pulling her from her usual haze of disinterest. "He's not like the others, Belle," she'd said. "He deserves someone in his corner."
Belphegor rubbed her temples, her other hand absently picking at a thread on her blanket. "Deserves someone in his corner," she echoed sarcastically. "Sure, because that always works out in this place."
She fell back onto her pillow, staring up at the faintly glowing ceiling. Her eyelids grew heavy, but sleep refused to come. Instead, she thought about the trial, about Spawn, and about how much easier it would be to just stay quiet and let it all blow over.
"But if I do nothing..." she whispered to herself, the thought trailing off.
She shook her head, pulling her blanket over herself and curling up. "I don't even know this guy," she muttered. "For all I know, he's just another violent jackass."
Her phone buzzed again, lighting up with a notification from the game. She ignored it this time, closing her eyes in frustration.
"I'll figure it out later," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "Maybe."
The flickering candle on her head dimmed slightly as she drifted into uneasy thoughts, caught between her usual apathy and a nagging sense of responsibility she didn't want to feel.
_____________________________________________
In the opulent chambers of the Lust Ring, Asmodeus paced back and forth, his towering form casting long shadows across the golden walls. The pretrial loomed, and while he exuded his usual charisma, there was an undercurrent of irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
"I hate court," Asmodeus groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "All that pomp and formality-it's such a drag. And now I've gotta go to bat for Spawn. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Guy deserves the support after what he's done for us. But ugh, Satan and his theatrics."
Across the room, Fizzarolli reclined on a plush chaise, watching Asmodeus with a mix of amusement and mild concern. "Come on, Ozzy," he drawled, his mechanical tail twitching idly. "You're the King of Lust! You'll knock their socks off, if they even wear socks. Besides, you've already got the perfect angle-Spawn's practically the best PR we've had in ages."
Asmodeus paused mid-pace to shoot Fizzarolli a look, half-grateful, half-exasperated. "That's all well and good, Fizz, but this isn't about charm. It's about proving that Spawn isn't just some rogue sinner who needs to be snuffed out. If you've got any tricks up those fancy mechanical sleeves of yours, now's the time to share."
Fizzarolli tilted his head, pretending to think deeply as a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Tricks, huh? Well, let's see... I could always do my little dance number to distract everyone. Or maybe tell a joke about Satan's horns and see if anyone laughs before they get smited."
Asmodeus rolled his eyes but couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped. "Fizz, I'm serious."
Fizzarolli straightened, the humor fading from his expression. "Alright, alright. Serious mode. Look, Ozzy, you know I've got your back. Spawn's done more for us than most people ever would, and you're right-he deserves a fair shake. If there's anything I can do to help, just say the word."
Asmodeus stepped closer, placing a massive hand on Fizzarolli's shoulder. "Anything you can do would be greatly appreciated, Fizz. I'm already walking into this circus on his behalf. If you can find a way to tip the scales even a little..."
Fizzarolli nodded, the gears in his mind already turning. As Asmodeus turned to leave, adjusting his coat with a flourish, Fizzarolli sat back down, deep in thought.
Spawn. The pretrial. Satan. Evidence. Witnesses.
Fizzarolli's eyes suddenly lit up as an idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Wait a minute..." he muttered, a sly grin creeping onto his face.
Crimson. The bastard was dead now, but Fizzarolli and Blitzo had tangled with him before. They'd seen firsthand the kind of monster he was. And now, with Crimson gone, maybe their testimony could shine a light on why Spawn had done what he did.
Fizzarolli leapt to his feet, energized by the idea. "Blitzo's gonna love this," he said to himself, already envisioning how he'd rope his old buddy into this wild plan.
As he darted off to start making calls, Fizzarolli couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe they could turn this whole thing around.
_____________________________________________
In the lavish, glimmering depths of the Gluttony Ring, Beelzebub paced in front of her ornate mirror, adjusting her outfit and tightening the straps on her glittering black heels. Her wings fluttered in irritation, reflecting the swirling neon lights of her sprawling domain. She muttered under her breath, the weight of the upcoming pretrial pressing on her.
"Court," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "What a waste of time. But if Satan wants his little drama, guess I've got no choice."
As she picked up her shimmering bag, her sharp eyes flicked toward the open door, where Vortex and Thorn lounged in the entryway. Vortex leaned casually against the frame, while Thorn absentmindedly chewed on the edge of her claw.
"Alright, you two," Bee called, her tone firm but familiar. "I'm heading out, but I need you on something while I'm gone."
"Sure thing, babe," Vortex replied, straightening up. "What's the job?"
Bee pointed a perfectly manicured finger at them. "Find anything that could help Spawn's case. Anything we can use to shut Satan and his whole kangaroo court down."
Vortex nodded, but Thorn tilted her head, her spiky hair bouncing slightly as she asked, "Uh, Spawn? The guy we talked to once already? The guy who seemed like he wanted the whole world off his back? That Spawn?"
"That's the one," Beelzebub confirmed, her wings fluttering impatiently. "And Charlie's counting on us to have his back, so don't let me down."
With that, she strutted out of the room, leaving the two hellhounds to their task.
For a few moments, they sat in silence, each trying to figure out where to even start. Thorn scratched her head, her claws clicking against her horn.
"So, uh...what do we actually know about this guy?" she asked.
Vortex shrugged. "Not much. But..." He paused, his brow furrowing. "Wait. Didn't I tell you about Verosika helping out with something a while back? That crazy rescue thing in Greed?"
Thorn perked up, her ears twitching. "Yeah! You did mention that. Something about rescuing a guy and his wife or whatever?"
"Yeah," Vortex said, snapping his fingers as the memory came back to him. "Moxxie. That was his name. And Verosika said Spawn was the one who pulled it all together."
Thorn grinned, her tail wagging slightly. "That's something, right? I mean, if Verosika's got Spawn's back, she could totally vouch for him!"
Vortex nodded, already pulling out his phone. "Worth a shot. I'll hit her up and see if she's willing to talk."
As he dialed Verosika's number, Thorn leaned back, her sharp grin widening. "Man, this is gonna be good. If Spawn's got that kind of pull, Satan's gonna hate it."
Vortex chuckled. "Let's just hope Verosika's in a helpful mood."
The two hellhounds got to work, the spark of an idea turning into a plan. Whatever happened, they weren't about to let Bee-or Spawn-down.