Chapter 5 - Chapter 4: Hazbin Hotel Pilot Part 4

["Well, we have a patron already, who believes in our cause and he's shown incredible progress!" Charlie added.]

[Katie Killjoy acted shocked by this, "Oh? And who might that be?"]

[Charlie tried to look smug and confident and said, "Oh, just someone named... Angel Dust!]

{Heaven}

Promenade:

Back in Heaven, two angels were watching the entire broadcast in their home and they both heard about Charlie's declaration of redeeming demons to go to Heaven.

To be honest, both of them are definitely supporting Charlie in redeeming those demons, if there's even a slightest chance that they can see their families again, they would actively try to support her.

However, once Charlie said that they have a guest, and it is none other than they're own brother/son, Angel Dust they have... quite the unexpected reactions.

The screen froze for a brief moment, just long enough for Molly to scream, "WHAT?!"

Her screams echoed throughout the entire house as that caught the both of them extremely off guard by this revelation.

"Did she... did she just say Angel Dust?! My brother?! That Angel?!" She leaned forward, pressing her nose against the TV screen, her wings twitching with disbelief, "Okay, okay, okay. Either I'm hallucinating or that demon princess just said my brother is Hell's redemption project."

Next to her, Annie, their mother, had gone pale, her usual gentle demeanor giving way to a stunned silence. Her fingers tightened instinctively around the rosary in her lap, as her eyes blinked furiously at the screen, "...Anthony?" She whispered. "My Anthony?"

Molly turned to her, a mix of awe and disbelief swimming in her eyes, "Mom. He's alive. Well, not alive-alive, but you know what I mean! He's out there, and, he's trying! Holy harp strings, this is actually happening!"

Annie, still visibly shaken, slowly brought a hand to her mouth, trying to process what she just saw, "He... he joined a cause. A good one. He's with that girl... She... she actually believes in him."

Molly sniffled hard and wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve, her tough-girl exterior cracking wide open as her heart swelled with hope she hadn't let herself feel in years.

"I didn't think anything could come out of Hell but monsters," She said quietly, "I thought we lost him forever. But if Anthony's in there, and he's really trying... trying to be better, even in that place..."

She trailed off, her voice caught somewhere between laughter and sobs. Then she smiled, it was small but it was filled with hope.

"Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe there's still a way for us to be together again."

{Hell}

In a dingy, shadow-drenched lounge deep within the grimiest parts of Hell, a cracked television sat flickering on a crooked shelf. The broadcast played loud and clear, and the moment Charlie dropped that name, two demons went deathly still.

Arackniss, who had been lounging on a broken recliner with a cigarette between his hands, jerked upright so fast he nearly dislocated a leg.

"You gotta be shittin' me!" He growled, smoke puffing violently out of his mandibles, "He's her golden boy? Angel Dust?! What kinda sick joke is this?! He's a fuckin' laughing stock! Always prancing around, getting into trouble, makin' a mess of the family name! And now he's some kinda... fucking role model?!"

He glared at the TV like it owed him money, "I bust my ass clawing my way up the criminal chain, and he's the one getting redemption points?! Gimme a fucking break!"

In the corner, Henroin, slowly looked up from his spot at the bar as he stared at the screen with a cold, unreadable expression as Angel Dust's name echoed throughout the entire bar.

He gave a dry, humorless chuckle, "Huh. Guess even Hell's got a sense of irony."

Arackniss turned towards his father and yelled, "You ain't got anything else to say, old man?!"

Henroin took a long drag from a grimy flask before muttering, "That boy's always been chasing attention. Always trying to please someone. If this is what gives him purpose, I say let him have it. He'll burn out eventually, just like the rest of us."

Arackniss sneered at him and said, "He's making us look like a joke."

Henroin's lips curled into a cruel smirk and said in a cold tone, "Kid was always the joke, 'Rack. Maybe now he's just the punchline."

["The porn star?" Tom asked.]

[Katie Killjoy turned towards him menacingly and growled, "You fucking would, Tom! She scrapped her nails across the desk leaving trail marks behind.]

[Tom looked away and tapped the desk with his fingers.]

["In any case, that's not even an accomplishment. I'm sure you could get that hooker to do anything with enough booger sugar and lube." She confidently said as she motioned doing a handjob.]

Hazbin Hotel:

Angel Dust's eyes narrowed the second Katie Killjoy's venomous jab came from the screen. His lip curled as the feeling of offended flaring like a struck match.

"Hey! I have standards, bitch!" He snapped, flipping off the screen with all four hands, two fingers from each for maximum effect, "Ain't no way in hell I'm banging some crusty, saggy tabloid mummy like you."

He wrinkled his nose in dramatic revulsion, adding, "I'd rather chew glass and gargle holy water."

Alastor, who had been lounging with a curious smile, visibly recoiled. His grin twitched, tightening as if trying to maintain civility despite what he just heard.

"Must you be quite so graphic, my good sir?" He said with a strained chuckle, brushing invisible dust from his lapel like the words had physically tainted him. "Some of us are trying to enjoy our evening without picturing... that."

Charlie, trying desperately to steer the energy away from full-on chaos, clapped her hands together and forced a chipper smile.

"Well! At least you did your best, Angel!" She offered brightly, her voice wobbling just a bit.

Angel Dust didn't respond right away. His usual flamboyant air faltered as he shifted his gaze away from the screen, expression softening. One set of arms crossed over his chest protectively while the others hung low, fingers fidgeting.

"Yeah..." He muttered, his voice quieter than usual, "Did my best."

The room fell into a brief hush as Charlie glanced at him, concerned etching across her features, but she didn't push it, not yet.

["Oh, I beg to differ!" Charlie leaned closer towards Katie as she began to count on her fingers, "He's been behaved, clean, and out of trouble for two weeks now."]

["Breaking news!"]

[Katie held a finger up to her earpiece and smiled widely as she pushed Charlie away.]

["We are receiving word that a new player has entered the ongoing turf war! Let's go to the live feed." Katie reported as the screen behind them shows footage of the live feed.]

[The live feed shows Angel Dust stepping on an Egg Boi and throwing a grenade over at Sir Pentious with visible laughter in the background as Charlie stares at the screen in defeat.]

["Oh... shit." Charlie said in a defeated tone.]

["Oh, shit indeed! It looks like the one who just joined the battle is none other than..." Katie feigned a gasp, "Porn actor, Angel Dust! What a juicy coincidence! You must feel really stupid, right now." Katie shakes her fist in triumph.]

[Killjoy and Trench proceed to laugh at Charlie as they do some Jazz hands, "Ratings!"]

{Earth}

Los Angeles:

The humans watching the broadcast had mixed reactions, many felt genuine sympathy for Charlie, seeing how crushed she was by the mockery and boos. Yet, there was an undeniable awkward chuckle that passed around, as the sheer timing of her hopeful declaration followed by a wave of ridicule was so classically tragic it bordered on sitcom-worthy.

"Man, "I'd feel like total garbage if that were me... just, yikes." One guy winced, sipping his soda.

Chad, a laid-back college student in a hoodie with a halo-printed cap, looked into his drink thoughtfully and said, "Still... I think she's got something there. Like, real potential. She just needs support, you know?" His frat buddies nodded around him.

"Bro," One of them, Michael suddenly spoke up, his eyes lighting up as an idea started to form, "What if we, like, started a cult or something? You know, to support her!"

The girl sitting beside them turned her head slowly with a baffled expression, "Wait. What? Why was that the first thing you suggested?!"

Michael casually waved a hand as he lounged across the couch, "No, no! Not a creepy one! Not like blood sacrifices or chanting in Latin or whatever. I mean, like... a themed fanclub. You know? Posters, merch, TikToks, group chats. Just good vibes and angel energy."

The girl blinked, then shrugged her shoulders, "Oh. Well... that makes a lot more sense." She raised her drink in a mock-toast, "To the Happy Hotel Support Squad, then."

"Hell yeah!" Chad grinned, "No pun intended!"

[Charlie stares at the live feed in distress and attempts to block it from the audience's view, "Don't look at this!" She yelled trying to cover the live feed but can't since it's a screen being shown on a different screen so she can't block it.]

["Well, it sure looks like your little project is dead on arrival." Katie mocked as she looms over Charlie, "Tell us, how does it feel to be a total failure?"]

[Everyone in the room starts bursting into laughter, finding this situation utterly hilarious.]

United States of America

Marcy sat cross-legged in front of the television, her plushie forgotten as her eyes stayed glued to the chaotic broadcast from Hell. When the laughter and jeers toward Charlie reached a particularly cruel peak, the girl's brows furrowed in fierce disapproval.

"What a bunch of meanies!" She declared with righteous indignation. With no better weapon at hand, she picked up a bright pink crayon and hurled it at the screen. It bounced harmlessly off the glass, landing among scattered toys, but she didn't care.

"Get 'em, Miss Princess!" She shouted, pumping her tiny fist, "Show 'em who's boss!"

Martha let out a soft, weary sigh, "Poor dear..." She murmured, her voice gentle as she tucked a strand of hair behind Marcy's ear, "I'd have fainted right on the spot if that had been me. All those cameras, those awful reporters, are so cruel."

March turned slightly, looking up at her mother with big, curious eyes, "Do you think she's gonna win mama?"

Martha gave a faint smile, stroking her daughter's hair with one hand and holding her close with the other.

"I don't know, sweetheart," She said honestly, "But I think... she's not giving up. And sometimes, that's how winning starts."

"Hell yeah, kick her ass Charlie!" James cheered in agreement.

"James! Please watch your language!" Martha chided him.

{Heaven}

Lilith watched in silence, her expression unreadable But behind those sunglasses, something shifted. A tremor. A tension coiling, waiting.

The moment Charlie's bright resolve cracked beneath the weight of ridicule, Lilith's hand tightened around her glass as sharp crack echoed throughout the entire island as the fine crystal fractured beneath her grip. She didn't flinch, even as a sliver of glass bit into her palm, and black blood trickled down her porcelain skin.

And that was when Lilith moved.

With a grace both regal and graceful, she rose from her sunlounger. The folds of her black-and-gold robe shimmered like liquid night as they swept the sand behind her. Her form, tall and statuesque, seemed to draw in the light, casting a sudden, chilling gravity over the island.

She set the cracked glass down gently, the bloodied stem clicking against the small round dining table with finality.

With curiosity, the Kitsuna followed behind her, unsure as to where she's going.

Suddenly, Lilith's voice broke the silence with a low, and dangerous tone.

"They mock hope... because they've forgotten what it feels like to have any."

She walked deeper into the jungle until she found what she was looking for, a grand mirror, mounted in a small rock carved with infernal script and celestial runes, it's not an ordinary mirror however, it is a scrying mirror. It is used to observe people in the underworld, should one know how to look.

And Lilith knew where she should start first.

She raised a hand and pressed it to the surface.

"Katie Killjoy."

Her whisper was soft, but it struck like a gong throughout the realms.

On the studio set, the temperature dropped several degrees once more. The lights flickered once, then again. And even the cameras and screens were flickering as Katie Killjoy felt something watching her.

Not from the audience.

Not from the screen.

From behind it.

Lilith's voice reached her again, this time Katie can feel it reverberating throughout her entire body.

"You mock what you do not understand. You laugh because you're afraid to believe."

The audience's giggles faltered as a sudden hush crept in like a shadow swallowing the light.

"But mock my daughter again..." Lilith's reflection loomed in the screen for only a heartbeat, her eyes glowing gold, lips curled in something far too ancient to be called a threat.

"...and I will remind you why Hell once knelt before its Queen."

Katie's breath hitched. For once, she was silent and then she fainted from the pressure.

Back in Heaven, the mirror stilled as Lilith stepped back, the wound already healed. But something deeper ached, a mother's fury, and a queen's silent promise.

She turned around and began to walk back towards her sunlounger, eager to watch the broadcast.

No one breaks her daughter's spirit.

Not without consequences.

["Yeah, well... how does it feel that I got your pen, huh?!" Charlie said as she grabbed Killjoy's ballpen, "...Bitch!"]

[Everybody instantly stops laughing while Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench give her the death stare]

["Ehehe, oops." Charlie sets the pen down slowly with a nervous chuckle.]

[Tom Trench immediately runs off set as Killjoy's demonic form reveals itself as she looms over Charlie from the shadows as she

screams in anger, sprouting four more bug-like limbs and an extra set of red eyes.]

{Earth}

China

The lecture hall exploded into a furious debate the moment Katie Killjoy's monstrous form flickered across the screen in Beijing Normal University.

Chairs screeched against tile, notebooks were flung, and fingers jabbed at the monitor as a wave of bug-obsessed scholars leapt to their feet, half of them in awe, the other half in indignation.

"啊哈!就是它!" (Aha! There it is!) A student in the back hollered, pointing at the grotesque transformation with theatrical horror, "天哪,这可不是新闻主播的料,这简直就是Bugzilla的浴盐!六神的罐子在哪儿?!" (Oh my God, that's not news anchor material, that's Bugzilla on bath salts! Where's the can of Liu Shen?!)

"有点尊严吧,你这个白痴!" (Have some dignity, you imbecile!) A furious entomologist student in a moth-patterned cardigan, slamming down his journal filled with various descriptions of bugs, "Look at the segmentation, the armored thorax, the sickle-shaped forelimbs! That's textbook Mantodea, clearly a mantid-type morphotype!"

"Are you blind or just wrong on purpose?!" shouted another scholar, practically frothing as he jabbed at the screen. "看看这分节,这装甲胸甲,这镰刀状的前肢!这才是螳螂目教科书级的标本,明显是螳螂型的形态!" (Those are eight limbs, minimum!The secondary appendages are modified pedipalps arachnid features! We're dealing with a spider-class demon!)

"哦,闭嘴吧! 浩宇!" (Oh, shut the fuck up, Hàoyú!) A scholar growled, "你把所有有腿的东西都叫做蜘蛛!" (You call everything with legs a spider!)

"因为八条腿意味着蜘蛛,你这个亵渎神明的白痴!" (Because eight legs means spider, you blasphemous dipstick!)

Chalkboard erasers flew and a random half-empty mug of instant coffee sailed through the air. Somewhere in the back, someone had begun constructing a crude taxonomy flowchart on the whiteboard, only to be shouted down by a rival chart labeled "虫子婊子理论形态基因组." (BUG BITCH THEORETICAL MORPH GENOME)

Meanwhile, the actual scientists in a different facility were already documenting everything with the sharp focus of seasoned biologists.

Zhang Wei adjusted his glasses, murmuring as he jotted down notes on his tablet, "真有意思...注意她对查理发起攻击时发生的转变,这是一种非自愿的转变,可能与肾上腺素激增有关.典型的愤怒引发的形态发生." (Fascinating... notice the shift occurs at her aggression towards Charlie, an involuntary transformation likely tied to an adrenaline-like surge. Classic rage-triggered morphogenesis.)

Qiao Ping beside him tilted his head, as his eyes narrowed as he looked at the footage, "不过,不仅仅是基尔乔伊.查理也变了.她的气场爆发,她的角变长,当情绪受到冲击时,她的整个存在感都会发生变化.几乎就像...一个生物安全装置." (It's not just Killjoy, though. Charlie, she changed too. Her aura flares up , her horns lengthen, and her entire presence shifts when pushed emotionally. Almost like... a biological failsafe.)

"没错,我们或许正在观察地狱裔和罪人群体的双重生理状态.一种是标准互动的基准形态,另一种是在压力下出现的,更真实的释放形态." (Exactly, We may be looking at dual-state physiology in Hellborn and Sinner populations. A baseline form for standard interaction and an unleashed, truer form that emerges under duress.) Yi Han added from a nearby desk.

"就像人类交感神经系统地狱般的相似之处." (Like a hellish parallel to the human sympathetic nervous system.) A morphology professor mused, tapping more notes to his tablet, " 类似于 战斗或逃跑 的情况,但升级到了超自然的极端情况.或许是进化适应?" (Similar to a Fight-or-flight situation, but escalated to the supernatural extreme. Evolutionary adaptation, perhaps?)

"或通过魔法诱导覆盖." (Or a magically induced override.) Yi Han countered, "我们仍然不知道这其中有多少是生物学因素,有多少是魔法因素,如果这有可能的话." (We still don't know how much of this is biology and how much magic is used, if that's even possible.)

"无论如何,如果情绪波动是催化剂,那么我们将对恶魔的生理学有全新的理解.这可能会彻底改变地狱的分类框架." (Regardless, if emotional volatility is the catalyst, then we're looking at a whole new understanding of demonic physiology. This could change the infernal taxonomy framework entirely.) A genetics professor, Bao Yu (宝玉) informed them, already drafting a paper in her head.

A younger intern named Mùchén (沐宸) leaned in and asked, "所以你是说恶魔的转变就像...基于情绪的蜕变?" (So you're saying demon transformations are like... emotion-based metamorphosis?)

"它不像神奇宝贝那样进化,而更像是愤怒引发的蛹化." (It's less of Pokémon evolution, and more rage-induced chrysalis transformation.) Qiao Ping replied with a furrowed brow.

Zhang Wei stood up and addressed his colleagues, his eyes gleaming with academic hunger, "我们需要记录所有能找到的转变实例.单单对查理和基尔乔伊的比较分析就可能重新定义我们的研究领域." (We need to catalog every instance of transformation we can find. Comparative analysis between Charlie and Killjoy alone might redefine our field of study.)

[Back in the Turf War, Purplish red smoke appeared as Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb were fighting the Egg Boiz.]

["Heyyy, thanks for the back up, Angie!" Cherri Bomb smiled at him.]

[Angel Dust laughed while Cherri Bomb fired a rocket from a rocket launcher.]

["You kiddin'? This is the best action I've seen in ages!" He exclaimed as he held his upper arms behind his back.]

["Where've you been, anyway? I thought you up and died or some shit." Cherri asked as she threw another Cherry Bomb.]

["Oh, I wish! I've been staying at this crappy hotel on the other side of town. Some broads are lettin' me stay rent-free if I play nice." Angel Dust answered as he ignited a bomb and handed it to her.]

[They both cover their heads as the explosion sets off behind them, then grin at each other as they jump into the field.]

{Hell}

Cherri Bomb leaned back against the cracked leather booth of a dim, neon-lit bar tucked between two burning alleys in Pentagram City. She guzzled from a half-empty bottle of rose-tinted gin, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before letting out a loud, cackling laugh.

"Well, what was I supposed to think?!" She barked, gesturing dramatically at the old TV bolted to the wall, which was still crackling with the last remnants of the l broadcast, "C'mon! Angel's not exactly famous for being squeaky clean, y'know?"

The cyclopean bartender behind her, sporting a cracked horn and a wide grin chuckled as he wiped down the counter with a rag that might've once been white.

Beside Cherri, a small female imp with metal studs in her tail and a faded band tee sucked thoughtfully on a bent straw poking from her lukewarm beer can, "Mmhm," She hummed lazily, exhaling a puff of glowing smoke, "Ain't nobody down here turning over a new leaf without getting splinters. Old habits die screaming."

All around them, the bar erupted with cheers and guttural whoops as a replay of the broadcast showed a demon getting decked in the jaw mid-speech. Broken bottles clinked against the walls, and one demon nearly headbutted a lamp in excitement. Violence, chaos, and cynical amusement filled the room like fog.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Angel Dust was not having as much fun.

He sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, his lower arms fiddling with a throw pillow while his upper ones awkwardly hovered in surrender. Across from him, Vaggie stood stiff as a dagger, arms crossed and one eye twitching.

"Em... whoops?" Angel offered with a sheepish, toothy grin, his voice cracking with forced levity.

Vaggie's glare could've melted steel given how hard she is glaring at him.

Charlie gave Angel a small frown, disappointed, but not surprised as her shoulders slumped slightly before she gave a sigh and reached out to pat Angel's back with a gentle, almost motherly touch.

"At least you're trying now," She said softly. "A little bit, at least."

Angel's smile faltered, as he looked away from her.

"Yeah... I guess I am." He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, "It ain't easy. Y'know, when you're used to... all that other stuff. The stuff that made it hurt less."

Vaggie exhaled through her nose, some of the tension in her frame finally easing. She didn't forgive him, but she didn't scold him either.

Because even if it was just one tiny step forward... it was still a step.

[Angel Dust continues to shoot down Egg Boiz with what seems to be a drum mag M1928 Thompson as he continues complaining, "Y'know, no fights, no pranks, no 'problematic language' ... Her words, not mine." He steps on a broken tile, launching an Egg Boi airborne and shoots him from behind as he sighs again, "These crazy bitches are no fun! I've been clean for two weeks!"]

["Ho-ly shit!" Cherri Bomb said in disbelief.]

[Angel Dust looked at the leftover smudge on his finger and destroyed an incoming Egg Boi, "Well, sorta clean. Just clean as you can get from a shitload of Bolivian marching powder!"]

{Earth}

New York:

In a smoke-choked backroom behind a high-end jazz club, one of those places where the whiskey was older than most of the clientele and the walls knew too many secrets, a half-dozen mobsters crowded around an aging flatscreen TV as the surreal broadcast from Hell spread fast like wildfire, igniting curiosity, panic, and interest across the entire criminal underworld.

The boss, Don Luciano, and the son of Henry's old rival, reclined in a cracked leather chair that had once belonged to a senator, held a thick cigar between his calloused fingers. His jaw twitched as he stared at the screen, eyes narrowing as he watched Angel Dust mowed down an army of Egg Boiz with a drum mag Thompson.

"So that little shit's still alive..." he muttered, grinding the cigar out in his palm without flinching, as if his nerves were made of steel. "Or at least... still down there."

There was no need to say the name. Henry. His father's old enemy. Rival. Brother-in-arms turned backstabber. And now if the theories are correct, Henroin, the demon version, might be lurking in Hell just the same.

"That little bastard's still breathin'?" said Tony 'Two-Face', Luciano's assistant asked as he squinted at the screen, "Thought he died from drug overdose or something?"

"That was the assumption," Milo, the Don's consigliere muttered as he flipped through a thick notebook filled with scrawled observations and post-mortem rumors. He pushed his cracked glasses up his nose and read aloud, "Anthony, former mafia member, phencyclidine trafficker, and uh... 'adult industry entrepreneur.' Confirmed deceased. And yet..."

He gestured at the screen where Charlie just announced that Angel was the patron living in the Happy Hotel.

"According to this Charlie chick, he's in Hell... and supposedly? He's trying to go clean."

That last word hung in the air for a second before the room exploded with laughter.

"Clean? Clean?! This the same guy who snorted coke off a priest during the Rosario hit?!"

"Didn't he knife a guy with a stiletto heel over a stolen mascara tube?"

"Bolivian marching powder?! What's that, hell's version of a juice cleanse?"

Luciano didn't laugh. He raised one hand, slow and deliberate, and the room fell back into silence. His gaze never left the screen. He watched Angel reload, smile, and shoot an Egg Boi without looking at it.

"That little rat's got balls," He muttered, leaning forward in his chair now, the shadows deepening around his face, "But if he's gunnin' for redemption... now that's a problem."

"Why's that, boss?" Milo asked.

Luciano tapped his fingers on the armrest and explained, "Because if a wildcard like Angel Dust finds a way out, others might follow. We've worked hard to keep our deals dark. If word gets out redemption's on the table, it could stir the whole damn underworld, up here and down there."

The room quieted again. Tension returned.

"So what, we whack a ghost?" Tony asked.

Luciano let out a low chuckle, "No, Tony. You don't whack a ghost." He stood now, walking slowly toward the screen, watching Angel Dust toss a spent magazine like it was confetti. "You watch a ghost. You wait. You let him dig his own grave again. And when he thinks he's almost out..."

His smile curled upward, cold and venomous as he continued, "Then we drag him back down. And maybe this time, we don't just bury him. We bury what's left of that family... permanently."

Hazbin Hotel:

Alastor erupted into gleeful, near-manic laughter, his eyes glowing with delight as Angel Dust fumbled for words, "Ahahahaha! Oh, this is simply delicious! The spider trying to play saint! What an utterly textbook case of irony!" He twirled his microphone cane dramatically before taking a mocking bow.

Angel was getting irritated by his words, "Oh, alright! Fine!" He snapped at him, "I did a couple lines in the hotel, okay? But like, once every two days! I was cutting back! That counts for something!"

Charlie gave him a look, not angry, just disappointment. Her arms were folded, and her brows furrowed in a familiar blend of concern and reluctant understanding, "Angel... you're at least trying to go clean now, right?" Her voice softened a bit, "I know it's not easy. And I get it, trying to withdraw drugs takes a lot of self control but at least you're trying right?"

Angel opened his mouth, then stopped. His confident posture faltered slightly as he looked away, and his jaw tightened.

"I...I can't, alright?" He muttered, his voice was lower than usual, "Not completely."

Charlie's expression shifted to confusion, "Why not...?"

But Angel was already beginning to shut down, as the brash edge in his voice tone down into something quieter, more fragile. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, like he could somehow shield himself from the vulnerability creeping in, "Because of... I mean... it's complicated..." The last word broke like a weak thread, his voice cracking just slightly.

Alastor, who had been reveling in the awkward tension, paused mid-chuckle. His grin didn't fade, but it shifted, to a more observant one, as he tilted his head like a predator watching its prey bleed, intrigued rather than entertained.

Angel's eyes sank to the floor, "Let's just say..." He took a breath that barely filled his lungs, "Someone makes sure I stay in business. And that business? Doesn't exactly encourage 'clean living.' " His tone was bitter, but beneath it, there was something far more wounded.

Charlie's heart twisted painfully in her chest. She didn't need to ask who he meant. Valentino.

She stepped closer, slowly and carefully, and put a hand gently on Angel's shoulder, "I'm not asking you to be perfect," She advised him, her voice tender but firm, "I just want you to be safe. And one day... free."

Angel gave a short, joyless laugh at that statement, "Yeah? Freedom's a lie, Princess. Where I work, it's a myth. Like kindness. Or days off." His shoulders slumped further, and he looked away, his expression unreadable but heavy with years of resignation.

Even Alastor said nothing. His red eyes narrowed slightly, the radio static in the air thinning, as if even he sensed that to make light of this situation would be crossing a line.

"Maybe not now," Charlie said quietly, "And maybe not so soon. But someday... we'll get you out. I swear it."

Angel didn't speak. For a long moment, the silence between them felt immense.

Even the Kitsuna and Fat Nuggets next to hin put a hand on his lap, their eyes looking at him with deep concern.

But he didn't shrug her off.

He didn't walk away.

And in the quiet that followed, the room seemed just a little heavier... and a little more human.

[A chain wrapped around Angel Dust pulling him back and into the air as Sir Pentious swung and slammed him into the ground.]

["Ohh!~ Harder, Daddy!" Angel Dust moaned as he wriggled through his bindings.]

[Sir Pentious who took it seriously gasped,"Son?!"]

[Angel lowers his eyebrow as Cherri kicks Sir Pentious to the side. He hisses at them as his hood flared open, "Grr! You whores have no classss! In war, The side remembered is the side with the most ssstyle!"]

Sir Pentious's lair:

A thick, awkward silence descended over the industrialized hideout. Gears turned. Pipes hissed as Sir Pentious stood frozen, his eyes twitching and his monocle slightly askew.

"D-Daddy?!" He sputtered again, looking horrified at his past self not understanding the joke, "Daddy?! I was engaging in mortal combat, not... not... kink theater!"

An Egg Boi timidly raised a hand and said, "Uh, Boss... to be fair, you did slam him pretty hard."

"Silence!" Sir Pentious screeched, yanking his tail in frustration and pacing back and forth. "This was meant to be a statement of villainy, a grand act of dominance and subjugation! I had him wrapped in chains, I flung him like a ragdoll! And he moaned?!"

One of the Egg Bois started giggling as another snorted before quickly joining in.

"Stop that laughter at once!" Sir Pentious barked, "I am the great Sir Pentious! I am a serpent of dread! Not some... misinterpreted dom roleplay extra!"

"But you gotta admit, boss," Another Egg Boi wheezed, clutching his sides, "He kinda flipped the whole vibe. You looked more confused than scary!"

"Shut up! All of you!" Sir Pentious whirled around, his face began to heat up in embarrassment, "This is not how legends are born! I have style! I am evil incarnate! I am....

"

"...a whole meme now," One Egg Boi muttered under his breath.

Sir Pentious's hood flared opened as he screeched, "WHO SAID THAT?!"

But it was too late. Laughter erupted among the Egg Bois, some mimicking Angel's voice with exaggerated moans, others chanting "Harder, Daddy!" like it was a battle cry.

"No! Noooo! This wasn't supposed to go this way!" Sir Pentious screams echoed throughout his entire lair.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Gritty Underbelly of Pentagram City The flickering light of the cracked TV in a bar also replayed this exact footage.

"Oh Harder Daddy!"

The bar went dead silent.

Arackniss froze in shock as he dropped his cigarette and his eyes twitched furiously.

"...What the fuck, Angel!" He screamed at the TV, obviously enraged by his brother still acting as a prostitute despite the situation.

Next to him, Henroin paused mid-sip of a cheap hellbrew as the scorpion demon coughed violently as Angel's moan echoed again from the speakers, "GHHH!" He practically spit out his drink as he stammered, "He did not just...did he just...?!"

Arackniss facepalmed as the Kitsuna covered its ears, "Yup. He did."

"Anthony!!!" Henroin shrieked, his voice cracking as he glared at his disappointment of a son, "Who the fuck says that while fightin' against a snake?! What in the name of Asmodeus is wrong with that boy?!"

Arackniss grunted, dragging a hand down his face as he muttered, "I dunno what's worse... the way he said it, or that it sounded too natural."

Henroin threw his hands up in the air and said, "We raised him better than this! Well—your ma did, anyway. I was busy with... y'know, heroin."

Arackniss growled under his breath and angrily muttered, "I swear to Satan, if anyone in the bar brings this up again, I'm flipping a table." He glared at the rest of the demons who immediately looked away from them in fear.

["Or the side that ain't dead!" Cherri quipped as she decapitated an Egg Boi with her hands.]

["Speakin' a style, is your hat like, alive or something?" Angel Dust asked as he stands up and removes the chains restricting him.]

["Oh! Well, that's none of your GOD DAMN BUSSSSINESS! Now, is it?" Sir Pentious yelled as he crossed his arms.]

["Hah, would that make your hat the top and you the bottom?" Angel Dust roasted him as both Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb smiled at each other.]

["Oooooh!" Egg Boi exclaimed while a horn blared four times in the distance before he got a pebble thrown at him by Sir Pentious as a sign that says "Loser" can be seen in the background pointing at Sir Pentious.]

{Heaven}

Annie's jaw dropped as she tried to understand what her son just said, "Did he just...?!"

Mollie snapped her head toward the screen, as her eyes widened with disbelief, "Angel!" She shouted, her voice a mix of shock, admiration, and the kind of scolding only a sister could give, ""He's roasting demons in the middle of a battlefield like it's open mic night! What the hell is he doing?!"

Annie, flustered and holding a hand to her chest, looked halfway between fainting and laughing, "Why does he always go straight for the innuendo? He was such a kind, little boy once! I raised him better than that!"

Mollie gave a dry, knowing chuckle, shaking her head. "Yeah, and now he's out there kicking demons ass and having a great time doing it."

Despite the words, there was a flicker of warmth behind the exasperation in her eyes.

Annie sighed again, softer this time, and brushed imaginary dust from her neatly pressed skirt, "I suppose if he's hell... at least he's doing it in designer heels and with charisma."

Mollie folded her arms, eyes still locked on the ethereal image of her flamboyant brother as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "That's our Angel. Always dramatic, always defiant..."

She exhaled, shaking her head as if steeling herself for the next outrageous antic. "Heaven help us. Because I don't think Hell can handle him anymore."

Meanwhile in another location in the Promenade, Cherri Bomb's entire family was also watching the whole thing.

Caroline, Cherri's mother, leaned forward on the edge of the couch, her eyes glinting with amusement.

"That's my girl," She whispered as a smirk slowly formed on her face, "Still using her fists like she did in schoolyard fights..."

From the recliner beside her, Arlo, Cherri's father sat stiffly as his expression was a masterclass in paternal disapproval.

"Did she just laugh at that demon?" He grumbled, frowning deeper as Cherri was shown cackling over an Egg Boi she killed, "Where did we go wrong? We paid for those etiquette lessons!"

Caroline rolled her eyes and elbowed him playfully in the ribs, "Oh, hush. It was funny. Even you chuckled."

"That wasn't a chuckle," He said with a stubborn grunt, "It was a sneeze. A violent sneeze."

"Oh my gosh, Cherri! Do you have to make a mockery of everything?!" Rebecca cried out, clutching a throw pillow like it might protect her from her sister's sheer audacity.

"She's surviving, isn't she?" Caroline replied coolly, her tone pragmatic as ever, "And with style. You try going toe-to-toe with a deranged snake in a steampunk airship."

"She just decapitated that poor thing with her bare hands!" Rebecca squealed, half-hiding behind the pillow as she gestured towards Cherri Bomb ripping apart an Egg Boi with her hands.

"Well, at least she's making friends," Caroline added with a hint of a smile, eyes drifting toward the screen featuring Angel Dust cracking jokes beside Cherri, "That spider boy seems like a riot. Nice legs, too."

Arlo scoffed into his drink, but his eyes lingered on the screen a second longer than he'd admit.

Rebecca just groaned, burying her face in the pillow, "This family is crazy."

"Damn right we are," Caroline said with a smile, "And so's our girl."

[Sir Pentious was now enraged by this insult, "I'm going to blow you to bitssss!"]

["Hm, kinky!" Angel Dust replied.]

["Oh, not like that! Pervert! Sir Pentious's hood flares open as a sign that says "Pussy" can be seen pointing at him in the background, while knocking over an Egg Boi.]

Promenade:

The crowd burst into a cacophony of laughter as the flickering image on-screen showed a crude neon sign flashing "PUSSY" with its glowing arrow pointed squarely at Sir Pentious. The irony was too rich for most to ignore.

Everyone laughed.

Everyone... except one.

In the back of the group, the tall, serpentine figure of Charles Pentious froze, his pupils narrowing to slits as his gaze locked onto the screen. He shoved two winners aside with surprising force, pushing through the jeering crowd until he stood mere feet from the image of his son, Sir Pentious, eyes blazing with fury, snarling at Cherri Bomb and Angel Dust.

"...Edward?" Charles hissed, his voice cracking beneath the weight of decades. "Issss that really you...?"

His vibrant orange scales trembled, the pattern of blood-red blotches down his back pulsing slightly, as if echoing the sudden thunder in his chest. His red sclera burned with disbelief. Slowly, he fell to his knees, the white fabric of his Victorian-era suit crumpling as he stared at the screen, his tall top hat now casting a long shadow over his contorted face.

From behind, a voice piped up in astonishment.

"You mean to tell me that demon is your son?!" The Butterfly Winner exclaimed, his wings fluttering erratically as he stared at the monitor in disbelief, "That unhinged maniac in the airship?"

"Yesss..." Charles rasped, almost breathless, his hands trembling as they reached toward the screen as if he could touch his son through the holographic screen.

His mind swam backward, through the black waters of his memory to a different time, a brighter one. Edward had always been gifted, a prodigy in the art of engineering, even at a young age. But he was strange, eccentric, too curious for the world he was born into. Teachers mocked his "unholy devices," classmates tormented him for his obsession with combustion and steam.

Charles remembered every bruise Edward hid, every crooked smile forced through trembling lips. He had tried dammit! He had tried to reach him. To guide him. To shield him from the cruelty of others.

But he hadn't seen the full scope of it. Hadn't known how deep the torment had carved itself into his son's soul.

And then... the fire.

An accident the authorities said. A misfired experiment, flames devouring their home and consuming Charles in the process. He remembered the smoke. The heat. And Edward, horrified, weeping, screaming his name before he died.

It was only after his own descent into Heaven and this strange broadcast that he learned the rest. That Edward had changed his name. That he had built weapons of revenge. That he had wiped out the very scientific community that had once mocked him. That he now soared through the skies in a death-dealing airship, calling himself Sir Pentious.

The monster they laughed at now was not born of evil, it was forged in pain.

Charles clenched his fists, still on his knees. His voice was raw as he whispered, "Edward... I alwaysss knew they bullied you... but I didn't know it had gotten this bad..."

On-screen, Sir Pentious's expression twisted in rage as he screamed at Angel Dust with wild fury. Charles winced.

"This isssn't who you are," He murmured, his heart almost breaking at the sight, "Thisss... this is what they made you."

The laughter had died around him now. Even the Butterfly Winner stood quietly, as they watched the trembling father weep, not for the villain the world saw, but for the boy he once knew. The one who used to show him blueprints scrawled on napkins and begged him to help with his experiments.

Sir Pentious's actions are not born out of malice but from hatred, and it only tells us all one valuable lesson.

Villains aren't born, they were made.

[Angel notices an Egg Boi with a tentacle launcher which causes him to push Cherri to the side out of fear before he gets tangled up in all the tentacles.]

["Not so cocky now, are we?!" Sir Pentious taunted as he gets closer to Angel Dust.]

[Angel Dust was unamused by this whole thing, "Y'know, you really gotta watch what comes outta ya mouth. I've been making these sex jokes the whole TIME!" He shouted as his limbs got pulled before revealing a third pair of arms, carrying out two M1928 guns, "And it's obvious ya ain't catchin' on. I mean, it's just sad!" He exclaimed as he shot at Sir Pentious.]

{Earth}

Singapore:

A biologist stood frozen in front of the screen, his eyes widened in awe, as he saw Angel Dust somehow grow a third pair of arms out of his body like it's no big deal.

"B-but... wha—what the fuck?!" he finally managed to sputter. His voice cracked under the pressure of everything he had ever known about anatomy imploding in real time.

He staggered back and collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands like a man who had just witnessed God playing Jenga with the laws of physics, "How the fuck?! How does it even... he's built like a goddamn toothpick! Where's the muscle mass? The spinal support?!"

Around him, his colleagues looked like a bomb had gone off in a research facility as papers fluttered to the floor. Coffee mugs dropped as a woman in a lab coat simply said "nope" and walked straight into a wall and a paleontologist stared blankly at a model of vertebrate evolution and slowly turned it upside down.

One evolutionary biologist was furiously scribbling equations on a whiteboard, only to stop, scream, and throw the marker at the TV, "You can't just add limbs! That's not how arthropods work! His shoulder girdle doesn't even... AUGH!"

"Maybe it's magic?" An intern pondered, as he was the only one who was not freaking out.

"MAGIC?!" A biomechanist screamed from behind a stack of muscle fiber charts, "You're telling me that this spider demon is out here defying the laws of physics because of magic?!"

Across the lab, a molecular biologist was having a breakdown, tugging at his tie like it was trying to choke him, "I've seen squid with more anatomical consistency! You can't evolve that! It's like his body wants to make me cry!"

New York:

In a cramped, low-lit military barracks halfway across the world, the dull hum of overhead lights buzzed softly as a group of rookies clustered around a beat-up flat-screen bolted to the wall.

One soldier, Private Morales, his ears narrowed as Angel somehow managed to spawn two guns out of a third pair of hands, "Wait... hold the hell up. Is that an M1928 Thompson? That's the classic mob model. That spider freak's got taste."

His bunkmate, Private Diaz, raised an eyebrow, "Isn't that thing ancient? Like, World War II era?"

"Yeah," Morales nodded, "Used by the U.S. forces, the Brits, even resistance fighters. But most folks remember it from the Prohibition era, Tommy guns were the signature piece for gangsters. Capone, Luciano, all those guys."

Behind them, their drill sergeant, Sgt. Coleman who usually would've barked at them for slacking off, instead stood with arms crossed, watching the broadcast with a furrowed brow, "Huh... So he's packin' heat from the Roaring Twenties? Could mean he was a gangster when he was topside."

"Now that you mention it," Diaz muttered, "He does sound a little Italian. And that suit he's wearing? Screams vintage mobster. At least the guy's stuck down in hell. Wonder who he was when he was alive"

But then Coleman's expression hardened. He stepped closer to the screen, focusing not on the weapons, but the body language, the rhythm of speech, the cocky drawl laced with streetwise venom and old-school charm, "Say that again, slower."

Private Diaz blinked before he said, "Uh... 'Wonder who he was... when he was alive?'"

"Exactly. Whoever that demon is down there... he was someone up here. And if we can track his speech patterns, behavioral tells, cultural knowledge..." Sgt. Coleman muttered, deep in thought.

Morales caught on to what his superior was saying, "We can look his identity. Cross-reference his accent with immigrant records, crime families, gang activity from early-to-mid 20th century..."

Harper nodded in agreement, "We build a profile. His mannerisms, sense of style, preferred firearms. Maybe even known associates."

Sgt. Coleman's eyes lit with a new gleam, "Let's find out who this bastard really was,"

["So, think you're gonna get in a lotta trouble for this?" Cherri Bomb asked.]

["Eh, what's one little brawl gonna cause?" Angel Dust asked as he retracted his third set of arms.]

[Meanwhile back at the News Station, Charlie and Killjoy can be seen trying to duking it out on each other like it's some sort of WWE match while a fire alarm goes off in the background with Trench entering the scene, covered in flames.]

["WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP ME?!" Tom Trench screamed in pain.]

{Hell}

Hazbin Hotel

Charlie shrank slightly in her seat as the broadcast replayed the moment her fist collided with Katie Killjoy's jaw, sending the venomous news anchor sprawling over her own desk. The sound of the impact echoed through the room like thunder.

"Eheh... I, uh... hope that doesn't make me look too bad," She murmured, nervously twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and her golden eyes flickering anxiously to her friends.

Vaggie suppressed a smirk. though it was clear in her eyes that she was more than a little satisfied. She leaned back in her chair, and gave Charlie's knee a gentle nudge with her own.

"Honestly? You should've decked her sooner," She said casually, though her voice held a trace of pride, "You've been way too patient with her."

Alastor, standing at a respectful distance but still very much looming, burst into a delighted laugh that echoed with static. His wide, glowing grin stretched even further as the chaos continued to unfold onscreen. "Oh my, such spirit! I haven't seen a news anchor fly like that since the '40s! Ah, Katie really does fall with style."

Meanwhile, back at the News 666 headquarters, the mood was far less jubilant.

Katie Killjoy who had just recovered from her faint, stood like a statue of rage, her face twisted in a silent snarl as she stared at the screen in her office. Her pen had snapped in two, ink bleeding down her wrist like war paint. Papers were scattered across the floor from where she'd flipped her desk in fury.

In the adjacent break room, Tom Trench sat on a stool, hunched over a lukewarm coffee as he grimaced as he saw his own terrified expression flash onscreen again, complete with the moment his toupee briefly caught fire in the chaos.

"Don't remind me," He grumbled, running a hand through his still-frizzed hair, "My hair was singed for weeks. I smelled like burnt toast for a month..."

A passing sound technician offered him a half-hearted pat on the back. "Hey, you didn't pass out this time. That's progress."

["Glad you haven't changed!" Cherri exclaimed as she slugs him on the arm, "You know you're my favorite guy to party with!"]

["You know it, sugar tits!" Angel Dust smiled back.]

["You ready to finish this?" Cherri Bomb asked as she took out one last bomb.]

["Born ready, baby!" Angel Dust reloaded his gun before the two pounced onto Sir Pentious and his army as they prepare to clash, Charlie and Killjoy are still at each other's throats screaming, Trench is still on fire, screaming in agony. The camera shows all the characters present, screaming in unison.]

Hazbin Hotel:

Back at the hotel, the tension had barely begun to settle when Niffty suddenly sprang upright, her eyes sparkling with manic delight. Clasping her tiny hands together with a squeal, as she practically bounced in place.

"Ooooh! This is so dramatic and cool and epic! It's like you guys are in one of those action-packed anime shows!" She chirped, swaying on her feet like she might spontaneously combust from excitement.

Vaggie blinked and was taken off guard by her knowledge of anime, "Wait... you know what anime is? Didn't you die in, like, the 1950s?"

Niffty huffed, puffing out her cheeks indignantly, "Hey! I may be vintage, but l still keep up with what the young sinners are into! Besides, new arrivals bring down all kinds of goodies! TVs, DVDs, even Wi-Fi routers!" Her voice picked up speed, as it always did when she got too excited.

Then her tone dropped to a dreamy sigh, and a blush formed in her cheeks. "And those bishounen anime boys..." Her eye glazed over with a slightly crazed gleam as she giggled, fingers twitching like crazy, "So pretty... and angsty... and so many abs!"

Vaggie instinctively took a step back, as a vaguely alarmed expression appeared on her face, "Riiiiiight... gonna let you work that out on your own."

A guy in a patched hoodie snorted, arms crossed as he tilted his head at the screen. "Yo, is that broadcaster god a filmmaker or something? The way he's cuttin' between shots, zoomin' in on people's reactions... Feels like I'm watching a cartoon, not a public service announcement."

Next to him, a haggard woman with ink-stained fingers and a coffee thermos that had long since gone cold rubbed her temples, "Ugh, don't get me started," she groaned. "I was an animator topside. This guy's doing everything! angles, dramatic lighting, dramatic pauses..."

The hoodie guy laughed, "Well, he's got my attention. If Hell's got anime-level drama, maybe I do wanna see what's next."

The animator rolled her eyes but smirked, "Just wait till they start doing some filler episodes."

[The royal family limousine can be seen driving back to the hotel. Charlie can be seen hugging her knees and looking out the window when her jacket is ruined after Katie Killjoy attacked her, while Vaggie sits next to her, glaring furiously at Angel Dust.]

{Earth}

Germany:

The moment that sleek, sinister, limousine appeared on the screen, a car mechanic practically choked on the mouthful of Haribo gummies he'd been chewing.

His eyes bugged out as he leaned forward, staring at the baroque monstrosity that rumbled across Hell's cracked streets, "Ist ... ist das vergoldet? Und Zähne? Echte, ehrliche Zähne auf dem Grill?!" (Is... is that plated gold? And teeth? Actual, honest-to-God teeth on the grill?!)

He looked like he was having a crisis, part awe, part offense, and part mechanical blasphemy. He opened his mouth again to comment on the sheer tackiness of it all, but something primal stopped him cold.

The guy next to him, a car enthusiast in a worn racing jacket, sitting cross-legged on a folding chair wasn't nearly as cautious as him.

"Herrgott, Mann." (Jeez, man)

He snorted at him, "Ich möchte den Nerd, der seine Limousine so aufgemotzt hat, nicht kennenlernen. Vergoldung, Stoßzähne und verdammte Zähne? Das ist kein Auto, das ist eine Midlife-Crisis auf Rädern." (I'd hate to meet the nerd who pimped their limo out like that. Gold plating, tusks, and freakin' teeth? That's not a car, that's a mid-life crisis on wheels.)

The mechanic blinked... then paled as his mouth opened in slow-motion horror, "Warte mal ... sie ist die Prinzessin der Hölle, richtig? Diejenige, der das Hotel gehört?" (Wait... she's the princess of Hell, right? The one who owns the hotel?)

The realization hit him like a jackhammer as he continued, "Das heißt also ... das ist wahrscheinlich das Auto ihrer Eltern. Und das bedeutet..." (So that means... that's probably her parents' car. Which means...) He trailed off, visibly sweating in fear, "Dieses Ding gehört dem König und der Königin der Hölle." (That thing belongs to the literal King and Queen of Hell.)

The enthusiast froze as his face drained of all colors and let out a nervous chuckle that tried to play it cool but came out sounding more like a dying balloon.

"Stimmt, ähm ... haha. Schönes Auto. Super Geschmack. Definitiv nicht furchtbar. Gott segne ... äh, ich meine ... schönes Auto..." (Right, uh... haha. Lovely car. Great taste. Definitely not horrifying. God bless... uh, I mean... nice car...)

Nearby, a younger guy leaned in as the camera shifted to the limo's interior, now showing plush blood-red leather seats, velvet windows, and the three occupants inside.

"Heiliger Mist!" (Holy crap!) He whistled, "Das ist ja echt schick. Ich müsste wahrscheinlich eine Leber verkaufen, nur um fünf Minuten in dem Ding zu sitzen." (That's swanky as hell. I'd probably have to sell a liver just to sit in that thing for five minutes.)

A girl beside him was chewing on a candied almonds with theatrical disinterest just rolled her eyes, "Eine Leber verkaufen? Mann, du könntest jedes einzelne Organ deines Körpers versteigern und würdest immer noch nicht genug bekommen." (Sell a liver? Dude, you could auction off every single organ in your body and you'd still fall short.)

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes still fixated on the screen, "Okay, aber ... vergiss das Gold. Da kann ich drauf verzichten. Was würde wohl allein die Innenausstattung kosten? Nur die Materialien, die maßgefertigten Polster, die dämonensicheren Getränkehalter..." (Okay, but like... forget the gold. I can live without that. How much do you think just the interior would cost? You know, just the materials, the custom upholstery, the demon-proof cupholders...)

She paused for a moment and was actually considering it, "Mindestens siebenstellig, und das ohne Seelensteuer." (At least seven figures, and that's without the soul-tax.)

[Charlie sighs as Vaggie's eye twitches at Angel Dust, who can be seen amusing himself by playing with the car window roller repeatedly.]

[Angel looked at Vaggie and she was scowling at him, "What?"]

["What? WHAT?! What were you DOING?! Vaggie yelled, pulling out bits of her hair.]

[Angel Dust sighed, "I owed my girl buddy a solid. Isn't that a "redeeming quality?" Helping friends with stuff."]

["Not with turf wars, that result in territorial genocide!" Vaggie yelled back to Angel who looked indifferent to her statement.]

{Earth}

Chicago:

"Territorial genocide, huh?" Jacob muttered, his brow furrowed in thought. He tapped the phrase into his notebook with a neat underline with his mechanical pencil, then glanced back up at the flickering projector.

"Sure, they wiped out a few of those egg-demon types with that snake guy, what was his name, Sir Pentious? But how widespread was the damage, really? I mean, are we talking localized extermination or a full-blown purge?"

Across from him, the professor, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a perpetual coffee mug in hand leaned forward against the seminar table, squinting at the prohector as if trying to decode it like an ancient manuscript.

"Well, the term 'genocide' might be a bit... dramatic," He said, stroking his chin, "It's possible Killjoy was using it to refer to the overall body count. Remember, she mentioned that multiple factions were clashing at once. Could be she meant the combined death toll rather than just what those three caused directly."

"Ah, right." Jacob nodded, scribbling more notes down on his notebook, "So not so much a systematic extermination, more like overlapping turf wars with collateral damage. Makes sense. Still, even in that context, the scale's impressive... or horrifying. Maybe both."

The professor chuckled under his breath, "What's more fascinating, though, is how the structure works. You've got anarchic chaos, sure, but there's clearly an underlying code of behavior. Social contracts formed out of fear and power balances, rather than legislation."

"Right," Samantha agreed with the professor, "It's not law in the traditional sense, but there's order. Even the way they fight feels... ritualistic. Like warlords respecting invisible boundaries."

"Precisely," The professor nodded. "It's like watching feudal states clash with no central authority. The only 'law' is power. And yet, somehow, it doesn't collapse entirely. That in itself is worthy of a paper."

Jacob smirked a little, already titling a page: 'Infernal Hierarchies: Unofficial Governance in Post-Mortem Societies'.

"I can't believe we're doing historical analysis on a broadcast from Hell." He muttered out loud.

The professor raised his mug in a dry toast, "Welcome to higher education."

Philippines:

Much like what happened at Chicago, a few members of the Theology and Law Department had gathered in a small, dimly lit lecture hall, huddled around a projector screen meant for centuries-old manuscripts, not live broadcasts from the underworld.

Dr. Morales, a seasoned theologian with a rosary always half-visible under his collar, stared in stunned silence at the footage of demons bickering over territory, pride, and vengeance.

"...They're not supposed to talk like this," He finally said, his voice low and troubled, "They're not meant to argue politics or make alliances like fallen politicians. They're meant to torment, not run nightclubs and... God help me, reform programs."

A younger adjunct professor flipped through a leather-bound Bible with highlighted passages, eyes scanning between the verses and the screen. "It's surreal. Almost heretical. The concept of repentance was never meant to apply to the damned. But this..." she gestured to Charlie's image on-screen, "...this introduces something unaccounted for. A kind of post-mortem moral agency."

Morales's jaw tightened, "And if souls can change their fate after damnation... then what does that mean for the doctrines of final judgment?"

The room fell silent until someone coughed awkwardly.

Professor Kinley, a former prosecutor with a talent for tearing holes in even the most airtight testimony, pointed at the screen with a pen like it was Exhibit A in a criminal case.

"There is no due process down there. None. These so-called 'territorial disputes' are closer to unregulated war crimes. No courts. No standards of evidence. Just whoever has the biggest gun, or teeth wins."

A grad student beside him scoffed, "Honestly? It's like mob law. Feudal overlords with laser cannons. And somehow they've convinced themselves they're civilized."

Kinley nodded grimly, "Worse... some of them are broadcasting this chaos. Framing it like news. That implies a level of propaganda and intentional narrative control. They're shaping perception controlling public morale."

"Do we even have jurisdiction over metaphysical territories?" a student asked from the back with a sarcastic tone.

Kinley didn't miss a beat and said, "Not yet. But if the first demon sets foot on Earth and sues for sanctuary, I want a precedent ready."

["Eh, you win some, you lose a few hundred. Ehahahahahah!" Angel chuckled to himself and stretched in his chair with his arms behind his head, and his other arms resumed playing with the window switch, "It wasn't that bad anyway."]

[Suddenly, a knife embedded itself into the switch, scaring Angel who looked at Vaggie who still had her hand out as she narrowed her eye at him.]

["Come on, I had too!" Angel Dust whined as he ran a hand through his hair, "My credibility was on the line! I mean, what kind of reputation would I have if people found out I was tryna go clean? It just throws out my entire persona!" He said, pushing up his chest fluff that many have mistaken for breasts.]

["Your credibility? What about the hotel's?!" Vaggie asked, "Your little stunt made us look like a fucking joke!"]

["No, no, no, babe. Jokes are funny! I made you look... uh, sad! And pathetic!" Angel scoffed as he corrected her, lying down in the limo seat.]

[Charlie winced when he said that and shrunk into herself.]

["Like an orphan... with no arms... or legs... Oh! With progeria!!" Charlie hid her face behind her hair upon hearing what Angel said.]

{Hell}

Hazbin Hotel:

The moment the offhanded comment about a limbless orphan with progeria was heard, the energy in the hotel room deflated like a popped balloon. The awkward silence that followed hung in the air like a bad smell, thick, uncomfortable, and impossible to ignore.

Angel Dust winced a little himself, suddenly aware of how far the joke had gone. Vaggie rubbed her temple like she was trying to massage the shame out of her skull, and Charlie let out a soft, defeated sigh, visibly torn between maintaining the peace and finding a polite way to change the subject.

Everyone else looked somewhere between horrified and emotionally exhausted.

Everyone... except Alastor.

The Radio Demon was howling.

His elegant posture had completely collapsed as he clutched his sides and threw his head back in an uproarious cackle that echoed like an old-timey radio feedback loop. The sheer force of his laughter shook the chandelier overhead.

"Limbless... Ahahaha!" He wheezed as tears of mirth streaming from his red eyes, "Oh, Angel, you effeminate firecracker, your morbid imagination is a true work of art! I haven't laughed like this since that infernal mime caught fire during open mic night!"

Angel offered a sheepish smile, half-proud and half-regretful, "Eh... glad someone appreciated it."

Husk groaned from behind the bar and reached for another bottle. "I'm gonna need something stronger than whiskey if this keeps up..."

Charlie clasped her hands together with an awkward laugh, desperate to steer things back toward optimism. "Okay! Soooo... moving on from soul-crushing imagery! Who's up for cocoa and emotional recovery?"

Vaggie silently raised a hand.

["Great! Now I'm bummed thinking about it!" Angel said, sitting up as he looked around at the limousine, "This thing have any liquor?"]

["Can you please just try to take this seriously?!" Vaggie asked as Angel continued to search for any liquor but came up empty.]

["Fine, I'll try." Angel Dust relented, flicking a dust bunny, "Just don't get your taco in a twist, baby!" He quipped, snapping his finger at her and smiling.]

["Was that you trying to be sexist or racist?!" Vaggie asked standing up.]

["Whatever pisses you off more." Angel Dust said in a bored tone to which Vaggie was immediately triggered by this, "Is there seriously no liquor here?!"]

Hazbin Hotel:

Vaggie's eye twitched so violently it was a miracle it didn't detach. Angel's snickering had only grown louder, his grin stretching with smug satisfaction as he leaned back, utterly delighted with himself.

"Okay, I'm gonna be honest," Angel said with a chuckle, one arm lazily waving through the air, "I don't regret that. Watching you get mad is comedy gold."

Vaggie's fists clenched so tight her knuckles paled,"Eres absolutamente jodido–!"

She cut herself off with a growl, grinding her teeth like she was holding back a primal scream. Her glare was so intense it practically carved a crater into the floor beneath Angel.

"If it weren't for the sliver of self-control I still possess," She hissed out, her voice low and dangerously calm, "You'd already have six inches of steel between your ribs and I'd be sleeping like a damn baby."

Angel blinked, "Yeesh, dramatic much?"

Vaggie took a deep breath through her nose and muttered, "Try me. One more word."

Charlie quickly stepped in, as gently placed a hand on Vaggie's shoulder with a nervous smile, "Okay, okay, let's not add impalement to today's list of incidents..."

Angel just whistled innocently, batting his lashes with mock innocence, "What? I'm just here spreading cheer and a little chaos. It's a gift."

Vaggie muttered something in Spanish under her breath that likely translated to something profane involving a spider and a frying pan.

Mexico:

A Mexican teen lounged on the couch in his family's modest living room, a bag of chips balanced on his chest and one sock half-off his foot as the flickering TV lit up the room as the Hazbin Hotel broadcast played.

He let out a loud snicker, barely holding back a full laugh. "Oye, Mia! Imagine if I pulled that on you, just poked the bear till you snapped?"

His older sister, Mia, didn't even look up from her phone. Her fingers kept scrolling, but her eyes narrowed just slightly, "Try that with me, and I'll tell Mamá you were the one who broke her favorite coffee mug."

The boy sat up straighter, trying to play it off, "Aw, come on! Lighten up, it's just a joke! don't get your taco in a twis..."

WHAM!

Mid-sentence, Mia launched forward, grabbed him by the collar, and with absolutely no hesitation, flung him sideways onto the far end of the couch like a sack of laundry. He landed with an oof, scattering chips everywhere.

She stood over him, ready to punch him if he tried that again, "Shut. Up."

Rubbing his neck, the teen groaned as he glared at her, "I was kidding..."

Mia returned to her phone like nothing had happened. "So was I. About the mug. Now I'm telling Mom."

"Wait... what?"

From the kitchen, their mother called out, "Tell me what?"

"Nothing mother!" The siblings yelled in unison.

["I'm gonna kill him." Vaggie declared as she sat back down and crossed her arms.]

["Too late, toots. Wait! Would that make me double dead? Hah, and where exactly do I go? To Double Hell? Hahahahahahahaha! Sorry, you're stuck with me, bitch! Get used to it." Angel quipped as he folds his arms confidently.]

[Vaggie growled angrily and started to swear through clenched teeth, "Con una mierda, malparido hijo de-!" (For fuck's sake, you bastard son of-!)]

Japan:

"Write that down, WRITE THAT DOWN!" The scientist shrieked, knocking over a mug of cold coffee as he scrambled to jot notes on a cluttered whiteboard already covered in frantic scribbles. His eyes were wide behind cracked safety goggles, and his hands shook with barely-contained excitement, "They can die twice?!?"

His coworker blinked in confusion, "The hell does that even mean?" He paused... then slowly groaned, facepalming, "Ugh. That was an accident. I didn't mean it like that."

But the scientist was too far gone, practically vibrating in his swivel chair, "No, no, no! Don't you get it? It was always hinted at us at the start! Those celestial exterminations, the angels, the periodic purges... this confirms my hypothesis!" He began to pace in tight, erratic circles, muttering to himself, "If demons are already dead, and yet can still be destroyed, then what's being destroyed, exactly? Their essence? Their soul?"

He paused, spinning dramatically and jabbing a marker at his baffled colleagues, "Their forms might be manifestations of condensed soul energy! So when that's annihilated, where does the leftover essence go? Is there a third plane? Dissolution into raw aether? Some kind of cosmic recycling?!"

The coworker backed up a step, holding his hands up. "Doctor, please. You're talking like a lunatic again."

"Science demands mania!" the scientist shouted, accidentally flinging his notes into the air.

Meanwhile, around the world, cheers erupted in Latin American households as the revelation about Vaggie's cultural roots made its way through the global audience. In living rooms, internet forums, and packed community centers, proud Latina viewers whooped and clapped, raising their drinks with laughter and joy. Her exact origin was still a mystery, but that didn't matter, she was one of them, and that was enough.

In a high school classroom in Madrid, where a group of teens huddled around a phone during lunch, one bored student elbowed his friend with a grin. "Oye, what do you think would happen if I called your mom a 'one-eyed demon with anger issues' like that?"

His Puerto Rican friend didn't even blink. He slowly turned his head, wearing the most unimpressed expression humanly possible.

"Don't."

The first teen laughed, "C'mon, man, just imagine the look on her face..."

"She'd beat you with a chancleta so hard, you'd get a second death too." He said in a low tone.

The whole group erupted into laughter, even as someone swore to themselves to never say that in front of his mother when they come over.

["Listen, who cares if some jack-offs got hurt? Most of 'em are ugly freaks. Look around!" Angel exclaimed, smirking as he looked out the limousine window, "You got a bunch a fuckin' Harlequin babies down here!"]

["You're one to talk." Vaggie said, smiling smugly.]

["Hey! This body is flawless!" Angel snapped at her, while stretching in his seat and showed his leg, "Everyone wants summa me, and I've got the creepy fan letters to prove it!" He exclaimed as he pulled out a letter from his chest fluff and showed it to them.]

[The letter is dirty and stained with different fluids and it features a small picture of a dirty naked old man, who ironically has a "No Angel Dust" tattoo, smothering his mouth on an Angel Dust body pillow and a message at the bottom saying "Show me your feet!! -Bryrin, #1 Fan/Critic".]

In the living world, thousands of viewers recoiled almost in unison. Some covered their mouths, others shielded their children's eyes from the screen with urgency usually reserved for horror films. A few parents closed their children's eyes immediately, muttering about how 'This wasn't supposed to be seen by children.'

In a poorly lit basement somewhere in Australia, a fat man hunched in front of an ancient TV crusted with mystery stains. Crumbs clung to his shirt like medals of dishonor, and his neckbeard was starting to tangle with his headset wires.

He squinted at the broadcast through thick glasses and snorted, "Pathetic. Absolute amateur," He said in disgust, "Pouring your soul out in a handwritten fan letter? In this day and age? Bah."

Leaning back into his creaky gaming chair, he shoved a Mountain Dew can aside and adjusted his hair with unnecessary flair, "If I were to descend into hell, and let's be honest, it's inevitable, I would not squander my infernal presence on something as basic as... feelings."

He pushed up his glasses with a greasy finger and smirked, "Those thighs on the other hand... that's where true artistic obsession lies. Pure form, optimal symmetry. Class."

There was a long pause before he whispered to himself, "I bet that they have some succubus down there..."

From upstairs, his mom shouted, "Victor, clean the litter box or I'm cutting the Wi-Fi again!"

He flinched, even when he was busy fantasising about his desires, his mother still dared to interrupt her, "IN A MINUTE, MOTHER!"

{Hell}

Pride Ring:

Bryin, the grotesque, panting fan featured in the screen shivered with glee, his clammy hands pressed tightly against his cheeks. "He... he kept my letter?" He gasped, sweat beading down his blotchy forehead. "Oh yes, he read it! He really did! Oh yes!"

A wave of discomfort rippled through the crowd of sinners around him. Many visibly recoiled, as their eyes narrowed at him. A few even shifted away like the mere proximity of him might be contagious.

"Fuckin' freak," A rough-looking hellhound muttered under his breath, his ears flattening with disgust as his clawed hand subtly hovered over the flask at his hip, as if liquor might cleanse the mental image now seared into his brain.

Another demon gagged and looked away, mumbling, "I've seen actual intestines used as a jump rope and this still grosses me out more."

[Vaggie growled at him until Charlie put her hand on Vaggie's shoulder, calming her down.]

["That was really uncool, y'know, Angel" Charlie chided him.]

["Uncool?!" Vaggie yelled in Charlie's face before pointing to Angel Dust, "After that trainwreck! There is no way anyone is gonna want to stay at the hotel! All thanks to you, and your selfish bullshit!"]

["Does that mean I don't have a free room anymore?" Angel asked, causing Vaggie to cross her arms as if to say "really" without speaking a word. "Ah...well, shucks." He said with a snap of his fingers.]

["Hey, come on." Charlie sighed, taking off her jacket and rolling up her shirt sleeves to her elbows, "We don't know if things are over yet! Try to relax, Vaggie. I-it'll be okay!" She said as she put a hand on Vaggie's left shoulder.]

[Vaggie smiles at Charlie softly.]

Hazbin Hotel:

Angel Dust shrank deeper into the couch cushions, his fluffy arms folding over his chest in a huff as Vaggie's rant continued echoing through the hotel speakers, His fluffy chest puffed up defensively as he tried to save face with a cocky grin.

"Hey, not my fault those freaks at News 666 decided to cut in right then!" He exclaimed, waving a hand towards the screen, "I was busy, alright? I got things goin' on! You all saw that right?!"

Vaggie exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose, too tired to launch another verbal war. The spider demon was impossible to deal with some days including now.

She scooted a bit closer towards Charlie instead, resting her weight against the princess's side and giving her fingers a small squeeze.

"...Thanks. For trying to comfort me." Vaggie murmured quietly, her voice just barely above the static from the broadcast, "I know I'm kind of... hot-headed sometimes."

Charlie's face lit up with warmth. That signature radiant smile softened her whole expression as she turned to face her girlfriend.

"It's no problem at all, Vaggie," She said sweetly, leaning in to nuzzle her shoulder, "I love you. Comforting you is my job. Like, officially. I signed up for it."

Vaggie chuckled softly despite herself, the tension in her shoulders finally relaxing. Their hands found each other instinctively, fingers intertwining like they were made to.

Angel watched them from the side, rolling his eyes with a smirk and pretended to gag, "Ugh. Gross. Too much wholesome energy in the room. I'm gonna need a drink or a demon orgy to cancel it out."

Vaggie didn't even try to look at him, "Try me, spider. I still have knives."

Charlie giggled and leaned into Vaggie a little more, "Maybe he's just jealous."

Angel paused, lips twitching as he muttered, "Okay... maybe just a little."

[The limousine arrives at the Happy hotel as the hotel door opens, revealing a very old and dirty establishment, which has a grand, gothic exterior with orange and red stained-glass windows with an apple motif. The inside is old-fashioned but run down, clearly in disarray.

Vaggie and Angel Dust are the first to enter the lobby which is decorated with balloons and happy messages meant to inspire people and bring them laughter. A large welcome banner is hung over the concierge desk.

{Earth}

Las Vegas

Deep beneath the flashing chaos of Las Vegas, where the neon lights never reached, a flickering, jury-rigged television ghostly glows across the concrete walls of the flood tunnels. The static buzzed like an electric sigh as the remnants of Charlie's broadcast played out to a gathering of weary faces.

Old sleeping bags, dented cans, and makeshift campfires painted a picture of human fragility, souls discarded by the world above, watching a message from the world below.

Patrick, once a handyman with a knack for wiring, leaned against a graffiti-tagged support pillar. The faint hum of a cracked car battery powered the flickering screen. He took a drag from a half-crushed cigarette and exhaled slowly, lips curled into a crooked grin.

"Well, doesn't look all that different down there. If anything, Hell's got better lighting. And hey, it's probably warm all year." He muttered, his eyes on the image of the hotel and its demon occupants,

A few of the others chuckled dryly, the sound half-hearted but welcome.

"Warm?" An older man barked with wild eyes and a coat held together by duct tape. "You've seen that freaky-ass newslady?! That mantis thing could swallow a man whole and pick her teeth with your bones!"

He kicked at a rusted can, scowling at the memory of those demons, "Hell's worse than this. At least up top, when a pig's got his gun pointed at you, he might think twice if there's cameras. Down there? No laws, no mercy. Just monsters with rules they make up on the spot."

A younger teen who was sitting nearby, barely seventeen, cradled a battered thermos in his hands, taking careful sips of lukewarm water. Dirt streaked across his face, but his eyes looked hopeful.

"She let him in," He said quietly, "Angel Dust. She gave him a room and didn't even ask for money. Just... gave him a chance."

He glanced at the older men, and said, "We didn't kill anyone. We just got unlucky. Lost jobs, lost homes. Some of us ain't even got priors."

The others murmured, some nodding, while others looked skeptical.

"If a guy like him can get a second chance..." The teen continued, "Maybe it ain't all baloney. Maybe that princess really believes in what she's selling."

"Or maybe it's a trap," Someone muttered from the shadows.

Patrick pushed off the wall and shook his head, "Maybe. But if croakin' sends us downstairs anyway, I'd rather roll the dice on a chick who's offering a bed and a shot at somethin' better than windin' up chained in some torture pit."

"Hope's a dangerous thing," He said, looking at Charlie Morningstar, "But sometimes it's all you got."

Meanwhile in one of the lecture halls of a sprawling university campus, the broadcast had drawn in a small crowd of curious students and professors alike, many abandoning their planned schedules just to gawk at the surreal imagery flickering onscreen.

A third-year architecture student leaned forward in his chair with a dreamy sigh, practically pressing his face to the monitor. His eyes shimmered with awe at the dark gothic spires, vaulted arches, and dizzyingly detailed stonework of the Hazbin Hotel.

"Oh, those turrets! The wrought iron balconies! And look at the ambient glow from those sconces..." He purred, fanning himself with a set of blueprints, "The stained glass windows? Each one a statement piece! It's like Castlevania and a cathedral had a baby!"

His professor furrowed his brows, tempted to chide the student for unprofessional conduct until he caught himself gripping the edge of the table, equally enraptured. He cleared his throat and looked away, feigning indifference while still peeking out of the corner of his eye.

Nearby, an engineering student shook his head and gave the architecture student a solid bop on the head with a notebook.

"Snap out of it, you idiot," He groaned, "That place is a nightmare to build and even worse to maintain. You see all that stone detailing? Good luck trying to weatherproof those spires. And don't get me started on the lighting system. That's not ambiance, it's a fire hazard."

The architecture student rubbed his head with a pout, "Come on, let me dream! You're just mad you'd have to make it structurally sound."

Meanwhile, in the university's fine arts wing, a completely different conversation was taking place.

"Do you see the contrast work in this? The high saturation! The expressive design! It's all so unique!!" An art student with paint-splattered jeans gestured wildly at the screen

Another student pointed at Charlie and said, "The color theory is genius. She's bright, warm, soft tones surrounded by a hellscape of reds and shadows. She's literally a beacon, and you can feel it."

A sculpture student piped up clutching their sketchbook, "Forget the color, look at the architecture and props! The set design is deliciously grotesque. Everything has this warped, Tim Burton-meets-Art-Deco thing going on."

[Vaggie heads straight for the couch and sits down with a groan of frustration. Charlie looks at her with worry while Angel Dust goes to the mini fridge. He opened the fridge and grabbed a box of popsicles that were melting and grabbed one of them before tossing the box away. Behind him, Charlie sits on a crate, looking sad and depressed.]

["Eh, it's probably a good idea to get some actual food in this place.It's probably a good idea to get some actual food in this place." Angel told her looking over his shoulder, "Y'know, to feed all the wayward souls you got in here! Ahahaha! Ahaha...! eh... ah...]

[Charlie's posture sinks when she hears his laughing. Angel sees her mood drop more and he reaches out to comfort her before he pauses mid reach and pulls back his hand and goes to join Vaggie on the couch.]

[Charlie exits the hotel because she doesn't want the others to hear this. Then, she calls her mother and puts the phone to her ear.]

["Hey, mom." Charlie greeted before she sighs, "I know I keep calling and you must be busy... Really busy... But, um, the interview didn't go well." She said as she shrinks to her knees and continues, "And... I don't know if I'm ever going to make a difference.." She soon starts to tear up as she wipes it off her face. "I don't know what I'm doing. I could really use some advice, mom. I... I think dad was right about me... Ahah, oof. Eh, anyway... I'll stop talking before this gets long. Love you, bye..."]

{Hell}

Hazbin Hotel:

Charlie's breath hitched as the broadcast flickered again, this time revealing a moment far more vulnerable than any punch or glare her eyes glistening with the weight of centuries-old pressure. It wasn't supposed to be public. It wasn't supposed to be seen.

Her body tensed, curling in on itself like she could disappear into the couch cushions. Her arms wrapped around her knees, and her fingers trembled as they dug into the fabric of her sleeves.

"No no! What... I..." She gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. Her golden eyes widened, darting toward the others in the room before she looked away, "That was... that was personal..."

The weight of it all hit her like a brick wall. She can almost hear it. The mocking laughter from across Hell, the whispers, the scrutiny. Her insecurities laid bare on a screen for everyone to observe. The pressure that she always kept bottled was now overflowing.

Vaggie was by her side in an instant, pulling her into a firm yet gentle embrace. Her arms wrapped protectively around her girlfriend, and she guided Charlie's head to her shoulder, letting her fingers thread softly through her golden hair.

"Shhh... Todo estará bien, amor," (Pssst... Everything will be okay, love.) She whispered tenderly into her ear, "No lo pienses mucho... respira profundamente." (Don't overthink it... just breathe deeply.)

Charlie clung to her like a lifeline, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to steady herself against the tide of shame and anxiety. Vaggie held her tighter, as if trying to shield her from the broadcast itself.

Across the room, Husk leaned against the bar, watching the screen through narrowed, tired eyes. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he took a huge sip of his liquor.

"Geez," He muttered, putting down the bottle on the bar counter, "That fucker really has no concept of privacy."

His tone was gruff, but there was a flicker of something rare in his voice, sympathy. Concern, even.

"I've done a lot of messed-up things in my time..." He grunted, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "But even I know not to kick someone when they're barin' their soul. That's just a low fuckin' blow."

Angel, who had been sitting silently nearby for once, looked away from the screen, his expression uncharacteristically somber. His usual smirk was gone.

"She didn't deserve that," He muttered under his breath, "That was supposed to be private."

Charlie's breaths slowed as Vaggie continued to murmur soft reassurances, and the warmth of her presence anchored the princess against the storm.

{Heaven}

Lilith stood frozen as her face caught somewhere between disbelief and sorrow. Her eyes were locked on the screen where the Kitsuna covered its mouth in surprise.

Without a word, Lilith looked away from the projection and took out her own Hellphone and with trembling fingers, she opened her voicemail inbox and began scrolling through messages that were never meant to be heard in rapid succession.

One by one, her daughter's voice crackled through the speaker, raw and full of emotion.

"Hey, Mom... I know you're probably busy, but I just... I needed someone to talk to."

"Sometimes I think maybe I'm just pretending. Like I'm too small to fix something this big..."

"Do you think Dad ever regrets what I became?"

Lilith stood in the golden hush of the palace corridor, the phone pressed close to her heart as Charlie's words washed over her words spoken in solitude, left unanswered, fading into silence like cries cast into a void. Each one felt like a dagger twisting gently in her chest.

Her breath hitched.

She exhaled slowly, deliberately, the kind of breath you take before standing in front of a battlefield. Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles turned pale. Tears threatened behind her lashes, but none fell. A queen did not weep in public... but a mother could still grieve in quiet fury.

Placing one trembling hand against her chest, Lilith drew in another breath to steel herself.

"You will make a difference, Charlie," She whispered,"You already have. And I will never let him... or anyone... take that from you."

She lowered the phone. Her eyes, usually soft and mysterious, now burned with a renewed fire in her heart.

Black fire flickered brighter as the Queen of Hell moved into action, not just as royalty, but as a mother whose heart was breaking... and burning.

"Fuck Adam and his exorcists," Lilith growled, her voice low but trembling with fury, "Let Heaven come for me if they dare.

"That deal.. none of it matters anymore. None of it. I made peace with monsters but I will not stand by while my daughter suffers. While she's torn down for daring to hope. For daring to dream."

Lilith turned her gaze upward, and her face softened at Charlie's saddened face before she looked forward with a determined look on her face.

"Let them strike me down if they wish. I'll face Heaven's wrath with my head held high and fire in my veins. Because this time... this time, I'm not acting as a queen...".

"...I'm acting as a mother."