After leaving the hotel, Spawn wasted no time heading straight to the weapons warehouse that Alastor had marked on the map. The journey was swift, his mind focused entirely on what awaited him. Upon reaching the building, he made quick work of forcing his way inside, tearing through the wall as though it were made of paper.
Once inside, the sight that greeted him stirred something deep within-a vast collection of firearms, explosives, and military-grade weaponry. Rows upon rows of deadly instruments, all meticulously organized. Spawn stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It had been a long time since he'd seen so much firepower in one place. It was overwhelming, almost nostalgic.
He approached the nearest crate, prying it open to reveal pristine rifles, each one sleek and deadly. Picking one up, he felt the weight of it in his hands. "Ah, my old friends..." he muttered, a smirk hidden beneath his mask. "You've missed me, haven't you?"
With a renewed sense of purpose, Spawn began loading up, strapping as much ordinance as he could carry onto his suit. Handguns, grenades, assault rifles-anything that would give him the upper hand in his inevitable showdown with Fleshrend. The sight of all the firepower filled him with a twisted sense of comfort, like slipping back into an old skin.
But just as he was securing his final weapon, the crackle of a loudspeaker suddenly filled the air. A voice, smooth yet deadly, echoed throughout the warehouse.
"So, you think you can steal from me?" the voice said, dripping with disdain. It was Carmilla Carmine, the top weapons dealer in Hell, and her reputation was as fearsome as her arsenal. "I don't know who you are, nor do I care. You're about to learn what happens to those who try to take what's mine. And trust me, it's a lesson you won't be able to pass on to anyone else."
Before Spawn could react, the lights in the warehouse flickered, and through the narrow windows, he could see dozens of Carmilla's men surrounding the building. They were heavily armed, and by the looks of it, they had no intention of leaving him alive.
Spawn surveyed the situation with his usual calm, already formulating a plan. He could hear the heavy footsteps of the guards closing in, the unmistakable sound of weapons being cocked and loaded. It seemed like he was trapped.
But just as quickly as they closed in, Spawn vanished. His form dissolved into a dark, swirling mist, teleporting out of the warehouse in an instant. Carmilla's men burst through the doors, weapons at the ready, only to find the room completely empty.
Confused and on edge, they scoured the area for any sign of him, but Spawn was long gone, leaving nothing but silence and shadows behind.
Outside, perched on a nearby rooftop, Spawn reappeared, watching the confusion unfold below. He knew better than to stay and fight a small army right now-he had what he came for. As he adjusted the weapons on his back, he cast one last glance at the warehouse before disappearing into the darkness once more, ready for the battle ahead.
As Fleshrend staggered into one of Vox's sleek, high-tech repair facilities, his grotesque body was visibly malfunctioning. Sparks flew from his torn cybernetic limbs, and his heavy breathing sounded more like a machine grinding itself into oblivion. The sinner assigned to repair him, a scrawny tech with thick glasses, immediately got to work, eyes scanning the damage.
"Alright, so... looks like you've got some severe tearing in the hydraulic supports, your targeting systems are fried, and-wow-whoever you were up against really did a number on your chassis. I can patch you up for now, but you're gonna need a more comprehensive overhaul later," the tech rattled off, barely pausing to breathe.
Fleshrend glared down at him, his patience running thin. "I didn't ask for a speech. Can you fix me or not?"
The sinner raised his hands defensively. "Yeah, yeah, I got you, big guy. But, uh, maybe lay off the heavy lifting for a while, huh? Could do wonders for your stress levels. Y'know, future-proof yourself."
Fleshrend, in no mood for jokes, grunted but said nothing, allowing the tech to continue the repairs. The whirring of tools filled the air as sparks flew from the sinner's equipment. Slowly, his damaged components began to show signs of recovery.
Just as the repairs seemed to be progressing, there was an abrupt boom as part of the facility's wall was obliterated, debris flying everywhere. The entire room shook, and through the dust and rubble emerged a silhouette.
Spawn stepped through the hole he had just created, weapons strapped to every part of his body, his dark form looming in the wreckage. He cracked a twisted smile under his mask, tilting his head mockingly as he surveyed the room.
"Knock, knock," Spawn said, his voice dripping with menace and dark humor.
The sinner jumped back, tools falling from his hands as his eyes widened in panic. Fleshrend, half-repaired, turned his monstrous head toward the intruder, snarling in fury as he struggled to get up.
Spawn raised one of his new firearms, the barrel glowing with ominous energy. "Miss me?" he growled, locking his sights on Fleshrend, ready to finish what he had started.
Hours had passed, and neither Vox nor Valentino had heard anything from Fleshrend. The silence from his supposed enforcer was unnerving. Valentino, lounging in his office, tugged at the collar of his suit, irritation simmering under his usual cocky demeanor. He glanced over at his guards, shaking his head.
"Where the hell is Fleshrend?" he muttered, drumming his fingers on his desk. "Go check my damn horoscope or something, because this shitstorm? It's cosmic."
His guards snickered nervously at his joke, but Valentino's half-smirk didn't reach his eyes. Something felt wrong. Real wrong.
Later that night, Valentino, followed by his usual retinue of armed goons, stepped into his private quarters, flicking the lights on with a snap of his fingers. The moment the lights came to life, so did the horror in the room. His eyes widened in shock.
Fleshrend, or what was left of him, was grotesquely suspended from the ceiling and walls. His massive cybernetic limbs were ripped apart and hung like decorations, dripping dark oil and blood. The hulking body that had once been unstoppable was now a gory, mechanical display piece. It looked as if the monster had been ripped apart and rearranged by a butcher with a twisted sense of art.
In the corner of the room, trembling like a leaf in a storm, was the sinner who was supposed to repair Fleshrend. His face was pale, his body shaking uncontrollably, as if he'd stared into the depths of Hell and seen something worse.
Valentino's breath hitched as he walked slowly over to the shaking man, voice low and dangerous. "Who did this?"
The sinner didn't speak. He just pointed, eyes wide and terrified, behind Valentino.
Before he could even turn to see what the man was pointing at, the room erupted in gunfire. A barrage of bullets tore through the air. One of Valentino's guards dropped instantly, dead before he hit the ground. The other guard was riddled with bullets, crumpling in agony. Valentino spun, but before he could react, he felt himself shoved violently to the ground.
A rifle barrel was suddenly pressed against his face, cold and unforgiving. He blinked up in terror, staring at the dark figure looming over him-Spawn, his face shrouded in shadow and malice.
Valentino's usual bravado drained from him in an instant. "Wait, wait, wait!" he stammered, his voice shaky. "I'll give you anything you want. Just name it, it's yours."
Spawn leaned closer, the cold barrel pressing harder into Valentino's skull. "Right now," Spawn growled, his voice low and menacing, "I just want you to shut up and listen."
Val's heart pounded as he fell silent, eyes wide, unable to tear his gaze from the monster standing over him.
Spawn continued, "I'm done killing your men. There's enough chaos going on already. I don't need to add more bodies to the pile." His tone darkened further. "Whatever wild hair you had up your ass about me? Consider it plucked. From now on, if any of your men so much as look in the hotel's direction, I'll be paying you a visit."
Valentino tried to protest, but Spawn shoved the barrel of the rifle harder against his head, cutting him off. "You clearly have a listening problem," Spawn snarled. "So let me make this real simple for you."
He leaned in closer, his presence suffocating. "As of right now, you work for me. And your job is very, very simple. All I want is peace and quiet."
Valentino nodded, fear seeping into every inch of his body. "Yeah... okay... I understand."
Spawn's eyes narrowed. "Say it."
Val gritted his teeth but complied, repeating, "I work for you. I get it."
Spawn didn't move the rifle just yet. His next question came with a deadly calm. "And who am I?"
Valentino swallowed hard. "I... I don't know."
"Exactly," Spawn said, his voice dripping with menace. "Let that little mystery keep you up at night."
With that, Spawn finally pulled the rifle away from Valentino's face and stood up, turning to leave. Valentino's breaths came out in ragged gasps as he scrambled to his feet, rage overtaking the fear that had paralyzed him moments ago. In a burst of anger, he yanked a revolver from his coat, aiming it at Spawn's back and pulling the trigger.
Bang. The bullet sailed through the air, but hit nothing. Spawn had already vanished, his dark presence disappearing into the shadows as quickly as it had arrived.
Valentino, left standing in his room full of carnage, his breath ragged, threw the revolver down in frustration. "Fuck!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty room.
And with that, he was left alone, haunted by the last words Spawn had left him with.
On the evening news, the screen flickered to life with the usual Hellish flair as 666 News' logo spun into view. Sitting behind the sleek, black desk was the infamous Katie Killjoy, her icy smile as sharp as ever, next to her was her co-anchor, Tom Trench. Both looked far too pleased with the chaos they were about to report.
"Good evening, sinners!" Katie began, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "In tonight's top story, Hell's very own wannabe vigilante has been stirring up quite a ruckus in Pentagram City. That's right, folks, some masked freak has been making things difficult for none other than our beloved Overlord, Valentino."
Tom Trench leaned forward, his gas mask twitching slightly as he chuckled. "Beloved? Pfft, sure, Katie, if by beloved you mean 'slimy, cigar-sucking scumbag.' But hey, who are we to judge? We're just the news."
The screen shifted, showing brief clips of destruction left in Spawn's wake-explosions, dead bodies, and various gang members fleeing for their lives. Katie rolled her eyes as she watched the footage.
"Look at this guy," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "Does he think he's some kind of hero? Look at that ridiculous outfit-like someone skinned a biker, stapled it to a corpse, and called it fashion. It's Hell, not some comic book fantasy!"
Tom snorted. "And he's been playing 'vigilante' for what? A few days? Maybe he thinks if he kills enough people, he'll get a medal. Sorry, sweetheart, but here in Hell, that just makes you like everyone else."
Katie tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the desk. "Still, you gotta wonder... for someone who's clearly having a mid-life crisis," she grinned viciously, "he sure is making a name for himself. Not that anyone knows what his name actually is."
The screen cut to a still shot of Valentino's headquarters, and Katie's smile grew even wider. "And speaking of people not knowing who they are anymore... seems like Valentino is having a little... performance issue."
Tom leaned back, shaking his head. "Oh yeah. First, Fleshrend gets shredded like old furniture, then Val's men start dropping like flies, and now he's letting some masked freak walk all over him? Rough times for the ol' porn king."
Katie didn't miss a beat, her voice dripping with fake concern. "Aw, poor Val. Maybe someone should check his ego for a hole. But really-what happened to the king of sleaze? Did he lose his touch? Maybe he's too busy oiling his chest to handle business."
Both anchors burst into laughter, clearly enjoying themselves as they mocked Valentino's apparent fall from grace. The camera zoomed in slightly on Katie as she straightened up, her tone turning more sinister.
"All jokes aside, folks, there's something interesting happening in the city. Whoever this wannabe hero is, he's gotten a little too comfortable shaking things up. If he's not careful, he might just find out that even in Hell, there's a line you don't cross."
Tom chuckled darkly. "If Valentino doesn't take him out first, that is. Though, at this rate, looks like Val might just hire him as his bodyguard. Guy needs all the help he can get."
Katie finished with a smirk, "And we'll be here, as always, with the popcorn, ready to watch the bloodbath. Stay tuned, Hell, this story isn't over."
The screen faded to black as their laughter echoed, leaving viewers with a grim reminder of the chaotic days ahead.