Hazbin Hotel:ángel caido

Hazbin Hotel AU: Fallen Angel

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Part 1: The Exorcist's Descent

The sulfuric air of Hell was oppressive, like a hot blanket suffocating Vaggie as she descended through the clouds. It was her first Extermination Day, a rite of passage for exorcist angels—a day she'd spent her entire existence preparing for. Her silver hair, tied back in a tight braid, barely moved as she landed with practiced grace in a twisted, shadowy alley. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the distant echo of screams and the cacophony of gunfire that accompanied Hell's latest purge.

Her white robes, once a symbol of purity, were now stained with the grime of Hell. Her spear, a shining beacon of holy retribution, glinted in her hand. Her heart, though, was heavy—conflicted. The teachings drilled into her by her older sister Lute and the other angels echoed in her mind, "Show no mercy. The denizens of Hell are beyond redemption. They are filth, and filth must be cleansed."

But now, standing in the heart of Hell, where the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath her feet, the reality was different. These demons weren't just faceless abominations. They had faces—faces full of fear, pain, and desperation.

A rustle in the shadows drew her attention. Vaggie whipped around, spear at the ready, her one visible eye narrowing in anticipation. A child—a small demon with hollow eyes, emaciated from starvation, staggered out of the darkness. His skin was a sickly grey, stretched thin over sharp bones, and his teeth were too large for his tiny mouth. He couldn't have been more than ten years old, but his eyes—those empty, soulless eyes—seemed ancient.

Vaggie hesitated. The spear in her hand felt like a lead weight, the command to strike lodged in her throat. The child was pitiful, a living ghost. He posed no threat. But the teachings... the teachings demanded his death.

Flashback: The Training

The brutal clang of steel against steel reverberated through the training grounds, a stark contrast to the pure white spires of Heaven. Vaggie, younger then, her wings still small and her face unscarred, was locked in combat with a fellow exorcist cadet. The combat was vicious, unforgiving. Her opponent landed a harsh blow against her side, sending her sprawling on the ground.

"Get up!" Lute's voice was cold, unyielding. She towered above Vaggie, her sharp features as harsh as the words she spat. "You think Hell will show you mercy? You think those demons won't tear you apart the moment you hesitate?"

Vaggie, gritting her teeth, scrambled to her feet. Her arms ached, her lungs burned, but Lute's eyes—those ruthless, ice-cold yellow eyes—offered no sympathy. Only expectation.

Her sister had always been this way. From the moment Vaggie could hold a weapon, Lute had been her mentor, her guide, her tormentor. Training was not just a discipline; it was survival. Every day was a struggle to prove her worth, to live up to the expectations placed on her by her sister, by Heaven. Mercy was a weakness. Compassion was a sin.

But even as Lute barked orders, pushing her harder, something within Vaggie began to question. Her sister's strict adherence to the rules, her brutal enforcement of the exorcists' code, felt... hollow.

Back to the Present: The Child

The demon child stumbled forward, his hands outstretched, not in attack, but in a silent plea. His eyes, void of any malice, were simply desperate. Vaggie's heart pounded in her chest, her grip on the spear tightening until her knuckles turned white.

"Please..." The word was barely a whisper, a faint croak escaping the child's parched lips.

Vaggie's breath caught in her throat. Her mind screamed at her to finish it—to drive the spear through the child's chest and end his misery. But she couldn't. Something in her shattered, the rigid teachings crumbling under the weight of her empathy.

She lowered the spear.

A flash of movement—a searing pain—Vaggie's scream tore through the alley as something sharp and merciless slashed across her back. She crumpled to the ground, vision blurring, the hot sting of blood pooling beneath her. She struggled to rise, but the pain was overwhelming.

Lute stood over her, expression twisted in disgust. "You pathetic, worthless worm," she spat, raising her weapon again, ready to strike. "You dare defy your training, your purpose?"

Vaggie tried to speak, but only a pained whimper escaped. Lute's eyes, once her guiding light, were now nothing but cold, unfeeling golden pits.

"You're weak, Vaggie," Lute hissed. "And weakness in Hell gets you killed." Lute reaching out and ripping out Vaggie's left eye, Vaggie could barely see, her broken body writhing in pain.

The final blow never came. Vaggie blacked out, her last sight being her sister's enraged face.

To be continued…..