"So wait, you're saying you're the real Cain? The one who murdered his own brother? The one who's been cursed by God?" Spawn asked, not fully convinced by what he was hearing.

Cain's gaze locked with Spawn's, and for a moment, all the casualness in his posture melted away, replaced by something far more ancient and sorrowful. "I am that Cain," he said, his voice softer now, filled with a weight that was hard to ignore. "The first to take a life. The first to betray the blood of my own kin. And yes… I am cursed. To wander, to suffer, to live through the ever-changing world—seeing everything and yet being part of nothing."

Spawn didn't respond at first, staring at him in disbelief. It was hard to reconcile the man before him with the biblical figure from ancient texts. "If that's true… if you're the Cain," Spawn began, his voice filled with skepticism, "why are you here? In Hell? You're supposed to be marked, cursed to walk the Earth forever. What changed?"

Cain took a long drag from his cigarette, his eyes shadowed with regret as he exhaled the smoke. "I was cursed to walk the Earth, yes. But what God didn't say was that eventually… the weight of it all would bring me here. You see, Spawn, Hell isn't just a place for the wicked. It's a place for those who can no longer bear the burden of their sins."

"And you think you deserve to be here?" Spawn challenged, his anger rising. "Because of what you did to Abel?"

Cain's eyes flickered with something—remorse, perhaps. "Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I deserve to be here more than anyone. The weight of what I did… it haunts me. I've lived thousands of years, watching the world grow and change, while I've remained the same. I've watched nations rise and fall, families grow and die. But none of it mattered. Not after what I did."

Spawn narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here? You've been following me around like a ghost, acting like this is all just coincidence. But I don't buy it. So tell me—what's your game?"

Cain let out a long breath, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied Spawn's face. "No game, Al. No tricks. The truth is, you weren't meant to be in Hell wandering aimlessly. They weren't about to let you roam this place without some kind of guidance."

"They?" Spawn asked, suspicion sharp in his voice.

"The powers that be," Cain clarified. "Higher than Hell, higher than Heaven. The Mother of Existence themselves chose me for this."

Spawn blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. "The Mother of Existence? You're saying they chose you to be my guide?"

Cain nodded, his expression serious. "They knew you'd need someone who understood Hell. Someone who could walk these streets without being consumed by them. But more importantly, they needed a constant."

Spawn stood there, his mind swirling with questions as Cain's words echoed in his head. Something still didn't sit right with him. Cain's presence, his knowledge, and his connection to something higher—it was all too convenient.

"How is it," Spawn asked, his voice low, "that you know all of this? You say you're here to guide me, that you were chosen by the Mother of Existence. But how can you be sure? How can you trust what you've been told?"

Cain turned to face Spawn. His expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that spoke of countless years of reflection and regret.

"They gave me just enough," Cain said quietly. "Enough to understand my role. Enough to guide you. But no more than that. The Mother of Existence works in ways I don't always understand. They never told me why I was chosen, or why you're so important. I'm just here to do the task given to me."

Spawn narrowed his eyes, still unsatisfied. "So you don't even know why you're here? You're just following orders blindly?"

Cain gave a tired, almost bitter smile. "It's not that simple. When you've lived as long as I have, when you've seen the things I've seen, you start to understand that you don't always need the full picture to know your place in it. I've been cursed by God Himself, marked for what I did to my brother. My punishment has been to wander for eternity, to reflect on my crime. When the Mother of Existence gave me this role, I took it—because it was something. Something that might give me purpose. Even if I don't know why I'm here for you."

For a moment, the two stood in silence, the weight of Cain's words hanging heavily between them. Then, something else caught Spawn's eye—the wooden cane that Cain always carried. He had noticed it before, but now it seemed to take on a new significance.

"That stick," Spawn said, gesturing toward the cane in Cain's hand. "What is it?"

Cain looked down at the cane, his expression hardening slightly. "This? This isn't just any stick. It's the very one I used to kill my brother."

Spawn's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean—"

"The first murder," Cain interrupted. "The first mortal sin. I struck down my brother, Abel, with this very stick. And now, I carry it with me as a reminder of what I've done. Of what I am."

Spawn couldn't hide his shock. "You've carried it all this time? Why?"

"Because I deserve to," Cain said simply. "This cane is my burden, just as my sin is. It's a reminder that no matter how far I've wandered, no matter how many centuries pass, I can't escape what I did. I don't want to escape it."

Spawn was quiet for a long moment, his mind struggling to reconcile the centuries of punishment Cain had endured with the idea of redemption. He had seen others in Hell seek redemption—Charlie, Vaggie, Angel and other lost souls in the Hazbin Hotel. It was a place where sinners sought forgiveness, or at least a chance to change.

"So why not go to the hotel?" Spawn asked, his tone pointed. "If you regret what you did so much, if you carry that guilt with you… why not try to seek redemption? Why not give yourself a chance?"

Cain's expression darkened, his eyes filled with the weight of endless years. He shook his head slowly. "Redemption isn't something I deserve, Al. After centuries of reflection, I've come to accept that. I took an innocent life—my own brother's—and I've been cursed to live with that guilt. To wander through time, watching the world change while I remain the same. That's my punishment, and I deserve it."

"Deserve it?" Spawn echoed, incredulous. "You really think you deserve to suffer forever?"

Cain nodded, his voice firm. "Yes. After everything I've seen, after all the centuries I've spent thinking about what I did, I believe I'm exactly where I belong. In Hell. No amount of redemption can erase what I did. Abel is gone because of me. His blood is on my hands, and that's something I can't wash away."

Spawn frowned, still not entirely convinced. "But isn't that the whole point of redemption? To be forgiven for the things you've done, no matter how terrible?"

Cain's gaze softened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something like sadness in his eyes. "Maybe. But some sins… some sins are too great to be forgiven. I'm not here for redemption, Spawn. I'm here to make sure you don't end up like me. I'm here to guide you, to help you avoid the path I took. That's all that matters now."

Spawn didn't respond right away, his mind turning over everything Cain had said. He couldn't fully understand Cain's self-imposed punishment, his refusal to seek forgiveness, but there was something undeniably tragic about the man who had once been the first to commit murder. Cain wasn't seeking absolution. He wasn't looking for a way out. He had accepted his fate, and now he was offering to help Spawn find his way—before it was too late.

Finally, Spawn nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "Alright. I don't know if I agree with you, but I get it. You're here to guide me, and that's what you're going to do."

Cain gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That's the idea."

With that, the two of them stood in the darkened street, the weight of their pasts pressing down on them. Spawn still didn't know what to fully make of Cain, but one thing was clear—his journey through Hell was far from over, and Cain would be there with him every step of the way.

Just as Spawn was about to press Cain further, a sound broke through the stillness—a heavy, labored breathing. His instincts flared, and he turned his head sharply toward the end of the street. There, illuminated by dim streetlights, Loona was sprinting down the street. Her usual cool, almost disinterested demeanor was gone, replaced by pure panic.

When she spotted him, her eyes widened with a mix of relief and desperation. She came to a halt, catching her breath. "Spawn!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. "You've gotta help! Velvette sent a group of mercenaries to the I.M.P. office. They're tearing it apart!"

Spawn's brow furrowed, a deep sigh escaping him. Just as he turned to say something to Cain, he realized the man was already gone—vanished into the shadows without a trace. Typical.

Loona's voice snapped him back to the moment. "Please, we don't have much time!" She seemed to hesitate for a second, not used to pleading for help. "Moxxie, Millie, Blitzo—they're still in there."

Spawn hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he considered his options. It wasn't his fight, and he wasn't a hero, at least not in the way people like to think. But the desperation in Loona's voice struck something within him, a tug at the lingering remnants of his honor.

Finally, he gave a curt nod. "Alright," he said, his voice gruff, yet with a hint of resolve. "I'll help them."

Loona visibly relaxed, though her tension remained. "Good, just follow me! We need to get there fast—"

Before she could finish, Spawn interrupted, raising a hand. "I've got a faster way."

Loona blinked, her confusion evident. "Faster? What do you mean?"

Spawn stepped forward, extending his hand toward her. "Take my hand," he instructed, his tone firm but calm. "Picture I.M.P. headquarters in your mind. Every detail. We'll get there instantly."

Loona looked at his outstretched hand, unsure at first. "What… are you talking about?"

"I can teleport us," Spawn explained. "But I need you to visualize it—clear as day. Just trust me."

Still skeptical but with little other choice, Loona took his hand, her grip firm yet hesitant. She closed her eyes and concentrated, her mind bringing forth every detail of the office—Blitzo's cluttered desk, Moxxie's neat stack of papers, the way Millie always left her weapons leaning against the wall.

Spawn, sensing her focus, closed his eyes as well. The air around them began to distort, the world twisting and shifting as if reality itself were being pulled apart. In an instant, the two of them vanished from the street in a flicker of hellish energy.

When the world snapped back into focus, they were standing in the middle of the I.M.P. office, and all around them was chaos.

The place had been torn apart. Desks were overturned, papers scattered everywhere, and the sound of fighting echoed from a nearby room. Velvette's mercenaries had already begun their assault, and the situation was dire.

Loona, now fully back in the moment, turned to Spawn. "They're here. We need to hurry!"

Without a word, Spawn's eyes narrowed, his hands already crackling with dark, demonic energy. It was time to do what he did best.

Time to end this.