As Spawn made his way back through the city streets, the cryptic words of Callister echoed in his head. You're not fighting Hell... you're fighting yourself. The implication gnawed at him, stirring a deeper frustration. What did it even mean? What part of himself was there left to fight? He had already lost everything.
The more he mulled over it, the more his anger simmered. His fist clenched tighter as he moved closer to the hotel. This city—it was a cesspool of suffering and corruption, yet it was the place where he had effortlessly taken down those thugs yesterday. It felt like everything was connected, and yet it all made no sense.
Just as he rounded a corner, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of raised voices. Across the street, a group of demons were roughing up some terrified sinners, demanding answers. Spawn narrowed his eyes, recognizing what was happening almost immediately.
"Who took out Valentino's men?!" one of the demons barked, his tone filled with cruelty. The others around him snickered, clearly enjoying the torment they were inflicting. One demon in particular seemed to be having far too much fun, treating the interrogation like a game.
With a dark snarl, the demon kicked one of the cowering sinners, preparing to ask again. But before he could finish, a new voice cut through the night air.
"Who is-" the demon started.
"- about to rip your head off?" Spawn finished, stepping out from the shadows.
The lead demon barely had time to turn his head before Spawn was on him. In one swift motion, Spawn snatched the pistol from the demon's hand and pulled him into the line of fire from his own comrades. Their bullets ripped through the demon's body, sending him crashing to the ground, writhing in pain.
Spawn didn't stop there. With a predator's precision, he used the pistol he'd just stolen to make quick work of the other demons, unloading bullets into them with brutal efficiency. They fell one by one, their bodies crumpling in heaps around him, the chaos of their ambush turning into a massacre.
Once the others were dealt with, Spawn turned his attention back to the wounded demon, who was now crawling on the ground, gasping for breath. With a single hand, Spawn lifted him off the ground by the collar, his green eyes glowing fiercely beneath his mask.
"Who do you work for?" Spawn demanded, his voice low and menacing.
The demon, choking on his own fear, sputtered out, "I-I work for Vox! We were told to find out who took out Valentino's men—please!"
Spawn's grip tightened, his frustration boiling over. "You go back and tell your boss something for me."
The demon's eyes widened, barely able to nod in acknowledgment.
"Tell him," Spawn growled, "that from now on, the area around that hotel is out of bounds. Anyone who steps foot near it... won't live to regret it."
With a sharp shove, Spawn tossed the demon to the ground, leaving him gasping and scrambling to get away.
Spawn stood there for a moment, watching the demon flee into the distance, his anger still simmering but now laced with a sense of purpose. Whatever Callister had meant, whatever battle he was supposedly fighting within himself—it didn't matter right now. What mattered was sending a message. This was his turf now.
And if anyone else came looking for trouble, they'd find something far worse.
As Spawn entered the hotel, he was relieved to find the lobby much quieter than it had been in the morning. No prying eyes, no chatter, just the peaceful stillness of the place. He could at least be thankful for that, given the turmoil spinning in his mind.
The first person to greet him was Niffty, darting out from a corner with her usual boundless energy. "Oh! You're back! What have you been up to?" she chirped, her wide eye gleaming with curiosity.
Spawn barely slowed his pace as he walked past her, offering only a vague reply. "Nothing important."
Niffty seemed content with that, though, as she scurried off to resume whatever task she had been working on. Spawn took a moment to breathe, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He hadn't realized how much tension had built up since his encounter with those demons. His head was still spinning with the cryptic words of Callister and the chaos of the fight.
Just as he was trying to steady himself, he was approached by Charlie. Unlike Niffty, she moved more cautiously, her expression measured and calm.
"Hey, Al," she greeted him, her tone far more subdued than before. There was a hint of nervousness behind her usually bright demeanor. "I'm not one to pry, but some of us in the hotel have been wondering… who are you, really? What's your story?"
Spawn tensed, his green eyes narrowing behind his mask. "I'm someone who doesn't want to be bothered," he replied coldly, trying to make it clear that he had no interest in discussing his past.
Charlie gave a small nod, trying her best to respect his boundaries. "T-That's what I told everyone. That when you're ready, you'll share with us."
"Not likely." Spawn said, his tone flat and curt.
Spawn was already turning to walk away when she added, "I just thought you should know… While the people around here might be a little strange, they're good people. They care about each other, and as long as you're staying here, they care about you too."
He stopped in his tracks, her words hanging in the air. There was something earnest about the way she said it. It wasn't forced or contrived—just a simple, honest sentiment.
She took a step closer, her voice soft but steady. "We may not have a lot, but what we do have… you're welcome to it."
For a brief moment, Spawn didn't know how to respond. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him with such kindness—without asking for anything in return. Part of him wanted to dismiss it, to brush off the gesture as naïve, but there was a small part of him, deep down, that wondered if maybe she meant it.
Without another word, he continued walking, leaving Charlie standing there with a hopeful look in her eyes.
But even as he moved further away from her, the weight of her words stayed with him.
Sitting in his sleek, high-tech chair, Vox's eyes glowed dimly, his fingers tapping impatiently against the metal armrests. He had been waiting for a report from his men for far too long, and with each passing second, his mood soured further. They should've been back by now with answers. Valentino was already fuming, and Vox couldn't afford to look incompetent in front of him.
Finally, the silence was broken by the shrill ring of his phone. Snatching it up, he answered without hesitation, his voice sharp. "This better be good."
On the other end, the voice of one of his men came through, shaky and panicked. "B-Boss, it's bad. Real bad. The group… they were attacked. Only one of them made it out. The others are dead."
Vox's eyes narrowed, his neon features flickering as his temper flared. "Attacked? By who?" he demanded, his tone icy.
The man on the line stammered, "I—I'm not sure, boss. The survivor—he's in bad shape. He was shot, and he needs a doctor."
Vox's glowing eyes flared with annoyance. "I don't give a shit if he needs a doctor! You get him to tell me what he knows. Now!"
There was a moment of hesitation on the other end before the man replied, his voice trembling under the pressure. "H-He said the guy who did it... He took out everyone like it was nothing. Said something about... the area around the hotel being off-limits. That's all we could get out of him before he passed out again."
Vox's mind raced as the implications sank in. Whoever this person was, they weren't some random thug. They had wiped out his men with ease and claimed territory right under his nose. A cold, calculating rage began to build in his chest.
"Get that bastard talking again, I don't care how," Vox snarled. "And if he doesn't, make sure he never talks again. I want answers."
The man on the other end barely managed to mutter a "Y-Yes, boss" before Vox ended the call, slamming the phone down with a force that rattled the desk.
Whoever had the nerve to interfere with his business would soon find out what it meant to cross him. He wasn't one to let things slide—especially not when Valentino's reputation was at stake.