Unbeknownst to Spawn, someone had been lurking in the shadows during his takedown of Vox's men. A shaky phone camera had captured the entire brutal scene, from the moment he disarmed the demon to the effortless way he dispatched the others. The video, now making rounds on the darker corners of the web, had attracted significant attention, including the eyes of Vox himself.
Sitting in his high-tech lair, Vox's luminous eyes flickered as he came across the video. His expression shifted from curiosity to cold satisfaction as he watched the footage unfold. The masked figure in the video was taking out his men with precision and ease—too much ease for a simple demon thug. Vox paused the video, zooming in on Spawn's face.
"So... this is the bastard causing all the trouble," Vox muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like he thinks he's some kind of superhero reject."
With a smirk, he forwarded the video to Valentino, knowing his partner-in-crime would get a kick out of it. Valentino's response came almost immediately, his voice booming through the speakers.
"Who the hell is this clown? Is that a mask, or is he just that ugly?" Valentino cackled, his laughter dripping with disdain. "Look at him! What is he trying to be? Some kind of wannabe antihero? This is priceless!"
Vox chuckled darkly in agreement. "I know, right? Who does he think he's messing with? He doesn't realize what kind of game he's playing."
Valentino's tone shifted, turning more serious as the reality of the situation set in. "Doesn't matter what he looks like, though. He's taken out some of my best men. Yours too, by the looks of it. We can't just let this slide."
"Exactly," Vox responded, his voice low and menacing. "He's got to be dealt with. And soon."
Valentino's mind was already moving ahead. "Anyone in that area is in danger. Especially Angel. If this guy's marking his territory, he's not going to care who gets caught in the crossfire. We need to act fast."
Vox grinned. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Yeah," Valentino replied. "We go to that hotel and get Angel. Doesn't matter if he likes it or not. If this freak's got it in his head to take over, I'm not leaving Angel where he can get caught up in it."
Vox nodded, already making plans. "Right. I'll send some of my boys to back yours up. We'll make sure this little uprising gets snuffed out before it even starts."
Valentino chuckled darkly. "And when we get our hands on this guy, I'm gonna make sure he regrets every second of crossing me."
With the plan set in motion, the two ended the call. As Vox watched the video again, a dangerous glint flashed in his neon-lit eyes. Whoever this newcomer was, he was about to learn the hard way that no one messed with the Vee's business and lived to tell the tale.
Spawn stood on the roof of the hotel, staring out into the sprawling chaos of the city below. The neon signs flickered in the distance, casting faint, distorted shadows across the streets. The cool breeze tugged at his tattered cape as he tightened his grip on the ledge. This world—this Hell—was unlike anything he had ever known. Despite all his battles and the hellish landscapes he had traversed in his former life, nothing had prepared him for a place like this.
Everything about it gnawed at him: the grotesque parody of life, the strange inhabitants, and most of all, the uncertainty of why he was here. Callister's cryptic words lingered in his mind, pushing against his thoughts like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"Fighting myself…" he muttered under his breath, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. What could Callister have meant by that? All of his enemies had always been clear—faces he could identify, demons he could kill—but now, it was as if his true adversary was hidden, playing with him from behind a veil.
He thought back to Charlie. Her attempt to make him feel welcome was almost laughable. In the past, he'd have dismissed her kindness as naïve, but there was something different here. Despite his rough exterior, she hadn't given up on him. She didn't fear him the way Vaggie did. And even Angel Dust, with his incessant flirting and jokes, seemed to sense there was more to him than just the deadly shell he presented.
But none of that mattered right now. He wasn't here to make friends or find peace. He needed answers. And so far, all he had were cryptic remarks and the looming threat of something bigger than himself.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed into the horizon. The weight of his past, his failures, and the people he'd lost pressed down on him. There was no room for hope here. Only survival. And yet, this place, with all its misfits, seemed to offer something else. He wasn't sure what it was—maybe redemption, maybe something else entirely—but it was gnawing at him.
"Redemption…" he whispered, almost mockingly to himself.
He had no idea what role he was supposed to play in this twisted version of Hell, but he wasn't about to let anyone decide that for him. Not Charlie, not Callister, and certainly not the damned world itself.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a sudden noise from the streets below broke him from his reverie. He glanced down, muscles tensing as his instincts flared up. Another fight, another confrontation? He wasn't sure. But there was one thing he did know—whatever this place was, whatever trials it threw at him, he'd face them head-on, just like he always had.
He wasn't about to let this place break him. Not now, not ever.
As Spawn stood on the roof, brooding in the eerie silence, the sound of screeching tires tore through the air, yanking him from his thoughts. His eyes narrowed as he peered down at the scene unfolding below. Several cars pulled up to the hotel, each one sleek and black, but clearly not the kind driven by guests. They looked more like enforcers than visitors.
Downstairs, the hotel was bustling as usual until the front doors burst open, and several demons strode in, their presence immediately unsettling. Charlie, with her usual warmth, approached them cautiously, trying to mask her apprehension.
"Uh, can I help you?" she asked, her voice steady but tense.
"We're here for Angel," one of the demons snarled, his rough voice echoing through the lobby.
Angel Dust, lounging on a nearby couch, immediately stood up. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—what the hell is this about?" he said, trying to play it cool, but there was an edge of unease in his voice. He knew exactly who these demons worked for.
One of the enforcers turned to him, his eyes gleaming with menace. "Valentino wants you back. You're coming with us, whether you like it or not."
Angel scoffed, stepping back defensively. "I'm fine right where I am, thank you very much."
But the demons weren't here to negotiate. One of them grabbed Angel by the arm, yanking him toward the door. Before Angel could protest, another demon advanced, clearly prepared to make sure Angel didn't go anywhere except into their custody.
"Get your hands off me!" Angel shouted, struggling against their grip.
Just then, a voice echoed down from the top of the grand staircase. Deep and cold.
"There's no vacancy here," Spawn growled. "You need to leave."
The demons froze, turning their attention upward. And there, standing like a specter of death at the top of the stairs, was Spawn. His dark, imposing figure loomed over the scene. The tension in the room shifted. The demons quickly recognized him from Vox's description—the one who had been causing all the trouble. The one they were warned about.
"That's him," one of the demons muttered, raising his gun.
In an instant, the room exploded into chaos.
Without hesitation, Spawn drew his pistol—the one he had taken off a demon earlier—and fired. His shot found its mark, taking down one of the demons before they even had a chance to return fire. The rest of the enforcers scrambled, pulling their weapons and shooting wildly.
But Spawn was faster, deadlier.
He leapt down from the stairs, his movements almost supernatural. He fired shot after shot, dispatching as many demons as he could with calculated precision. Their bullets barely grazed him, and the few that did penetrate his skin were rendered useless as his wounds healed almost immediately. The demons looked on in horror as they realized they were hopelessly outmatched.
When his pistol clicked empty, Spawn tossed it aside without a second thought. He didn't need it.
He charged forward, his fists becoming his weapons. The lobby erupted into a brutal scene of carnage. One demon was slammed into the floor so hard that the floor splintered beneath him. Another found himself caught in Spawn's grasp, his neck snapped like a twig before being tossed across the room like a ragdoll.
The demons tried to retreat, but there was no escape. Spawn moved like a force of nature—tearing limbs, breaking bones, and sending bodies flying. Each strike was merciless, and the entire display was an exhibition of raw power and brutality. Blood splattered across the walls, pooling on the pristine floors of the hotel lobby.
Alastor, standing near the back of the room, watched the entire ordeal with a twisted grin. His red eyes gleamed with sadistic delight, clearly enjoying the show. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to join in the bloodbath, but he refrained, content to be a spectator for now.
Beside him, Niffty bounced on her toes, her wide grin matching Alastor's. "Ooooh, this is fun!" she chirped, her voice full of morbid cheer as she watched Spawn dismantle the demons with ease. "I love a good fight!"
As the last demon fell, his body crumpling to the floor, Spawn stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with barely contained fury. The hotel lobby was wrecked—furniture overturned, blood splattered everywhere, and the once-luxurious space now resembled a warzone.
Silence fell over the room, broken only by the quiet clinking of metal as Spawn retrieved his discarded pistol.
Charlie, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally stepped forward. "W-what just happened?" she stammered, her voice trembling slightly as she took in the devastation.
"They came for Angel," Spawn said coldly, not bothering to look at her. "They won't be coming back."
Angel, still shaken from the whole ordeal, glanced at Spawn, wide-eyed. "Uh, thanks for the... assist?"
Spawn didn't respond, merely holstering his gun as he turned toward the door. He had made his point, but he knew this wasn't over. Valentino, Vox—whoever sent those demons—wouldn't take this lying down.
He was ready for them.
As Spawn made his way out of the hotel, Alastor chuckled quietly to himself, his grin never fading.
"Well, that was quite the spectacle," he said, glancing over at Niffty. "Don't you agree, darling?"
"Oh, absolutely!" Niffty chirped. "I can't wait to see what happens next!"
Alastor's eyes gleamed with sinister anticipation. "Oh, indeed. This is just the beginning."
As Spawn made his way toward the exit, Charlie stepped in front of him, her hands trembling slightly though she tried to keep her voice steady.
"Wait," she called, her eyes wide but soft. "I… I just wanted to say thank you—for helping Angel back there. That could have gotten a lot worse if you hadn't stepped in."
Before she could continue, Vaggie stormed forward, her eye blazing with fury. "Hold on a second," she snapped, pointing a finger at Spawn. "What you just did? That was needlessly sadistic! We're trying to build something different here, something better. You can't go around ripping people apart like that!"
Spawn's eyes flickered toward Vaggie, and he began to brush her off, turning slightly as if to leave.
"No, don't you dare walk away from me!" Vaggie continued, her voice rising. "You pull something like that again, and you're gone. You understand me? This place isn't some warzone where you can just butcher anyone you want!"
Spawn stopped, his cape billowing slightly behind him as he turned back, a low growl forming in his throat. "And what exactly are you going to do about it?"
Vaggie clenched her fists, but before she could respond, Charlie quickly stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation. "Listen, Al," she said, her voice calm but firm. "We really do appreciate what you did. But Vaggie's right. This hotel… it's supposed to be different. We're trying to give people a second chance. Violence like that? It goes against everything we're trying to do."
Spawn stood there for a moment, his gaze flicking from Vaggie to Charlie. He grunted in response, clearly uninterested in a debate. His acknowledgment was half-hearted at best, but he turned and began walking back to his room without another word.
As the heavy footsteps faded up the stairs, the tension in the room remained thick, leaving Charlie and Vaggie to exchange glances. Angel, still shaken, watched quietly, unsure of what was to come next.
As Spawn's heavy footsteps faded away, the tension in the room slowly began to ease, though not entirely. Vaggie let out an exasperated sigh, running her fingers through her hair as she paced in frustration. "I can't believe he did that. What was he thinking? He tore them apart like they were wet paper! That's not how we do things here—at all."
Charlie, standing beside her, bit her lip. "I know, Vaggie. It was... excessive. Way more than what was necessary." She paused, glancing toward the now bloodied and disheveled lobby. "But still, I don't think kicking him out is the answer. There's something about him… I feel like there's more going on inside than we realize."
Husk, perched at the bar with a glass in hand, grunted as he took a swig. "No doubt about that. Guy's efficient, ruthless even. Seen enough in my time to know when someone's done that kind of thing before—hell, he moved like it's second nature to him."
Angel, still shaken but trying to pull himself together, nodded slowly. "Look, I'm not gonna lie—that was violent as hell, but… he did save me. I don't think I was walking out of that situation on my own. So, yeah, thanks to him for that, even if he did it in the most brutal way possible."
Vaggie crossed her arms, still fuming but less intense now. "I get it. He saved you. But we can't just let that slide. It goes against everything we're trying to build here. He can't just act like the hotel's his personal battlefield."
Charlie sighed, conflicted but holding on to her hope. "I'll talk to him again. We just need to give him time. Everyone deserves a chance—even him."
As the group stood in silence, each processing what had just unfolded, they couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't be the last time Spawn's methods clashed with the hotel's ideals.