Back at the hotel, everyone was gathered around Spawn, still in disbelief at what had just happened. He sat on a chair, looking completely unfazed despite having just been dug out of a mountain of rubble. Charlie, ever the compassionate one, had brought over a full medical kit, prepared to tend to his injuries. She hovered near him, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Al, are you sure you're okay?" she asked, worry clear in her voice. She carefully scanned his body, but there wasn't a single scratch on him.

"I'm fine," Spawn grunted, waving her off. His eyes were distant, clearly already thinking about his next move against Fleshrend.

Charlie blinked, confused. "But you were buried under— I mean, how is there not even a mark?"

Even Niffty, who was standing on her tiptoe to get a better look, chirped, "Not a single speck of dust! It's like he wasn't even in the fight!"

Everyone exchanged glances, clearly bewildered. Husk muttered something under his breath, while Vaggie stood with her arms crossed, scrutinizing Spawn. The hotel had seen its fair share of odd characters, but this was beyond anything they had ever encountered.

Angel Dust, leaning against a nearby table, broke the silence with a smirk. "Alright, spill it, tough guy. What the hell are you made of?" he quipped, looking Spawn up and down. "Because you're clearly built different. Literally. No normal guy walks outta something like that."

Spawn didn't answer immediately, his mind still replaying the encounter with Fleshrend. He was already formulating a plan, thinking of ways to strike back. Angel's question barely registered.

"I've survived worse," Spawn finally muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

Charlie, still confused but relieved that he seemed fine, sat down next to him. "I know you're planning something, Al," she said gently. "But maybe—maybe you should let us help you this time."

Spawn glanced at her briefly but said nothing, his thoughts consumed by Fleshrend and the next inevitable confrontation. He wasn't going to stop until that monster was dealt with, but for now, he allowed Charlie and the others to hover around him, their concern something he wasn't used to but couldn't ignore.

Spawn, still sitting in the chair with everyone around him, remained firm in his resolve. Charlie and the others were concerned, but he wasn't about to drag them into something that was his responsibility. His eyes, still burning with the intensity of the battle, swept over the group.

"I made a promise," he said, his voice firm. "This isn't your problem. It's mine, and I intend to keep it that way. I won't put any of you in danger."

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, it was Vaggie who stepped forward, arms crossed and expression stern. Her voice was calm but firm as she spoke. "You're wrong, Al," she said, drawing everyone's attention. "This might be your fight, but you're here now. That means we look out for each other. That's how it works in this place."

Spawn turned his gaze to her, surprise flickering briefly in his eyes. Of all the people here, he hadn't expected Vaggie to say something like that. He was silent for a moment, absorbing her words. There was something in the way she said it—a sense of responsibility and solidarity—that made him pause.

"I don't need anyone looking out for me," he replied, his tone quieter than before but still resolute. "It's your job to protect this place. The best way you can do that is by letting me deal with the issue."

Vaggie held his gaze, not backing down. "And what if your fight puts all of us in danger anyway? You think keeping us out of it makes it safer here? You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."

Spawn didn't respond immediately. He wasn't dismissing her, but he was also not going to back down from what he saw as his responsibility. Finally, he nodded slightly, acknowledging her point without fully agreeing.

"I'll deal with the one who came after me," he said, his voice steady. "And I'll keep my promise. Just stay out of the way."

The tension hung in the air for a moment, but Vaggie didn't push further. She gave him a sharp nod in return, understanding that he wasn't going to be easily swayed but appreciating that he was at least listening. Charlie, still seated beside him, looked between the two, her worry not completely dispelled, but she knew there was no changing Spawn's mind when it came to facing this threat alone.

For now, they had reached an uneasy understanding.

As the group sat in tense silence, Alastor made his presence known, his voice cutting through the air with unsettling cheerfulness. "Well, well, well, my dear friends, it seems we have quite the predicament on our hands! Perhaps I could be of some assistance?"

Spawn's eyes immediately narrowed, filled with suspicion as he turned to face the Radio Demon. "Stay the hell away from me," Spawn growled, his posture tense, clearly off-put by Alastor's presence. He had seen his share of demons and tricksters before, and Alastor wasn't one he trusted in the slightest.

Alastor, unfazed by the hostility, chuckled lightly and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Oh, relax, Spawn. I'm only here to offer something that may pique your interest... Something you're quite fond of, from what I've gathered." His smile widened as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. "Guns."

Vaggie immediately stepped forward, her hand raised to stop the conversation before it could go any further. "Absolutely not. We're not—"

But before she could finish, Angel Dust interjected with a casual wave of his hand. "Oh come on, Vaggie. Everyone in hell is armed to the teeth already. What's the harm in a few more weapons?"

Vaggie shot Angel an irritated glare, but her words caught in her throat when she realized that Spawn was actually considering the offer, his sharp eyes locked on Alastor.

Still wary, Spawn stood up, towering over the Radio Demon. "I don't trust you," he said bluntly, his tone hard. "What's your angle? I've dealt with demons before, and I'm not interested in any of your deals."

Husk, who had been quietly observing from the side, grunted in agreement. "Damn right. Never make deals with a demon, especially this one."

Alastor smiled, an unsettling glint in his eyes. "Oh, but I'm not here to strike a deal, Spawn. No contracts, no strings attached," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "I simply enjoy a little chaos, and knocking the Vee's down a few pegs sounds like a delightful bit of fun, don't you think?"

Spawn's gaze hardened, still not buying into the Radio Demon's smooth words. "You still haven't told me what you get out of it."

Alastor's smile widened as he clasped his hands together, his tone taking on a theatrical flair. "What do I get? Oh, it's quite simple, really. The more powerful you become, the more chaos it brings to this lovely little world of ours. And! It means this hotel will have an even more powerful protector. You see, my dear Spawn, if you are seen as a force to be reckoned with, then this hotel becomes a sanctuary that people will start to take very seriously. And that, my friend, benefits us all."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed what Alastor was saying. While Spawn still didn't trust him, there was a twisted logic to what Alastor proposed. The Vee's were powerful enemies, and having more firepower might help even the playing field.

Charlie, who had been quiet up until now, looked nervously between Alastor and Spawn. "I don't like this," she admitted softly, "but... maybe it could help."

Spawn crossed his arms, still glaring at Alastor. "I don't need your help. I'll take care of Fleshrend on my own. But if you step out of line or try anything—"

Alastor chuckled darkly, waving his hand dismissively. "Perish the thought! I'm only here to help. Consider it... a gesture of good will."

Despite every instinct screaming that Alastor was trouble, Spawn couldn't shake the desire for what was being offered. He was still a soldier at heart, and the promise of firearms stirred something familiar within him. The weight of a gun in his hands, the precision of a shot—these were things he understood, things he could control. And in this chaotic world, control was something he sorely needed.

"Fine," Spawn finally growled, narrowing his eyes at Alastor. "But let's be clear. There are no deals, no strings attached. I get the weapons, and that's the end of it. If you so much as think about crossing me—"

Alastor raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin wide and unbothered. "My dear Spawn, you wound me with your lack of trust! As I said, no deals. You get the guns, and I get the... entertainment. Simple as that!"

Still suspicious, Spawn didn't drop his guard. He stepped closer, looming over Alastor as he reiterated the terms. "I take the weapons. You stay out of my way. This doesn't make me your ally, and it sure as hell doesn't make me your friend."

"Crystal clear!" Alastor chirped with a gleeful chuckle, unbothered by the intensity in Spawn's voice.

Satisfied that the terms were understood, Spawn asked, "So, where are these weapons?"

Without hesitation, Alastor produced a map from seemingly nowhere and unfolded it with a dramatic flourish. "Ah, here we are," he said, tapping a spot on the map with a sharp finger. "A lovely little warehouse on the outskirts of the city, full to the brim with all the firepower your soldier's heart could desire. Everything from rifles to explosives. An absolute treasure trove, I must say."

Spawn studied the map carefully, committing the location to memory. The idea of having access to those weapons gave him a sense of readiness he hadn't felt in a long time. His chains and cloak were formidable, but the thought of guns in his hands once again was enough to solidify his resolve.

Charlie, watching the interaction from the sidelines, looked uneasy but remained silent, trusting Spawn's judgment despite her clear discomfort with Alastor's involvement.

With the map now in hand, Spawn turned to leave, but not before shooting Alastor one last glare. "This isn't over. If you try anything, I'll deal with you myself."

Alastor simply grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. Now, go forth and have fun, my dear soldier!"

Spawn didn't respond, simply walking away, his mind already focused on the upcoming confrontation with Fleshrend—and the weapons that might just give him the edge he needed.

As Spawn was about to head out, Angel couldn't resist calling out, his voice flirtatious as always. "Leaving so soon, big guy? You know, you're like a knight in shining armor. Or, well, more like… dark, creepy, and badass armor, but still—totally hot."

Spawn, already on edge from his conversation with Alastor, felt his patience fraying. He turned, his green eyes narrowing beneath his mask, and without holding back, he asked, "Do you do that because you like it, or because your boss expects it of you?"

Angel's confident smirk faltered slightly. "What're you talkin' about, big guy? I just—"

But Spawn wasn't in the mood for games. "I know you sold your soul," he interrupted, his voice low and laced with something Angel hadn't expected. His hand crackled with green necroplasm as he gestured toward Angel. Suddenly, the air around the room seemed to shift, and Angel felt something cold and heavy manifest around him.

The others gasped in shock as a spectral chain, glowing faintly pink, appeared around Angel's neck, its links stretching back into the unknown. It shimmered eerily in the dim light of the hotel lobby, a reminder of a bargain made long ago.

Angel's cocky demeanor shattered as his eyes widened, staring down at the chain in disbelief. "What the—? How are you—?" His usual bravado faltered, and for the first time in a long while, he looked genuinely thrown off.

Spawn's voice was grim and knowing. "I can see it. Because I'm all too familiar with what happens when you sell your soul." He let that sink in for a moment, his gaze cutting into Angel's shock-stricken expression. "I've been there. I did it too."

Vaggie and Charlie exchanged uneasy glances, and Husk narrowed his eyes as if trying to process what they were seeing. The tension in the room was palpable.

Angel, still trying to recover from the revelation, demanded, "How… how do you know? And how the hell did you do that?"

Spawn let the glow of his necroplasm fade, and as it did, the chains around Angel shimmered for a moment longer before dissolving into the air, as though they had never existed. "Like I said. I know the deal all too well." His voice was quieter now, almost distant. "You're not the only one who made a bad choice."

Without waiting for a response, Spawn turned and strode out of the hotel, leaving Angel, Charlie, and the others absolutely stunned in his wake. Angel stood there, still feeling the lingering presence of those chains around his neck, his usual confident front completely shaken.

As the doors closed behind Spawn, Husk broke the silence with a low mutter, "Well… that was something."

Angel, still in shock, didn't have a comeback this time.