Vox was still fuming when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, seeing Velvette's name flash across it. With a heavy sigh, he answered the call, the flicker of annoyance visible on his digital face.
"What is it?" Vox asked, his voice sharp.
On the other end, Velvette's voice sounded a little uncertain, but still cool. "The attack on I.M.P. was a bust."
Vox clenched his jaw, the frustration bubbling back up. "Of course, it was," he snapped. "I should've expected that. Those idiots you hired were no match for them, especially once Spawn got involved."
Velvette paused for a second, clearly expecting this reaction but unfazed. "Yeah, well, lesson learned. We'll try a different angle next time."
"Next time?" Vox scoffed. "Let's just be glad you didn't pull a move as stupid as Val did. You didn't go after the hotel, so you're still on my good side."
There was a brief silence on the other end, followed by Velvette's tone suddenly sharpening. "Wait… what did Val do?"
Vox let out an irritated sigh. "He went rogue and sent mercenaries to attack the damn hotel. Of all places."
The line went quiet again, but this time, the tension was palpable. When Velvette spoke, there was a noticeable edge to her voice. "That's... not good. You know what that place represents. And with Spawn there?"
"I know," Vox grumbled. "It's a disaster waiting to happen. Val doesn't seem to grasp that."
"We need to start getting our defenses ready now," Velvette said quickly, her urgency creeping through. "If Spawn retaliates—and you know he will—it's not just Val's problem. He'll come for all of us, and we need to be prepared."
Vox's screen-face flashed with static, a sign of his internal frustration. "I'm already thinking ahead. But you're right. If that attack on the hotel draws Spawn's attention, we're all going to have a hell of a problem."
Velvette didn't waste any more time. "Good. Then I'll double down on my end, too. We don't have time to play around."
As she hung up, Vox stared at his phone, a growing sense of dread settling in. Valentino's reckless move had set the stage for something much bigger, and now, they all had to brace for the fallout.
In Valentino's dimly lit studio, the air was thick with tension. Angel Dust sat tied to a chair, his wrists and ankles bound tightly, struggling against the restraints. His eyes darted around the room, noting the guards stationed at every exit, all armed and watching him closely.
The heavy sound of footsteps echoed through the room as Valentino entered, dressed impeccably in his usual lavish attire. His eyes locked onto Angel, his gaze cold and calculating. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply standing there, letting the weight of his presence settle in.
Angel, undeterred by the silence, glared at him, defiance written all over his face. "You think tying me up like this is gonna scare me? I ain't afraid of you anymore, Val!" he spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "When the others find me, they're gonna tear this place apart, and you are really gonna be in for it."
Valentino's face twisted into a smug smile, but it quickly vanished. Without warning, he stepped forward and smacked Angel hard across the face, the sound of the impact echoing through the room. Angel's head snapped to the side, his cheek burning from the force, but his eyes remained filled with defiance.
Val leaned down, his voice low and menacing. "Your friends? Whatever they think they're planning, it's nothing compared to what I'm about to do to you." He grabbed Angel's chin roughly, forcing him to look him in the eye. "I gave you everything—fame, power, luxury—and this is how you repay me? Running off to that ridiculous hotel? Shaking up with that freak in a mask? Thinking you can just leave me behind?"
Angel growled, jerking his head out of Val's grip. "You don't own me, Val. Not anymore."
Valentino let out a dark chuckle, leaning in closer. "Oh, I do. You've always been mine, Angel. You always will be. And now I'm going to remind you of that in ways you can't even imagine."
Angel's heart raced, but he kept his expression as steady as possible, unwilling to give Val the satisfaction of seeing any fear. He knew the others would come for him, but he wasn't sure how long it would take—or how much more of Val's twisted games he could endure in the meantime.
But one thing was certain—Valentino was about to cross a line, and once he did, there would be no going back.
At the hotel, the mood was tense. Charlie paced back and forth, her face etched with worry. Vaggie stood nearby, arms crossed, brow furrowed in frustration. Alastor, usually with a grin on his face, was oddly quiet, leaning against the wall as he watched the others debate. Husk downed another drink at the bar, clearly trying to drown out the noise of the tense conversations.
They were all trying to think of something—anything—that could get Angel back. But the reality of the situation was sinking in. The V's had power, resources, and their tower was a fortress. If they made any move, they knew they'd be walking into a trap, and the chances of pulling Angel out safely were slim.
"We can't just rush in," Vaggie said, her voice tight. "Valentino will expect that, and they'll have defenses up."
Charlie sighed. "I know, but we can't just do nothing. We have to find a way... there's gotta be something."
Meanwhile, Spawn stood apart from the others, staring out the large window at the sprawling city beyond. His mind was racing, full of anger, frustration, and guilt. This was his fault. Angel wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for him. The attack on the hotel was retaliation for what had happened at IMP, among everything else, and now Angel was suffering for it. Valentino had made this personal.
He clenched his fists tightly, his chains rattling softly beneath his cloak. The city's neon lights flickered in the distance, mocking him, as if daring him to act. He knew what needed to be done, but the risk...
Out of the corner of his eye, Spawn noticed a small figure moving toward him. It was Fat Nuggets, Angel's pet pig, who trotted up to him with an unmistakable look of sadness in his eyes. Fat Nuggets had always stayed close to Angel, and his absence clearly affected him.
Spawn, hardened by years of battle and torment, wasn't typically moved by emotions, especially not from something like a pet. But something about the way Fat Nuggets nudged at his leg, sniffling with worry, struck a chord. Maybe it was the pure, innocent loyalty in the pig's eyes—something so rare in Hell that it was almost alien.
He crouched down, extending his hand toward the pig. Using his necroplasmic energy, Spawn reached out with his mind, allowing him to communicate directly with Fat Nuggets. It was a skill he didn't use often, especially not for something so… seemingly small.
"I know you're worried, little one," Spawn said, his voice low, resonating in the small pig's mind. The necroplasmic energy flickered softly around his hand, connecting their thoughts. "Angel's in trouble, but we'll get him back."
Fat Nuggets looked up at him, his eyes wide and filled with a kind of desperation only a loyal companion could have. Through the bond, Spawn could feel the depth of the pig's fear—not for himself, but for Angel.
"I won't let him die," Spawn promised, his voice more resolute. He couldn't fix everything, but he could at least ensure that Angel wouldn't be another casualty of Valentino's schemes.
Fat Nuggets, sensing the truth in Spawn's words, nudged his head against Spawn's gloved hand in a gesture of trust. The moment, though brief, grounded Spawn. It reminded him of the responsibility he now had—not just to Angel Dust, but to those who depended on him. He might not care about Hell's politics or the petty squabbles of its denizens, but for some reason, these people—Angel and even this small creature—had found a way under his skin.
Standing up, Spawn turned back to the group. His eyes gleamed with a newfound intensity.
"Enough talking," he said, his voice hard and final. "We're getting him back."
Suddenly, Vaggie's phone rang, cutting through the tense atmosphere. The unexpected sound caused everyone to pause and glance her way. She checked the caller ID and raised an eyebrow.
"It's Carmilla," Vaggie said, looking confused. The name instantly caught Spawn's attention, and the room grew even more silent.
"Put her on," Spawn ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Vaggie accepted the call and put it on speaker. Carmilla's smooth, calculated voice filled the room, but there was an undercurrent of frustration that couldn't be missed.
"Spawn, I assume you're there?" Carmilla's voice came through, sharp but with a dangerous calm.
"I'm here," Spawn replied, stepping forward. He knew she wouldn't reach out unless something significant had happened.
"Good," she continued. "We need to talk. Your little incident at the hotel has caused quite the ripple. The Vee's have locked down their entire territory, and it's become a lot more... difficult for me to conduct my business. Valentino is flexing his muscles, and it's starting to get in my way."
Everyone in the room shared a glance. Valentino's sudden increase in security made sense now. It wasn't just a defensive move against the hotel or Spawn—it was a broader show of force, one that was disrupting the balance with not only Pentagram City, but with all other Overlords as well.
"And why do I care about that?" Spawn asked, though he already knew the answer.
Carmilla let out a dark chuckle. "Because you want to get back at them, and I want the Vee's to stop messing with my operations. We have a mutual interest here, Spawn. If you take down the Vee's, or at least put them in their place, things go back to normal. I'll even lend you some of my resources to ensure their little empire crumbles faster."
Spawn considered her offer. Carmilla wasn't someone he trusted, but at the same time, she had resources that could make this a hell of a lot easier. And right now, they didn't have the luxury of time.
"You want cooperation?" Spawn asked, his tone skeptical.
"Cooperation," Carmilla repeated, her voice icy. "You deal with the Vee's, and I'll make sure no one interferes. If anything, I'll give you the means to slip through their defenses. We can make aure that our talk will amount to something."
Spawn glanced around the room, taking in the hopeful expressions of the others. He wasn't one for alliances, but with Angel Dust's life on the line, the time for lone-wolf tactics had passed.
"Fine," Spawn agreed, his voice hard and deliberate. "But if you cross me, Carmilla, you'll regret it."
Carmilla let out a small, amused laugh. "You're not the only one with a reputation, Spawn. I'll be in touch soon. Make sure you're ready."
With that, the line went dead, and the room filled with a heavy silence.
Vaggie lowered her phone, still processing what had just happened. "Well... that was unexpected."
Spawn turned back to the group, his mind already whirling with possibilities. This wasn't how he wanted to do things, but Carmilla's help might be the key to slipping through the Vee's defenses and getting Angel back.
"Get ready," Spawn said, his voice like steel. "We're going to war."
Alastor, always eager to entertain himself by fanning the flames of chaos, took to the airwaves, his voice crackling through the radios and TVs of Hell like a sinister vintage broadcast. The cheerful static filled the air before his familiar, unnervingly chipper tone took over.
"Ah, my dear listeners! It seems that some poor fools had the audacity to attack the hotel! Now, I don't know about you, but I find it absolutely laughable. Oh, the ignorance! The absolute stupidity of it all! To think they could waltz in here, make a mess, and leave with their tails between their legs… What a show! A tragic, short-lived show, but a show nonetheless."
His voice oozed with condescension, though masked with faux politeness. He chuckled as if he found it all to be a delightful game.
"Oh, but let's not forget who orchestrated this little debacle! The Vee's—Valentino, Vox, Velvette. Yes, yes, I'm talking to you, darlings. Was it hubris? Desperation? Or just sheer incompetence? I can't quite decide!" He laughed, the sound eerie and filled with malice. "To strike at us, here, of all places? It's a joke, really. But, let me be the first to say, not the ha-ha kind, oh no. More like the 'oh dear, you've signed your own death warrant' kind."
Alastor chuckled softly over the airwaves. His message was all too clear and, if the Vee's were listening, they knew what was coming for them.