Before metting up with Spawn, Moxxie made a quick detour back to the IMP office. He walked in quietly, holding a greasy bag of burgers in his hand. The smell of fast food wafted through the air as he set the bag down on the counter, looking around the office to see if anyone was around.
Blitzo was lounging on the couch, his feet kicked up on the table, flipping through a random magazine, and Millie was nowhere to be seen, probably out back sharpening knives or training.
Moxxie took a deep breath, ready to play the part. He straightened his tie, making himself look casual as he called out. "Got lunch! Thought I'd grab something before I head out for a bit." He knew it wasn't going to fool anyone for long, but it would be enough to keep them distracted.
Blitzo perked up at the mention of food, dropping the magazine with a loud thud. "Ooh, burgers! You're a good one, Moxxie. A real team player," he grinned, practically jumping off the couch.
"Yeah, yeah," Moxxie muttered, trying to hide the tension behind his smile. "Eat up. I'll be back in a little while. Just gotta... take care of something."
Blitzo, already halfway through a burger, waved him off. "Sure, whatever, Mox. Enjoy your important business. You're probably gonna go 'negotiate' with someone, right?"
Moxxie ignored him, his stomach tight with both irritation and guilt. As much as he hated to lie, he had to do this. He had to keep Blitzo and the others occupied while he handled what was about to go down with Spawn and his father.
With that, Moxxie grabbed his coat again, heading back to the door and leaving them behind with their burgers, hoping they'd be too busy stuffing their faces to ask questions.
His thoughts shifted back to what lay ahead. He had no idea how Spawn would react to meeting his father, but he couldn't afford to think too much about it. His dad's manipulative ways were nothing short of legendary, and Moxxie could only hope Spawn wouldn't fall for it.
He had his own part to play now, and no matter how much he hated it, there was no going back.
Loona walked in, her eyes flicking over to Blitzo, who was already finishing off his first burger. She gave a slight shrug and grabbed one from the bag, asking half-heartedly, "Who got these?"
Blitzo, not missing a beat, wiped his hands on his shirt and flashed a grin. "Moxxie, of course. He probably thinks we're all gonna die of starvation if we don't eat like, five meals a day or some shit."
Loona bit into the burger, rolling her eyes. "Sounds like him," she muttered, taking another bite. "Not that I'm complaining though... At least it's something decent."
Blitzo leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering over to her. "You know, we could've gotten the good stuff if Moxxie didn't spend all his money on 'being responsible'... What a nerd."
Millie hummed happily as she came from the back, twirling one of her blades between her fingers. As she walked in, she caught sight of Blitzo and Loona munching on burgers. With a smile, she cheerfully joined them at the table.
"Where'd you guys get these?" she asked, eyeing the burgers with a grin.
Blitzo swallowed his bite before answering, leaning back in his chair. "Moxxie dropped them off before heading out." he said nonchalantly, picking at his food.
Millie's smile faltered just a little as she looked up, thinking for a moment. "Hmm, wonder where he went... I thought he was just gonna be here with us today."
Loona shrugged, eyes narrowed in mild curiosity as she picked at her burger. "Knowing Moxxie, he probably ran off to deal with some serious shit. Who knows?"
Millie put her blade down for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. "Yeah, but... He usually tells us where he's going." She gave a slight frown. "Something feels off."
Blitzo waved her concern off with a dismissive gesture. "Moxxie's a big boy. He'll be fine. I don't have time for it."
Spawn leaned back in his chair, the flickering light of Hell's perpetual glow casting jagged shadows across the room. The brief moment of calm was a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, yet his mind was anything but still. His thoughts churned as he replayed his earlier conversation with Moxxie.
The imp's tone had been unmistakable—tinged with resentment, frustration, and just a trace of fear. Spawn recognized it immediately, the familiar cadence of someone trapped under the weight of a toxic parent. He'd heard it before, from others who had crossed his path.
"Shitty fathers," Spawn muttered under his breath, a bitter edge to his voice.
He wasn't naive. Hell was full of terrible people, and family ties didn't often mean much down here. But there was something particularly cruel about parents who used their children as pawns, bending them to their will, breaking them to fit into some twisted vision of power or loyalty.
Spawn closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He wasn't one to let emotions cloud his judgment, but this? It hit closer to home than he'd like to admit. His own memories surfaced unbidden—flashes of betrayal, of being manipulated and used by those he trusted most. It was a wound that never fully healed, one that shaped who he was and how he moved through this damned place.
"Moxxie's scared," Spawn murmured to himself. "Not for himself, but for what his father might do."
It wasn't hard to see why. Crimson reeked of control, the kind of man who viewed others as tools, disposable and replaceable. Spawn had dealt with men like him before—men who thought power was their birthright, who didn't care about the damage they left in their wake.
Spawn's fist clenched. He wasn't here to play savior, and he sure as hell wasn't looking to get involved in another family's drama. But he'd agreed to this meeting for a reason. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was strategy—or maybe, just maybe, it was a sliver of something else.
A sense of justice? No. Not quite. Justice didn't belong in Hell.
But fairness? That was something Spawn understood. And if Crimson thought he could manipulate Spawn like one of his underlings, he was in for a rude awakening.
Opening his eyes, Spawn glanced at his cape, draped over the back of the chair like a living shadow.
"Let's see what this bastard wants," he muttered. "And if he's anything like I think he is, he won't like what he gets."
The knock on the door was soft but insistent, pulling Spawn from his thoughts. He glanced toward it, already sensing who it was. Before he could say anything, the door creaked open slightly, and Charlie stepped inside, her expression warm but laced with concern.
"Hey, Al," she said gently. "I hope I'm not bothering you."
Spawn leaned back in his chair, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly under his mask. "What do you need, Charlie?" he asked, his voice calm but guarded.
Charlie stepped further in, her hands clasped together nervously. "I just... wanted to check on you," she said. "I saw you talking with Moxxie earlier, and I wanted to know if everything's okay. You've had a lot on your plate lately, and now this..."
Spawn sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "It's nothing you need to worry about," he said, though his tone lacked the edge it usually carried.
Charlie frowned, her golden eyes soft with concern. "But I do worry, Al. Things feel like they're getting more complicated for you, and I can't just stand by and pretend I don't see it."
Spawn turned his gaze away, his fingers curling into loose fists. He didn't want her to push, but he also knew she wouldn't stop until he gave her something.
"Moxxie's got problems with his father," Spawn said finally. "And now his old man's got his sights on me. Figures someone like me could be useful to him."
Charlie blinked, surprised he was being so upfront. "And... are you going to talk to him?"
"Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice," Spawn said. His voice hardened slightly as he added, "But I'm not working for him, if that's what you're worried about."
Charlie took a step closer, her eyes searching his face. "That's not what I'm worried about," she said. "I'm worried about you. This... all of this—Hell, the Sins—it's dangerous, Al. And you've already been through so much. I don't want to see you hurt."
Spawn let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "Hurt? Charlie, I've been shot, stabbed, blown up, and dragged through worse places than this. I don't get 'hurt' anymore."
Charlie shook her head, her expression firm but compassionate. "I don't mean physically. You've been carrying so much anger, so much pain... I can see it. And I don't want it to get worse again. I don't want you to get lost in it."
Spawn looked at her, his glowing eyes unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed, leaning forward in his chair.
"You've got a good heart, Charlie," he said. "And I respect that. But you don't understand what it's like. The things I've done, the things I've seen... They don't go away. They don't stop. And I don't want you caught up in it."
"I can handle it," Charlie said softly.
"You think you can, but you don't know the half of it," Spawn replied. His voice softened, surprising even himself. "I don't want you to get hurt. Not because of me."
Charlie's eyes widened slightly at his words, but she didn't press. Instead, she nodded slowly, a small, sad smile forming on her lips. "I appreciate that, Al. Really, I do. But you don't have to shut me out completely. I'm here if you need someone to talk to, okay?"
Spawn nodded, though he didn't say anything else. He watched as she turned and headed toward the door, pausing briefly to glance back at him.
"Just... promise me you'll be careful," she said. "Whatever this is, I don't want to lose you."
He gave her a small nod, and with that, she left, the door closing softly behind her.
Spawn leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door for a long moment. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: Charlie's persistence, or the fact that he didn't completely hate it.
As Spawn sat alone in his room, the silence crept back in, but his thoughts were far from still. Charlie's words lingered in his mind, though they weren't the only thing weighing on him.
His fingers drummed lightly against the armrest of his chair, a subconscious rhythm to the storm brewing in his head. There was something he hadn't told anyone—not Charlie, not Vaggie, not Husk, no one. He was from a different world. A different Hell.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Hell here was chaotic, but it wasn't his Hell. Not the place where his torment had been forged. This place had its Sins, its Overlords, its bizarre rules, but none of it compared to the depths of torment and betrayal he'd endured back home.
Spawn hadn't spoken of it because he wasn't sure anyone here would understand—or if they did, whether it would matter. But now, with the Sins taking an interest in him and Overlords like Zestial offering cryptic warnings, he was starting to wonder if keeping his origins a secret was wise. Or even needed.
What if they found out? Would it change how they treated him? Would it draw more enemies, or worse, bring the demons of his past into this world?
His cape shifted slightly, as if mirroring his unease. He'd told himself that his past didn't matter here, that he was just another sinner among millions. But the more time he spent in this place, the harder it was to ignore the weight of his origins.
He thought about Charlie again. She was the kind of person who might understand—or at least try to. But could he trust her with something like this? What would she think if she knew the full truth?
Letting out a low growl of frustration, Spawn leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He'd survived countless battles, faced horrors that would drive most to madness, and yet the idea of opening up about where he came from, the full extent of his past, felt like a risk too great to take.
For now, he'd keep it to himself. But the question remained: How long could he keep that secret before it caught up with him?
The hour finally came, and Spawn found himself standing at his room door, adjusting the edge of his cape as he prepared to head downstairs. The thought of Crimson Knolastname weighed heavily on his mind. From everything Moxxie had said, it was clear this meeting would be far from pleasant.
As he descended the staircase, the familiar warm glow of the hotel lobby came into view, and with it, Charlie. She was talking to a group of the newer arrivals but broke away the moment she saw him.
"Al?" she called softly, walking toward him. There was concern in her eyes, her usual brightness dimmed by the weight of whatever she thought he was dealing with.
Spawn stopped in his tracks, tilting his head slightly as she approached. "What is it, Charlie?"
She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I just… I just wanted to ask if you're sure you're alright. Like I said, you've had a lot on your plate lately, and I—well, we—don't want you to feel like you're handling everything alone."
Spawn exhaled through his nose, the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. He appreciated her persistence, even if he didn't fully understand it. He wasn't used to someone genuinely caring without an ulterior motive.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice low but not as gruff as usual. "You don't need to worry about me. I've been through worse."
Despite the vagueness of his words, there was a sincerity to them that Charlie picked up on. She smiled softly, a flicker of relief washing over her. "Alright, if you're sure. Just… remember, you don't have to deal with things alone, okay?"
Spawn gave a small nod. "Noted."
It wasn't much, but to Charlie, it was progress—a sign that her belief in him wasn't misplaced.
As he turned and headed for the exit, she watched him go, her heart lightened just a bit. Whatever was waiting for him out there, she hoped that he'd find his way through it. And maybe he'd start to believe in himself the way she believed in him.
Spawn pushed open the hotel's front doors, the evening air of Pentagram City thick with the faint hum of chaos. Standing at the bottom of the hill leading from the hotel, Moxxie waited, looking about as excited as someone being led to their execution. His small frame was stiff, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides as his tail flicked in irritation.
Spawn descended the hill with measured steps, his glowing green eyes locked on Moxxie, who seemed to shrink further as the larger figure approached.
"Let's get this over with," Moxxie grumbled, not even bothering with pleasantries. "The sooner we do, the sooner I can be as far away from him as possible."
Spawn tilted his head slightly but didn't comment. He could already tell this wasn't going to be a pleasant encounter—for either of them.
Moxxie sighed heavily, glancing up at Spawn before taking a step forward. "Alright. I'll make the portal, but don't say I didn't warn you about how insufferable he is." He flicked his wrist, and with a sharp crackle of energy, a glowing green portal tore open before them. The shimmering edges glowed faintly, casting an eerie light across the two figures.
Beyond the portal lay a lavish view of Crimson's casino in the Greed Ring, its gaudy neon signs and gilded décor practically dripping with excess. The faint sound of jazz and the clink of glasses drifted through, accompanied by the chatter of demons gambling away what little they had.
Spawn stood still for a moment, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight. Finally, he turned his gaze to Moxxie. "You coming, or are you staying here to count how many ways this could go wrong?"
Moxxie rolled his eyes but stepped forward begrudgingly. "Trust me, I've already lost count."
With that, the two stepped through the portal, leaving the quiet of Pentagram City behind for the glittering chaos of the Greed Ring.
The casino loomed before Spawn and Moxxie, its garish neon lights reflecting off the darkened skies. The gaudy display was overwhelming, even for Hell. Spawn took a moment to take it in, his cape shifting slightly as if alive.
"Interesting taste your father has," Spawn said dryly, his glowing eyes scanning the chaotic, overstimulating facade.
Moxxie grimaced, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Taste? It's trash. Just like everything else about him." His voice carried a tone of bitter finality as he led the way toward the main entrance.
As the two approached the gold-encrusted double doors, a pair of burly, snake-like demons stepped forward, crossing their scaly arms to block their path. Their slit-pupil eyes darted between Spawn and Moxxie.
"Names?" one of them hissed.
Moxxie, clearly unimpressed, sighed and stood his ground. "We're here to see Crimson," he said curtly, his tone cold and professional.
The guards exchanged a glance, the larger of the two sneering slightly as he looked down at the imp. "And who's askin'?"
Moxxie's glare sharpened, his patience already wearing thin. "Moxxie. His son. And this is Spawn." He gestured toward Spawn, whose mere presence made the guards stiffen slightly. His towering frame and burning gaze were enough to set most demons on edge.
The second guard quickly cleared his throat, stepping aside and gesturing toward the doors. "Right this way. Boss is expecting you."
Spawn gave Moxxie a glance, catching the way his jaw tightened. Without another word, they stepped inside, the opulent and overly indulgent world of Crimson's casino spreading out before them.
The entire place was a monument to excess and avarice. Gold-trimmed slot machines stretched as far as the eye could see, their flashing lights and cheerful jingles a sharp contrast to the dead-eyed desperation of the gamblers. Waitresses, clad in barely-there attire, maneuvered through the crowd with trays of overpriced drinks, while every wall was plastered with posters promising impossible riches. It was shameless in its predatory encouragement to gamble away everything—even one's soul.
Spawn's eyes scanned the room, taking in the garish display. "This place doesn't even pretend to hide what it is," he muttered, his voice carrying a faint note of disgust.
Moxxie glanced at him, his face twisted in an expression of loathing. "Why bother? Everyone here knows exactly what they're walking into... or crawling out of." His voice dropped to a bitter mumble. "Just like everything else my father touches."
Before Spawn could respond, a sharply dressed demoness approached them. Her red-and-black suit was meticulously tailored, and a clipboard rested in her clawed hands. She eyed them both with a polite, professional smile that didn't reach her crimson eyes.
"Mr. Crimson is expecting you," she said smoothly, inclining her head toward Spawn. "If you'd follow me."
Moxxie stepped forward, but the assistant raised a hand to stop him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moxxie, but Mr. Crimson requested to speak with Mr. Spawn first. He asked that you remain here in the casino."
Moxxie froze, his tail flicking behind him as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What? Why? I—"
The assistant's polite tone didn't waver. "Mr. Crimson simply wishes to have a private word with Mr. Spawn. Rest assured, we will come for you shortly."
Spawn glanced down at Moxxie, who looked like he was about to argue. Placing a hand on the imp's shoulder, Spawn said, "It's fine. I'll handle it."
Moxxie hesitated, glaring at the assistant before stepping back reluctantly. "Fine," he muttered, his voice tight. "But don't let him try anything funny." He jabbed a finger toward Spawn, his expression pleading more than commanding.
With that, Spawn followed the assistant, the chaos of the casino fading behind him as they made their way toward Crimson's office.