As Spawn lay on the mattress in his room, sleep came reluctantly, as it always did. But tonight, as he finally drifted off, he found himself hurled back into the deepest, most painful corners of his own hell.

The memories began as flickers, like distant flames in the dark, but soon they engulfed him in agonizing clarity. He was there again—the suffocating heat, the razor-sharp chains, the tearing of his flesh as the transformation took hold. He could feel the agony in every nerve, the twisting pain that felt like his soul was being shattered and pieced back together in a grotesque mockery of his former self.

And then, in the shadows, he saw her—his wife, Wanda, her form shimmering like a mirage, but her eyes hollow and accusing. He knew it wasn't her, knew these were just phantoms designed to break him, but the sight still tore through him. Every step she took toward him, every word she whispered, was a reminder of what he'd lost. The flickering illusion taunted him, reminding him of his failure to protect her, of the family that was forever beyond his reach.

The torment dragged on, the scenes shifting and warping, each more harrowing than the last. The pain, the guilt, the rage—all mixed into one relentless tide, dragging him down into an endless nightmare.

Spawn awoke with a start, thrashing and screaming in a guttural, raw rage. His chains, alive with his torment, whipped through the room, striking walls, tearing through the darkness, and barely missing the figure standing nearby.

Charlie.

She had rushed in upon hearing his anguished shouts, and though she barely dodged the first lash, she stood her ground, hands raised, her eyes wide yet resolute. "Al! Al, it's me! Wake up! You're safe, it's okay!" Her voice was calm but urgent, fighting to reach him through the torrent of his fury.

The chains halted mid-swing as Spawn blinked, his breathing rapid, each breath carrying remnants of the nightmare. He stared at Charlie, disoriented, as the room slowly came back into focus. Her voice, soft but steady, grounded him, bringing him back to the present.

He looked down, swallowing hard, the weight of guilt beginning to settle in as he realized how close he'd come to hurting her. "Charlie...I didn't..." he began, his voice faltering.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me," she reassured him, her eyes full of compassion. "Just... just breathe. You're here, not there."

Spawn let out a long, trembling breath, the tension easing as he clung to her words.

As the two sat together in the dark, Charlie softly asked, "Was it another nightmare?" She had been hearing him have them since he got here, but tonight's sounded particularly bad. She knew she needed to check on him when she heard it outside his room.

Spawn stared ahead, his eyes distant, as though seeing something far beyond the room. His hands fidgeted with the sheets, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to him. "Yes," he replied quietly, voice strained. "It's been bad lately. But tonight..." His breath hitched slightly, his fists clenching at his sides. "Tonight was different."

Charlie's expression softened with understanding, but there was a sadness in her eyes. She knew enough about his past, even without the details, to recognize the kind of pain he was reliving. She reached over and placed her hand gently on his arm, offering him comfort without pressing.

"I've heard you struggling at night, Al," she murmured. "But tonight, it sounded worse. I just... I had to make sure you were okay."

He turned his gaze to her, surprised at the concern in her voice. It was strange to hear someone speak with such genuine care for him. He'd been alone for so long, he almost didn't know how to handle it. "I don't know how to escape it," he confessed, voice barely a whisper. "It's... everything. All the things I've done. All the things that led me here. They use it against me. They make sure I never forget. I thought things would be different. That maybe I could leave it behind."

Charlie squeezed his arm, her touch grounding him. "Maybe it still can be," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It might take time, Al. But you don't have to do it alone. We're all here for you. You don't have to face it by yourself anymore."

Spawn looked at her for a long moment, his heart heavy with a mix of skepticism and something deeper — something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. Hope. He didn't know if he could ever fully escape his past, but for the first time, it seemed like maybe, just maybe, he could try.

Sitting with him in the dim room, Charlie gently broke the silence. "Al... who's Wanda?"

Spawn looked up, caught off guard. "How do you know that name?"

Charlie hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You were muttering it in your sleep," she explained softly. "I could hear you… in the nightmare."

He went quiet, wrestling with the memories. Finally, he took a deep breath and let the silence stretch a moment longer. "Wanda was… my wife," he admitted, his voice low. "The love of my life. She… was everything to me."

Charlie watched him, her face open and kind, absorbing the weight of his words. With a hesitant hand, he raised his fingers and summoned a faint, green glow from his necroplasm. As the light wavered, it formed an ethereal, translucent image of a woman — soft features, kind eyes, a gentle smile that seemed to float in the air between them. Wanda.

Charlie's breath caught, seeing this ghostly figure. "She's beautiful," she murmured.

Spawn nodded, lost in the memory. "She was," he said, a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. "I… failed her, though. I couldn't protect her. And everything I did, all the things that brought me here, I did it for her. And now… now, I can't even reach her."

The image of Wanda shimmered, fading as he lowered his hand, his gaze following it as though watching her disappear all over again. Charlie placed a gentle hand on his, grounding him once more in the present.

"I'm so sorry, Al," she whispered. "For all that you've lost. But… you don't have to carry that all by yourself. You have us here now. And maybe, in time, some of that hurt can heal."

Spawn looked down at their joined hands, struggling to process the comfort she offered. He wasn't sure if he could believe it, but for now, just having someone there beside him made the burden feel a little lighter.

Vaggie made her way down the dim hallway, she noticed the faint glow of light slipping from the slightly ajar door to Spawn's room. She wondered what had pulled Charlie out of bed at such a late hour, especially after such a long day of managing new arrivals. Concerned, she moved closer and peeked in, finding Charlie sitting quietly beside Spawn.

"Charlie?" Vaggie whispered, stepping into the room. Her gaze darted between the two of them. "What's going on?"

Charlie looked over at her, a soft, almost bittersweet smile on her face. "Al had… a nightmare," she said gently. "I thought I'd sit with him for a bit."

Vaggie's expression softened as she looked at Spawn, who seemed drained but calmer than when Charlie first arrived. She could see the strain on his face and, despite his usual stoic exterior, a lingering hint of vulnerability.

Spawn met Vaggie's gaze for a brief moment before looking away. "Didn't mean to wake anyone," he muttered, voice low. "Just..."

Vaggie stepped closer, resting a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "You don't need to explain," she said, understanding in her tone. "I just… wanted to make sure everything was okay."

Charlie gave her a reassuring nod. "It's okay, Vaggie. We're just… talking." She looked back at Spawn, an encouraging warmth in her eyes.

Vaggie stayed silent for a moment, sensing there was more beneath the surface here.

Vaggie paused, wrestling with herself for a moment before letting out a sigh. She knew Charlie deserved to know the truth, even if it would disrupt the peace of this one quiet night. She stepped the the entrance, shutting the door behind her before she sat on the edge of the bed beside Charlie and Spawn.

Charlie's curious, concerned eyes turned to her. "Vaggie… what is it?"

Vaggie took a deep breath, glancing at Spawn as if silently asking for his understanding. Then she turned back to Charlie. "Spawn told me earlier… he was confronted by Exorcists. Just earlier today."

Charlie's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and concern flickering across her face. "Exorcists? Here? Why—what were they doing?"

"They're looking for… something unusual," Vaggie said, her voice low but serious. "Spawn, his presence—it's on their radar now. And whatever he did to them… it wasn't just a normal fight." She looked at Spawn, a small trace of awe and worry in her gaze. "They underestimated him. But they won't make that mistake again."

Spawn shifted uncomfortably but didn't look away. "I didn't go looking for a fight," he muttered. "But I'm not letting Heaven or anyone else just wander around here and threaten us."

Charlie sat back, her expression growing pensive as she looked between Spawn and Vaggie. "I guess I always knew this would happen sooner or later. After the attack, Heaven kept its distance, and I thought—hoped, really—that maybe we had time. But it seems like that time is up."

She glanced down, her voice quiet but resolute. "They'll be watching closer now. If they came after you, it's only a matter of time before they start targeting the hotel or the people here again. All of us." She paused, her face hardening with an uncharacteristic look of determination. "But I'm not going to let them undo everything we've worked for. Not when we've got this much momentum."

Vaggie nodded in agreement, her eyes flashing with the same determination. "We've got each other's backs. And if they come for us again, we'll be ready."

Spawn looked at them both, feeling the weight of this new alliance. He hadn't asked to be a part of their world, but somehow, they had become his world—a strange refuge in this strange Hell. Whatever Heaven had planned, he'd stand by their side to protect it.

After a moment of silence, Charlie looked up at them both and managed a small smile. "We'll figure it out. Together."

In the ring of lust, Asmodeus was preparing to head out when he suddenly got a call from Beelzebub.

Asmodeus chuckled as he answered the call, his usual charm coming through. "Well, if it isn't the Queen of Gluttony herself! To what do I owe the pleasure, Bee?"

Beelzebub's laugh came through the line, warm and casual, though there was an undertone of curiosity. "Oh, just checking in," she replied smoothly, but then her tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Actually… I wanted to ask you about someone. This sinner calling himself Spawn. You know anything about him?"

Asmodeus paused, surprised by the question. "Spawn? Yeah, we crossed paths not too long ago. The guy's got a look about him, I'll give him that. But I'm still wondering how he ended up here in Lust in the first place." He leaned back, a smirk spreading across his face. "Not every day you get a sinner waltzing into a ring without… authorization, you know?"

Beelzebub sounded intrigued. "Right? From what Vortex told me, he's not exactly your typical hellbound soul. But if he's capable of getting around on his own, that's… different." She trailed off, as if lost in thought.

Asmodeus nodded, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Different's one way to put it. There's definitely something about him. More than just that edge. He's got power, Bee. The kind that's… unusual down here."

Beelzebub hummed in thought. "Unusual's putting it lightly. If he's moving between rings, maybe there's more going on here than just some new player in town."

Asmodeus nodded, intrigued now too. "Tell you what, I'll keep an eye out. If he decides to make another appearance, I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Ozzie," Beelzebub replied. "This one's got me curious."

They both hung up, and Asmodeus took a moment to consider. If Spawn had enough clout to attract Beelzebub's attention, he might be someone worth watching. Or, possibly, someone worth being wary of.

By the time most guests were rolling out of their rooms, Niffty was buzzing around the dining area like a whirlwind. Plates piled high with perfectly arranged breakfasts were lined up, each more colorful and enticing than the last. She darted from table to table, glancing back with eager eyes, watching for any sign of satisfaction—or heaven forbid, criticism.

Every bite a guest took, every small smile, or hum of approval seemed to feed her energy as much as it did her pride. She flitted back to the kitchen with a grin, muttering excitedly to herself about adjusting the recipes and planning lunch. For Niffty, this was more than cooking; it was an art, a display, and she was determined to be flawless at it.

Watching her work, Husk grumbled from behind the bar, shaking his head but smirking slightly. "Sheesh. You'd think she was trying to get these newbies to sign up for life," he muttered to himself.

But Niffty didn't seem to care. As she prepared a fresh tray, her eyes sparkled, and she whispered, "Let's see if I can win 'em over before lunchtime."

Niffty approached Spawn with a plate piled high with a stack of pancakes drizzled in syrup and topped with a pat of butter, a bright grin on her face. "I made extra just for you! Don't you want to try some?"

Spawn looked at her and gave a small, polite shake of his head. "No, thank you, Niffty."

Her smile faltered, just for a second, but she quickly recovered, nodding in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, there's plenty!" She placed the plate on the table next to him anyway, "Just in case."

He offered her a faint nod of thanks, though he knew he wouldn't touch it.

Spawn could feel the weight of their eyes on him, the whispers and murmurs drifting in his direction like a low hum. Some of the new guests tried to be discreet, casting only quick glances while others leaned in close, their voices barely above a murmur.

"Isn't that the guy they say defeated the Vee's?"

"He looks intense… like he's not one to mess with."

"Why doesn't he eat? Maybe he doesn't have to…"

Spawn kept his gaze fixed ahead, unbothered on the surface, though part of him was acutely aware of the curious stares and nervous energy they radiated. He was used to it by now—this blend of awe and fear. But here, in this strange halfway haven, he almost felt a tinge of regret that he couldn't just blend in like the others.

He let the whispers fade to the background, leaning back in his seat, lost in thought. Even as they watched him, he'd remain the mystery, the untouchable one they could only speculate about.

As the room quieted down, Charlie stepped up to the front, her cheerful smile brightening the room despite the challenging topics she was about to cover. She welcomed the new arrivals once more, explaining that they'd be diving into various activities aimed at helping them find a path away from sin, or at least towards self-acceptance and understanding.

She began by going over the basics: they'd start with sessions on managing urges, identifying personal triggers, and creating healthier outlets for their struggles. For those with substance issues, she assured them that tailored support would be available to help them work through their dependencies, offering not just lectures but hands-on guidance and community support.

As she spoke, her gaze shifted briefly to Spawn, lingering just a moment longer than usual. "And for those dealing with deeper struggles—trauma, or other difficult pasts—we're here to offer a space where those things don't have to define you. They're part of you, yes, but we'll be working together to help find peace."

Spawn noted the subtle glance, feeling a strange mixture of appreciation and skepticism. He knew she meant well, but a small part of him questioned whether the path she spoke of was meant for someone like him. Still, he respected her resolve and remained attentive, if not openly engaged.

Charlie continued, her voice filled with gentle encouragement, as she reassured the room that no one here would face their battles alone. The journey wasn't easy, but she was here to guide them—and she truly believed each of them had the strength to overcome, no matter what burdens they carried.

Doing what she loved, Charlie decided that a song might help encourage people.

Well, the road rolls out like a welcome sign

To a place where we all can leave hell behind

We don't need a perfect plan

But I've seen all of this fire I can stand

And I've got friends who are lost like me

We'll dive into the dark and see what we can be

Been waiting on a change to come

Let's take the leap, let's see if we're strong

And it don't matter to me

Wherever we are is where I'll be

And, honey, for once in our life

Let's chase redemption and roll the dice

I can be your lucky penny

You can be my four-leaf clover

Startin' over

The new arrivals all looked up at her, almost floored by what she was doing.

This path might not be lined with ease

There are bridges to mend and fears to seize

Some days might feel like hellfire

But there's hope even in the mire

'Cause no one wins afraid to try

And the hardest roads lead us to the sky

One day, we'll look back and smile

And know redemption was worth the trial

And it don't matter to me

Wherever we are is where I'll be

And, honey, for once in our life

Let's chase redemption and roll the dice

I can be your lucky penny

You can be my four-leaf clover

Startin' over

Startin' over

There was a short pause as she looked out over all of them. Letting them know that she truly meant what she was singing.

And it don't matter to me

Wherever we are is where I'll be

And, honey, for once in our life

Let's chase redemption and roll the dice

I can be your lucky penny

You can be my four-leaf clover

Startin' over

Startin' over

Oooh, ooh-hoo-hoo

Oooh, ooh-hoo-hoo

Spawn sat back, listening to Charlie but keeping his thoughts guarded. She'd created a place that genuinely cared about people's pasts, no matter how dark or convoluted, and he appreciated that. But this journey was different for him. Sharing about his mortal life had already been a significant step, a rare moment of vulnerability that felt strange in a place like Hell. Opening up about everything else—his battles, the countless horrors he'd seen, and the constant war he fought within himself—it felt like a chasm too deep to bridge just yet.

He could feel the weight of memories pressing at the edges of his mind: the battles he'd fought, the betrayals, the line he'd walked between Heaven and Hell in his own world, facing powers that wanted nothing more than to use him. Those scars weren't the kind you could just put into words. They were a part of him, tangled with his very being, in ways he wasn't ready to unravel.

For now, he'd stay silent. He'd focus on the present, on what he could control here and now. Charlie's program might be helping others face their demons, but he knew that facing his own would take more time—if he was even capable of it at all.

As he sat there, Spawn's mind drifted back to the encounter with the Exorcists, the intensity of the fight, and the look of alarm in Lute's eyes as she realized just how much power he wielded. If Vaggie was right, then Heaven had an entire army of these Exorcists, and Lute wouldn't be returning empty-handed. They would regroup, plan, and eventually come back for him.

He wasn't naive; he knew the way heaven's forces worked. They wouldn't rest until they understood—or controlled—what they feared. And a hellspawn with a fragment of divine energy would definitely catch their attention.

As much as he hated it, he'd have to keep a close watch. Lute and her soldiers weren't done with him, not by a long shot. And if they came for him, he'd be ready to meet them head-on—this time, with the full force he'd been holding back.

The Exorcists weren't leaving his mind. He didn't want them catching him off guard again—and while he respected what Charlie and the others had done to defend the hotel, he knew he couldn't rely solely on that.

He found himself stepping out into the quiet, deserted streets of the city as he went to find Cain. Cain, the ancient wanderer and his twisted guide in this underworld, had proven to be knowledgeable about hell and the forces that brought him here. If anyone would have answers about heaven's current activities—and just what he might be up against with these Exorcists—Cain was his best option.

As Spawn moved through the twisting alleys of the city, his senses sharpened. There was a subtle but unmistakable presence behind him—someone trying to stay hidden, trailing his steps from the shadows. He slowed his pace slightly, giving them just enough time to think they were going unnoticed.

It was no amateur who was following him; their footsteps were nearly silent, and they kept to the shadows with practiced skill. But Spawn had years of experience in both worlds, and he could feel the faint traces of energy this presence left behind.

He took a sharp turn into an alley and waited, letting the stillness envelop him. Seconds later, he sensed the follower cautiously approaching the corner he'd just rounded. With the silent grace of a predator, Spawn stepped back into the shadows, positioning himself behind them.

In one fluid motion, his chains shot out, wrapping around the figure and pinning them in place against the alley wall. Spawn stepped forward, his voice low and menacing.

"Alright, you've got my attention. Now, tell me who you are and why you're following me—before I lose my patience."

The jester wore a wide grin and had a wild look in his eyes, dressed in clothes so flamboyant they looked like they'd been pilfered straight from Mammon's closet. Spawn's eyes narrowed in distaste.

Spawn growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I fuckin' hate clowns."

The jester squirmed but managed to keep his unsettling smile intact, though his eyes darted nervously. "Now, now, big guy. No need for hostility. I'm just here to deliver a message, straight from the big boss himself."

"Who do you work for?" Spawn's voice was taut, the chains tightening around the jester's garish costume.

"M-Mammon," the jester stammered, the smile wavering. "He's taken a special interest in you. Wants to extend an invitation. Thought you two might have something to gain from… mutual cooperation."

Spawn's lip curled in disgust, letting the jester loose from his chains. "I don't have any interest in your boss, or any of his games."

As Spawn turned away, the jester let out a laugh—a shrill, taunting cackle that echoed off the alley walls. "You really think it was a request?" he sneered, his grin growing even wider.

Before Spawn could react, a swirling portal of green and gold light opened up beside him. In one swift motion, the jester shoved him forward, his gauntleted hand catching only empty air as he stumbled through the portal.