Blitzo, ever the curious one, glances between Spawn and the wreckage of the casino. The adrenaline from the chaos still buzzing in his system, he steps closer to Spawn, his usual cocky grin slipping just slightly as he squints at the imposing figure.
"So, what exactly did you do in there, huh?" Blitzo asks, his voice low, a mischievous smirk forming on his face. "I mean, you don't leave a place like that with all those explosions and screaming and... just walk out, do you?"
Spawn just shrugs, his tone clipped. "Handled it."
Blitzo snorts. "Handled it? That's your big explanation?" He shakes his head, not satisfied. "You've gotta tell me more than that."
Without waiting for Spawn to respond, Blitzo spins on his heel, heading back toward the casino. "Alright, if you won't tell me, I'll find out for myself," he mutters under his breath, half to himself.
Moments later, Blitzo returns, his face a shade paler than before, his eyes wide and a little unsettled. The usual swagger in his step is gone, replaced by an unnerving hesitation.
He approaches the group cautiously, glancing around as if he's checking for something. Millie and Moxxie look up, the tension still heavy in the air.
Blitzo clears his throat, attempting to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, so... don't go in there. Seriously. Don't even think about it."
The others look at him, confused, and Moxxie shifts uncomfortably, his earlier anger still simmering under the surface.
"What happened?" Millie asks, her tone concerned, her gaze darting between Blitzo and Spawn.
Blitzo takes a deep breath before speaking again, his voice almost a whisper, as if recounting a nightmare. "I saw Crimson. Well, what was left of him." He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his words. "Spawn didn't just kill him... he ruined him. I... I've never seen anything like it. His whole office is wrecked, the walls are... well, let's just say, it's a real mess in there. You don't want to know the details."
He shudders visibly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought I'd seen it all, but damn. Spawn doesn't just finish people off. He makes sure they never get up again."
There's a long silence as the group processes this. Millie glances toward Spawn, then back to Blitzo, concern etched on her face.
Moxxie, still quiet, simply nods in understanding, his eyes shadowed with a mix of relief and something darker.
"Right," Blitzo continues, his usual humor gone. "So yeah, don't even think about going in there. It's gonna haunt me for a while."
Loona, who had been mostly quiet, looks over at Spawn with a raised eyebrow, clearly surprised by Blitzo's rare moment of being unsettled. "I guess that answers what 'handled it' means."
Spawn doesn't respond, his face an unreadable mask. He stands there, watching Moxxie, his expression a silent acknowledgment of the brutal end Crimson had earned.
Blitzo sighs, shaking his head. "Well, I guess that's one way to handle business." He looks at Moxxie then, his voice softening. "You good, Moxxie? Really?"
Moxxie's gaze flickers to Blitzo, then to Spawn, before he simply nods, trying to keep his composure despite the flood of emotions. "Yeah. I'll be fine." His voice is steady, but the weight of everything is still there, thick in the air.
"Good," Blitzo mutters, clapping Moxxie on the back harder than necessary. "Cause you've earned yourself a drink, buddy. Maybe a few. Hell, make it a dozen."
Moxxie offers a small, weary smile. "Maybe after I've... had some time to think."
The night has shifted, but a certain heaviness remains, particularly in the quiet space between Moxxie and Spawn.
Millie looks to Verosika, thanking her for calling and letting her know what was going on.
Verosika nods, her gaze softening as she looks at Millie. "Don't thank me just yet," she says, her voice low. "I didn't do it for Blitzo. I did it because no one should have to go through what you two did... and I wasn't about to let that bastard get away with it."
Millie smiles through her tears, her hand still resting on Moxxie's shoulder as he starts to calm down. "I know you didn't have to, but... thank you, anyway. We really appreciate it."
Verosika gives a small, almost reluctant smile, her usual bravado slipping for just a moment. "Just take care of each other," she says, her tone unexpectedly sincere. "You've got enough to deal with without people like him trying to tear you apart."
Millie nods, squeezing Moxxie's hand. "We will. You just... take care of yourself too, alright?"
Verosika smirks again, though it's softer than usual. "I always do," she says, turning her back on them to rejoin her crew, her heels clicking with purpose.
As she walks away, Millie watches her for a moment, before turning back to Moxxie, the weight of the night still heavy but slowly starting to ease off. She's glad, at least, that despite everything, there were people who stood up when it mattered most. Even someone like Verosika, who had no obligation to.
With a sigh, Millie sits down beside Moxxie, pulling him gently into a hug again. "You did good, Mox," she whispers, holding him close, "You're safe now."
As Loona crinkles her nose at Moxxie, she asks dryly, "So... gin, huh? Is that, like, your go-to, or was the place just that trashed?"
Moxxie shrugs, his voice quiet but steady. "It was the only unbroken bottle left," he replies, managing a faint smirk despite everything.
Loona huffs, leaning back. "Figures," she mutters, crossing her arms but not pressing further.
Meanwhile, as Spawn turns to leave, Millie's voice rings out, firm and grateful. "Hey! Thank you... for saving my husband."
Spawn pauses, glancing over his shoulder. His glowing green eyes meet Millie's, and for a moment, time feels like it slows. In her tearful embrace of Moxxie, Spawn sees a ghost of his own life—a fleeting image of himself holding Wanda close after a long day. The way Millie clutches Moxxie is achingly familiar, a reflection of a love Spawn once knew too well.
He doesn't respond right away, the weight of the memory settling over him like a shadow. Finally, he nods, his deep voice resonating low and steady. "Take care of each other," he says, more an order than a suggestion, but there's an unmistakable softness beneath it.
With that, Spawn pulls his cape tighter around him, disappearing into the darkness. Millie watches him go, her hand still resting protectively on Moxxie's back, grateful for the unlikely savior who helped them when they needed it most.
As Spawn's silhouette faded into the distance, Moxxie sat quietly, his head leaning against Millie's shoulder. His mind raced with memories and emotions, each one more vivid than the last. For the first time in his life, the weight of his father's oppressive shadow felt lifted, like chains that had silently bound him were finally broken.
His mother's face came to mind—gentle and kind, the only warmth he'd ever known in his childhood. He thought of the nights she'd tried to shield him from his father's wrath, of her quiet strength in the face of Crimson's cruelty. Her voice echoed faintly in his mind, reminding him to stay strong, to never lose himself no matter what.
Moxxie's eyes welled up again, but this time, it wasn't from grief or anger. It was relief. His father's reign of terror was over, and justice—or maybe vengeance—had finally been served.
"I don't have to live in his shadow anymore," Moxxie murmured, almost to himself.
Millie squeezed his hand tightly, her love and support unwavering. "You never did, Moxxie. You've always been better than him."
Blitzo, leaning against the casino wall with Loona, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his usual snark subdued for once. Even he could recognize that this was a moment Moxxie needed for himself.
As the group started to move, heading away from the wreckage of Crimson's empire, Moxxie took one last look at the ruined casino. His past had been laid to rest in the rubble, and now, for the first time in a long time, he could look to the future without fear.
"Let's go home," he said softly, his voice steadier now. Millie smiled and kissed his cheek as they walked into the night, leaving the ghosts of the past behind.
Moxxie, in his strange state of emotions, could feel a sort of ease come into himself. And he felt a song form from it.
Don't know how it took so long
To see where I belonged
Years of your grip on me
Now your twisted throne is gone
So I'll stare at the flames with these bloodshot eyes
As the ashes bury every scar you left behind
I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
I tell myself that I don't hate you at all
I'm not lying, denying
That I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
Now the truth's so clear, and I don't need you here
You're just a shadow now—I'm glad you disappeared
So I'll raise up a glass to the life I've found
And when morning comes
I'll forget you dragged me down
I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
I tell myself that I don't hate you at all
I'm not lying, denying
That I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
First time you struck at me
I should have broken free
I should have known I could be so much better
But I hope you're hearing me
I hope it makes you see
That I'm free forever
And now it's coming clear that I don't need you here
You're just a shadow now—I'm glad you disappeared
I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
I tell myself that I don't hate you at all
I'm not lying, denying
That I feel so much better
Now that you're gone forever
And now you're gone forever
It was strange to say all of that, but it was genuinely how Moxxie felt. It was going to take a long time to get over all of this. Especially with how long he endured it... But it felt right. It felt like, for the first time in his life, he could truly
As Millie wrapped her arm around Moxxie, supporting him as they walked away from the casino's ruins, she leaned in close. Her voice was as sweet as honey, but the words carried an unmistakable edge.
"If you ever do something that reckless again, Moxxie, I swear I'll bite your penis off," she said, a loving smile on her face that didn't quite match the seriousness in her tone.
Moxxie froze for a moment, glancing down at her with wide eyes. He quickly realized she wasn't joking. "Y-Yes, dear," he stammered, swallowing nervously.
Behind them, Blitzo let out a loud snort, unable to contain his amusement. "Oh, I like this energy, Millie," he said, nudging Loona. "She's keeping him on a short leash—literally!"
Loona smirked, crossing her arms. "At least we know who the real boss of the relationship is," she added dryly.
Moxxie groaned, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering exhaustion. "Can we not make jokes at my expense right now? I just had the worst night of my life."
Millie gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, her expression softening. "Fine, but just remember: no more stunts like that. I can't lose you, Moxxie."
Her words carried more weight than any threat could, and Moxxie gave her a small, apologetic smile. "You won't, Millie. I promise."
Blitzo and Loona shared a glance, their teasing fading as they saw the genuine affection between the two. For all the chaos they'd been through, it was moments like this that reminded them why they stuck together.
As Spawn materialized at the far end of the hotel's winding road, the faint glow of Hell's skyline cast eerie shadows across his battered figure. Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned against a nearby streetlamp, his mind racing with everything that had just transpired. The confrontation, the memories, Moxxie's anguish—all of it weighed heavily on him.
He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered to himself, "Maybe I'm going soft..."
A familiar voice broke through the heavy silence. "Soft is a relative term," Cain said, stepping out from the shadows. His posture casual, yet his gaze was keen. "Just because you did something good, Al, doesn't mean you've gone weak."
Spawn narrowed his eyes, straightening up. "You've got an opinion on everything, don't you?"
Cain chuckled lightly, crossing his arms. "I call it as I see it. Look, you didn't do it for glory or recognition. You did it because it needed to be done. That's not soft. That's strength with a purpose. Hell, that's rare."
Spawn folded his arms, skeptical but silently considering Cain's words. "I'm not sure Moxxie or his wife would agree. I left more carnage than they probably expected."
"And yet," Cain replied, gesturing broadly, "you didn't just end Crimson and leave it at that. You gave that little imp a choice. You let him face his demons and walk away from them—something no one ever gave him the chance to do before. That's not soft, Spawn. That's... human."
For a moment, Spawn didn't say anything. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the faint hum of distant activity from the hotel.
"Maybe I've just been here too long," Spawn finally muttered, his tone gruff.
Cain shrugged. "Maybe. But even if that's true, it doesn't change the fact that what you did tonight mattered." He turned to leave, pausing briefly. "Just don't lose yourself in this place. You're more than just the chains and the guns."
As much as he hated to admit it, Cain had a point—strength didn't always have to mean destruction.
Maybe there was still a part of him that remembered what it meant to be human.
Spawn stopped mid-step, his gaze narrowing as he turned back toward Cain. "How the hell do you know about Crimson? You weren't there."
Cain paused, his back still partially turned, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "The same way I know about most things." He gestured vaguely toward the horizon. "It's the curse."
Spawn furrowed his brow, his fists clenching slightly. "The curse? You mean the mark? What does that have to do with this?"
Cain let out a dry chuckle and turned fully to face him. His expression was a mix of resignation and bitterness. "When God marked me after... you know, He gave me more than just eternal life. He made sure I'd never be truly alone, but also never truly a part of anything again."
Spawn tilted his head slightly, not following. "What are you saying?"
Cain sighed, crossing his arms. "I can see anything I want. Anywhere, anyone. It's like a living, unending movie reel playing out in front of me. If I choose to look, I can see people, places, events... all of it. But that's it. No matter how much I might want to, I can't step into those moments. I can't change anything. I can't belong to any of it."
Spawn's eyes darkened as the weight of Cain's words sank in. "So you watched everything with Crimson? Moxxie, the casino, all of it?"
Cain nodded, his expression softening just a little. "Every damn second. And I've seen enough moments like that to know what you did wasn't just about strength or revenge. It was about giving someone a chance to break free, even if it came at a cost to you."
Spawn looked away for a moment, his mind racing. The idea of constantly witnessing everything yet never participating... it was a level of torment even Hell would envy.
"Why would He curse you like that?" Spawn asked, his voice quieter, almost reflective.
Cain shrugged, his smirk turning bitter. "Call it penance. Call it punishment. Call it a cruel joke. Doesn't matter. The truth is, it's just another way to make sure I never forget what I did. And trust me, I don't."
For a moment, the two stood in silence, the air heavy with unspoken understanding.
"Why don't you come to the hotel?" Spawn asked, his tone direct but not without a note of curiosity. "You're telling others to give it a shot. To try for redemption. Yet, you're out here, carrying this curse, staying away. Feels a little hypocritical, don't you think?"
Cain turned slowly, his expression shadowed. "It's not that simple."
Spawn crossed his arms, glaring at him. "Why not? If anyone knows what it's like to live with regret, with pain, it's me. You think you're the only one who's done something unforgivable?"
Cain took a step closer, the weight of his presence suddenly heavier. "You don't get it. You're working off the sins of your own life. I'm working off something far bigger. My punishment wasn't just for killing Abel. It was for being the first to do it. The first murderer, the first betrayal. You know what that makes me?"
Spawn said nothing, waiting.
"It makes me the blueprint," Cain continued, his voice low and bitter. "Every murder, every act of violence, every betrayal since—somehow, it all traces back to me. My hands aren't just stained with my brother's blood. They're soaked in the blood of humanity's worst moments."
Spawn narrowed his eyes, skepticism mixing with understanding. "So you think that means you don't deserve a shot? That redemption is out of reach for you?"
Cain let out a short, humorless laugh. "Maybe I don't deserve it. But that's not the point. The point is, even if I walked into that hotel, even if I wanted to try, do you really think God would forgive me? The guy who set the standard for every sin that came after? I'm not just carrying the guilt of one act. I'm carrying the weight of every act that followed. The curse isn't just something I live with—it's something I am."
For a moment, the two stood in silence, the tension thick between them. Finally, Spawn broke it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you don't deserve it. But who does? You think anyone walking into that hotel is spotless? You think any of them haven't screwed up, hurt people, ruined lives?"
Cain's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
"The point isn't whether you deserve it," Spawn continued, his voice firm. "The point is whether you're willing to try. And if you're not, then stop telling others to do what you won't."
Cain stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a tired sigh, he shook his head. "You always were good at calling people out."
"It's a talent," Spawn said dryly.
Cain gave a faint, bitter smile. "Maybe one day I'll take you up on it. But not today."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Spawn alone once more.
As Spawn walked back toward the hotel, the weight of his conversation with Cain lingered heavily in his mind. The night was quiet, save for the occasional echo of his boots against the pavement.
He had called Cain a hypocrite, pushing him to take a path he himself had resisted for so long. Spawn's thoughts drifted to his words to Moxxie earlier—lean on the people who care about you, don't let others define you. They were good words, words he truly believed. And yet, how often did he follow them himself?
The truth gnawed at him. He had spent so much time carrying his own burdens, keeping everyone at arm's length, refusing to let anyone see the man beneath the hellspawn. Even now, surrounded by others who might understand, he still resisted. He defined himself by his failures, his regrets, his anger. Was he any different from Cain in that regard?
"Hypocrite," Spawn muttered under his breath, the word bitter on his tongue.
As the hotel loomed in the distance, its flickering neon sign casting a warm glow against the night sky, he stopped in his tracks. The sight of it reminded him of what the hotel stood for: redemption, second chances, a place to let go of the past and move forward.
But moving forward required more than action. It required acceptance—of others, of himself, of the fact that even the damned could seek something better.
Taking a deep breath, Spawn resumed his walk, his steps slightly slower now. Maybe he wasn't ready to lean on others completely. Maybe he wasn't ready to stop letting his past define him. But the thought lingered, a small ember burning in the back of his mind.
Perhaps it was time to stop being a hypocrite. Or at least, to try.