The hazy afternoon sunlight filtered through the crimson-stained glass windows of the Hazbin Hotel's lounge, painting eerie patterns of light and shadow across the room. The residents had gathered reluctantly, their collective energy ranging from mild disinterest to outright disdain. Seven guests sat scattered across mismatched chairs, each clutching a blank index card and pen like it might bite.
Charlie stood at the front of the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her hopeful smile unwavering despite the palpable tension in the air. Behind her, Vaggie leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her magenta eye darting between the demons like a hawk watching restless prey.
"Okay, everyone!" Charlie began, her voice bright with determined optimism. "Today, we're trying something a little different— Forgiveness!"
The reaction was immediate.
A low groan came from Husk's corner. "Oh, fuck me sideways. This is gonna be some touchy-feely bullshit, isn't it?"
"Husker," Alastor drawled from his perch, his tone syrupy and mocking. "Such language in front of our dear host. Show some decorum, won't you?"
"Fuck off, Radio Shack," Husk shot back, his tone as flat as his expression.
The groan rippled outward, spearheaded by Angel Dust, who sprawled across his chair with all the grace of a bored feline.
"Oh, great," Angel drawled, flipping a stray lock of hair with theatrical flair. "What's next, hot yoga and mandatory group hugs?"
Charlie's smile faltered for the briefest of moments, but she rallied, her golden eyes sparkling with determination. "Not quite! This is about forgiveness. Each of you has a card. I want you to write down the name of someone you hate—someone who's wronged you. It could be anyone. Then—"
"Then we burn the fuckin' thing and pretend the problem's solved?" Husk cut in, his wings twitching with irritation. "Yeah, sounds real productive."
Charlie took a deep breath, refusing to let his sarcasm derail her. "No, Husk. You'll either read the name out loud or forgive them silently. The point is to let go of the hatred and free yourself from its hold."
The room descended into heavy silence. Demons exchanged skeptical glances, their expressions ranging from amusement to outright disdain. Angel snorted loudly, breaking the quiet.
"Yeah, sure. Sounds like a load of bullshit."
"It's not bullshit!" Vaggie snapped, pushing off the wall to step forward. Her voice carried a sharp edge, cutting through the murmurs. "You're all here because you've got chains holding you down—figuratively and literally. You want redemption? Then start by dealing with your baggage."
Angel smirked, undeterred. "Like you're one to talk, Miss Perfect."
Vaggie's glare could have melted steel. "Say that again."
Before the brewing argument could ignite, Charlie raised her hands, her tone turning placating. "Please, let's just give it a try. If it doesn't work, you can go back to... whatever it is you'd rather be doing."
"I'd rather be dead," Husk muttered, lifting his flask for a swig.
"You are dead, dumbass," Angel quipped, earning a few chuckles from the others.
"Exactly," Husk replied, raising his flask in mock salute.
The reluctant energy shifted as the group finally began focusing on their cards. Each demon stared down at the blank surface as though it might bite back.
After what felt like an eternity, Angel Dust sighed dramatically, grabbing his pen with a flourish.
Cherri leaned over immediately, her grin wide and mischievous. "Whatcha writing, Dusty? Is it Val? Bet it's Val."
"Fuck off, Cherri," Angel snapped, slapping a hand over his card like it held state secrets.
Nearby, Gorrick rumbled under his breath. "This is stupid. We're demons. We don't forgive; we punish."
Vaggie's glare snapped to him. "If you're so above it, why are you still here? You wanna prove you're tough? Try forgiving someone."
The tension shifted. Gorrick grumbled but picked up his pen.
Angel was the first to break the silence. With a dramatic flourish, he held up his card for all to see. The name Valentino was scrawled across it in jagged, angry letters.
The room froze.
"Valentino?" Charlie asked gently, taking a careful step forward. "Do you want to—"
"I forgive you, you slimy, abusive, good-for-nothin' bastard," Angel cut her off, his voice loud and dripping with venom. "Forgive you for makin' my afterlife a goddamn living Hell. Forgive you for—"
"Angel," Charlie interrupted, her tone soft but insistent. "Maybe try... actually forgiving him?"
The sharpness in Angel's expression faltered. His gaze dropped to the card, his lips pressing into a thin line. After a long moment, he muttered, "Fine. I forgive you. For real this time." His voice softened, almost trembling. "But don't think I'll ever forget."
He tossed the card onto the table like it burned him and slouched back in his chair, avoiding everyone's gaze.
"Thank you, Angel," Charlie said warmly, her voice tinged with pride.
"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, waving her off. "Don't get all sappy on me, princess."
Next, Husk leaned forward, his claws scratching lazily against the card. He didn't lift it, only grunted.
"Himself," Vaggie read aloud, her brow lifting.
"Jesus fuck, read it out loud why don't ya?" Husk growled, snatching the card back. "Yeah, it's me. Big fuckin' surprise."
Charlie stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. "Do you want to forgive yourself, Husk?"
He scoffed, his ears twitching. "Nope. Next."
"Husk—"
"I said next," he snapped, his voice hard.
Vaggie stepped in, her tone shifting to something quieter. "Forgiving yourself doesn't mean forgetting. It just means moving forward."
Husk hesitated, then shoved the card into his pocket. "Fine. Maybe."
Cherri Bomb lounged cross-legged on the armrest of a chair, her ever-present smirk firmly in place as she spun the card between her fingers like a weapon. Her one good eye sparkled with mischief, though the set of her jaw hinted at something sharper beneath the surface.
"Guess I'll take a stab at this," she said at last, flipping the card over with a flourish. The name Dante was scrawled in bold, uneven letters.
"Some asshole from back in the day," Cherri explained, her tone light, almost dismissive. "Screwed me over big time, but hey, no hard feelings." She let the card dangle loosely between two fingers, then flicked it toward the trash can with practiced ease.
"Rest in pieces, Dante," she added with a smirk. "Hope you're enjoying the eternal flames."
The card landed neatly in the bin, and Cherri leaned back, stretching her arms with exaggerated nonchalance. "Done. Can we go back to blowin' shit up now?"
The group exchanged glances, some amused, others less so. Charlie offered Cherri a soft smile, but her attention shifted quickly.
Nyssa sat quietly at the edge of the group, her ember-like chains curling faintly around her wrist as if alive. She clutched her card tightly, her knuckles pale against her dark skin.
"Nyssa?" Charlie prompted gently, her golden eyes warm with encouragement. "Do you want to share?"
Nyssa's gaze flicked up briefly, but she didn't speak. Instead, she shook her head slowly, her movements deliberate. Holding the card close to her chest, she closed her eyes and murmured something under her breath, her voice too soft to hear. A faint heat radiated from her hand, and the card began to burn, the flames consuming it with a slow, glowing intensity.
The ashes fell silently to the floor, their faint orange glow fading into nothingness. Nyssa didn't look up, her shoulders tense but resolute.
"That's fine," Charlie said gently, her voice carrying no judgment. "You don't have to share if you're not ready."
The group watched in silence as Nyssa sat back, her gaze fixed on the smoldering remnants.
Taking a deep breath, Charlie stepped forward, her hands fidgeting with the card in her hands. She glanced at Vaggie, who gave her a subtle nod, then looked down at the name written in neat, deliberate script: Adam.
The room went utterly still, the faint creaks of the hotel's old woodwork the only sound. Even Alastor's ever-present grin faltered, slipping into something closer to neutral curiosity.
"I forgive you," Charlie said, her voice trembling but steady. Her golden eyes lifted to the group, filled with a quiet, unwavering determination. "For all the pain you caused. For all the lives you ended. And for making me doubt... whether redemption is even possible."
Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw. The quiet stretched long after she finished, and for a moment, no one dared speak.
Vaggie's gaze softened, her magenta eye filled with a rare mix of pride and protectiveness.
The silence broke as Vaggie stepped forward, her movements deliberate. She stared at her blank card for a moment, the pen in her hand motionless. Then, with a sharp motion, she began to write. Each letter came out jagged and firm, her hand steady despite the tension radiating from her frame. The name she scrawled across the card was one she had managed to come to terms with just a month ago: Lute.
Her jaw tightened as memories surged—searing pain, the unbearable loss of her wings, and the unshakable fear of that day. Her fingers gripped the card tightly, the edges crumpling slightly under the pressure.
Finally, she exhaled, her voice low but unyielding. "I forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I do."
Her hands trembled as she set the card down on the table, leaving it there as though it carried a weight she no longer wished to bear.
The group remained silent, their eyes shifting between Charlie and Vaggie. There was no sarcasm from Angel, no muttered complaints from Husk—just the faint, shared acknowledgment of what those words had cost them both.
Far above the lounge, beyond the reach of the muffled voices below, Sera sat alone. The grand staircase loomed behind her, its sharp edges casting faint shadows across the floor. She sat stiffly on a bench, a crumpled card clutched tightly in one hand.
The name Adam had been carefully scrawled across it, only to be savagely scribbled out, leaving the paper marred and jagged. Below it, written in shaky, uneven letters, was a new name: Sera.
Her wings quivered as faint embers flickered at their edges, casting sporadic bursts of light that barely reached the dim corners of the room. Her grip on the card tightened until her knuckles turned pale, the sound of the paper crinkling loud in the quiet.
A sharp exhale escaped her lips, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. With a sudden motion, she hurled the card across the room. It hit the floor with a dull slap, landing in the shadows like a discarded fragment of something heavier.
"Forgiveness is for fools," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. It cut through the stillness like a blade, her words filled with a venom she couldn't suppress.
The room fell silent once more, save for the faint murmur of voices from below. Sera's glowing eyes flicked back to the crumpled card, now lying pathetically in a shadowy corner. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered in her expression—something almost human—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
She turned away, her wings curling inward protectively. But even as her gaze fixed on the wall, her thoughts kept returning to the card. It sat there, a small but unignorable weight, daring her to pick it up again.
The dusk sunlight spilled through the crimson-stained glass windows of the Hazbin Hotel's lounge, casting fragmented patterns across the room. The air felt heavier than usual, but it shifted abruptly as the golden shimmer of a circular portal appeared near the center of the space. A low hum of divine energy resonated, drawing the attention of the eclectic residents.
Charlie's eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and joy. Her hands clasped together as a familiar figure stepped through the glowing gateway.
Emily emerged, radiant as ever. Her soft, golden glow cast warm hues across the lounge, its usual reds and blacks momentarily softened. In her hands, she carried a bundle of neatly tied envelopes, each bearing names in elegant script. Her teal eyes sparkled with warmth, and her wings gave a small, fluttering motion as she smiled.
"Emily!" Charlie's voice rang out, bright and welcoming as she nearly bounced forward. "You're back!"
Leaning casually against a nearby pillar, Vaggie's magenta eye flicked toward the scene, sharp and calculating. Emily's glow seemed to chase away the room's shadows, making them dance like whispers retreating into corners. For a fleeting moment, Vaggie hesitated, her posture stiffening. The radiant figure looked surreal here, a jarring contrast to the hotel's usual aesthetic.
"Hello, everyone!" Emily's cheerful voice broke through the tension, her easy demeanor cutting through the lingering stillness. "It's good to be back! Heaven's... well, Heaven. But this place is definitely more fun." She let out a lilting laugh, her wings ruffling slightly as she took in the room.
Vaggie shifted her weight, her tone dry as she muttered, "More fun, huh? Guess we're one hell of a tourist attraction."
Charlie threw her a teasing glance, her golden eyes sparkling. "Don't sound too thrilled."
Emily stepped further into the room, holding up the bundle of envelopes with a flourish. "Sir Pentious wrote everyone letters!" she announced, beaming. "He practically shoved these into my hands before I left, said it was—oh, what was it... 'an obligation of gentlemanly refinement.'" Her impression of Pentious's dramatic tone earned a giggle from Charlie.
"Letters?" Husk grumbled from his corner, his wings twitching as he eyed Emily skeptically. "What, he ran outta clouds to sit on?"
Emily's laugh was light and genuine. "He's adjusting surprisingly well, actually. It's... sweet, in his own way." She stepped toward Husk, holding out an envelope addressed to him.
Husk sniffed it cautiously, his sharp nose wrinkling. "Smells like lavender," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. "What's he tryin' to pull?"
"It's thoughtful!" Charlie said brightly, taking her own envelope and holding it close. "I think it's wonderful he's reaching out like this."
Nearby, Vaggie uncrossed her arms as Emily approached her. Something about the angel's steady glow put her on edge—not in a threatening way, but in a way that made her overly aware of her own posture. As Emily held out an envelope with Vaggie's name written in careful calligraphy, Vaggie straightened reflexively.
"Vaggie," Emily said warmly, her voice soft but certain.
Vaggie reached out, her fingers brushing against Emily's for the briefest moment. A faint jolt ran up her arm, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her tense. She pushed the feeling aside and took the envelope. "Thanks," she said shortly, tucking it into her pocket without opening it.
"You're welcome," Emily replied, her smile as effortless as the light that surrounded her. She turned to Angel Dust next, her expression brightening. "Angel! This one's for you."
"Well, if it isn't Miss Sunshine herself," Angel drawled, taking the envelope with an exaggerated flourish. He examined it theatrically. "What's this? A heavenly invite? You sure know how to spoil a guy."
"Anyone seen Cherri? Sir Pentious wrote.. A few for her actually?" Emily said, glancing at the half dozen letters still in her hand. "Yea, hand em over Feather Duster, I'll drop em off in her room."
Charlie sidled up beside Vaggie, her excitement bubbling over as she leaned in. "Isn't she great?" she whispered. "She's so good at lighting up the place!"
Vaggie snorted softly, her arms crossing again as she kept her gaze fixed on Emily. "Yeah, well... kinda weird seeing a real angel here again. Doesn't exactly... fit the decor."
Charlie tilted her head, her expression turning playful. "Weird? Or distracting?"
Vaggie stiffened slightly, her brow furrowing as she glanced at Charlie. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've been staring," Charlie teased lightly, her voice tinged with amusement. "I mean, I get it. She does kind of glow."
"She glows!" Vaggie said quickly, her tone sharper than she intended. "It's distracting. That's all."
Charlie's knowing grin widened, but she let the subject drop. "Sure," she said with a hint of laughter. "Come on, let's read our letters."
Vaggie allowed herself to be led toward a nearby table, though her gaze lingered on Emily for just a moment longer than necessary. It's just the glow, she told herself firmly. Nothing else. Just... the glow.
Charlie's fingers fumbled slightly as she worked to open her envelope, her excitement barely contained. "Can you believe it?" she said, her voice breathless. "Letters from Heaven. From Pentious, no less!"
"Let's hope he didn't write a novel," Vaggie muttered, though her lips quirked upward in a faint smile. She tore open her own envelope quickly, hesitating for a split second before pulling out the letter inside.
Charlie was already engrossed, her golden eyes scanning the page. Her smile softened into something tender and heartfelt, her fingers brushing lightly over the paper as she read.
Dearest Charlie,
I hardly know where to begin. When I first came to your hotel, I was not there under honest intentions. You gave me a chance, and I have to be honest that I wasn't expecting much. But what I found instead was far beyond my imaginings.
You gave me hope, a chance to see that I wasn't defined by my past sins, no matter how deeply they clung to me. You believed in me when no one else did—not even myself.
Sacrificing my life wasn't a decision I made lightly. Of course, I would have preferred not to have died, and been able to save Cherri, but It was because of you, Charlie. You gave me the courage to change, to protect something greater than myself. And for that, I can never thank you enough.
Heaven is... well, it's not Hell, I can say that much. It's strange, adjusting to this place, knowing I truly belong here now. But what fills my heart most is knowing that your dream works. It really works.
Please don't ever doubt yourself, even when things seem darkest. You've already done the impossible, and I believe you'll continue to change the world in ways even Heaven can't predict.
Yours most gratefully,
Sir Pentious
Charlie let out a soft breath, her hand clutching the letter to her chest as if it might disappear.
"Vaggie," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "He... he really believed in us."
Vaggie glanced at her, her magenta eye softening as she held her own letter tightly. "Yeah. He did."
She unfolded the letter carefully, her fingers brushing against the fine paper. Taking a deep breath, she began to read.
To Vaggie, my reluctant ally,
I imagine you weren't expecting to hear from me. Let's not pretend we were ever the best of friends. But despite our differences—and there were many—you have my deepest gratitude.
You were a fierce protector of Charlie and her vision, even when you didn't believe in me. And honestly, I can't fault you for that. I gave you plenty of reasons to doubt me, to call me a fool or worse.
But somewhere along the way, I realized something about you. You don't just protect Charlie because she's your partner—you protect her because you believe in what she stands for, even if you won't admit it out loud.
That belief, that strength, kept me grounded when I might have faltered. You don't give yourself enough credit for the way you hold everyone together, even the ones who make it difficult (looking at you, Angel).
I owe you my thanks, Vaggie. For watching my back when I didn't deserve it, for keeping me in line, and most of all, for standing beside Charlie. She needs you more than you probably realize.
I hope you'll remember me as something more than an annoyance. But if that's all I get, I suppose I'll take it.
Your begrudgingly redeemed friend,
Sir Pentious
Vaggie's grip on the letter tightened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. She could feel Charlie's gaze on her, expectant and curious, until finally, she glanced over.
"Well?" Charlie asked, her voice gentle, but there was no mistaking the eagerness behind it.
Vaggie exhaled and carefully folded the letter, tucking it back into its envelope. "He was... grateful," she said simply, though there was a warmth in her tone that surprised even her. "Said some nice things about you, too. But we already knew that."
Charlie chuckled softly, her golden eyes glinting with affection. "You don't have to downplay it, Vaggie. Pentious wouldn't have written to you if he didn't mean it."
Vaggie shook her head slightly, her eye drifting toward the pocket where the envelope now rested. "I know. It's just... weird. Thinking about how far he's come."
Charlie smiled and leaned her shoulder gently against Vaggie's. "That's what this hotel is about. Giving people the chance to come far. Even when it starts... rocky."
Vaggie didn't respond immediately, her gaze fixed on the faint golden shimmer still lingering in the air from Emily's portal. The glow seemed almost unreal, like a fragment of another world clinging to their chaotic one. Finally, she sighed softly. "Yeah. It's about the chance."
For a moment, both of them sat in silence, their letters held close like small, fragile symbols of something they had dared to believe in. Redemption wasn't just an ideal—it was real, tangible, alive in the lives they had touched.
Across the lobby, Angel Dust sprawled lazily across a plush velvet sofa, flipping through a magazine he'd clearly grabbed for the pictures rather than the articles. Husk, as usual, was stationed at the bar, nursing his ever-present flask, while Emily, glowing as brightly as ever, fluttered through the room like a beacon of warmth. Her white robes shimmered faintly in the light filtering through the stained-glass windows, catching the eye of anyone not completely ignoring her.
"Y'know," Angel drawled, one leg kicking lazily over the armrest of the sofa, "I always figured Heaven would be all harp music and boring choir practice. But you?" He gestured at Emily with his free hand. "You're like sunshine on speed."
Emily giggled, the sound light and melodic, as she hovered over the couch. Her wings gave a faint twitch, catching the afternoon light in a way that made them seem almost translucent. "Oh, we do have harps and choirs," she admitted, her teal eyes twinkling. "But there's so much more to it! It's peaceful, joyful... and honestly? You'd be surprised how much fun it can be."
Angel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Define fun," he challenged, smirking.
Husk, who had been half-listening while nursing his drink, grunted from his corner. "Because I'm guessin' your definition and mine are a few thousand miles apart." His ear twitched skeptically as he shot Emily a sideways glance.
Emily spun mid-air with surprising agility, landing lightly in front of Husk with her signature radiant smile. "Drinking is fun, isn't it?"
Husk nearly choked on his swig, coughing into his paw as his wings ruffled in startled disbelief. "Excuse me? Drinking? In Heaven?"
Emily's smile only grew, as if the question amused her. "Absolutely," she said cheerfully, clasping her hands in front of her. "We even have a whole section for it—ambrosial ales, celestial wines, the works. The best part? No hangovers!"
That got Angel's full attention. He sat up abruptly, his previous languor forgotten. "Hold up. You're tellin' me I can get completely shitfaced in Heaven and not have to deal with it the next morning? No pounding headache? No dry mouth? None of that awful, 'Oh God, what did I do?' existential dread?"
"None of it!" Emily confirmed, her grin wide and her tone nothing short of delighted.
Husk's flask paused halfway to his lips. His tired, perpetually skeptical eyes narrowed as he studied her. "You're messin' with me."
"I'm not," Emily insisted, her voice warm but sincere. "We even have a whiskey fountain—though technically, it's a 'golden nectar' fountain. Close enough, right?"
For a moment, the room was silent as Husk processed this. Finally, he muttered, "A whiskey fountain... in Heaven."
Angel let out a bark of laughter, his grin growing wicked. "I think you just broke him, glowstick. Husk's finally reconsidering his whole 'grumpy old man' act."
"Not a chance," Husk grumbled, though the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Emily placed a hand lightly on her hip, tilting her head at Angel. "I wouldn't say that," she teased. "He looks intrigued to me."
Angel threw his magazine aside, leaning forward eagerly. "Okay, now you're just showing off. You better not be jerkin' our chains, glowstick."
Emily placed a hand over her heart, mock-offended. "I would never! Everything I'm telling you is completely true."
Angel looked at Husk, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "Husky, buddy, pal. Imagine the possibilities! Heaven sounds like the ultimate party central."
Husk didn't answer immediately. His flask lingered in his hand, but he didn't take another sip. Instead, he stared at Emily, his mind clearly racing.
"No hangovers?" he asked again, his tone almost disbelieving.
Emily nodded emphatically. "Not a single one."
Husk leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he muttered under his breath. "Damn. Maybe redemption's not so bad after all."
Angel burst out laughing, slapping the armrest of the sofa. "Oh my God, Emily, you broke him! Husk is actually considering redemption for booze."
"I'm not just considerin' it," Husk shot back, pointing his flask toward Angel like a declaration. "I'm in. If Heaven's got unlimited top-shelf liquor and no hangovers, I'm doin' whatever it takes to get there. Sign me the hell up."
Emily clapped her hands together, her wings fluttering excitedly. "That's wonderful, Husk! I knew you had it in you!"
Husk rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Yeah, yeah, don't make a big deal out of it. I'm still stuck in this dump for now."
"Hey!" Angel said, pretending to be offended. "This 'dump' happens to have booze too, y'know."
"Not free enough," Husk retorted, finally downing the rest of his flask and setting it on the counter.
Emily beamed at him, her genuine excitement melting some of the gruffness in his demeanor. "Every journey starts with a single step, right?"
"Sure," Husk muttered, leaning his chin on his hand. "Just make sure that journey leads me to that whiskey fountain."
Angel grinned, pointing at Husk with a flourish. "I can't believe it. The guy finally found somethin' worth giving a damn about."
"And it's booze," Husk deadpanned, though his smirk grew just slightly wider.
Emily laughed, the sound light and musical, as she flitted back toward the center of the room. "I'll take it as a win! Heaven has room for everyone—even grumpy cats with a taste for whiskey."
Husk didn't respond immediately, but as he leaned back in his chair, his wings gave the faintest twitch—a gesture that might have been satisfaction, though he'd deny it if asked.
Angel, always one to fill the silence, threw his hands up dramatically. "I'm not sayin' I'd be holy for a whiskey fountain, but... okay, maybe I'd consider it. But only for the booze. And, uh..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his grin wicked. "You got anything else up there to sweeten the deal?"
Emily, unflinching, tilted her head thoughtfully. "The sex is also to die for," she said with an innocent shrug, her glow as radiant as ever.
The room froze. Angel's jaw dropped so hard it was a wonder it didn't hit the floor. He blinked once, twice, and then exploded into laughter so loud it echoed through the entire lobby.
"You're kidding me, right?" Angel gasped between wheezes, clutching his stomach as he doubled over. "Heaven's got booze and sex? What is this, some kinda divine nightclub?"
Emily's grin turned mischievous as she waggled her eyebrows. "What kind of paradise would it be without sex?"
Angel flopped sideways onto the sofa, still shaking with laughter. "Oh my God, this is the best thing I've ever heard in my entire afterlife. No way! The big ol' pearly gates let you get freaky?"
Emily's wings fluttered with amusement as she gave a casual shrug. "Consenting souls, infinite joy, and no consequences. Why wouldn't it? Heaven is about fulfillment, after all."
Across the room, Husk, mid-swig from his newly replenished flask, nearly choked. He coughed hard, glaring at her through watering eyes. "You're shittin' me."
"I'm not!" Emily said brightly, clasping her hands in mock innocence. Her wings shimmered as she added, "Pleasure is part of paradise, Husk. Everyone deserves to feel loved."
Angel sat up sharply, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Wait—wait, wait. Are you tellin' me Heaven has better sex than me? Me! I'm supposed to be the freakin' poster child for lust!"
Emily raised her hands in mock apology, her grin never faltering. "Sorry, Angel. But if it's any consolation, I'm sure you'd be right at home there."
Angel fell back onto the couch, groaning theatrically. "This is so unfair. Heaven's got booze, no hangovers, and the best sex in existence? What the fuck are we still doing in Hell?"
Husk let out a gruff snort, shaking his head. "Hell's probably quieter."
"Speak for yourself, Grandpa," Angel quipped, tossing him a sideways grin. "If I wasn't already on board with this whole redemption gig, I'm definitely signing up now."
Emily laughed, the melodic sound light and infectious. "Glad I could help with your motivation! Honestly though, would Heaven really be a Heaven if it was just all cloud sitting and harp playing."
Husk shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable. Heaven's like some luxury resort, and we're stuck down here eating crap and fighting over the last bottle of cheap vodka."
"Well, don't just sit there," Angel said, throwing his arms wide. "Go repent or somethin'. I'm not dragging your ass up there for you."
"Repenting sounds exhausting," Husk grumbled, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Guess I'll think about it. If the booze—and the, uh, other perks—are as good as you say."
"Oh, they are," Emily assured him with a wink, her glow catching the light in a way that made her halo shine even brighter.
Angel elbowed Husk, his grin sly and full of mischief. "Come on, Husky. Let's get holy together."
"Yeah, no thanks," Husk shot back dryly, though a faint hint of color rose beneath his fur.
Emily couldn't suppress a laugh as she floated upward, twirling mid-air like a feather caught in a soft breeze. "I'll be here if you have questions, boys. Remember: the offer stands for everyone."
As she glided toward the far end of the room, Angel leaned conspiratorially toward Husk, lowering his voice. "So, uh, how long you think it'd take to hit Heaven if we both started prayin' really hard right now?"
Husk groaned, pushing Angel's arm off. "Don't start with me."
"Too late!" Angel replied with a sing-song lilt, his eyes sparkling with glee.
As Emily's radiant laughter echoed faintly from across the room, Husk muttered something unintelligible and took another long swig from his flask. Angel, ever the troublemaker, leaned back with a self-satisfied grin, clearly plotting his next quip.
From her perch against the far wall, Vaggie had been half-listening, her attention more on the clipboard in her hand than the ongoing chaos. But Emily's casual mention of Heaven's openness to sex made her freeze. Her magenta eye snapped up, her grip on the clipboard tightening.
"Wait—what?" Vaggie stammered, pushing off the wall as though she hadn't heard correctly.
Emily blinked, her wings fluttering slightly as she turned toward Vaggie, a hint of surprise flickering across her face. "You didn't know? I thought you—well, you were an angel too, right?"
Vaggie shifted uncomfortably, her fingers drumming against the clipboard. "Yeah, but I wasn't exactly... in the loop. As an Exorcist, I didn't spend a lot of time hanging around with other angels. It was mostly orders, missions, and then... nothing. I didn't exactly get invited to potlucks."
Emily's surprise softened into understanding. "Oh, I see. Exorcists do tend to keep to themselves. That makes sense, but still..." She tilted her head, her tone thoughtful. "It's kind of sad, isn't it? All that time in Heaven, and you didn't get to experience its joys fully."
Charlie, who had been quietly observing from nearby, suddenly stared at Vaggie, her golden eyes wide and unblinking.
Vaggie noticed immediately, her cheeks flushing crimson as she waved her hand dismissively. "No, no, no!" she said quickly, shaking her head. "Even in Heaven, I was strictly Team Female."
Angel cackled from his spot on the couch, nearly doubling over. "Team female, huh? That's one way to put it! Man, Adam must've hated you."
Vaggie groaned, shooting him a glare that only made him laugh harder. "He didn't exactly approve, no," she muttered.
Emily giggled softly, her teal eyes sparkling. "To be fair, Adam did take it too far. You're not wrong there. But most angels? A lot more... tasteful about it."
"Connection, huh?" Angel drawled, grinning as he leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. "Sounds like Heaven's just classy about it. Meanwhile, Hell's got demons goin' at it in every alleyway."
Vaggie groaned audibly, her flush deepening as she shot Angel a withering glare. "Can we not compare the two? And for the record, I thought the Exorcists got... wild because Adam was a filthy perv who ruined everything."
Emily laughed again, her teal eyes sparkling. "Oh, Adam definitely pushed the boundaries. You're not wrong there. But most angels? A lot more... tasteful about it."
Angel sat up sharply, his grin wicked. "So, if Heaven's got booze and sex without the hangovers, what's next? A divine spa package?"
Emily matched his teasing tone, her wings giving an elegant flutter. "You'd love it, Angel. The saunas alone are heavenly."
Husk snorted, lifting his flask in a half-hearted toast. "Figures. I'm sure the towels are blessed or somethin', too."
Angel jabbed an elbow at Husk with a mischievous chuckle. "C'mon, Husky, let's repent together. Picture it: booze, saunas, no hangovers, and—" He raised his voice dramatically, "—the sex to die for!"
"Yeah, no thanks," Husk muttered, though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he wasn't entirely immune to the idea.
Meanwhile, Vaggie remained rooted to the spot, her eye fixed on Emily as if trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. There was something surreal about how easily the angel navigated the room's chaos, her every word delivered with unflappable grace and a warmth that was almost... contagious.
When Emily turned back to Angel with another playful remark, Vaggie forced herself to look away, crossing her arms even tighter. "Angels are so weird," she muttered under her breath.
"Sorry, what was that?" Charlie's teasing voice came from behind her, causing Vaggie to stiffen.
"Nothing," Vaggie said quickly, a bit too quickly. She stalked toward the kitchen, muttering just loudly enough for Charlie to hear, "I need coffee."
As the evening wound down, the hotel settled into a rare lull of calm. Most of the residents had dispersed—some retreating to their rooms, others loitering in the lounge with quiet grumbles about the day. Near the front desk, Charlie, Vaggie, and Emily lingered in conversation, their tones light despite the lingering unease from recent events.
"Okay, so maybe Husk isn't totally hopeless," Charlie said with a grin, spinning on her heel as her ponytail swished behind her. "I think Emily might've sold him on redemption with the whole whiskey fountain thing."
Vaggie snorted, arms crossed as she leaned back against the counter. "If anything's going to convince him, it's free booze. Though I'm not holding my breath."
Emily chuckled softly, her wings shifting slightly as she leaned one hand on the counter. "Hey, I'll take what I can get. Progress is progress, right?"
Before either of them could respond, a sudden crash shattered the stillness. The sharp sound of breaking glass echoed through the lounge, cutting through the soft hum of conversation like a knife. All three women froze, their heads snapping toward the hallway leading to the kitchen and storage rooms.
Vaggie reacted first, her hand already moving toward the spear strapped to her back. "Stay here," she said sharply, her tone brooking no argument.
Charlie stepped forward after her, her expression already tight with worry. "I'm not staying here!" she protested, her voice rising slightly. "What if someone's hurt?"
"Exactly," Vaggie muttered, her sharp gaze fixed ahead as she began moving. "That's why I'm checking first."
Emily trailed behind them, her glow dimming slightly as her expression shifted into something more cautious. Her wings tucked close to her back, and her voice was soft but steady. "It sounded like it came from the kitchen."
As they moved down the hallway, a faint scent wafted toward them—a mix of something sweet and sticky. The sharp tang of disturbed dust mingled with it, making the air feel heavier. Vaggie's magenta eye darted across every shadow and corner, her body tense with focus. When they reached the storage room, the door stood slightly ajar, creaking faintly as it moved in the draft.
Vaggie reached out and nudged it open with the tip of her boot, the hinges groaning softly. She flipped the light switch, and the room filled with a pale, flickering glow. Shelves lined the walls, stacked haphazardly with supplies, but something was amiss. Near the center of the room, shards of glass glinted on the floor, surrounded by a pool of thick, syrupy liquid that caught the weak light.
Charlie edged closer, her brow furrowing. "What was in that?"
"Fruit preserves," Vaggie replied curtly, crouching to inspect the mess. "Nothing worth stealing." Her gaze shifted to a nearby crate, its lid pushed askew. The contents inside—mostly jars—had been disturbed, their arrangement clearly the result of someone rummaging through in a hurry. "But someone was definitely here."
Emily hovered by the doorway, her teal eyes narrowing as they scanned the room. Something caught her attention—a faint rustle just beneath the edge of the overturned crate. She crouched and carefully plucked the object from the floor.
"Look at this," she murmured, holding it up so the light caught its surface.
It was a broken feather, long and pristine white but bent unnaturally at its shaft. The edges were frayed, smudged with dirt, and a faint shimmer of divine energy lingered on its surface, fading slowly like the last glow of a dying ember.
Charlie's breath caught. "An angel feather?"
"No," Vaggie said quickly, her voice sharper now as she took the feather from Emily, her fingers gripping it tightly. "Not just an angel. This is from an Exorcist." Her tone was clipped, her expression darkening. "I've seen too many of these to mistake it."
Emily's wings fluttered uneasily, her glow dimming further. "But the Exorcists left after the battle. If someone dropped this..."
"They're not supposed to still be here," Vaggie cut in, her tone firm. Her gaze darted back to the disturbed crate, then to the feather. "But this proves someone is."
Charlie stepped closer, her hands wringing nervously. "Could it have been left behind from before? Maybe it's just... a remnant?"
Vaggie shook her head, rising to her feet as she pocketed the feather. "No. That crate wasn't open before tonight. Someone's been sneaking around, and they dropped this while they were here." Her magenta eye sharpened as she looked toward the hallway. "And if it's who I think it is, we've got a serious problem."
Emily frowned, stepping closer. "You think it's someone specific?"
Vaggie's silence was telling. Her jaw tightened, and for a long moment, she said nothing. Then, carefully, she adjusted the spear strapped to her back, her movements precise and deliberate. "Let's not jump to conclusions," she said at last, though the tension in her voice was unmistakable.
Charlie exchanged a worried glance with Emily. "Do you think they're still here?"
Vaggie's gaze was sharp, her hand resting on her weapon. "We're going to find out," she said, her voice like steel. "Stay close. If someone's hiding in this hotel, I'm not letting them get away."
She turned toward the door, her posture rigid with purpose. Emily and Charlie followed, their steps cautious, as the faint echo of their movements disappeared into the thick quiet of the hallway.
They moved carefully through the halls, the tension palpable and growing with each step. The faint scent of ozone drifted through the air, mingling uneasily with the lingering sweetness of the spilled preserves. It was subtle but distinct—enough to make Vaggie's senses sharpen even further.
Room by room, they searched, finding nothing but silence and emptiness. The atmosphere grew heavier with each door they opened, as if the hotel itself were holding its breath. Then, a faint scuff of movement echoed from the second floor, the soft scrape of something brushing against the hardwood.
Vaggie's spear was in her hand instantly, the cold steel gleaming faintly in Emily's light. She held up a hand, gesturing sharply for the others to stay back.
Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but a single glance from Vaggie silenced her. Reluctantly, she nodded, clutching her hands to her chest as she and Emily followed a few steps behind.
As they ascended the staircase, the air grew colder, the usual warmth of the hotel replaced by a creeping, unnatural chill. Each step felt like venturing deeper into a maze of uncertainty. Vaggie moved like a shadow, her steps silent and deliberate, while Emily's soft glow cast shifting patterns of light across the walls. The faint illumination seemed to give life to the shadows, making them twist and writhe like living things.
They reached the landing, and the hallway stretched before them, empty and quiet. But just beneath that stillness, something felt wrong.
Vaggie's sharp gaze swept the corridor. A faint smudge of sticky residue near the wall caught her attention, as if someone had leaned against it while trying to steady themselves. She knelt down, her expression hardening as her fingertips traced the faint trail.
"They're watching us," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. The tension in her tone made both Charlie and Emily stiffen. Vaggie's grip on her spear tightened as her magenta eye flicked toward the far end of the hallway. "They're playing games."
Emily's wings twitched uneasily, the faint flutter breaking the heavy silence. "Who would do this? And why?"
Vaggie straightened slowly, her eye meeting Emily's. Her gaze was sharp, her voice firm. "That's what we're going to find out."
Her fingers brushed against the feather in her pocket, the faint hum of divine energy clinging to it like a static charge. The sensation sent an unwelcome prickle up her spine, a visceral reminder of its origin. She turned back to the others, her expression unreadable but her tone unyielding.
"We need to lock this place down," Vaggie said firmly. "Whoever it is, they're here for a reason, and I doubt it's a good one."
Charlie hesitated, glancing between Vaggie and Emily. Her golden eyes reflected the flickering glow of Emily's light, worry etched across her face. "Do you think they're dangerous?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with resolve.
Vaggie didn't hesitate. "If they're an Exorcist," she said grimly, "then yes. Very dangerous."
Emily stepped forward, her glow intensifying just enough to banish the deepest shadows from the hallway. Her teal eyes were steady, though her wings fluttered slightly. "I can help," she offered, her voice quiet but firm. "I may not look it, but I'm a Seraphim. I can pack a punch when... when it's necessary."
Vaggie's jaw tightened as she considered this. For a moment, doubt flickered in her expression, but it passed quickly. She gave a curt nod. "Fine. But we stick together. If they're hiding, they're counting on us splitting up."
Charlie stepped closer, her usual nervousness replaced by quiet determination. "Right. We'll check every corner, every room. They can't hide forever."
The three moved as a unit, methodically sweeping through the upper floors of the hotel. Emily's glow illuminated every corner, casting warm light into the shadows. Vaggie's spear stayed at the ready, her eye scanning for even the smallest sign of movement. Charlie trailed close behind, her footsteps careful and her ears straining for any sound.
The tension in the air was thick, each creak of the floorboards and groan of the old walls making Vaggie's grip tighten. But room after room revealed nothing. No intruder, no more signs of disturbance.
By the time they returned to the lobby, frustration was etched deeply into Vaggie's expression. She let out a huff, her free hand rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Damn it. They're either better at hiding than I thought, or they've already slipped out."
Charlie paced near the reception desk, her brows furrowed in thought. "But why? Why break in just to—what? Steal some food and knock over a jar of preserves?"
Emily tilted her head, her expression thoughtful as she leaned against the counter. "Maybe they weren't just here for supplies. The broken jar, the open crate—it could've been a distraction. Something to draw attention away from what they were really after."
Before anyone could respond, the hotel plunged into sudden, suffocating darkness.
The hum of machinery silenced in an instant, leaving a deafening void in its place. Emily's glow became their only source of illumination, her light steady but small against the pressing shadows.
The darkness felt alive, as if it were leaning in from all sides, and the air seemed heavier—charged with a tension that prickled against their skin. Vaggie gripped her spear tightly, her sharp gaze darting toward the hallway.
Charlie's voice was barely a whisper. "What just happened?"
Emily's glow flickered faintly as her wings folded closer. "The power's out," she murmured, though the obviousness of her words felt hollow against the weight of the moment.
Vaggie's tone was sharp and commanding as she stepped forward, her spear at the ready. "Stay close. If they're still here, they'll be making their next move now."
The three stood together in the dim glow of Emily's light, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on them. Somewhere in the depths of the hotel, the faint creak of floorboards echoed—a reminder that they were not alone.
Charlie's voice wavered as her fingers gripped the edge of the desk. "Did—did they do this?"
Emily's wings flared slightly, her glow intensifying as she gathered it into her palm, forming a radiant fist of light. "It's too sudden to be an accident." Her voice was calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.
Vaggie's magenta eye darted to the hallway leading toward the basement. "It has to be the breaker box," she said, her tone clipped and urgent.
"Then they're still here," Charlie said, her voice trembling before sharpening with resolve.
Vaggie nodded grimly, her grip tightening on her spear. "Stay here. I'll check it out. They have to be in the basement still."
"No," Emily interjected, stepping closer, her teal eyes steady. "I'm going with you. If it's an Exorcist, you'll need light—and backup."
Charlie hesitated, her worry plain as her gaze flitted between them. "Be careful. Please."
"We will," Vaggie said firmly, giving her a brief nod before turning to the basement stairs. Emily followed without hesitation, her glow illuminating the oppressive darkness that seemed to press in around them.
The descent into the basement was unnervingly quiet, each step reverberating against the cold stone walls. The air grew cooler with every step, damp and thick with the weight of disuse. The faint, acrid stench of burnt wires hit them before the damage came into view.
The breaker box loomed at the far end of the basement, its cover ripped away and discarded carelessly to the side. Wires dangled in a tangled mess, their exposed ends severed cleanly. The floor beneath was littered with scattered tools, scraps of fabric, and bits of unidentifiable debris—a chaotic tableau of deliberate sabotage.
Emily knelt beside the mess, her fingers brushing lightly over the severed wires. Her expression darkened as her glow illuminated the sharp, precise cuts. "This wasn't an accident," she said softly. "They knew exactly what to cut."
Vaggie crouched next to her, her magenta eye scanning the scene with practiced precision. Her fingers traced the edges of the breaker box, then paused over a single object amidst the debris. A feather, singed at the edges, lay partially concealed beneath a scrap of fabric.
She held it up, her expression hardening. "Another one," she said grimly.
Emily's wings shifted uneasily, her glow flickering as her eyes locked on the feather. "That's not mine either," she said firmly, her voice taut.
"No," Vaggie replied, her tone laced with frustration and resolve as she tucked the feather into her pocket beside the first. "But it's enough to confirm this isn't random. She's targeting us."
Emily stood slowly, her wings flexing as if to shake off the unease settling over her. "We need to fix this. Without power, the hotel's even more vulnerable."
Vaggie straightened, her spear resting against her shoulder as she glanced at the clean, deliberate cuts on the wires. Her jaw clenched. "It's cut before the breaker," she said tightly, her frustration clear in her tone. "I can't fix this, not tonight. We're stuck in the dark until we can get someone to repair it tomorrow."
Emily's glow flared slightly brighter, her gaze scanning the basement. "If we're stuck like this, we need to make sure—"
"Wait." Vaggie's voice cut through, low and sharp. She gestured to the far wall, where a small access door stood slightly ajar, faint traces of the outside air drifting through the opening.
Emily's teal eyes widened. "That wasn't open before."
Vaggie moved quickly, her footsteps soft but deliberate as she approached the door. The metal frame creaked faintly as she pushed it wider, revealing the outside yard bathed in shadows. The cold night air rushed in, sharp and biting.
"She's not here anymore," Vaggie muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her magenta eye scanned the area outside before snapping back toward Emily. "She's already inside."
Emily's breath hitched. "Upstairs," she said, her voice tight with realization.
Vaggie's blood ran cold as the pieces clicked into place. Without another word, she spun around, her spear clutched tightly in her hand.
"Charlie!" she shouted, her voice echoing up the staircase as she bolted toward the steps.
Emily followed close behind, her glow flaring brighter as they raced back toward the hotel's heart, the looming sense of danger propelling them forward.
Charlie exhaled slowly, rubbing her palms together as a faint flicker of flame sparked between them. The warm, orange glow pushed back the darkness, casting dancing shadows across the familiar red walls and gothic furniture of the Hazbin Hotel. The fire grew into a steady ball of light in her hand, illuminating her face and the immediate area around her.
"Alright," she murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might disturb the uneasy stillness around her. "You've got this. Just keep calm."
The firelight painted the room in shifting hues, but beyond its reach, the shadows seemed to thicken, pressing in like a living presence. The room was too quiet—an oppressive silence that weighed on her senses. Every flicker of the flame sent the shadows stretching and twisting unnaturally, filling her with a growing unease.
A faint scrape broke the stillness, sharp and deliberate. The sound came from the edge of the room where her light didn't reach, pulling her attention like a magnet. Charlie froze, her golden eyes snapping toward the source of the noise.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice firm, though her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Her fingers tightened around the ball of flame in her hand, causing it to flicker and pulse.
The silence returned, but the prickling sensation on the back of her neck didn't fade. Her instincts screamed at her to stay alert.
Another scrape followed, closer this time, slow and deliberate—mocking. Her pulse quickened, a tingling heat spreading through her chest as her fear fed something more primal. The familiar ache built at her temples, sharp and pressing. She felt the stirrings of her transformation, the unmistakable sensation of horns beginning to form.
"Come out!" she shouted, her voice sharper now, cutting through the oppressive quiet. Her flame flared brighter, casting harsher light farther into the room. The shadows recoiled briefly, but then loomed larger at the edges, as if taunting her.
A flash of steel caught her eye—a glint in the darkness that gave her just enough warning.
She threw herself to the side, the knife slicing through the air where she had stood a moment before. Pain exploded in her arm as the blade bit deep into her arm, cutting deep before embedding itself in the wall with a solid thunk.
Charlie stumbled back, clutching her arm as the warmth of blood seeped through her fingers. The fire in her palm flared violently in response, throwing chaotic light across the room. Her gaze darted to the knife buried in the wall. The blade seemed otherworldly, etched with faint, glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat, as if alive with holy energy. Even in its stillness, it felt threatening, a reminder of its purpose: to destroy her.
The transformation surged forward.
A pair of dark maroon horns burst forth from her head, sleek and barely curling with a dangerous elegance. Her golden eyes darkened, their sclera turning a vivid, molten red as her irises shifted to a stark white with slit pupils. Thin black streaks carved themselves across each eye, accentuating their fierce glow. Her already striking lashes grew thicker and longer, fanning out like butterfly wings, adding to her fearsome yet strangely beautiful appearance.
Her hands trembled as her fingers lengthened, their tips turning sharp and claw-like, the flesh darkening to an inky black that radiated power. A sudden whip-like motion caught her attention as a long, black demonic tail unfurled behind her, snaking through the air with a dangerous grace. Spikes lined its length, and at the tip was a red heart-shaped marking set in a spiked triangular end, glowing faintly in the dim light.
The fear that had gripped her moments ago ebbed, replaced by a simmering anger that coiled in her chest. The fire in her hand burned brighter, its heat licking at the shadows that dared to encroach on her space.
"Did that sting, princess?" The words dripped with mockery, cold and sharp, wrapping around her like chains. "I thought I'd remind you just how fragile you really are."
Charlie stiffened, her tail flicking sharply behind her as her breath caught in her throat. The voice echoed faintly in the room, laced with cruel amusement. Recognition slammed into her like a physical blow, freezing her in place.
"Lute," she hissed, the name escaping her lips like venom.
The sound of soft footsteps echoed faintly, each step deliberate and taunting, as though they were a predator circling prey. Out of the darkness emerged a figure, her silhouette sharp and unyielding, her Exorcist mask gleaming faintly in the firelight. The jagged, toothy grin of the mask leered at Charlie, its empty eyes hiding whatever malice lay beneath.
But it wasn't just the mask that chilled her.
Lute's remaining arm rested at her side, fingers twitching slightly, as if eager for violence. Her left side was a glaring absence, her missing arm's jagged stump partially hidden by a tattered sleeve. The faint glow of divine energy pulsed erratically at the edge of the wound, an ugly scar that refused to heal. Her broken halo floated above her head, tilted and cracked, the once-pristine circle now a jagged ruin, flickering weakly like a dying flame.
"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," Lute drawled, her voice a mixture of disdain and cruel delight. "The great Charlie Morningstar. Savior of sinners. Redeemer of demons. I figured, we haven't had much girl time to get to know each other.." Her words dripped with contempt, and she tilted her head, the motion unsettlingly smooth. "Adam's blood still stains your hands. Do you even remember the sound he made when he fell? I do."
Charlie stiffened, her tail snapping behind her in agitation, the barbed tip glowing faintly red. The mention of Adam didn't wound her—it ignited her anger, a slow-burning ember stoked by the venom in Lute's voice. Her golden eyes darkened, sclera bleeding into molten red, her irises blazing white with slit pupils narrowing like a predator locking onto its prey.
"Don't," Charlie spat, her voice sharp and brimming with disdain. "Don't you dare talk to me about him."
"Oh, but I think I will," Lute countered, stepping closer with an eerie grace. Her voice dripped with mockery, her grin audible behind the jagged lines of her mask. "You and your little pet traitor made sure of that. You took everything from me—Adam. My purpose. My arm."
She raised her severed stump, divine energy crackling faintly as it cast harsh, shifting light across the room. "Do you even understand what you've done? The damage you've caused? What you've cost me?"
Charlie's tail lashed again, the barbed tip striking the air with a faint snap. Her claws curled into fists at her sides, flames licking at her fingertips. "Cost you?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "Adam was a selfish, controlling egomaniac. He didn't care about you, Lute—he cared about his power, about using women like you. You were just another pawn to him."
Lute's mask tilted forward slightly, the divine energy around her stump flaring as her voice turned cold. "Don't pretend you know him. You didn't even try to save him."
"I did," Charlie snapped, her voice rising, the fire in her claws surging brighter. "I begged my father to spare him! Not for his sake, but because I wanted to show Heaven we could be better than you..." Her voice dropped again, heavy with scorn.
Lute's shoulders stiffened, but her jagged grin remained, her voice dark and venomous. "You think that absolves you? You and your traitor ripped everything away—my home, my commander, my place in Heaven. You think you're better than Adam, but you're not. You're just another Hellborn failure."
The flame in her hand surged, growing hotter, brighter, until it became a roiling inferno of rage and fear. Without hesitation, Charlie hurled it toward the source of the voice. The fireball exploded outward, consuming the shadows with a fiery roar and bathing the room in a blinding light.
But when the flames receded, nothing remained.
The oppressive silence returned, heavier now, pressing against her ears. The voice didn't speak again, and the space where she had aimed was empty—no scorch marks, no figure retreating into the darkness.
Charlie's chest heaved, her tail lashing behind her as her sharp claws curled into fists. The pain in her arm pulsed again, grounding her in the reality of the moment. Wherever Lute was, she was gone—but the threat lingered, like smoke that refused to clear.
She tightened her jaw, her crimson eyes scanning the room one final time before retreating, the faint glow of her firelight trailing behind her like a warning.
Footsteps thundered up the basement stairs, and Charlie turned just as Vaggie and Emily burst into the lobby, both armed and alert.
Emily froze mid-step, her teal eyes widening in shock as they locked onto Charlie. The dim glow of her light illuminated the full extent of Charlie's transformation. Her sleek maroon horns curved upward from her head, her crimson sclera glowing with white irises and sharp, slit pupils. Black streaks framed her elongated lashes, which resembled butterfly wings, and her fingers, now dark and clawed, flexed as if ready for battle. The long, spiked black tail behind her swished through the air, its triangular tip faintly gleaming with a red heart-shaped marking.
"Charlie..." Emily murmured, her tone soft but tinged with something akin to awe.
Charlie blinked, startled by the reaction. The glow of her crimson eyes softened slightly as she looked at Emily. "What?"
"You're different," Emily whispered, her eyes scanning the transformation with open fascination. "I've never seen... anything like this before. You're..." She trailed off, her gaze flicking between the horns, the claws, and the tail as if trying to reconcile the radiant, optimistic princess she knew with the demonic figure before her. "Incredible."
"It's fine," Charlie said quickly, though a faint unease flickered behind her steady tone. She glanced at her clawed hands before flexing her fingers. "This happens sometimes."
Emily's wings furled tightly against her back, her expression shifting to something gentler, though warmth still lingered in her eyes. "You're... still you, though."
"Of course, I am," Charlie said firmly, the faintest trace of humor coloring her voice despite the tension. "Still the same me—just with... accessories." She tilted her head toward her horns, though the flick of her spiked tail belied her calm demeanor.
Vaggie stepped forward, her magenta eye darting between them. "It's normal," she said, cutting through the awkward moment with a sharp tone. "Well, normal for her." Her gaze softened briefly as she turned to Charlie. "Especially when she's cornered. Or mad. Or watching a scary movie.. Or- You're bleeding."
Vaggie knelt beside Charlie, her spear clattering to the floor as she inspected the gash on Charlie's arm. Emily blinked, snapping out of her trance as the immediate danger took precedence.
"You're hurt!" Emily exclaimed, stepping closer, her glow brightening as her hands moved toward Charlie's injured arm.
"It's fine," Charlie said quickly, though her voice tightened with pain.
"It's not 'fine,'" Vaggie retorted sharply, peeling Charlie's hand away to get a better look at the wound. Blood seeped through the torn sleeve, the cut deep but clean. "What happened?"
Charlie gestured toward the knife embedded in the wall. "Lute," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.
Vaggie's jaw tightened, her fingers curling into a fist. "Lute.." she repeated, her voice low and furious. "I knew it.. What the hell is she doing here?"
"She's been watching us," Charlie explained, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "She blames us for taking everything from her.."
Charlie swayed slightly, the adrenaline fading as pain lanced through her arm. Emily's sharp eyes caught the movement, and she knelt quickly. "Charlie, let me heal it," she said, her voice soft but urgent.
"I've got it," Vaggie interjected, pulling a bandage from her pouch with a practiced motion.
Emily hesitated, glancing between Vaggie and Charlie. "I can heal it completely," she insisted, her voice almost pleading. "Please—let me help."
Charlie gave Vaggie a gentle smile, her crimson eyes softening. "It's okay, Vaggie," she said quietly. "Let her."
Vaggie frowned but stepped back reluctantly. Emily's glow intensified as she pressed her palms to Charlie's arm.
"This might sting," Emily murmured, her voice gentle. A golden light enveloped Charlie's wound, radiating warmth as it seeped into her skin. The pain ebbed instantly, replaced by a strange calm that spread through her entire body.
Charlie inhaled sharply, her transformation fading with the healing touch. The maroon horns atop her head dissolved, her sclera returned to white, and the butterfly-like streaks across her eyes vanished. Her black claws lightened to smooth skin, and her spiked tail dissipated like smoke curling into the air.
"There," Emily said softly, pulling her hands away. "Good as new."
Charlie flexed her fingers, marveling at the lack of pain. She glanced at Emily, her voice filled with quiet gratitude. "Thank you."
Emily smiled faintly, though a flicker of curiosity still lingered in her teal eyes. "Of course."
Vaggie stepped forward again, inspecting the now-healed skin. "You okay?" she asked, her tone softening slightly.
Charlie nodded, though her gaze lingered on her hand for a moment longer. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady. "I'm fine now."
Her focus shifted to the knife still embedded in the wall. "But Lute wasn't trying to kill me," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "She.. lingered too long.. She could have rushed me and killed me before I even knew she was here."
"She wanted to scare you," Emily suggested, her glow dimming slightly.
"No," Charlie corrected, her eyes narrowing. "She wanted to scare Vaggie."
Vaggie's expression hardened instantly, her fists clenching. "Throwing a knife at you was her idea of a warning?" Her voice was laced with fury. "She's taunting us."
"She's testing us," Emily added, her wings folding tightly. "Trying to see how far she can push before we react."
Charlie's gaze lingered on the embedded knife, her voice calm but firm. "Then we'll react," she said quietly.
"And we'll make damn sure she doesn't try this again," Vaggie growled, retrieving her spear from the floor.
Emily exchanged a glance with Charlie, her expression thoughtful but resolute. Whatever was happening, it was clear that this was only the beginning.
The Hazbin Hotel was unnervingly quiet, the usual hum of life replaced by an uneasy stillness. Charlie sat on one of the couches in the lobby, absently running her fingers over the spot on her arm where the dagger had cut her. The wound was gone now, thanks to Emily's healing touch, but the memory lingered like a phantom ache. She could still feel the warmth beneath her skin, its touch flowing further and further into her body. Even as she watched, other small bumps and scrapes closed, sealing over without a mark left.
Vaggie stood close beside her, spear in hand, her magenta eye scanning the room with relentless focus. Emily hovered nearby, her golden glow softly illuminating the darkened lobby.
"We need to lock this place down," Vaggie said, her voice firm and commanding. "She's not going to get another chance at Charlie."
Charlie nodded, her expression resolute despite the lingering tension in her shoulders. "Agreed. Let's secure everything and make sure everyone's safe."
Before they could move, the stairwell door creaked open, and Angel Dust appeared, his usual swagger dampened by an unusual look of concern. Husk followed close behind, his wings twitching, flask in hand.
"What the hell's goin' on now?" Angel asked, hands on his hips, though his tone lacked its usual snark. "Everyone Okay?"
Charlie offered a reassuring smile, slipping her bloodied sleeve behind her back. "We're fine Angel. Thank you."
"Charlie was attacked." Emily said quietly, leaving small globes of light floating around the room, slowly fighting back the darkness.
Angel's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. "Damn, princess, you gotta stop makin' yourself a target."
"She didn't make herself a target," Vaggie snapped, her tone sharp. "This is Lute. She's here to hurt us, and she's already proven she's willing to go after Charlie to do it."
Husk grunted, his brow furrowed. "Lute? You mean that Exorcist chick who—" He stopped himself, his expression darkening. "Shit. That's bad."
"Yeah, no kidding it's bad," Angel muttered, his usual bravado slipping. "What do we do now? 'Cause I'm not lookin' to get skewered by some winged psycho."
Vaggie's eye darted between them, her grip tightening on her spear. "You go tell the other residents to stay in their rooms and lock their doors. No one moves until we know it's safe."
Angel's wrapped his four arms around himself, but nodded. "Fine, fine. But you better not let that glowing bitch get near us again."
Husk rolled his eyes, taking a swig from his flask. "Yeah, yeah, I'll help. Not like I was enjoying the power outage or anything."
Vaggie's glare silenced any further complaints, and the two demons retreated toward the residential wing, their voices fading as Angel muttered something about "psycho angels" and "shitty luck."
Emily stepped closer to Vaggie and Charlie, her teal eyes soft but serious. "Lute's not going to stick around forever—if she's even still here."
"No… She's gone. She wouldn't stick around. She knows we'll be on guard right now." Vaggie muttered, lowering her spear slightly. "At least for now."
Charlie let out a slow breath, her golden eyes flicking to Emily. "Do you think she'll come back?"
Emily's wings shifted, the faint hum of her energy filling the quiet. "Probably. Lute's not one to give up easily. But we'll be ready."
Vaggie stood beside Charlie, her body still taut with tension. "I'll make sure of it. She won't get anywhere near you again."
Charlie offered her a soft smile, her hand brushing Vaggie's arm. "I know you will. And we'll handle this. Together."
As the three of them stood in the now-silent lobby, the faint hum of Emily's glow providing the only light, the weight of Lute's presence lingered in the back of their minds. But for now, the hotel was locked down, and they had each other to lean on.
Later that night, the Hazbin Hotel had settled into an unusual calm. The hum of the radiator filled the room, a gentle backdrop to Vaggie's soft, steady breathing beside her. Charlie sat propped up in bed, the dim glow of a bedside candle casting flickering shadows across the walls.
She held her arm up to the light, turning it slowly as she examined the spot where Emily had healed her earlier. The gash was gone—not just healed, but completely erased, leaving her skin flawless. Her fingers brushed over the smooth surface, marveling at the perfection of it.
"This is incredible," she whispered to herself, a small smile tugging at her lips. The warmth of the healing still lingered, not unpleasantly, like sunlight wrapping around her even in the dim room.
Her curiosity grew as she pulled back her sleeve, exposing more of her arm. The small scar she'd gotten as a teenager, climbing a jagged rock face near the edge of Hell's woods? Gone. She tilted her arm, running her fingers over the place it should have been.
She straightened, rolling her sleeve higher, her heart skipping slightly as she scanned for any sign of the marks she'd carried for years. Her brows furrowed in sheer amazement—when she found nothing.
Switching to her other arm, she repeated the process, inspecting every inch of skin. The faint scar from the Exorcist battle a month ago? Gone. The nick she'd gotten helping Husk repair a jagged chair? Also gone.
"Wow," Charlie murmured, a breathless chuckle escaping her. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and examined her knees, her astonishment growing. The scrape she'd gotten running from one of Cherri and Angel's forgotten fireworks was completely gone, along with every other blemish she could remember.
Her skin was flawless, unmarred, as though she'd never faced danger or misadventure in her entire life. "Angel magic," she whispered again, her tone filled with awe. "I knew it was powerful, but this..." She shook her head slightly, unable to stop the soft smile spreading across her face. "It's amazing."
Beside her, Vaggie shifted, murmuring something unintelligible in her sleep. One of her arms draped over Charlie's lap, and her head nestled deeper into the pillow. Charlie looked down at her partner, her smile softening as she brushed a strand of silver hair out of Vaggie's face.
Vaggie's presence grounded her, but tonight, the lingering warmth from Emily's healing added something new—a buoyancy that made Charlie feel light and hopeful in a way she hadn't in a long time. It was as if some small part of her had been made whole in a way she couldn't explain.
She leaned back into the headboard, still turning her arm this way and that in the candlelight. The flame flickered, catching the smooth surface of her skin and casting golden hues along it. She paused, mesmerized by how the light danced across her unblemished arm.
"It's incredible," she whispered to herself, glancing down at Vaggie again. She couldn't help but feel grateful—not just for Emily's gift, but for everything. For the chance to keep going, for the people she had beside her, for the hope she could now hold onto a little tighter.
Letting out a small sigh, Charlie finally set her arm down and shifted deeper into the blankets. Vaggie's arm tightened lazily around her waist in her sleep, and Charlie placed a hand over it, her smile lingering as her eyes drifted shut.