Back at the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie wandered through the halls, her golden eyes scanning each room as she called out. "Al? Are you here?" Her voice echoed faintly, but there was no response.

He had promised her he wouldn't leave the hotel. She had believed him. Spawn wasn't the type to give his word lightly, and Charlie trusted that he meant what he said. But now, as she moved from room to room, her unease began to grow.

Eventually, she reached the library. The grand space was as quiet as ever, its dim lighting casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. In the center of the room, Niffty flitted about, a flurry of activity as she tidied up a collection of dusty tomes that had been left sprawled across one of the tables.

Charlie stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. "Niffty," she said, her tone hopeful, "have you seen Al?"

Niffty paused, balancing a stack of books on one arm as she turned to look at Charlie. "Al?" She shook her head, her bright eye narrowing in thought. "Nope! Haven't seen him in a while. He left a mess, though! Look at all these books he was reading! Honestly, doesn't anyone here clean up after themselves?"

Charlie's heart sank, but she forced a polite smile. "Thanks, Niffty," she said softly before turning and leaving the library.

Her unease grew with each step as she continued her search. She checked the lounge, the kitchen, even the garden-but there was no sign of Spawn. It seemed that no one in the hotel had seen him for some time.

As she made her way back to the lobby, her phone buzzed. At first, she ignored it, too focused on trying to piece together where Spawn might have gone. But when it buzzed again-and again, and again-she finally pulled it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she saw the notifications flooding her screen.

They were messages from Asmodeus and Beelzebub.

Charlie's stomach dropped as she swiped to open the messages, her golden eyes scanning the rapid-fire texts.

Charlie, Spawn's in trouble.

Satan's got him in a trial by combat.

You need to get here. NOW.

Her heart raced as the realization hit her like a freight train. She barely finished reading the last message before she was already moving, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she rushed to the hotel lobby.

"Al," she whispered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Charlie paced the lobby, her golden eyes darting to her phone as she reread the messages from Asmodeus and Beelzebub. Her breathing quickened, and her fingers tightened around the device as worry etched lines across her face.

"Charlie?"

She looked up sharply to see Vaggie standing nearby, her arms crossed and her silver hair falling over one shoulder. Vaggie's expression was a mix of concern and curiosity as she approached her girlfriend. "What's going on? You look like you're about to have a meltdown."

Charlie hesitated for a moment, glancing back at her phone before finally blurting out, "It's Al. He's in trouble."

Vaggie's eyebrows furrowed as she stepped closer. "What do you mean, 'in trouble'? Did he do something?"

Charlie shook her head quickly. "No. No, it's not like that. Asmodeus and Beelzebub just messaged me. Spawn's been dragged into a trial by combat."

Vaggie's eye widened slightly, the weight of those words settling over her. "Trial by combat?" she repeated, her tone tinged with alarm. "With who?"

Charlie's voice wavered as she replied, "Satan."

For a moment, Vaggie said nothing, her expression hardening as she processed the gravity of the situation. "And you think Spawn went there on his own?" she asked, her tone sharp but not accusatory.

Charlie shook her head firmly. "No," she said, her voice resolute. "Spawn gave me his word that he'd stay in the hotel. And I know he meant it. His word... it means something to him."

Vaggie tilted her head slightly, her arms still crossed. "Charlie, this is a big deal—whether he went willingly or not. We're talking about a trial by combat against Satan. This isn't just about Spawn anymore. This could affect a lot more than just him."

Charlie nodded, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "I know," she said softly. "That's why we have to do something. We can't just leave him to face this alone."

Vaggie placed a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder, her eye locking onto Charlie's with determination. "Then let's figure out how we can help. But first, we need to stay calm and think this through."

Charlie took a deep breath, nodding again as she tried to steady herself. "You're right," she said. "We'll figure it out. We have to."


The moment Satan's booming voice signaled the start of the trial by combat, the arena erupted with motion. Spawn surged into the air, his cape billowing around him like a shadowy shroud. The chains that had once bound him lay shattered at his feet, his body crackling with necroplasmic energy.

Satan wasted no time, his massive form charging forward with terrifying speed for someone his size. His molten claws tore through the air where Spawn had just been, the impact sending a shockwave that rattled the cage and made the ground beneath him crack and sizzle.

Above, Spawn twisted midair, dodging the attack with practiced precision. He launched a flurry of green necroplasmic blasts from his hands, each one streaking toward Satan like comets. But Satan was ready.

With a guttural growl, Satan spread his massive wings, their jagged edges glowing with fiery heat. He swung one of them forward, the force of the motion creating a wall of flame that absorbed the incoming blasts. The arena trembled under the sheer power of the clash, and the flames roared higher, casting long shadows across the spectators.

Outside the cage, Blitzo pressed his face against the invisible barrier, his jaw hanging open. "Holy crap," he muttered. "He's not... barbecued yet?"

Verosika crossed her arms, her glowing eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "I'll admit it," she said. "I didn't think he'd last this long."

Moxxie and Millie stood side by side, their expressions filled with a mix of worry and amazement. Moxxie adjusted his tie nervously. "He's actually holding his own," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Millie's fists clenched at her sides as she leaned closer to the barrier. "That's Spawn for ya," she said proudly. "But Satan's no pushover, either."

Fizzarolli, leaning casually against the barrier, let out a low whistle. "I gotta say," he drawled, "I've seen a lot of crazy fights in my time, but this? This is a whole new level."

Loona, who had been standing slightly apart from the group, tilted her head as she watched the fight. Her usually disinterested expression was replaced with one of genuine intrigue. "Yeah," she said softly. "Guess he's not just some Hell-powered murder machine after all."

The Sins, seated just beyond the cage, were equally captivated. Beelzebub's molten hair swirled faster, her pink pupils narrowing as she leaned forward. "He's actually keeping up," she murmured, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Asmodeus's glowing neon eyes remained fixed on the battle, his calm demeanor betraying a flicker of genuine surprise. "Impressive," he said simply.

Mammon, meanwhile, was leaning forward in his throne, his neon green eyes wide with fascination. "He's not dead yet?" he muttered, shaking his head. "How the hell is he not dead yet?"

Back in the arena, Satan roared with fury, his molten body radiating heat so intense that the air around him shimmered. "You're a stubborn little insect, Spawn," he growled, his voice booming. "But I will grind you into nothingness!"

Spawn didn't respond with words. Instead, he dove toward Satan at breakneck speed, his necroplasm-charged fists glowing brightly. He struck Satan's massive chest with a powerful blow, the impact sending a shockwave that cracked the obsidian ground beneath them.

Satan staggered slightly but recovered quickly, his claws swiping upward in a fiery arc. Spawn twisted out of the way just in time, the flames grazing the edges of his cape as he landed a few feet away.

"Not bad," Spawn muttered, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he surveyed his opponent. "You're tougher than the others."

Satan's smirk returned, sharp and cruel. "And you're far too arrogant for your own good."

With a deafening roar, Satan lunged forward, his claws tearing through the air as the battle raged on.

The spectators watched in stunned silence, unable to tear their eyes away from the clash. Despite the overwhelming power and size difference, Spawn was holding his own. Against all odds, the Hellspawn refused to go down without a fight.

Outside the cage, Beelzebub and Asmodeus sat tensely, their normally commanding presences tinged with uncertainty. Beelzebub's molten hair swirled faster than usual, her hot-pink pupils darting between the battle and her phone. She gripped it tightly, as if willing a response to appear.

"I don't know how much longer he can keep this up," she murmured, glancing at Asmodeus. "We've already contacted Charlie. What else can we do?"

Asmodeus leaned back slightly in his throne, his neon green eyes glowing faintly as he considered her words. "Nothing," he said quietly, his usual smooth tone tinged with frustration. "We've done all we can. The only thing left to do now is wait."

Beelzebub's antennae twitched, her molten tail flicking sharply behind her as she let out an exasperated sigh. "Waiting sucks," she muttered, her voice low. "I hate feeling useless."

Next to them, Mammon slouched in his gaudy, oversized throne, a bored expression on his face. He tapped his golden cane idly against the ground, his neon green eyes half-lidded as he watched the fight with detached amusement.

Beelzebub's gaze snapped toward him, her molten eyes narrowing. "How can you just sit there like that?" she snapped. "Spawn saved your life, Mammon. If it weren't for him, Crimson would've taken you out, and you'd be nothing more than a footnote in Hell's history."

Asmodeus nodded, his neon green eyes flicking toward Mammon. "She's right," he said, his voice calm but pointed. "Spawn didn't have to intervene, but he did. The least you could do is show some gratitude."

Mammon shrugged, his forked tongue flicking out lazily. "Yeah, he saved me," he said, his tone indifferent. "But let's not forget that before he did, he humiliated me. Made me look like a fool in front of everyone." He leaned back, resting his golden cane across his lap. "So, excuse me if I'm not exactly rooting for the guy."

Beelzebub's molten tail slammed against the floor, sending a ripple of heat through the area. "You're unbelievable," she growled, her voice sharp. "How can you still be holding onto that? Do you even care about what happens to him?"

Mammon smirked, his neon eyes glinting with amusement. "Not really," he said with a chuckle. "If he wins, great. If he doesn't... well, that's not my problem."

Beelzebub's molten hair flared briefly, her antennae twitching with irritation. She turned away from him, her gaze returning to the battle as she muttered, "You're pathetic."

Asmodeus didn't respond, but his expression hardened, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Satan and Spawn clash in the arena.

Despite Mammon's indifference, the tension among the Sins was palpable. Each strike, each burst of energy in the cage, felt like a blow to the very balance of Hell itself. And though they couldn't intervene, Beelzebub and Asmodeus silently hoped that Charlie would arrive in time—because if she didn't, the outcome might be something none of them could accept.

The arena shook as Satan lunged forward, his massive clawed hand closing around Spawn in a crushing grip. Before Spawn could react, Satan hurled him through the air with terrifying force.

The Hellspawn's body slammed against the cage's jagged bars, one of the massive spikes impaling him clean through the chest. The impact echoed through the chamber, the ground beneath them trembling from the sheer power of the throw.

Outside the cage, a collective gasp erupted from the spectators.

"No!" Moxxie cried out, his eyes wide with horror as he gripped the barrier.

Millie clenched her fists, her entire body trembling with rage. "Come on, Spawn," she whispered through gritted teeth. "Get up."

Blitzo pressed his hands against the invisible wall, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. "That... that has to hurt," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Verosika shook her head, her glowing eyes fixed on Spawn's limp body. "No one survives something like that," she said softly.

Beelzebub and Asmodeus exchanged uneasy glances, their molten and neon eyes betraying their worry. Even Mammon, despite his earlier indifference, looked momentarily stunned.

Inside the cage, Satan approached Spawn's motionless body, his molten claws glowing brighter with each step. His massive wings unfurled behind him, casting a shadow over the impaled Hellspawn as he loomed closer.

The ground sizzled beneath Satan's feet as he stopped a few paces away, his golden eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Is that it?" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the arena. "The mighty Spawn, brought low by the true power of Hell. How pathetic."

He threw his head back, letting out a deep, booming laugh that reverberated through the chamber. "You should have known better than to challenge me, sinner. Your arrogance has led you to this moment—your final, pitiful end."

Satan took another step closer, raising a clawed hand to deliver the final blow. But just as he moved, something shifted.

One of Spawn's chains suddenly sprang to life. It shot forward like a serpent, wrapping tightly around Satan's throat with a metallic clang.

Satan's laughter died abruptly, replaced by a guttural growl of surprise as the chain tightened.

Everyone outside the cage froze, their eyes widening as they stared at the seemingly lifeless body of Spawn.

Then, with a low, guttural chuckle, Spawn lifted his head. His glowing green eyes burned brighter than ever, and his lips curled into a dark, menacing smile underneath his mask.

The gasping crowd watched in stunned silence as Spawn, still impaled on the spike, pulled himself forward. His necroplasmic energy surged around him, and the massive wound in his chest began to knit itself together with horrifying speed.

"Never gloat too soon," Spawn said, his voice low and dripping with malice. He tugged sharply on the chain around Satan's throat, forcing the massive demon to stumble forward slightly. "Narcissism can be deadly."

With a sickening sound, Spawn wrenched himself off the spike, his body landing with a heavy thud on the ground below. His cape unfurled around him like a shadowy shroud, and he stood tall, his glowing eyes locked onto Satan with an unyielding intensity.

Outside the cage, the spectators were stunned into silence.

Moxxie's jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He's... he's still alive?"

Blitzo threw his arms in the air, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and frustration. "Of course he's still alive! Why wouldn't he be? This guy's like a cockroach with superpowers!"

Millie grinned fiercely, her worry momentarily replaced with pride. "Hell yeah!"

Even Verosika, who had been skeptical moments before, found herself shaking her head with a faint smirk. "Damn," she muttered. "Guess I underestimated him."

Beelzebub leaned forward in her seat, her molten tail flicking excitedly. "That was insane," she murmured.

Asmodeus's neon green eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable as he watched Spawn with renewed interest. "This fight isn't over," he said softly.

Mammon, despite himself, let out a low whistle. "Okay, I'll admit it," he muttered, leaning back in his throne. "The guy's got guts. Literally."

Back inside the cage, Satan roared with fury, his molten eyes blazing as he tore at the chain around his throat. "You insolent worm!" he bellowed, his voice shaking the arena. "I will make you suffer for this!"

Spawn's smirk widened, his chains snapping back to his sides as he took a step forward. "Bring it," he said, his voice steady and filled with dark determination.

The fight was far from over, and the entire arena braced for the chaos yet to come.


High above the caged arena, perched precariously on one of the jagged spires, Yogirt had taken it upon himself to provide Hell with a front-row seat to the spectacle below. His small, red form was silhouetted against the flickering flames as he held a glowing, rune-etched camera-like device, its lens trained on the combatants.

"Ladies and demons!" Yogirt announced with dramatic flair, his voice amplified by the device. "Gather 'round, because this is a once-in-a-millennium event! That's right—a trial by combat, starring none other than the big guy himself, Satan, and some broody sinner with a flair for theatrics!"

The device broadcast his voice and the live feed across Hell's infernal networks, reaching countless denizens who quickly tuned in to witness the unprecedented event. Screens lit up across the rings as imps, demons, and Hellborn of all shapes and sizes paused their daily chaos to watch.

"This," Yogirt continued, his tone excited and playful, "is your chance to witness the raw, unmatched power of Hell's ruler. Watch as Satan reduces this so-called Spawn to nothing but ash!"

Below, the fight raged on, with Satan and Spawn exchanging devastating blows that sent shockwaves through the arena. The sheer ferocity of the battle drew gasps and cheers from viewers across Hell, many of whom had never seen Satan fight with such intensity.

Yogirt, however, began to notice something troubling. Spawn wasn't just holding his own—he was putting up a fight that no one, not even Satan, seemed to have anticipated.

As Spawn pulled himself off the cage's spike and wrapped his chain around Satan's throat, Yogirt's enthusiasm faltered. He lowered the camera slightly, his bright eyes narrowing as he muttered to himself.

"Uh... okay, so maybe this isn't going entirely as planned," he said, glancing nervously at the glowing screen on the device. "He's supposed to be a smoldering pile of ash by now, right? Right?"

Yogirt looked back at the camera feed, which captured Spawn standing tall, his chest wound healed, and his glowing green eyes burning with determination. Satan, meanwhile, roared with fury as he tore at the chain around his neck.

"This is fine," Yogirt muttered, though his tone betrayed his uncertainty. "Totally fine. It's all part of the show. The big guy's just, uh... letting him tire himself out. Yeah, that's it."

But even as he spoke, doubt crept into his mind. The longer Spawn lasted, the less certain Yogirt felt about continuing the broadcast. If Satan—Hell's ultimate authority—struggled or, worse, lost, what would that mean for Hell's perception of its ruler?

He glanced nervously at the camera in his hands. "Maybe... maybe I should cut the feed," he mused, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle below.

The roar of the crowd from the broadcasted footage grew louder, the denizens of Hell clearly enthralled by the fight. Cheers and gasps erupted as Spawn launched another necroplasmic attack, his chains moving like sentient serpents to counter Satan's fiery strikes.

Yogirt bit his lip, torn between his desire for entertainment and his growing fear of the implications. "Then again," he muttered, adjusting the camera for a better angle, "this is kind of historic. Might as well see how it plays out... for the sake of documentation, of course."

He leaned forward slightly, his camera capturing every moment of the chaotic battle below. "Stay tuned, folks," he said, his voice regaining a hint of enthusiasm. "This might just be the greatest fight Hell's ever seen—or the last one anyone ever talks about."


The arena shook as Spawn's glowing green fist, crackling with necroplasmic energy, slammed into Satan's chest with unrelenting force. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the chamber, rattling the cage walls and making the ground tremble beneath the spectators' feet.

Satan's massive form was hurled backward, his molten body colliding with the spiked wall of the cage with an earth-shaking crash. The obsidian spikes cracked under the sheer force of the impact, fragments scattering to the ground as the flames around the arena flared wildly.

Outside the cage, the onlookers watched in stunned silence, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Did he just—?" Moxxie began, his voice trailing off as his wide eyes remained fixed on the scene before him.

Millie, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, grinned fiercely. "He did!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mixture of pride and amazement. "Spawn just sent Satan flying!"

Blitzo let out a low whistle, leaning closer to the barrier. "Okay, now that's impressive," he muttered. "Didn't think anyone could hit Satan that hard."

Beelzebub and Asmodeus exchanged a quick glance, their expressions betraying both concern and intrigue.

Back inside the cage, Satan pushed himself off the shattered wall, molten cracks mending themselves as he rose to his full height. His golden eyes burned with a mix of fury and something else—something he hadn't felt in eons.

Respect.

For the first time, Satan truly assessed his opponent. Spawn wasn't just another sinner with unusual power. His ability to traverse the rings and defeat Crimson had been noteworthy, but not remarkable—killing an imp, even a cunning one, was hardly a feat. And his triumph over Mammon? Abnormal, but not impossible. Mammon was a blowhard, a puffed-up peacock who relied more on threats and bluster than actual combat skill.

But this? This was different.

Satan snarled, molten streaks pulsing brighter across his crimson skin as he summoned his power. His massive claws flexed, the air around him shimmering with heat. "You're more than you appear, Spawn," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "But if it's a fight you want, then I'll give you a real one."

With a guttural roar, Satan raised one clawed hand, summoning a massive, glowing weapon into existence. The hammer was square and brutal, its surface etched with ancient runes that burned with fiery light. Lava dripped from its edges, hissing as it hit the ground, and its handle was wrapped in chains that rattled with every movement.

Satan hefted the hammer with ease, his molten eyes narrowing as he pointed it toward Spawn. "Let's see how your arrogance fares against this," he snarled.

Spawn's glowing green eyes narrowed, his smirk returning as he stood tall. Without hesitation, he reached out, summoning his own weapon.

The Axe of Agony appeared in his hands, its dark, jagged blade glowing faintly with necroplasmic energy. The weapon pulsed with power, its edges sharp enough to rend through anything in its path. Its sinister design seemed to drink in the light around it, exuding an aura of dread that sent a chill through the spectators.

Spawn twirled the axe once in his hands, its weight familiar and reassuring. He locked eyes with Satan, his voice calm but laced with dark confidence. "You think that hammer's gonna save you?" he asked, his smirk widening. "Let's find out."

The two combatants stood opposite each other, their weapons crackling with opposing energies. The air between them seemed to vibrate with anticipation, the sheer power radiating from both fighters nearly tangible.

The spectators outside the cage held their breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Mammon, who had been dismissive moments ago, leaned forward in his throne, his neon green eyes glued to the scene.

"Here we go," Beelzebub murmured, her molten hair swirling faster as her hot-pink pupils narrowed.

Asmodeus nodded slightly, his neon green eyes glowing brighter. "This will be a battle for the ages."

With a shared growl, Spawn and Satan charged at each other, their weapons raised. The ground shook beneath them as they clashed, the impact of their strikes sending shockwaves through the arena.

The sound of metal meeting molten stone reverberated through the arena as Spawn's Axe of Agony clashed against Satan's massive, rune-etched hammer. Sparks and fiery embers flew in all directions as the two weapons locked together, their wielders pushing with all their might to gain dominance.

Spawn's glowing green eyes burned brightly as he leaned into the lock, his muscles straining against Satan's overwhelming force. Despite the sheer size difference, Spawn held his ground, his necroplasmic energy surging through him like a second heartbeat.

Satan snarled, his molten eyes blazing with fury as he pushed back, his hammer glowing brighter with the fiery heat of his rage. The ground beneath their feet cracked and sizzled, unable to withstand the pressure of their clash.

The spectators outside the cage watched in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the two combatants locked in a seemingly unbreakable struggle.

Inside the cage, Spawn's smirk widened, his voice low and calm despite the strain in his body. "You're good," he admitted, his tone laced with begrudging respect. "Hell, I'll even say you're the toughest opponent I've faced here."

Satan's molten eyes narrowed, his wings flaring slightly as he pressed harder against Spawn's axe. "You should feel honored, sinner," he growled. "To stand against me, Satan, and survive this long is more than most can claim."

Spawn's smirk turned into a sharp, mocking grin. "Oh, don't get me wrong," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're tough. But compared to the things I've faced before? You're still at preschool level."

Satan froze for a split second, his golden eyes flickering as he processed the insult. Then, his snarl deepened, and his molten claws tightened around the handle of his hammer. "What did you just say?"

Spawn tilted his head slightly, his grin unrelenting. "You heard me," he said, his tone casual but cutting. "This is baby shit. I've fought things that would make you look like a puppy."

The spectators gasped, their murmurs rippling through the crowd. Even Beelzebub's molten tail twitched sharply as she exchanged a glance with Asmodeus, whose neon green eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity.

Leviathan's left head let out a sharp laugh, leaning back in her throne. "Oh, this just keeps getting better," she muttered, thoroughly enjoying the show.

Inside the cage, Satan's fury boiled over. His molten body flared brighter, and the runes on his hammer glowed with an intense fiery light. "You dare insult me again?!" he roared, his voice shaking the arena. "You arrogant wretch! I'll make you regret ever speaking those words!"

Spawn pushed back against the hammer, his glowing green eyes locking onto Satan's with unyielding determination. "Regret?" he repeated, his tone calm and defiant. "That's one thing I never waste my time on. Not when it comes to shit like this at least."

With a burst of necroplasmic energy, Spawn broke the weapon lock, shoving Satan back with enough force to make the massive demon stumble. Spawn spun his axe in one hand, its blade crackling with dark energy as he prepared for the next round.

Satan steadied himself, his massive wings spreading wide as he let out a deafening roar. The flames around the arena surged higher, the heat becoming almost unbearable as his rage reached its peak.

"You will suffer, Spawn," Satan growled, his voice low and menacing. "I'll make sure of it."

Spawn stood tall, his smirk unwavering as he readied his weapon. "Then shut the fuck up," he said simply, his voice cutting through the roar of the flames. "And show me what you've got."


In the quiet of her room at the Goetia Estate, Octavia sat cross-legged on her bed, a small pile of photographs spread out before her. Each one was precious to her, a collection of moments and mementos tied to her fascination with Spawn.

Beside her was the hoodie she had bought from a street vendor, its fabric worn slightly from frequent use. On her desk, an action figure of Spawn stood proudly, posed mid-battle with his chains unfurled. The figure was flanked by several neatly framed pictures and even a custom-made lamp featuring Spawn's glowing green eyes as its centerpiece.

The walls of her room told the rest of the story. Posters of Spawn, depicting him in dramatic, shadowy poses, hung prominently across the space. The dark aesthetic clashed sharply with the usual regal opulence of the Goetia estate, but Octavia didn't care. These treasures were hers, and she guarded them fiercely.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the door, her expression briefly tightening with worry. She was thankful her mother hadn't noticed her growing collection—or, if she had, hadn't cared enough to say anything.

"Not like she'd understand anyway," Octavia muttered under her breath, turning back to the photograph in her hands.

It was a blurry shot from some lower ring, showing Spawn mid-fight against what appeared to be a gang of imps. He stood in the center of the chaos, chains whipping around him, his glowing green eyes blazing with unrelenting determination. Octavia smiled faintly, her clawed fingers tracing the edge of the picture.

"WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM TO BRING YOU THIS IMPORTANT NEWS BULLETIN"

Suddenly, the TV in her room flickered, its screen briefly going dark before a new image appeared. Octavia's brow furrowed as she looked up, startled.

The screen now displayed a live special broadcast, the feed shaky but clear. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the figures in the frame: Spawn and Satan, locked in a brutal battle inside a massive, flame-filled cage.

"What the—?" Octavia sat up straighter, her eyes widening as she stared at the screen. The feed cut briefly to Yogirt, who was perched high above the arena, narrating the fight with dramatic flair.

"And here we are, folks!" Yogirt's voice announced. "The trial by combat of the millennium! Spawn, the rogue sinner, versus Satan, the ruler of Hell! Who will come out on top? Stay tuned to find out!"

Octavia's claws gripped the edges of her blanket tightly as she watched Spawn deliver a necroplasm-infused punch to Satan's chest, sending the towering demon stumbling back. The sheer force of the blow rattled the cage, and Octavia let out a small gasp.

She had no idea why Spawn was fighting Satan, but the stakes were clear. This wasn't just some skirmish—it was life or death.

Her heart raced as the camera cut back to the fight. Spawn, wielding his Axe of Agony, clashed with Satan's massive, rune-etched hammer, their weapons sending sparks flying with each devastating strike.

Octavia's eyes remained glued to the screen, her breath catching every time Spawn seemed to gain the upper hand—or when Satan's fiery counterattacks came dangerously close to ending him.

She clenched her fists, her voice barely above a whisper. "Come on, Spawn. You've got this."

The thought of Spawn losing—of him being defeated and erased from existence—was unthinkable to her. She didn't care why this trial was happening. All she knew was that she was rooting for him with everything she had.


In the lavish sitting room of the Goetia Estate, Andrealphus reclined comfortably in an intricately carved armchair, a glass of deep red wine in hand. The air was scented with the faint aroma of aged oak and expensive candles, and the room exuded the quiet, smug opulence that Andrealphus thrived in.

Since inheriting Stolas's title—albeit temporarily—he had been making himself more at home in the estate. His frequent presence, much to the dismay of some staff, had become routine.

As he swirled his wine, savoring its complex notes, his sister Stella swept into the room. Her expression was uncharacteristically animated, her usual sneer replaced with an eager gleam in her eyes.

"Andrealphus," she said sharply, her tone both commanding and excited, "turn on the television. Now."

Andrealphus raised a delicate brow, taking another sip of his wine. "Why the urgency, Stella?" he drawled lazily, though the flicker of curiosity in his tone betrayed his interest.

Stella crossed the room in a huff, gesturing impatiently toward the massive, ornate television mounted on the wall. "Because there's a once-in-a-lifetime event happening," she snapped. "A trial by combat. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

That caught his attention. Setting his wine down with practiced grace, Andrealphus reached for the remote, the screen springing to life with a single click. The broadcast flickered on, revealing the fiery arena and the brutal battle raging within.

At first, Andrealphus's expression was one of mild intrigue, his sharp, ice-blue eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the scene. "Satan, in a trial by combat?" he murmured, leaning forward slightly. "Interesting. And who is his unfortunate opponent?"

As the camera panned over the caged arena, both siblings froze.

There, standing toe-to-toe with Satan, was a figure that made Andrealphus's wine glass slip slightly in his grasp before he steadied it.

"Is that—?" Stella began, her voice trailing off as her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Yes," Andrealphus muttered, his usual air of superiority faltering.

On the screen, Yogirt was narrating the fight with dramatic flair. "That's right, folks! You're not dreaming! A mere sinner, known as Spawn, is matching Satan blow for blow!"

Andrealphus's icy composure cracked further as he watched Spawn deliver a powerful strike to Satan's chest, sending the towering demon stumbling back. The sheer force of the blow left cracks in the obsidian ground beneath them, and the crowd outside the cage erupted in gasps and cheers.

"That... that's impossible," Andrealphus muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "No sinner should be able to do this."

Stella's sharp nails tapped against the armrest of her chair as her expression hardened, though her wide eyes betrayed her shock. "He's not just holding his own," she said slowly, her voice tinged with disbelief. "He's actually fighting Satan. And winning."

Andrealphus leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he processed what he was seeing. "That sinner... Spawn," he murmured, his tone both intrigued and wary. "He's no ordinary soul."

Stella crossed her arms, her lips curling into a scowl. "Clearly not," she said, her tone laced with irritation. "What kind of power does it take for a sinner to stand against Satan himself?"

Neither of them had an answer. The room fell into an uneasy silence as they continued to watch the broadcast, the flickering flames of the arena reflected in their eyes.

On the screen, Spawn and Satan clashed again, their weapons sending shockwaves through the cage as their battle raged on.

Andrealphus picked up his wine glass, his icy composure slowly returning as he took a long sip. "Regardless of how this ends," he said softly, almost to himself, "that sinner is rewriting the rules of Hell itself."

Stella said nothing, her gaze fixed on the screen as her mind churned with questions—and more than a little unease.


In the dimly lit living room of Blitzo's apartment, Stolas sat perched on the edge of the couch, his elegant feathers ruffling slightly as he watched the screen before him. The flickering flames of the trial broadcast danced across his wide, glowing eyes, which were locked intently on the battle raging inside the caged arena.

Stolas hadn't gone to the trial, for very obvious reasons. But when word reached him about a trial by combat involving Satan, he couldn't ignore it.

Now, as he watched the battle unfold, his usual calm demeanor was tinged with unease. The sinner facing Satan wasn't just holding his own—he was fighting with a ferocity and power that defied everything Stolas knew about Hell's hierarchy.

Spawn.

The name had been whispered across the rings for some time now, but Stolas hadn't expected this—a sinner fighting Satan himself. And winning.

He shifted slightly, his claws digging into the couch cushion as he leaned closer to the screen. Spawn's Axe of Agony clashed with Satan's rune-etched hammer, the force of their strikes sending shockwaves through the arena. The sheer intensity of the fight was almost hypnotic.

"This is... extraordinary," Stolas murmured, his voice barely audible.

He glanced to the side, his feathers ruffling again as his thoughts turned to Blitzo and Loona. He had seen the live feed, recognized them standing among the spectators outside the cage. They were watching all of this happen in person.

The thought made his chest tighten with worry.

Stolas trusted Blitzo's instincts—most of the time. But Loona? While she was capable, she wasn't invincible. The trial wasn't just a spectacle; it was a boiling pot of chaos, and being so close to such raw power was dangerous for anyone, especially a sinner and a Hellhound.

His claws tapped nervously against the armrest of the couch as his gaze returned to the screen. Satan lunged forward, his massive hammer glowing with fiery intensity, but Spawn countered with a surge of necroplasmic energy that sent the towering demon stumbling back.

The camera zoomed in on Spawn's glowing green eyes, his defiance practically radiating off the screen.

Stolas exhaled slowly, his gaze softening as he watched the Hellspawn. "You're extraordinary, Spawn," he murmured, his voice thoughtful. "But even extraordinary has its limits."

The camera panned briefly to the crowd, and there they were—Blitzo and Loona, standing near Verosika and the other spectators. Blitzo's usual bravado was absent, replaced by a mixture of awe and unease as he watched the fight unfold. Loona stood beside him, her expression unusually focused, her red eyes locked on the cage.

Stolas's claws tightened on the armrest again. He wanted to be there, not just to ensure Blitzo and Loona were safe, but to witness this moment firsthand. Yet he stayed, knowing his presence might complicate things further.

As the battle raged on, Stolas leaned back slightly, his mind racing with questions. What was Spawn? How could a mere sinner wield such power? And what would this trial mean for Hell's future?

For now, all he could do was watch—and silently hope that Blitzo and Loona would leave the courthouse unharmed.


Back in the fiery arena, the clash between Spawn and Satan raged on, the air thick with heat and tension. Sparks flew as their weapons collided again and again, each blow sending shockwaves rippling through the cage. But amidst the chaos, Spawn's glowing green eyes gleamed with something more than defiance—calculation.

It didn't take long for Spawn to notice the cracks in Satan's composure.

Every missed strike, every counter that failed to land, only fueled Satan's growing frustration. His molten eyes blazed hotter with each exchange, and his snarls grew louder and more guttural. Satan's blows, while devastatingly powerful, became less precise, his movements wild and reckless.

Spawn, in contrast, was deliberate, every motion honed by decades of battle experience. His anger was a constant presence, but it wasn't a wildfire—it was a blade, sharpened and controlled. He'd spent years mastering the art of turning rage into focus, and now, that discipline gave him an edge over Satan.

As they locked weapons again, Spawn leaned into the clash, his smirk returning. "You know," he said, his tone almost conversational despite the strain in his voice, "I'm starting to get it."

Satan's molten eyes narrowed, his massive claws tightening around the handle of his hammer. "Get what, worm?" he snarled.

Spawn's smirk widened, his voice dropping to a mocking tone. "Why Lucifer left you in charge."

The words hit like a hammer blow of their own, and for a split second, Satan's grip faltered.

Spawn pressed harder, his voice cutting like a blade. "It's not because he thought you were capable. Oh, no. It's because you're predictable." He twisted his axe slightly, forcing Satan to adjust his stance. "All that rage, all that bravado... It makes you easy to manipulate."

Satan let out a guttural roar, his fiery aura flaring brighter as he shoved Spawn back. "You dare speak of Lucifer to me?" he bellowed, his voice shaking the arena. "I am the ruler of Hell!"

Spawn laughed darkly, his chains rattling as he steadied himself. "Ruler?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "You're nothing more than a placeholder. Lucifer's errand boy."

The spectators outside the cage froze, their eyes darting between the two combatants as the tension thickened.

Belphegor leaned forward slightly. "He's poking the bear," she murmured, a mix of worry and awe in her voice.

Leviathan's left head let out a low chuckle. "Smart move," she muttered. "If you want Satan to lose, get him to lose his cool."

Back inside the cage, Satan's molten claws flexed, his golden eyes burning with unbridled fury. "You will regret every word, sinner," he growled, his massive hammer glowing brighter as he raised it high.

But Spawn didn't stop.

He stepped forward, his axe crackling with necroplasmic energy as he pointed it at Satan. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?" he said, his voice calm but cutting. "No matter how hard you try, you'll never take Lucifer's place. You'll always be second."

Satan's roar echoed through the chamber as he swung his hammer with all his might, the force of the blow creating a shockwave that cracked the ground beneath them. Spawn dodged at the last second, his cape billowing around him as he launched himself into the air.

Hovering above the arena, Spawn's smirk widened as he called down to Satan. "You can swing that hammer all you want," he said. "But it won't change the fact that you're just a cheap imitation."

The flames around the cage surged higher, the heat becoming almost unbearable as Satan's fury reached its peak. His movements became more erratic, each attack more devastating but less precise.

Spawn watched carefully, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he searched for an opening. He could feel the tide of the battle shifting in his favor. All he had to do was keep pushing, keep exposing Satan's greatest weakness—his uncontrollable anger.

As Satan charged again, Spawn's smirk returned. "Come on, big guy," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his axe. "Show me what you've really got."


The tension in the Hazbin Hotel lobby was suffocating as everyone watched the trial broadcast on the screen. Spawn and Satan's battle raged on, each clash of their weapons shaking the caged arena and sending shockwaves through the air.

Vaggie's gaze shifted from the screen to Charlie, who stood a few steps away, clutching her phone tightly. Her golden eyes were fixed on the floor, her expression torn between worry and determination. Vaggie took a deep breath, knowing what she had to suggest—and knowing how Charlie would feel about it.

"Charlie," Vaggie said gently, stepping closer to her.

Charlie didn't look up. "What?" she asked, her voice low and tense.

Vaggie placed a hand on her shoulder. "You're not going to like this," she said carefully, "but I think you need to call your dad."

Charlie stiffened at the words, her shoulders tensing as she tightened her grip on her phone. "My dad?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vaggie nodded, her eye filled with concern. "Charlie, this is bigger than you. Bigger than all of us. If this fight keeps going, it could throw Hell into chaos. Your dad is the only one who can stop this before it gets completely out of hand."

Charlie's jaw tightened, her golden eyes finally lifting to meet Vaggie's. "I don't want to call him," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "I've been trying so hard to do things on my own. To prove I can handle this without his help."

Vaggie's expression softened. "I know you have," she said gently. "And you've done so much already. But this? This isn't something any of us can fix alone. Your dad's been trying to be there for you, right? Let him help."

Charlie's heart twisted at the thought. Lucifer had made several attempts to repair their strained relationship. He'd reached out more, been less aloof, and even shown moments of vulnerability she never thought she'd see. She wanted to trust him, to believe that he was genuinely trying—but the idea of relying on him still made her stomach churn.

Her gaze flicked to the screen, where Spawn narrowly dodged one of Satan's devastating hammer swings. Flames roared around the arena, and the commentators' voices buzzed with excitement as the fight grew more intense.

"I just..." Charlie hesitated, her voice breaking slightly. "I just don't want to feel like I'm running to him every time something goes wrong."

Vaggie squeezed her shoulder, her tone firm but kind. "Calling him isn't weakness, Charlie. It's recognizing when something's too big to handle on your own. And this? This is way bigger than us. Spawn's life is on the line, and if this fight escalates... it could change everything."

The room fell silent, the weight of Vaggie's words hanging heavily in the air. Even Angel Dust and Husk, who had been watching the fight with detached curiosity, stayed quiet, their eyes darting to Charlie.

Finally, Charlie let out a shaky breath, her golden eyes filled with a mix of reluctance and resolve. "You're right," she said softly, her voice steadying. "This isn't about me. This is about Al—and Hell itself."

With trembling hands, she unlocked her phone and scrolled to her father's number. The sight of it made her heart pound, memories of countless unspoken words flashing through her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice, then clicked as a smooth, familiar voice answered.

"Charlie, my dear," Lucifer said, his tone warm and attentive. "It's wonderful to hear from you. What's on your mind?"

Charlie hesitated for only a moment before speaking, her voice firm despite the emotions swirling inside her. "Dad, I need your help," she said. "It's about Al... and Satan."