Lucifer blinked and found himself standing amidst the searing heat of a vast savanna, the golden sands stretching endlessly under a harsh, unforgiving sun. The air shimmered with heatwaves, and the distant sound of gunfire and shouting reached his ears.

He looked down at himself-his usual pristine attire untouched by the oppressive heat, a subtle hint that he was merely a spectator. Yet everything around him felt real.

"Where am I?" Lucifer muttered, his voice drowned out by the cacophony around him.

Before he could gather his bearings, his attention was drawn to a group of soldiers advancing through the arid terrain. Their movements were precise, practiced-a group of professionals on a mission.

And there he was.

Al Simmons.

Lucifer recognized him immediately, even without the glowing green eyes and hellish armor. Simmons moved with the confidence and determination of a man who had spent his life in the field. His dark skin glistened with sweat, and his sharp eyes scanned the horizon for threats.

Beside him, another figure moved with equal precision-Chapel, his partner.

The two exchanged a brief look, a wordless understanding passing between them. But even from his detached position, Lucifer could feel the undercurrent of tension in Chapel's movements, the way his hand lingered too long near his weapon.

"This was his last mission," Lucifer murmured to himself, realization dawning.

The scene shifted slightly as the mission unfolded. The soldiers moved through the terrain, their targets neutralized with efficiency. But the mood was wrong. Lucifer could feel it, the tension building with each passing second.

And then it happened.

As Al reached a clearing, signaling the all-clear, Chapel's movements became deliberate. Calculated.

Lucifer watched as Chapel pulled a flamethrower from his gear, his expression cold and detached.

"Chapel..." Al's voice carried through the haze, laced with confusion. "What the hell are you doing?"

Chapel didn't answer immediately, his grip tightening on the weapon. "Orders, Al," he said finally, his tone devoid of emotion. "You've become... expendable."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he saw the realization hit Al like a physical blow. The betrayal was written across his face, the sharp sting of disbelief mingled with raw fury.

"Orders?" Al spat, his voice rising. "We're partners, Chapel! After everything-"

Chapel cut him off, his expression hardening. "It's not personal, Simmons. Just business."

And with that, he pulled the trigger.

The roar of the flames drowned out Al's scream as the fire consumed him, the heat so intense that Lucifer instinctively took a step back despite being untouchable in this memory.

He watched as Al's body writhed in agony, the fire reducing him to little more than charred flesh and bone. The betrayal, the pain, the rage-it was all palpable, an emotional storm so raw that it left Lucifer momentarily speechless.

The memory lingered on, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air as Chapel turned and walked away without a second glance.

As Al Simmons lay on the burning ground, his life slowly fading away, the unbearable heat of the flames could not compare to the suffocating despair tightening around his chest. His mind was filled with one thought above all: Wanda.

The pain of his body breaking down, of every inch of him consumed by the fire, was nothing compared to the thought that he would never see her again. His wife. His love. His everything.

"No..." he breathed, his voice raspy and barely audible through the crackling flames. "I can't... leave her..."

His body trembled, his vision blurring with smoke and agony. But then, in the midst of his dying breaths, a voice-low, dark, and laced with an unsettling malice-pierced through the air.

"You don't have to leave her, Al Simmons."

Lucifer's crimson eyes narrowed as he witnessed the shift in the memory. He could feel the pull of the voice-sinister and persuasive-but he couldn't yet place it. A presence, powerful but unknown, whispered promises of things that only a being like Spawn could truly understand.

The air around them seemed to grow heavier, colder, a stark contrast to the searing heat that should have been suffocating Al.

Al's fading eyes flicked open, the pain still overwhelming, but the voice calling out to him had ignited something else: a glimmer of hope. "W-Who...?" he rasped, straining to speak.

The voice chuckled, sending chills through the air as it spoke again. "A friend, Al. A powerful friend. Or at least the only one that's listening."

The words were like a hook, pulling him deeper into the darkened abyss.

"Do you want to see her again?" the voice asked, its tone dripping with false hope. "Do you want to hold Wanda once more? I can give you that."

Al's heart raced. His entire body burned, but it wasn't the physical pain that overwhelmed him now-it was the thought of being with Wanda again. The thought of touching her, holding her, after everything that had been torn away.

"Yes..." Al whispered, his voice trembling with desperation. "Please... let me see her again."

The voice laughed again, but this time it was darker, richer with malevolent satisfaction. "You will, Al. All you need to do is agree."

Without a second thought, lost in his need to be with Wanda again, Al's voice was desperate. "Anything... I'll do anything."

Lucifer's eyes tightened as he watched the deal unfold. This wasn't simply a plea for help-it was desperation, the kind that would lead a man to make the biggest mistake of his life.

And then, the voice revealed its true nature.

"To see Wanda again, you must serve me," it purred. "You will lead my army, fight my battles, and bring chaos to the world. In exchange, you will see her once more."

Al's burning eyes fluttered in confusion, but his mind was clouded with one thing: Wanda. He had no room for second thoughts. "Yes," he rasped, his words final. "I'll do it. Just bring me back to her."

Lucifer watched the moment unfold, knowing it was a deal that would chain Al Simmons to something far darker than he could ever comprehend. "Poor fool," Lucifer muttered to himself. "He didn't even know what he was agreeing to."

The ground shook as fiery chains erupted, wrapping around Al's body, dragging his soul into the abyss.

The memory shifted again, the oppressive heat of Botswana giving way to something far more sinister. Lucifer found himself standing in a place that reeked of malice, the air thick with an acrid stench that made even him grimace.

His eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings. The jagged obsidian ground beneath his feet seemed alive, pulsing faintly with a deep, unnatural red glow. Rivers of molten lava snaked through the landscape, casting flickering shadows against the towering spires of bone and sinew that stretched into an eternal, lightless sky.

It was unmistakably Hell-but not his Hell.

"This..." Lucifer muttered, his voice low and sharp. "This isn't my domain."

The weight of this place pressed down on him, unlike anything he had felt before. It was primal, insidious, and entirely alien. His Hell, with all its chaos and torment, was structured, ruled. But this... this place was chaos given form, a nightmare with no boundaries.

Before he could orient himself further, a deep, guttural growl reverberated through the air, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. Lucifer turned sharply, his eyes widening as he caught sight of a monstrous figure looming in the distance.

Malebolgia.

The demon was colossal, his towering frame covered in grotesque ridges of flesh and bone that glistened with a sickly sheen. His maw was filled with jagged, uneven teeth, and his glowing red eyes radiated pure malice. Twin horns jutted upward from his massive skull, curling in sharp arcs that seemed to pierce the void above. His body was adorned with spikes and every step he took left cracks of molten fire in his wake.

Lucifer stared, unflinching, though even he couldn't deny the unsettling power radiating from this creature. He had faced countless horrors in his eons, but there was something deeply wrong about this being.

"Who... are you?" Lucifer murmured, though the towering demon paid him no mind.

Then Lucifer's gaze shifted downward, and his breath caught.

Beneath the monstrous figure lay a charred, broken form-Al Simmons, or what remained of him. His body was twisted and burned, his flesh barely clinging to his bones. Chains wrapped around his limbs, suspending him in midair as he writhed and screamed in agony.

The sound of his torment was unlike anything Lucifer had heard before, raw and visceral, a blend of physical and mental suffering that cut through the oppressive atmosphere like a blade.

Malebolgia's guttural laughter echoed through the twisted landscape, his massive claws reaching down to prod at Al's broken form. "You wanted to see your precious Wanda, didn't you?" the demon growled, his voice deep and mocking. "And now look at you. My perfect little pawn."

Al's screams intensified as Malebolgia's claws dug into his flesh, tearing through him as if he were nothing more than a toy. The glowing red chains pulsed with every movement, sending waves of torment through his body and mind.

Lucifer's crimson eyes darkened as he watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. This wasn't just torture-it was domination, a complete and utter breaking of the soul.

"Who are you to wield this kind of power?" Lucifer whispered, his voice low. He took a step forward, his instincts demanding answers, though he knew he was only a spectator in this memory.

Malebolgia let out another rumbling laugh, his massive form leaning closer to Al. "You belong to me now, Simmons," he growled. "You will lead my armies. You will do my bidding. And you will only see her again when I allow it."

Al's screams turned into raw, guttural sobs, his voice breaking as he choked out a single name: "Wanda..."

Lucifer's gaze lingered on the broken man, his expression hardening. Though he didn't know this Malebolgia, one thing was clear: this demon was unlike any he had ever encountered.

"This isn't Hell as I know it," Lucifer muttered, his voice filled with both curiosity and unease. "This is something... far worse."

The scene before him continued, the echoes of Al's torment and Malebolgia's laughter carving themselves into Lucifer's mind.

The memory blurred and shifted again, plunging Lucifer deeper into Al Simmons' descent into hellish torment. The acrid air grew heavier, the faint glow of molten rivers casting twisted shadows across the landscape.

For the next five years, Lucifer became a spectator to a nightmare he could hardly fathom.

Al Simmons was never left alone.

He was beaten, torn apart, and subjected to unspeakable cruelties daily. The chains that bound him pulsed with dark energy, keeping his broken form tethered to this Hell and amplifying his suffering. Every time he thought he might find a moment's respite, another torment began, more brutal than the last.

And then there was Violator.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he observed the sadistic demon's arrival. Violator was grotesque, with a small, spiked body that contrasted with his unnaturally long limbs and jagged claws. His mouth was filled with needle-like teeth that gleamed as he smiled, radiating malice and delight in his work.

"Well, look at you," Violator sneered, his gravelly voice laced with mockery as he circled Al's chained form. "Big tough soldier boy, reduced to a sniveling little worm. Isn't this just perfect?"

Violator was relentless. He tortured Al both physically and mentally, clawing into his flesh while spewing venomous taunts about Wanda and the life he had lost.

"She's probably moved on by now," Violator said once, his voice dripping with cruelty. "Found someone better. Someone whole. Face it, Simmons-you were always disposable."

Lucifer clenched his jaw as he watched Al writhe and scream, his anger at Violator's unending torment tempered by his growing respect for Al's resilience.

As the years passed in the memory, Lucifer could see the toll the torment had taken on Al. His body was repeatedly torn apart and rebuilt by the chains and molten energy of this Hell, each cycle more excruciating than the last.

Yet despite the horrors, Al's spirit remained unbroken. He screamed, he raged, and he fought, refusing to give his tormentors the satisfaction of complete submission.

But it came at a cost. Lucifer could see the cracks forming in Al's mind, the anger and pain twisting into something darker, something far removed from the man he once was.

Finally, the memory shifted again, and Lucifer found himself standing in a vast, jagged chamber. The air was thick with tension, and Malebolgia loomed overhead, his massive form casting a shadow across the room.

In the center of the chamber stood Al, no longer broken and chained but standing on shaky legs. His charred body bore the scars of five years of torment, his eyes hollow but burning with rage.

"Enough," Malebolgia growled, his voice shaking the very ground. "It's time for you to become what you were meant to be."

Lucifer's eyes flicked to the object suspended in the air before Al-a suit, if it could be called that. It pulsed with dark energy, its surface shifting like living flesh.

Malebolgia grinned, his jagged teeth gleaming. "This is Leetha of the 7th House of K. Your symbiotic partner. Your power. Your leash. She will bind to you, Al Simmons, and together you will become my greatest Hellspawn."

Al didn't move, his body trembling with a mix of anger and fear. But before he could react, the suit surged forward, tendrils of black and red energy wrapping around him like serpents.

The process was anything but gentle.

Lucifer winced as he watched the symbiotic suit force itself onto Al's body. The tendrils burrowed into his flesh, fusing with his very being. Al screamed, the sound raw and guttural, as the suit tore through him, its living energy binding to his muscles, bones, and soul.

"Pain is power," Malebolgia roared, his laughter echoing through the chamber. "And you will wield it in my name!"

The suit continued to meld with Al, reshaping his charred body into something new, something monstrous. Spikes erupted from his shoulders, his tattered cloak morphed into a flowing, crimson cape, and his eyes glowed with an unearthly green light.

When the process finally ended, Al dropped to his knees, his breathing ragged. The chamber was silent, save for the faint crackle of energy radiating from his newly formed armor.

Lucifer's crimson eyes darkened as he studied the transformed figure. This was no longer just Al Simmons. This was Spawn, a creature forged in torment and bound by malice.

Malebolgia leaned closer, his massive form filling the chamber. "You are mine, Spawn," he growled. "And you will bring Hell to Earth."

Lucifer took a step back as the memory began to fade, his mind racing as he processed everything he had seen.

"This..." he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful. "This is what forged him."

The oppressive atmosphere shifted again, pulling Lucifer deeper into the torrent of memories. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a dark, rain-soaked alley. The air smelled of damp asphalt and decay, a stark contrast to the fiery torment of this worlds Hell.

Lucifer turned his head, taking in the dismal scene. Despite the chaos of the city surrounding him, a heavy stillness hung in the air, broken only by the faint hum of neon lights and the distant wail of sirens.

And then he saw him.

Spawn.

The newly reborn Hellspawn stood in the shadows, his dark suit glistening with rain. His crimson cape billowed faintly despite the lack of wind, its edges torn and jagged. His glowing green eyes burned through the darkness, their light reflecting off the wet pavement.

Lucifer watched as Spawn's clawed hands flexed at his sides, his body tense as though on the verge of exploding.

"This is where it begins," Lucifer muttered to himself, his tone heavy with curiosity.

The memory shifted briefly, and Lucifer caught a glimpse of Malebolgia, his towering form standing over Spawn's kneeling figure in the depths of Hell.

"It's time for you to fulfill your purpose," Malebolgia growled, his jagged teeth gleaming as he gestured toward a swirling vortex of energy. "Return to Earth. Bring chaos. Spread destruction. Show them what it means to be mine."

Spawn's glowing green eyes flicked upward, confusion and anger flickering across his face. But before he could protest, fiery chains wrapped around his body, yanking him toward the portal.

"Wait-" Spawn began, but his voice was drowned out by Malebolgia's laughter.

"You are mine, Spawn," the demon bellowed. "And you will do as I command. Go!"

Lucifer found himself back in the alley as Spawn's arrival shook the air. The portal opened above, its fiery glow casting eerie shadows on the walls. Spawn's body was hurled through, crashing onto the ground with enough force to crack the pavement.

For a moment, he lay there, unmoving. Rain poured over him, hissing faintly as it hit his body. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his movements sluggish and disoriented.

Lucifer stepped closer, watching intently as Spawn staggered to his feet, his glowing eyes flickering like a dying flame.

"What...?" Spawn muttered, his voice low and strained. "Where am I? Who... am I?"

His hand went to his head, clawed fingers scraping against his mask as fragmented images began to surface in his mind. He saw flashes of a woman-her face blurred but undeniably beautiful. Her voice, soft and full of warmth, echoed faintly in his mind.

"Who is she?" Spawn whispered, his tone filled with desperation. "Why do I remember her?"

Lucifer tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he observed Spawn's turmoil. The Hellspawn's memory had been wiped clean by Malebolgia, save for that single fragment-the image of the woman he loved but couldn't name.

Before Spawn could delve deeper into his confusion, the sound of laughter and heavy footsteps echoed through the alley.

A group of mobsters rounded the corner, their weapons drawn and their faces twisted into sneers.

"Well, well," one of them said, his voice dripping with mockery. "What do we have here? Some kind of Halloween freak?"

The others laughed, raising their guns as they approached.

Spawn's glowing eyes snapped to them, his posture shifting instinctively. The confusion in his mind was momentarily eclipsed by a primal urge-a drive to fight, to destroy.

Before the mobsters could react, Spawn surged forward.

Lucifer watched in silence as Spawn moved with inhuman speed, his chains unfurling like vipers. The mobsters barely had time to scream before they were torn apart, their bodies hitting the ground in a bloody heap.

When the carnage ended, Spawn stood in the center of the alley, his breathing heavy. Blood dripped from his chains, pooling around his feet as the rain continued to fall.

He stared down at the lifeless bodies, his fists clenching and unclenching. "What am I?" he muttered, his voice filled with anger and confusion.

Lucifer's gaze softened slightly as he took in the scene. He could see the conflict raging within Spawn-the warrior instincts that had been burned into him clashing with the fragments of his humanity that still lingered.

"Who... is she?" Spawn whispered again, his voice trembling as he clutched his head. The memory of the woman-Wanda-flickered in his mind, but her name eluded him, slipping through his grasp like sand through his fingers.

Lucifer remained silent, his mind racing as he pieced together the fragments of Spawn's story.

He continued to watch as Spawn stumbled through the rain-soaked alley, his chains rattling faintly as they dragged across the ground. The weight of confusion bore down on him, his glowing green eyes flickering as fragments of memories swirled chaotically in his mind.

The distant sound of sirens filled the air, but Spawn paid them no mind. His hands clenched into fists, his frustration bubbling over. "What am I supposed to be?"

Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, a low, raspy chuckle echoed through the alley.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," a voice said, dripping with sarcasm and amusement.

Spawn spun around, his chains snapping into place, ready to strike. His glowing eyes locked onto the figure emerging from the shadows-a short, rotund man with a grotesque grin plastered across his pale face. His blue and white clown makeup was smudged and uneven.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he observed the newcomer. There was something deeply unsettling about him, something that made even Lucifer's vast experience feel inadequate to place.

The clown stepped closer, his stubby fingers clapping together in mock applause. "Not bad, not bad at all," he said, gesturing toward the bloody remains of the mobsters scattered around the alley. "First day topside, and you've already made quite the mess. Malebolgia's gonna love this."

Spawn tensed, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, his voice low and threatening.

The clown grinned wider, revealing a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth. "Who am I?" he repeated, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. "You mean you don't recognize me? After all the time we spent together downstairs?"

Spawn's confusion deepened, his glowing eyes flickering as he tried to piece together the stranger's words. "I don't know you," he said coldly. "And I don't care who you are. Get lost."

The clown let out a boisterous laugh, doubling over as though he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. "Oh, you really don't remember anything, do you?" he said, straightening up and wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye.

Spawn's chains rattled ominously, but the clown didn't flinch.

"Alright, fine," the clown said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Let me introduce myself. The name's Violator. And I'm here to make sure you don't screw up your big debut."

"Violator..." Spawn repeated, his voice low and uncertain. The name sounded vaguely familiar, like a faint echo in the back of his mind.

Violator smirked, stepping closer until he was almost pressed up to Spawn. "And you," he said, poking a stubby finger against Spawn's chest, "are Hell's newest favorite toy. Malebolgia's little golden boy. But you? You can just call yourself Spawn. That's what Hell's given you. Congratulations on the promotion."

Spawn didn't move, his glowing eyes locked onto Violator's twisted grin. "Spawn?" he muttered, the word rolling off his tongue with an unsettling familiarity.

Lucifer's gaze darkened as he watched the exchange, his sharp mind processing every word. He didn't know who this Violator was, but it was clear the clown was no ordinary demon.

Violator's grin widened as he patted Spawn on the arm. "Don't look so glum, pal," he said. "This is just the beginning. You've got a lot of work to do, and lucky for you, I'm here to help!"

Spawn's glowing eyes narrowed as he shrugged off Violator's hand. "I don't need help," he said firmly. "Not from you. Not from anyone."

Violator's laughter echoed through the alley again, his stubby frame shaking with mirth. "Oh, you'll change your tune soon enough, big guy," he said. "Trust me. You've got no idea what you're in for."

The memory shifted again, and Lucifer found himself standing under the soft glow of morning light. The harsh rain and dark alley faded away, replaced by the serene calm of a quiet suburban neighborhood.

Lucifer's eyes scanned the scene, his gaze landing on Spawn. The Hellspawn stood at the edge of the street, cloaked in shadows cast by the trees lining the sidewalk. His imposing figure seemed almost out of place against the picturesque backdrop of neat lawns and quaint houses.

But Spawn wasn't focused on the neighborhood. His glowing green eyes were fixed on a single house at the end of the street-a modest, two-story home with white siding and a red door.

"This is the place," Spawn murmured, his voice barely audible.

Lucifer tilted his head, observing the tension in Spawn's posture, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He could feel the weight of the moment, the storm of emotions roiling beneath the Hellspawn's stoic exterior.

Spawn remained motionless, his glowing eyes locked onto the house as the morning light grew brighter. He didn't move, didn't speak, simply waited.

And then the front door opened.

Lucifer watched as a woman stepped out onto the porch, her presence immediately commanding Spawn's full attention.

Wanda.

She was every bit as radiant as Spawn's fragmented memories had painted her. Her hair glistened in the sunlight, and her smile was warm as she stepped into the yard, glancing back toward the house.

The sight of her hit Spawn like a tidal wave. Memories he didn't even realize he still had came rushing back in an uncontrollable flood. The sound of her laughter, the feel of her touch, the way she'd whisper his name in moments of quiet intimacy.

"Wanda..." Spawn whispered, his voice trembling.

Lucifer glanced at Spawn, his expression softening slightly. He could see the cracks forming in the Hellspawn's carefully constructed walls, the raw emotion threatening to spill over.

But the flood of memories came to an abrupt halt as someone else stepped out of the house.

Terry.

Lucifer's sharp eyes flicked to the man, immediately recognizing him as someone important. Tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying himself with the confidence of someone who had stepped into the role of protector, Terry Fitzgerald was the man Spawn had once called his best friend.

Spawn's glowing eyes narrowed as the realization set in. His best friend. Here. With her.

And then the final blow.

A little girl darted out from behind Terry, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she ran into the yard. She couldn't have been more than four years old, her curly hair bouncing as she chased after a butterfly.

Spawn staggered back a step, his breath catching as the pieces fell into place.

"Terry..." he murmured, the name falling from his lips like lead weights.

Lucifer watched as Spawn's posture shifted, his usual aura of rage and defiance giving way to something far more vulnerable. For all the battles he had fought, all the torment he had endured, this moment-this simple realization-hit harder than anything before.

Wanda's laughter carried across the yard as she called for Cyan to come back, her voice filled with warmth and love. Terry joined her, placing a hand on her shoulder as the two shared a smile.

Spawn remained frozen, his fists clenched so tightly his claws dug into his palms. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

"How long was I gone?" Spawn whispered, his voice hollow.

Lucifer took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the Hellspawn. He could see the pain etched into every fiber of Spawn's being, the realization that everything he had fought for, everything he had suffered for, was gone.

Wanda had moved on. She had built a life. A family. And there was no place for him in it.

The quiet devastation in Spawn's posture was almost palpable, a stark contrast to the violent fury Lucifer had come to associate with him.

For a moment, neither moved, the world around them silent save for the faint sounds of Wanda, Terry, and Cyan's happy laughter.

Lucifer exhaled softly, his voice barely audible. "Sometimes, the greatest torment isn't inflicted by others," he murmured. "It's the pain we carry ourselves."

The quiet stillness of the moment was broken by a low, raspy chuckle that echoed through the alley like a sinister whisper. Spawn's glowing eyes snapped away from the scene of Wanda, Terry, and Cyan, locking onto the shadows behind him.

From the darkness emerged Violator, his grotesque grin wider than ever as he waddled into view. His makeup was smeared, and his bulbous form seemed almost too large for his stubby legs to support, but his sharp, mocking tone carried with ease.

"Well, isn't this just precious?" Violator sneered, gesturing toward the happy family in the yard. "Big bad Hellspawn, standing there all teary-eyed over some chick."

Spawn's chains rattled ominously, his glowing eyes narrowing. "Get lost," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Violator raised his stubby hands in mock surrender, his grin never wavering. "Oh, don't get all bent outta shape, pal," he said, circling Spawn with an air of exaggerated amusement. "I'm just here to give you a reality check."

Spawn's fists clenched, his necroplasm surging faintly as he glared at the clown. "I said, get lost."

Violator ignored the warning, leaning in closer as his voice took on a mocking sing-song tone. "You're getting all worked up over her, huh? Wanda. The love of your life. The reason you sold your soul. Blah, blah, blah."

Spawn's chains shot out, wrapping around Violator's neck in an instant. The clown didn't flinch, his grin widening as he gave a gurgled laugh.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" Violator choked out, his voice still dripping with mockery.

Spawn yanked him closer, his glowing eyes blazing with fury. "I'm not in the mood for your games," he growled. "What the hell do you want?"

Violator chuckled, his beady eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh, relax, big guy," he said, waving a stubby hand. "I'm just here to help. You're wandering around like a lost puppy, trying to figure out what's what, so I figured I'd fill in the blanks."

Spawn hesitated, his chains loosening slightly but still keeping Violator restrained.

"Your former self, Al Simmons," Violator began, his tone oozing with mock sympathy. "Big-shot assassin. Government spook. A real piece of work. And guess what? He's dead. Been dead for five years."

The words hit Spawn like a thunderclap. His glowing eyes flickered, his chains retracting as he stumbled back a step. "Five years..." he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief.

Violator adjusted his collar, brushing himself off with a theatrical sigh of relief. "Yeah, five years. And while you were getting roasted downstairs, your buddy Terry was busy picking up the pieces. Married your girl, gave her the kid you couldn't, and played house while you were busy screaming your head off."

Spawn's fists clenched, his necroplasm rippling with barely contained fury. "You're lying," he spat, his voice trembling with anger.

Violator raised an eyebrow, his grin twisting into something more sinister. "If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'. Which would be kinda redundant," he said, his tone mocking. "But hey, don't take my word for it. Go ahead, see for yourself."

Spawn's chains rattled as he took a step forward, his glowing eyes blazing. "What do you mean?"

Violator shrugged, his grin widening. "You wanna know the truth? The whole truth? Go ahead and dig yourself up, Simmons. Maybe then you'll finally get it through that thick skull of yours."

Lucifer, watching from the sidelines, folded his arms as he processed the exchange. Violator's words were cruel, but there was an undeniable logic to them. If Spawn truly wanted answers, he'd have to confront the ultimate proof of his death.

Spawn stood motionless, his mind racing as Violator's words echoed in his head. Finally, without another word, he turned and strode away, his chains dragging behind him.

Violator chuckled, his voice following Spawn as he disappeared into the shadows. "Good luck, big guy," he called. "You're gonna need it."

Lucifer lingered for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Violator. There was something deeply unsettling about the clown, something that gnawed at the edges of Lucifer's instincts.

"Interesting," Lucifer muttered, before turning to follow Spawn's memories.

The memory shifted again, and Lucifer found himself standing in a quiet cemetery under a blanket of thick clouds. The air was heavy, damp with the promise of rain, and the faint rustle of leaves in the wind was the only sound. Rows of headstones stretched into the distance, each one a silent testament to the lives that had passed.

But Lucifer's attention was drawn to a figure at the far end of the cemetery, illuminated faintly by the dim light of the moon filtering through the clouds.

Spawn.

He was on his knees in front of a freshly disturbed grave, his hands clawing at the earth with a frantic determination. Dirt flew in all directions as his powerful fingers dug deeper and deeper into the soil.

Lucifer approached silently, his eyes narrowing as he read the name on the headstone.

"Al Simmons."

Spawn's voice broke through the stillness, low and rough, but growing louder with each repetition. "I'm not here... I'm not dead... I'm me, damn it..."

The words came like a mantra, desperation lacing every syllable as Spawn tore into the ground with increasing ferocity. His chains hung limp at his sides, useless in this moment of raw humanity.

Lucifer watched in silence, the weight of the scene pressing against him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Spawn's claws scraped against something solid. He froze, his breathing ragged, before brushing away the last layers of dirt to reveal a polished wooden coffin.

"No..." Spawn whispered, his voice trembling.

With a grunt, he pried the coffin lid open, the creaking hinges echoing in the quiet cemetery. Inside lay a decayed corpse, dressed impeccably in a military dress uniform. The body was unmistakably his—what was left of it. The remnants of his face, the same sharp features that once belonged to Al Simmons, stared back at him through the veil of decomposition.

Lucifer stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the name tag on the uniform.

"Simmons."

Spawn's glowing green eyes flickered, his breathing heavy as he stared at the corpse. "No..." he whispered again, his voice breaking. "This... this can't be me..."

His trembling hands reached into the coffin, brushing against the decayed flesh as he lifted the hand wearing the wedding ring, slipping it off the finger. The metal was tarnished but intact, and Spawn's sharp eyes caught the faint glint of an engraving on the inside.

"Al & Wanda Forever."

The words were simple, yet they struck like a thunderclap.

Spawn's entire body shook as the truth hit him with full force. This was real. He was dead. Al Simmons was dead.

The mantra he had repeated earlier—"I'm not dead"—dissolved into a guttural cry, a raw and primal sound that echoed across the cemetery.

"OH GOD!"

Lucifer watched as Spawn threw his head back, his glowing eyes blazing as he screamed. It was a sound filled with anguish, rage, and despair, a storm of emotions that no words could adequately describe.

The wedding ring clattered to the ground as Spawn's claws clenched into fists, his chains trembling with the force of his emotions.

"Why..." Spawn growled, his voice low and venomous. "Why did this happen to me?"

Lucifer's expression softened, his usually aloof demeanor giving way to something almost like pity. He could feel the weight of Spawn's pain, the unbearable realization that everything he had once been was gone.

The memory lingered, the echoes of Spawn's scream fading into the distance as he remained kneeling by the grave, his body hunched over in defeat.