Spawn sat in the dimly lit holding cell, his green eyes unmoving as he stared at nothing in particular. His mind was quiet, but only in the way that a storm might settle momentarily before raging again. He was waiting. Waiting for Frank to return from wherever he had wandered off to. But as the minutes ticked by, Frank seemed to be taking longer than Spawn had anticipated.

The sound of the heavy door creaking open drew his attention. For a moment, Spawn thought it might finally be Frank, perhaps with more peculiar findings or another discarded snack. But when he lifted his gaze, what he saw made him pause.

It wasn't Frank.

Standing at the threshold was the young Seraphim he had seen earlier—Emily. She was small, unassuming, and radiated a kind of innocent warmth that felt completely at odds with where he was. She smiled nervously at him, holding a tray in her hands.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said softly, stepping closer. "I got permission to bring you something to eat while you wait."

Spawn tilted his head slightly, the glow of his eyes narrowing as he observed her. Her tone wasn't condescending or smug like the Exorcists. It was genuine. "That's sweet of you," he said, his voice gravelly, "but I don't eat."

Emily blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean? You're not hungry, or...?"

"I don't eat," Spawn repeated plainly, his tone final. "Haven't needed to for a long time. Food doesn't do anything for me."

Emily hesitated, her gaze shifting from the tray to Spawn and back again. "Oh," she murmured, setting the tray down on a nearby surface anyway. "I just thought... I mean, everyone eats, right?"

"Not me," Spawn replied, leaning back against the wall.

For a moment, silence hung between them, her genuine curiosity clashing with the stoic, unreadable presence of the Hellspawn before her. Yet, despite the oddity of the situation, Emily didn't leave. Instead, she lingered, her soft wings fluttering slightly behind her.

"Well... if you change your mind," she offered with an awkward smile, gesturing toward the tray.

Spawn didn't respond, his gaze returning to the far wall. Emily's smile faltered slightly, but she stayed where she was, as if debating whether to say something else.

Emily hesitated by the tray, the faint sound of her wings rustling the only noise in the room. She glanced at Spawn, her expression conflicted, before finally speaking up. "I, uh… I have to admit, bringing you food wasn't the only reason I came here."

Spawn's eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm… curious about you," Emily admitted, her voice soft but earnest. She clasped her hands in front of her, fidgeting slightly. "I've never met anyone like you before."

His gaze locked onto hers, the glow of his eyes sharp and penetrating. "What do you mean, 'like me'?"

Emily shifted her weight nervously but didn't look away. "Well, I've only met one other person from Hell before, and that was Charlie. She's… really nice. Honestly, I'd even consider her a friend."

Spawn's brow furrowed slightly at the mention of Charlie. Emily's tone was sincere, devoid of mockery or disdain.

"But you're different," Emily continued, her voice steadying as she spoke. "You don't seem… I don't know… like what I expected. I've read about Hell, and I've been taught what people there are supposed to be like. But you don't fit any of that. I just… I want to know more. About you. About the others."

Spawn leaned forward slightly, his chains clinking faintly with the movement. His expression was unreadable, but he studied her closely, searching for any sign of deceit. He had spent years honing his instincts, learning to spot even the smallest flicker of falsehood. But in Emily's face, he saw none.

"You really want to know?" he asked, his voice low and skeptical.

Emily nodded without hesitation. "Yes. I mean… if you're willing to tell me."

For a long moment, Spawn said nothing. He could feel her sincerity, her genuine curiosity. It wasn't prying or manipulative. It was the kind of interest that came from someone who wanted to understand, not judge.

"Alright," he said finally, leaning back against the wall. "But if you're expecting some fairy tale, you're in the wrong place."

Emily didn't flinch. "I wasn't expecting a fairy tale," she replied, her tone as calm as her gaze. "I just want to understand."

With a low sigh, Spawn folded his arms. "Then sit down. This might take a while."

As the visions from the pendant faded, Blitzo, Millie, Moxxie, and Loona stood in stunned silence. Each of them wore an expression that ranged from awe to discomfort, processing the brutal and incredible history they had just witnessed.

Blitzo broke the silence first, his voice unusually subdued. "Okay... so, uh... wow. That's... a lot."

Moxxie gave him a side-eye, clearly irritated by the lackluster reaction. "A lot? That's all you've got to say after watching someone take on God and the Devil at the same time?"

Loona, leaning against a wall, crossed her arms. "I mean, he did win. Makes you wonder what he's doing hanging around down here."

Millie, still visibly shaken, put a hand on Moxxie's shoulder. "I think what Blitzo's tryin' to say is... we're lucky Spawn's on our side."

Blitzo nodded slowly, scratching the back of his neck as he looked to Charlie. "Yeah, that. And... now that I've seen all of that... holy shit, we are so damn lucky he didn't just turn us into paste the second we tried to kill him."

Charlie tilted her head, confusion written across her face. "What do you mean?"

Moxxie sighed, rubbing his temples. "It was one of the first jobs we took for Velvette. We were hired to assassinate Spawn. Obviously, it didn't go well, but... he let us live."

Blitzo chimed in, his voice laced with nervous energy. "Yeah, let us live. After watching all of that? I'm realizing he could've wiped the floor with us without even breaking a sweat." He paused, a shiver running down his spine. "Hell, he could've taken on the whole damn city if he felt like it."

Charlie gave a small smile, her tone soft. "That's not who he is. Not anymore, at least. He's not just a warrior—he's someone who's fought through unimaginable pain and still chooses to do what's right."

Millie nodded, her expression shifting from fear to admiration. "He's got a lot of hurt in him, but... he doesn't let it make him cruel. That's rare, especially down here."

Blitzo crossed his arms, leaning back against the table. "Yeah, well, let's just hope Heaven doesn't mess with him too much. I've got a feeling they don't know who they're dealing with either."

Loona let out a low chuckle. "If they push him too far, they're gonna find out real quick."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Spawn's story hanging heavily over them all. For the first time, even Blitzo seemed genuinely contemplative, his usual bravado replaced with a rare moment of humility.

Charlie broke the silence with a determined look. "We have to find a way to help him. He's done so much for all of us, whether he meant to or not. He shouldn't have to face this alone."

The others exchanged glances, nodding in agreement.

Blitzo smirked, his old energy returning. "Alright, I'm in. But just so we're clear—if we go to Heaven, and someone throws a harp at me, I'm keeping it. Those things gotta be worth something, right?"

Moxxie groaned, and Millie patted his back. "We'll figure it out, hon."

As Charlie clutched the pendant tightly, she silently vowed to do whatever it took to help Spawn. Whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them together.

Moxxie sat quietly, his head lowered and his hands clasped tightly together. His usual sharp demeanor was replaced by a heavy, somber silence. Millie sat beside him, her hand gently rubbing his back as she tried to comfort him.

"I just don't get it," Moxxie muttered, his voice low. "After everything he's done, after all the good he's tried to do, this is how it ends? He gives himself up so the rest of us can stay safe? It's not fair."

Millie's expression softened as she leaned closer. "I know, sugar. It doesn't seem right at all. But you know Spawn—he wouldn't have it any other way. He's too stubborn to let anyone else take the hit."

Moxxie looked up at her, his eyes filled with frustration and sadness. "But it shouldn't be his fight! He's done enough. More than enough! Hell, he helped me face my past. He's done more for me than anyone, and now..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Millie moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. "I know, darlin'. I know. But if there's one thing I've learned about Al, it's that he's not the kind of man to sit by and let others suffer because of him. It's his way of making sure the rest of us are okay."

Moxxie sighed heavily, resting his head on her shoulder. "I just feel so useless. He saved me, and I can't even return the favor. I don't even know how to help him."

Before Millie could respond, a familiar voice broke the silence. "You help him by being the kind of person he'd be proud of."

Moxxie and Millie looked up to see Husk standing nearby, his usual gruff demeanor softened just slightly. He stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. "Spawn doesn't do things for gratitude, kid. He does 'em because it's the right thing to do. And the best way to honor that? Keep fighting for what he stands for."

Moxxie nodded slowly, his expression still heavy but a hint of determination shining through. "You're right. He wouldn't want us to sit around and mope."

Millie smiled, her own resolve strengthening as she gave Moxxie a reassuring squeeze. "That's the spirit. We'll figure out a way to help him. Together."

As the three of them sat in quiet solidarity, the weight of Spawn's sacrifice lingered in the air. But so did the unshakable resolve to stand by him, no matter what it took.

Moxxie stood, going to speak to Charlie on what else they might be able to do. If there was one thing he knew for certain, he wanted to help.

As Moxxie engaged Charlie in a deep discussion, his voice animated with ideas and concerns, Millie stood off to the side. Her hand unconsciously rested over her stomach, her thoughts far removed from the conversation.

Husk, perched nearby with his usual casual demeanor, noticed the subtle gesture. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, observing her for a moment before quietly leaning in. "So, when's the kid due?"

Millie froze, her eyes widening as she turned to him. "What—how did you...?" she stammered, caught completely off guard.

Husk shrugged, his voice low to keep their exchange private. "Seen it before. That little hand thing you're doing? Seen it in other women. You're glowing too, y'know, in a weird way. I'm guessing you haven't told him yet."

Millie's expression softened, though her face still showed surprise. She hesitated before nodding. "No... I haven't. How could I? Moxxie's been through so much already, and I don't want to pile this on top of everything else."

Husk tilted his head, a hint of a smirk on his face. "Yeah, 'cause finding out he's gonna be a dad is real bad news."

Millie let out a soft sigh, her hand instinctively tightening over her stomach. "It's not that, Husk. He's healing right now. This is big. I want to tell him when the time is right... when he's ready to hear it."

Husk's smirk faded, and he gave her a small nod of understanding. "Alright. Your secret's safe with me. But don't wait too long, Millie. That guy deserves to know."

Millie smiled softly, her heart heavy but grateful. "Thank you, Husk. I promise, I'll tell him. I just need to find the right moment."

With that, Husk leaned back, sipping from the glass he always seemed to have on hand, and Millie turned her gaze back to Moxxie. Watching him, she knew the moment would come soon. She just needed to be ready for it.

Spawn sat back against the cold stone wall of the holding cell, his arms crossed as he finished recounting his story to Emily. The dim light of the room cast long shadows, and the young seraphim stood frozen in place, her wide eyes betraying her disbelief.

"You're telling me," Emily finally managed, her voice trembling slightly, "that you not only survived for that long in Hell with every demon and power imaginable out for your blood... but you overthrew some of the most powerful figures there? And after all that, you became Lucifer's enforcer?"

Spawn gave her a faint nod, his glowing eyes unwavering. "That's the gist of it."

Emily blinked, her six wings ruffling slightly as she processed everything. "I mean, I've read about warriors of Heaven, champions of faith, even legends of martyrs who accomplished incredible feats... but nothing like this."

"You don't have to believe me," Spawn said, his tone even. "But I don't lie, and I'm not in the habit of sugarcoating things."

Emily stepped closer, her expression a mix of awe and apprehension. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just... astounding. A mortal soul surviving all of that and then being trusted by the King of Hell himself? That's... unheard of."

Spawn's gaze flickered to the side. "Trust isn't something that comes easy down there. You earn it—or you don't."

She studied him for a moment, noticing the weight of his words. There was no boastfulness, no trace of arrogance in his tone. If anything, there was an exhaustion, a quiet heaviness that spoke of the cost of everything he had endured.

"What about you, though?" Emily asked softly, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You've done all these incredible things... but why? What drives someone to fight like you have? To keep going, no matter what?"

Spawn was silent for a moment, his gaze distant. "At first, it was anger," he admitted. "Then revenge. Then... it was about protecting the people I cared about. It hasn't been easy, but some things are worth fighting for. Worth enduring everything for."

Emily nodded slowly, her wings folding neatly behind her. "I think I understand. At least, a little."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Spawn's mouth. "If you think this is impressive, you should hear what I did before I got dragged into Hell."

For the first time, Emily let out a soft laugh, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Maybe someday you'll tell me about that too."

"Maybe," Spawn replied. "If I make it out of this."

He leaned back against the cold stone wall of his cell, his glowing eyes studying Emily with a rare softness. "You seem like a good kid," he said, his gravelly voice breaking the silence. "When people think of angels, you're probably what they imagine—kind, hopeful, and actually willing to listen."

Emily blinked, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She clasped her hands in front of her, fidgeting slightly. "That means a lot," she said quietly. "Especially coming from someone like you... someone who's been through so much."

Spawn gave her a slight nod, his expression unreadable. "Trust me, it's not something I say lightly."

Emily smiled faintly, touched by his words. "You know," she began, "it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't treat me like a child. Most of the others here—they're polite, sure, but they always talk to me like I don't understand anything. Like I'm just some naive kid who doesn't belong."

Spawn smirked faintly. "Let me tell you something about the way people see others," he said. "They'll always have an idea in their heads about who you are, based on what they think they know. Doesn't mean they're right."

Emily nodded thoughtfully, his words resonating with her. "I guess that's why I appreciate you being honest with me. You don't sugarcoat anything."

"That's not my style," Spawn said simply.

Her smile faltered as she looked at the cell around him. "But... after everything you've told me, everything you've done, I don't think you deserve to be locked up. By all accounts, you shouldn't even be in Hell."

Spawn's gaze shifted, and he let out a dry chuckle. "That's debatable," he said. "I've done things—things I'll never be able to take back. Maybe Hell's exactly where I'm supposed to be."

Emily shook her head firmly. "No. I don't believe that. You've done more good than most angels I know. You've protected people, stood up for what's right—even when it cost you everything. That's not the kind of soul that belongs in Hell."

Spawn looked at her, his expression softening. For a moment, the hardened warrior seemed almost vulnerable.

Emily straightened her shoulders, her resolve clear. "I don't care what anyone else says. You don't deserve this, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you."

Spawn's smirk returned, though it was tinged with something gentler than his usual demeanor. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said. "If anyone can pull it off, maybe it's you."

Emily's smile brightened, and she gave him a determined nod. "Just watch me."

Spawn leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Emily. "So, how does this court system of yours work? Do they just throw a book at me, or do I actually get to say my piece?"

Emily hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, in theory, you just need to present the hard facts. Be honest, straightforward, and hope for the best. It's... not always perfect, but it's supposed to be fair."

Spawn raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Supposed to be? That doesn't sound promising."

Emily sighed, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. "It's just... well, it didn't exactly go well the last time someone from Hell tried to make their case here."

That piqued Spawn's curiosity. "The last time? Who was it?"

"Charlie," Emily admitted, her expression softening. "She came here a while ago, trying to convince Heaven to support her redemption project. She wanted to show that even sinners could change, that there was hope for them. She even met the ridiculous standards they set on the spot, and they still rejected her idea."

Spawn frowned. "Figures. Heaven's all about redemption until it's inconvenient."

Emily nodded solemnly. "It was heartbreaking. Charlie gave it everything she had. But no one would listen to her, not even after she proved her point."

Spawn tilted his head slightly. "You said 'ridiculous standards.' What kind of hoops did they make her jump through?"

Emily's face darkened slightly. "They demanded instant results. Like, they wanted to see redemption happen right there in front of them, as if it were some kind of magic trick. Charlie managed to show them a sinner who was willing to change, but it wasn't enough."

"And Adam?" Spawn asked, narrowing his eyes. "Where does he fit into all this?"

Emily looked away, her expression conflicted. "Adam was... well, he was Adam. The first man. He thought he was important because of it, but honestly, he was like a mix of a frat boy and a toddler. He was the one who accidentally let slip the truth about the Exterminations. Up until that point, only a few knew about them. Sera, the head seraphim, had been keeping it a secret."

Spawn's gaze hardened. "So Charlie didn't just get stonewalled; she revealed a dirty little secret too."

Emily nodded. "Yeah. And while I feel bad saying this... I'm not exactly upset that Adam's gone. He was... not the nicest person."

Spawn let out a dry chuckle. "Sounds like the kind of guy who'd fit right in with some of Hell's worst."

Emily managed a small smile. "Maybe. But... I really hope your trial goes differently. You deserve better than what Charlie got."

"We'll see," Spawn said, his voice low but resolute. "But I'm not expecting any miracles."

Emily hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door as a faint noise echoed from outside the holding area. She leaned in closer to Spawn, lowering her voice. "Before I go, there's something else you should know. After Charlie's trial, Heaven hasn't been the same. Opinions are split, especially after the Exterminations were exposed. And then there's... the other issue."

Spawn tilted his head slightly, his glowing green eyes narrowing. "Other issue?"

Emily glanced over her shoulder toward the door, clearly uneasy. "It's something no one likes to talk about, but the last trial raised a question we don't have an answer to: what are the actual standards for getting into Heaven? No one knows. Not the Exorcists, not the seraphim... not even Sera herself, as far as I can tell."

That caught Spawn's full attention. His posture straightened, and his gaze hardened. "No one knows? You're telling me you have a system that determines the fate of every soul, and it's running blind?"

Emily bit her lip, nodding. "It's... complicated. And it's making a lot of people nervous. Some angels are questioning if they're even worthy to be here. Others are doubling down, claiming that if they're here, it must mean they're good enough. It's chaos."

Spawn was about to press her further, but the faint noise from earlier grew louder. Emily stiffened, glancing toward the door again. "I think someone's coming. I have to go."

She stood up quickly, giving Spawn one last reassuring look. "Stay strong, okay? You've faced worse than this. I'll do what I can to help."

Without waiting for a response, Emily slipped out of the room, the sound of her retreating footsteps fading into the distance. Spawn leaned back against the wall, his mind racing. The revelations Emily had shared weren't just interesting—they were damning. Heaven didn't even know its own rules. If there was a way to use that to his advantage, he'd have to figure it out fast.

As he sat in the dimly lit cell, his glowing green eyes fixed on the floor as his thoughts churned. Emily's words echoed in his mind, revealing cracks in the pristine façade of Heaven's system. A system that didn't even know its own rules. That kind of chaos, hidden behind golden gates and angelic smiles, wasn't surprising—but it was troubling.

Then there was Frank. The little egg had been gone for far too long. He was resourceful and, frankly, annoyingly good at surviving, but this place wasn't just any battlefield. It was Heaven, a domain where even the slightest misstep could be catastrophic. Spawn couldn't shake the growing concern that Frank might have been caught—or worse.

Shifting slightly, Spawn glanced down at his suit. The usually vibrant, living material looked dull, its surface sluggish as it rippled weakly. Leetha fed on sin, and the holy energy radiating from the sigils etched into the cell's walls was actively starving it. He could feel it too—a gnawing ache deep in his chest, like a hunger he couldn't satisfy.

Every second in this place was sapping his strength, his lifeline, bit by bit. Spawn clenched his clawed hand, the movement sluggish but determined. He wouldn't let this place break him. He'd endured worse. He'd been burned alive, torn apart, and betrayed by everything he once believed in.

But as he sat there, being sloaly drained and waiting, the stakes felt different. This wasn't just about him. It was about the people back in Hell—Charlie, Vaggie, the hotel staff, even Blitzo and the rest of IMP. It was about the strange, fragile hope he'd started to build for himself in this new world.

Spawn leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath. Whatever came next, he'd face it. He always did. But deep down, he couldn't deny that the weight of this trial, this place, was heavier than anything he'd carried before.

As he sat motionless in the cell, his claws flexed involuntarily, the faintest tremor coursing through his hand. The slow siphoning of his suit's energy wasn't just draining Leetha—it was doing something to him, too. Deep within, past layers of hardened will and unrelenting resolve, something stirred.

It wasn't the suit. It wasn't his rage. It was older. Fiercer. Dangerous.

A faint glow flickered beneath his skin for the briefest of moments, like the ember of a fire long thought extinguished. It pulsed, just once, then faded. Spawn clenched his fists tighter, his claws digging into his palms. He wouldn't let it surface.

Not here. Not now.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, willing the sensation back into the depths of himself where it belonged. The necroplasm that had become his lifeblood strained to keep it at bay, though he could feel the edges fraying, unraveling with every moment he stayed in this cursed cell.

His head tilted slightly as his glowing green eyes narrowed. Whatever this was, it wasn't new. It was something he'd buried—something he'd left behind. A piece of himself that had no place in who he'd become.

And yet, it was clawing its way to the surface, feeding off the void left by his weakening necroplasm. Spawn's body tensed as he pressed his back against the cold, holy-imbued wall of the cell, as if the pressure could somehow ground him.

He gritted his teeth. No.

Whatever it was, whatever it wanted—it wouldn't win. Not here. Not now.

But the stirring didn't subside. It remained, a faint hum beneath his skin, biding its time. Waiting.

Saint Peter stood at the grand gate of Heaven, basking in the tranquility of his duties. The golden gates shimmered under the soft, eternal light, and the vast fields of clouds stretched endlessly before him. He cherished this role, greeting new souls and guiding them into the eternal peace they had earned.

Suddenly, the soft glow of his book caught his attention, a signal that a new soul had arrived at the gates. Peter's face lit up with his usual warm smile as he peered over his podium, ready to deliver his heartfelt welcome.

"Welcome, child of Earth, to the eternal peace of Heaven. Here, you shall find—"

Peter paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. The space before the gate was empty. No new soul stood there, no shimmering spirit ready to pass through.

"Strange," he muttered, tapping the side of his podium. It wasn't unheard of for the book to glow without cause, but it was exceedingly rare.

Flipping the book open, Peter scanned the pages. "Let's see who you are," he mused, his finger trailing down the freshly illuminated names. Yet, as he searched for the newest entry, confusion deepened his expression.

"That's... peculiar. I can't seem to find it."

9:9:8:6