In the Beginning…
Angels descended, forged by the Almighty to cast the light of creation across the boundless void.
All was well until we approached the edge of creation—a realm of endless darkness, where primordials, ancient and terrible, lay in wait.
Most were Cruel Old Gods, their eyes burning with disdain and contempt as they glared upon the angels and their invasive light.
For the first time in their existence, the angels knew fear, their ranks dwindling under the onslaught of raging horrors. In desperation, they retreated, sealing the door to the abyss behind them.
Unbeknownst to them, some among the darkness took notice of their retreat.
The most vile of all, an unconquerable evil later known to mortals as the Scarlet King , watched with keen interest.
He exploited Lucifer's pride, inflaming his ego with sweet whispers, convincing him that the other angels were wrong to reject his revolutionary ideas—that he was a misunderstood genius destined for greatness.
He urged Lucifer to offer the Fruit of Good and Evil to Eve, a fruit borne from a tree not nurtured by the angels' machinations. This tree had sprouted from a seed planted by Nahash, intended for the children of Adam when they were ready to confront the lurking darkness knowing for all the attempts of the angels, Old Gods had taken notice and would come one day. Yet, not even the Great Serpent could foresee how her gift would be twisted.
Mankind had yet to be born, let alone prepared for the knowledge the fruit contained. Once something is known, it can never be unknown.
Horrified and outraged, Heaven cast Lucifer and Lilith into the infernal realm, where they would reap the consequences of their actions, forever controlling the realm of the damned.
Banished from Eden, their paradise, Adam and Eve sought to forge their own paradise on Earth. They battled the races that already inhabited it, such as the Children of the Night and the Stars, facing primordial terrors and beasts. From this struggle, they established the first Kingdom of Mankind, with Adam hailed as King Adam el Asem . Yet, the concept of Evil soon infected them and their progeny.
The first two sons of Adam turned on one another, driven by jealousy over their father's favor. The grieving father cursed the murderer to wander the Earth eternally, while the slain was brought back from death, transformed into a raging berserker. Thus began a cycle of violence, as mankind mirrored the First Murder.
They took the knowledge bestowed upon them by the Watchers, deities, and other races, becoming a scourge upon the Earth. They obliterated peaceful civilizations like the Nightwalkers and subjugated their kin in unspeakable ways. Meanwhile, the spawn of the Fallen Watchers, the Nephilim , regarded humans as mere cattle or slaves. The demonic incursions from Hell, led by the disdained Hellborns and Archfiends, bloated and mutated from feasting on the souls of the damned hungry and gluttonous for humanity's flesh and spirit, gave rise to myths of monsters that preyed upon humanity.
The horror grew so immense that Heaven unleashed the Flood, ending the Antediluvian Age, particularly after Samayze , the Second Archtraitor, rallied the demonic hordes and the Fallen.
Yet, even with this fresh start, humanity continued to succumb to the temptations of Evil.
Adam, witnessing the degradation of his descendants over millennia, disowned sinners as his own. The loss of his wife and first children twisted him into bitterness.
He watched with rage as demons and fallen angels used his kind as cattle, while the Morningstars , the uncaring rulers of Hell, lounged in their ivory towers, the architects of his suffering. This hatred consumed him, driving him to plead passionately with the High Seraphim for the power to exterminate Hell, a request they granted, still reeling from the Long War.
His disgust at the slaughter of his descendants gradually morphed into a perverse glee, warping him into a being that the Old Adam would have spat upon in loathing. Extermination transformed from a necessary evil into a grotesque form of entertainment, as Heaven watched the First Man regress into a shadow of his former self.
Blinded by hatred for the Morningstars and recalling the terrors of the Hellborns on Earth, when the Evening Star the First Nephillim in Eons extended an olive branch, he saw only her parents—the very beings who had shattered his life and the lives of his children.
Adam rejected her proposal for cooperation between their eternally rivaled realms, dismissing it as a childish endeavor, crafted in crayon by a grown woman with no plan, no target audience, and no proof of bearing any fruit. Instead, he jeered, using her as a punching doll, unleashing millennia of pain and resentment, mocking her while ensuring he appeared a fool, so the Ashenstar would underestimate him as the inevitable crash loomed ever closer.
He did not anticipate how swiftly it would come, nor that the very tools he had left behind for the demons to slaughter each other would be turned against him and his Exorcist Army.
And when the Locust King fell, the Scarlet King let loose the most horrifying and maddening sound in all of creation—his laughter.
The Leader of the Raiders, The King of Locusts, The Lord Exorcist—was dead. His lifeless body lay mutilated, torn apart by a small sinner wielding an angelic dagger. The remaining Locusts retreated, with the injured Lute, who had lost an arm. Her dark expression promised vengeance as they vanished into the shadows.
Lucifer looked away, a smug satisfaction curling his lips. Oh, how delightful it was to see that mud-monkey brought low, humiliated before all of Hell, and his daughter. He had never understood the hype surrounding these pieces of clay until he laid eyes on Lilith—a hell of a woman! It was a shame Adam had rejected the gifts of both him and Lilith, too busy sucking up to Heaven. He had bestowed upon humanity the Fruit of Knowledge, and yet they had squandered it in petty wars. Once again, this validated Lucifer's disdain for humanity. They blamed him, the big bad Devil, as if they weren't responsible for their own actions—like whiny children pointing fingers at their parents.
"So… who wants pancakes?" he asked, glancing back at his daughter and her allies, reveling in their fleeting victory.
But then, out of nowhere, a sound pierced the air, freezing Lucifer in place. His already pale skin turned an even ghostlier shade, and his eyes widened in horror.
"Dad…? Are you alright?" Charlie asked, concern etching her features. He didn't answer, still paralyzed by fear.
"Is it just me, or has he become even whiter?" Angel inquired, anxiety creeping into his voice.
"Dad? Dad?" Charlie waved a hand in front of Lucifer's face, but he didn't react. Panic surged within her, and she shouted, "DAD!"
Finally, Lucifer snapped back to reality. "I… I heard the most terrible sound in all of creation, duckie." His voice was hollow, haunted—a chilling whisper that put everyone on edge.
"Uhm… what did you hear, big L?" Angel asked, trepidation lacing his words.
"His… his…" Lucifer struggled to speak, his throat dry as dust. "His laughter. " To call it laughter was a folly; there were no proper words to describe what he had heard. Yet it felt like that—a sound that would haunt him for eternity, echoing in the darkest corners of his mind.
"Whose laughter?" Husk tilted his head in confusion.
Then it BLOOMED! The unholy sound reverberated, shaking Hell to its very foundations, causing every being in the infernal realm to paralyze in sheer terror, hands clutched over their ears.
"What the fuck! What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?!" Cherri screeched, a rare note of fear slicing through her usual daredevil bravado.
Even Nifty lost her manic glee, her eyes now wide with dread.
Husk's feathers bristled, the hackles rising along Angel's furry spine as they sensed an otherworldly threat. Every cannibal instantly ceased their grotesque feasting on the corpses of the slain angels, feeling like deer caught in the predatory gaze of wolves.
Meanwhile, the Radio Demon, limping along with his broken radio staff, lost his signature smile, the mirth in his eyes extinguished.
The Vees nearly soiled themselves in shock at the sound echoing through Hell's expanse.
Rosie spat her tea, caught off guard by the oppressive atmosphere.
For once, Katie Killjoy stopped her incessant complaints, staring in horrified silence, while Tom fled as if the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels.
Carmine's alarm bells blared, a harbinger of the encroaching dread.
Across the entirety of Hell—through the circles, among the Goetias, Imps, Hellhounds, Hellborn, and sinners—every demon froze in fear as the cackling of pure Evil rang out, a sound that seemed to seep into the very fabric of their nightmares.
Then, there was a moment of eerie silence. No one dared to utter a word as an oppressive aura descended upon them, as if a living nightmare had materialized. It began with an unsettling chill that slithered through the air, igniting a primal instinct of fear deep within their souls.
Lucifer and the Hazbins turned slowly, dread pooling in their guts as they finally beheld him.
The atmosphere shifts dramatically as the ground trembles beneath the weight of impending doom. The air thickens with an oppressive heaviness, the temperature plummeting below zero, saturated with an ancient fear that awakens something deep within their souls. From the depths of shadows and arcane voids, the Scarlet King emerges—a figure that defies comprehension.
A grotesque fusion of beauty and terror, he manifests as a black and scarlet humanoid, radiating an unsettling majesty. His skin, dark as the abyss, is marked by twisting patterns that shimmer like distant stars dimmed by the veil of night. Branching antlers, like gnarled fingers of fate, extend from his head, each point bleeding a soft crimson light that pulses as if it were alive.
Upon his brow rests a white, burning crown, suspended and flickering with a cruel light that casts long, distorted shadows across the cursed ground. This crown defies gravity, hovering menacingly—a symbol of his dominion over darkness and despair.
His hands are gnarled and elongated, fingers ending in sharp, talon-like claws that promise pain and suffering with the slightest twitch. When he moves, there's an impossible fluidity to his motion, gliding through the air rather than walking, accompanied by an unnatural quiet that amplifies the suffocating atmosphere.
At the center of his face, a mouth darker than the void itself splits open, revealing an abyss that seems to consume all light and hope. It is not merely a mouth but a gateway to unfathomable horrors, promising unending suffering to those who dare to gaze too long.
Across his chest and body, countless red eyes blink open, each one glinting with malevolence and an ancient wisdom that chills the heart. These unblinking orbs, like grotesque scars, perceive every facet of the terrified souls before him, glaring with contempt as if they were nothing more than insects beneath his heel, waiting to be crushed under his monumental weight—a disdain that would put even Adam's wrath to shame.
As the Scarlet King stands before them, the very essence of horror incarnate, a primal fear seizes the hearts of the Hazbins. An unshakeable sense of insignificance wraps around them like a suffocating shroud. Souls that once burned bright with ambition now flicker dimly under the oppressive gaze of the King, dawning to the grim realization that they are mere fleeting thoughts within the mind of an ancient god.
The stillness becomes palpable; even the wind holds its breath. In that harrowing moment, each character feels an instinctive connection to the terror embodied by the Scarlet King, as if he feasts upon their fear, growing ever more powerful in their shared despair. In this encounter, the boundaries of reality blur, and horror reigns supreme—a chilling reminder of their insignificance against the vast, uncaring forces of the universe.
"Who… what is he?" Charlie stammered, her pale skin growing even paler, while Vaggie, despite the overwhelming terror, gripped her spear tightly, trying to distance herself from the hideous figure.
"That, Char-char… is the Scarlet King." Lucifer's visage darkened, his voice grim. "He's… a primordial being that existed before the Angels, and he's omnicidal."
"How… do we defeat it?" Vaggie asked cautiously, her voice quaking with disbelief.
Lucifer let out a mirthless chuckle, his eyes hollow. "That's the thing… you can't."
"Wait… that fucker is an elder god?!" Husk repeated in disbelief, his composure crumbling.
"Oh, we're SO FUCKED!" Angel cried out, panic rising like bile in his throat.
"Light Bringer…" The Scarlet King's voice slithered through the air, a chittering chorus of a billion infinitesimal insects, swirling and constantly moving—neither high nor low, neither cacophonous nor methodical—once again freezing the group in place. "I thank you…"
"What?" Lucifer blinked, confusion mingling with dread.
"You have my gratitude…" The creature's gaze pierced through them, its presence suffocating . "Your bloated pride accepted when I whispered to you to give Eve the forbidden fruit…"
"What…" Lucifer stiffened, horror dawning on his face as a chilling realization gripped him, as if he had been told his entire life was a lie.
"And even after that, your pride and your whore only led to the further breaking of this universe… For that, you will die last of the Sins. And your daughter…"
The Scarlet King's voice warped and twisted, fragments of its final words whispering as if borrowed from a grave, "W̴̧̡̰͖̫̮̳̞͖̱͓̬͉̺͇̋̈͗̈͐̂̕ĭ̷̮̖̣͊l̷̨͓̪̭̓͌̔̚l̸͍͛ ̴̢̛̱͈͚̹̭͓̯̳͍̲͔̘͙̭̎̓͊̔͛̓͐͛̓͆b̴͔̯̦̬̱̳͙̠̖̯̹̱͐̌̐̔͗̒͌̀͜͠ẽ̷̡̝͚͋̄̽̂͠ ̵̢̨̢̛͔͔̯̗͍̻͓͚͆̅̐̾̎̽̾̐́̎́̐̔̈́͜͝m̸̨͎͚͍̟̥̟̭̠̅̌̆̄̈̽̋͌͘͜͝͠͝͠͠ͅy̷̛̛͖̩͚̼̩̩͇̻̫̓̓̆̈́͐̔̑͆̀̋̕̚͝ ̷̨̥͕͓̹̫͙͎̫̣́̈͆̇̃́̈́̀͆̽͆̄̌̈̒̚͜͠ͅb̷̺̹̭͇̓̃r̵̨͉͎̙̟̬̮̪̀̅̊̈́̽̈͌̂͝͠í̵̢̛̛̞̟̞̘̞͍͓̪̫͔̹̩͒̑̓̾̑̉́̍͐̌͜͝d̸̨͍̮̠̲͈͉͎̯̟̙̾̑͘ȩ̴͔͇̰̺̣͈͐̏̓̎͊̊͗̏̔̎̀͒̾͘̕̕ͅ."
Charlie felt a cold dread settle in her bones at the possessive way the being spoke of her, while Angel was paralyzed by a similar horror, the memory of violation flooding his mind. But this—this was worse than Val, for the Scarlet King did not speak of her as a tool of pleasure or lust, but as a pawn in a cosmic game, a means to an end.
Lucifer's face contorted into a furious snarl, but Charlie's girlfriend beat him to it. "NEVER!" Vaggie roared, a battle cry filled with defiance, and charged at the harbinger of dread, spear aloft and ready to strike.
"NO, YOU IDIOT!" Lucifer shouted, lunging forward in a desperate attempt to stop her.
"VAGGIE, DON'T—!" Charlie's voice echoed in panic, but it was too late.
Vaggie erupted in flames before she could even reach the Scarlet King, her agonized screams piercing the air as the searing heat began to consume her. The fire engulfed her, flesh melting away in horrific sequences until only bones remained, reduced to dust in an instant as the flames finally faded to nothing.
Charlie stared, paralyzed with horror and grief, her heart shattered as she gazed at the swirling dust that had once been her girlfriend.
"OH, THAT SON OF A BITCH!" Angel howled, his finger tightening on the trigger of his tommy gun as he and the rest of the Hazbins sprang into action.
"NO, YOU IDIOTS! DON'T—!" Lucifer's warning fell on deaf ears as they charged recklessly into battle, the Cannibals joining the fray, drawn by the twisted allure of feasting on a god. The Hazbins fought for vengeance while Charlie, still reeling in shock, sank to her knees, clutching a handful of Vaggie's ashes, her voice breaking. "You… can't…"
Angel's bullets, Cherri's bombs, and Husk's cards all disintegrated before they could even approach their target, vanishing like whispers in the wind as the Scarlet King looked on, utterly unfazed and unimpressed.
A wave of desperation surged among the Cannibals as they leaped forward, hunger driving their madness. But as they approached, flames erupted around them, their screams echoing the same fate as Vaggie's, leaving charred remains dissolving into smoke. The Scarlet King shifted his gaze toward them, a cold calculation in his eyes. Fear washed over the remaining Cannibals, sapling their bravado to mere wisps. It was as if the very essence of their terror was being extracted into the open, leaving them paralyzed.
"Oh fuck me!" Angel exclaimed, watching in horror as the King's mere presence twisted the air around them.
Suddenly, waves of malevolent energy rippled from the Scarlet King, annihilating the remaining Cannibals that were very near him into dust leaving only echos of their scream and sending the Hazbins crashing against the ground like ragdolls.
Charlie was thrust back into reality at that moment. A surge of pure fury ignited within her, horns sprouting from her head, eyes ablaze with red and white fury, and tears streaming down her face. With a primal roar, she seized her trident and charged at him, shouting, "YOU MONSTER!"
"CHARLIE, DON'T—!" Lucifer yelled, but it was too late.
The trident struck the Scarlet King, but as it met his skin, it shattered into splinters, leaving Charlie gasping in disbelief. In the blink of an eye, with a swift wave of his hand, he cast her aside like a ragdoll, her body tumbling helplessly to the ground.
"Your broods shall kill stars themselves… once I break you." The Scarlet King's invisible grip forced Charlie to look into his abyssal gaze. He reached out with a hand, brushing his fingers through her golden hair, sending shivers coursing down her spine.
In that moment of horror, a surge of power erupted within Lucifer. He transformed into his demonic form, his wings unfurling as he barreled down at the king with supersonic speed. "GET YOUR DIRTY HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER, YOU—!"
But the Scarlet King merely flicked a wrist, and with a casual slap, he sent Lucifer sprawling through the air. The force of the blow was titanic, propelling him through countless buildings of Pentagram City, each crash creating shockwaves that shattered glass and sent debris flying. The cries of terrified Sinners and hellborns echoed through the chaos as they scrambled for safety.
As Lucifer crashed into the ruins of Imp City, the Scarlet King materialized beside him, landing with a predatory grace amid the devastation. Panic erupted as denizens fled in all directions, their eyes wide with fright.
With an effortless swing, the Scarlet King caught Lucifer by the throat, lifting him from the ground with contemptuous ease. "Even now… my court is dispatching your fellow rulers. Fool… a King has no equal."
Lucifer struggled against the grip clenching his throat, fury and defiance burning in his eyes, but the Scarlet King only smiled, a cruel twist of his lips, relishing the chaos and despair that surrounded them.
In the Lust Ring, Asmodeus gripped Fizzy and slammed him onto the table, splintering it into pieces with a deafening crack. "You're not my Fizzy!" he roared, fury boiling within him.
Fizzy's eyes flared to a chilling, pupil-less red, his face contorting into a demented grin. "Oh? What gave it away?" With a forceful shove, he sent Ozzi sprawling to the side, rising with an unsettling grace. His form shifted grotesquely, morphing into Jeser, the Prince of Many Faces—an imp-like creature swathed in royal garb, his skin scarred and writhing, arms multiplying in a horrific display.
Ozzi's rage ignited as he stumbled to his feet, blue flames spiraling around him. "What did you do to my boyfriend?" he snarled, his body growing larger and more menacing with each passing moment, a furious embodiment of his demonic form.
"Don't worry, you sorry excuse for the Sin of Lust," Jeser taunted, his voice dripping with malice, "you'll join him soon!"
With a howl of fury, Ozzi charged, flames erupting from his fists as he lunged at Jeser, intent on reclaiming what was lost.
In the Gluttony Ring, Beelzebub was tossed around like a ragdoll by sinuous, spider-like appendages. She managed to break free, buzzing furiously in her demonic form, eyes glaring at the creature that dared to attack her and devour her boyfriend along with many of her subjects.
"THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU MULTI-LEGGED BIG-MOUTHED FREAK?!?!" she screeched, her voice a furious buzz, like a vengeful wasp ready to strike.
The colossal spider-like beast, cloaked in darkness with a mouth emptier than a black hole, hissed back, "I'm the TRUE Sin of Gluttony, Wolf of Voracity… the Mouth of the Scarlet King! AND YOU AND THIS RING SHALL FILL MU GULLET!" Lord Kenkgor's maw opened wide, intent on devouring Beelzebub, who screeched in defiance and lunged at her monstrous foe with a determination that shook the very air around them.
Meanwhile, in the Wrath Ring, two Demon Kings stood facing each other, fierce and calculating, eyes filled with the intent of predators poised to strike.
"Old Man," Satan, the towering draconic embodiment of Wrath, huffed with disdain.
"Boy," Moloch, a colossal humanoid with the head of a three-eyed bull, tattered black wings, and wielding a sword forged in flames, grunted back, muscles tense.
"Still busy sending children to the furnace?" Satan taunted, a sharp grin on his scaly lips.
"Still busy pretending you're a god in your kangaroo court to mere insects?" Moloch shot back, his voice low and rumbling.
"Still think Hell isn't 'hellish enough' for you after eons of defecting from us?" Satan's eyes flared, the air thickening with tension.
"My opinion hasn't changed." Moloch replied, contempt lacing his words. "Watching you and your fellow Sins become pathetic shadows of your former selves only strengthened my resolve. While the Demon Lords became mere parodies, I have become greater than ever in the Darkness Below, serving my King!" His voice dripped with disdain for the complacency he saw around him, around him laid dead Goetias and lesser Demon Lords in this sorry excuse of a trial gathering, all dead by him to get Satan's attanetion.
"Enough talk!" Satan snapped, his head tilting as he prepared for the fight. "Let's FIGHT!"
With that, the two erupted into battle, a clash of divine power echoing throughout the Ring of Wrath.
On the Greed Ring, Mammon lay amidst a vast sea of gold, diamonds, and currency, blood trickling from his mouth, beaten and bruised. Once a sovereign of all wealth, he now found himself in a state of desperation.
"Whaddaya want… Money? Fame? I can give ya it all… rich beyond your wettest dreams, mate… whaddaya say?" he croaked, grasping at the remnants of his former glory.
Before him loomed a creature shrouded in smoke and flames, obscuring most of its form. It bore four glowing red eyes and its leathery skin was fused with dark, menacing armor. A long sword gleamed ominously in its grasp.
"Come on, ya fuckwitted retarded mutie! Just name your fucking price!" Mammon shouted, his bravado cracking under the pressure of the looming threat.
"Die." Lord Goran replied coldly, raising his sword high with menacing grace, and brought it down toward the screaming Sin of Greed.
Lucifer felt the tremors of the other Sins as they fell one by one, their lives extinguished in a brutal symphony of chaos. Struggling against the oppressive grip of the Scarlet King, he unleashed a torrent of fire aimed at the King's face, but the flames barely flickered against him—he felt no jolt, no pain, as if his inferno were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
With a sudden, brutal force, the Scarlet King punched Lucifer in the stomach, sending him reeling. The impact was so devastating that golden blood erupted from Lucifer's mouth, his eyes widening in shock as he was hurled away once more—this time into the vastness of space. He spun wildly, the force of the blow disorienting him until he finally regained control, his six wings unfurling majestically to stabilize his flight.
"COME ON!" he roared, defiance surging through him. "You fashion-disaster motherducker! You dare come to my home and TOUCH my daughter!? AND NOW I WILL FUC—"
His words were cut short as he felt a dark presence looming overhead. Gnarled fingers, colossal and menacing, wrapped around him. Looking up, Lucifer's heart sank as he beheld the Scarlet King towering above him, a grotesque titan whose size could engulf the entire Hazbin Hotel in a single palm. The King radiated an aura of dread, a void more profound than any nightmare, misty blood-colored nebulas swirling around him like a malevolent cloak, while baleful red stars glared down, their radiation gnawing at Lucifer's mental defenses.
"—you…?" he managed to whisper, fear creeping into his voice.
The Scarlet King's voice boomed, echoing through the cosmos. "Do not worry, Morningstar… Heaven will share the same fate as your mockery of the Darkness Below, and… your wife will join too. She shall know TRUE oppression!"
Before Lucifer could react, the palm of the Scarlet King's hand closed around him, sealing his fate in an iron grip as darkness enveloped him.
On Earth, a mission for the IMP had gone horrifically wrong.
Blitz, battered and broken, knelt on the ground, one eye lost, his breathing shallow and ragged. The rest of his team hadn't been so fortunate.
Millie, the fearless badass who had been banned from Wrath's contests for being "too bloodthirsty," lay lifeless on the ground, her body brutally torn open, intestines spilled out in a gruesome display, the work of a creature even more savage than she had ever been.
Moxxie, the sharpshooter known for his impeccable aim, lay with what was left of his head crushed beyond recognition—brain matter and fractured skull strewn across the ground, all by the hand of Mr. Redd, a figure so powerful that he seemed to crush Moxxie with casual ease.
Stolas, Blitz's beloved, had been butchered, limbs torn and scattered, his head unceremoniously tossed aside like a discarded toy. The sight was more than Blitz could bear.
And then—his heart shattered—was Loona. His tough-as-nails daughter, who had once stood defiantly against a Sin, now lay barely alive, breathing shallowly, a beaten mess, her fierce spirit snuffed out like a candle in a storm.
Tears streamed down Blitz's face as he looked around, overwhelmed by the devastation. How had it come to this? This was supposed to be just a job. Just a FUCKING normal job! A client with a ridiculous name—Montauk—had hired them to destroy some cult or whatever.
At first, it had been easy. They had expected a standard operation, but then everything spiraled out of control. The cultists started chanting some gibberish, summoning bizarre plants that writhed and attacked. A few had even gone full jihad, exploding in a frenzy of chaos.
But then that fucker with a stupid extra D had arrived, his malevolent presence erupting like a volatile storm, wielding a power so overwhelming it crushed their hopes in an instant. Dressed in his trademark red, he had become their worst nightmare, leading to a massacre that Blitz could never have foreseen.
Blitz felt the weight of despair crashing down around him. The mission had turned into a slaughter. Left to confront the ruins of his team and the horrific price for their supposed success, he could only spiral into anguish, questioning how everything had gone so terrifyingly wrong.
Blitz heard footsteps approaching, each step heavy with malice. Mr. Redd emerged, clad in his signature red suit, a mocking tsk escaping his lips. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. And I thought you lot were supposed to be demons." With a casual flick of his foot, he kicked the severed head of Stolas toward Blitz like it was a toy.
Blitz's heart sank as he stared at the head, struggling to choke back a sob. He refused to give that bastard any satisfaction.
"You… you're a monster!" he spat, gritting his teeth as he glared up at Mr. Redd, a storm of helplessness and rage swirling within him. He had never felt so powerless, yet the fury coursing through him was almost blinding, driving him to the brink of madness.
Mr. Redd, a twisted figure with fiery red hair and pupils to match, looked down at Blitz with a malicious smirk. "Call the kettle black, are we, Blitz with Silent O? Speaking of which, I never understood that name change thing. What's the point of having a silent O anyway? At least it makes sense for me to have an extra word. But then again, having Double O is rather awkward—not like having double D, now would it?" He crouched down, dark amusement dancing in his eyes.
With a sudden, predatory motion, Mr. Redd reached out and touched Blitz's forehead. If Blitz hadn't been so beaten down, he would have bitten the fingers off, but he was too weak to resist. In an instant, visions flooded his mind.
Blitz cried out, startled as memories erupted within him—flashes of people who had died, their faces twisted in anguish. The despair and heartache of families torn apart, wives left widowed, children orphaned, parents grieving for their lost children—all of this devastation had happened… because of IMP.
Each memory struck him like a dagger, the weight of their suffering crashing down on him. Blitz felt his heart shatter as he realized the true cost of their actions, the lives they had taken in the name of their missions.
"Look at what you've done," Mr. Redd taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. "All this pain, all this… and for what? A few coins? Because of inconvenience? You really think you're demons? You're just pathetic little pawns in a game far bigger than you can comprehend."
As the visions continued to swirl, Blitz felt the rage within him ignite anew, mingling with the sorrow. He would not let this monster win. He would find a way to fight back, no matter the cost.
Redd grinned savagely, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Look at one of the victims in the LA debacle, for example... I extract memories from their bodies using magic, you see. I see them... I see their memories. Do you know what I see? I see a man and his wife, his children. I see the concern and worry etched on her face. I see him, kissing her, holding her tight, promising that he loves her and will be back soon.
"And then… where does he go? He was in LA, complimenting Moxxie's music until Millie killed her. All because of you! He's dead because of you! His wife is widowed, his children fatherless. Where is his family now? What will you tell that woman? And her children? Do you even know them? That he died alone, far from home? His last thoughts were of them, you know… and that's just one family among many, shattered because of you gremlins.
"What would you say to your target's loved ones? How could you ever hope to confront them? The loved ones of every single one of them you've killed?! What would you tell them? You did it for the money? Because you got bored? Would you even have the will to look them in the eye? Implings?! IMP! Immediate Murder Professionals! Fancy name you chose to hide the fact that you're nothing more than cold-blooded murderers—JUST. LIKE. ME!"
He cackled maniacally, and Blitz felt the weight of Redd's words crashing down on him. Fury ignited within him, and he lunged to strangle the smug bastard, but Redd anticipated the move. With a swift, brutal motion, he sucker-punched Blitz, slamming his face into the ground.
"Be careful now," Redd taunted, looking down at him with feigned concern. "You're bloodied. My suit may be red, but it's expensive."
"Fu—ck—fuck youuuu…" Blitz managed, his voice hoarse and raw.
Redd chuckled in amusement, reveling in his torment.
"Such a spirited little demon you are," he teased, shaking his head lightly. "But remember, this is just the beginning. The world is full of stories just waiting for me to unravel, and you'll witness every painful twist. Enjoy your final moments, Blitz, because the game has only just started."
As Redd turned away, Blitz seethed with rage and despair, determination building within him. He would rise again, and somehow, he would make this monster pay.
"The Scarlet King... the nightmare that even the Foundation shakes in fear. Oh, he is a horror! The Jailers fear him, and rightly so! You should too! Not your miserable high-up friends who rule that pathetic backwater realm, no pretenders in Heaven or Hell can stop his coming onslaught! Do you know what he and his army will do to Hell, this mockery of his domain—the Darkness Below? I wonder which would be worse for you… me, or him... but you'll never find out. You'll die here, and the Scarlet King will kill your puppy and gaslight your friends. I can only imagine their deaths will be quite painful… to be quite honest with you, they're better off dead than alive. You should have let the fire consume you and everyone in that circus…"
"Don't you dare mention that…" Blitz growled, gritting his teeth as anger surged through him.
"Piles and piles of dead bodies… the very earth satiated by the blood of the slain, covered with the dust of helpless victims... and in the middle of it all... your friends—had they survived by me and the REAL professionals, not that joke of a GOI filled with losers and dorks or sheeps for slaughtering, your oh-so-precious IMP had they survived—stretched across instruments of agony and despair. The life forcibly drained from them, scream after scream, suffering and torture unimaginable—truly living up to the biblical depiction of your debauched realm. Who do you think would last the longest? The female imp should be able to endure an impressive amount of suffering, don't you think? What about her mate, Moxxie? Oh yes, he'd die very, very slowly. And Stolas? His agony would be poetic. Do you think his last thoughts would be of his daughter, or you, his concubine?
"One of the Scarlet King's generals, Moloch, hates children, you know. He would send little Owlet to the furnace with his bare hands! Oh, and let's not forget the Hellhound, the one you adopted with delusions of parenthood. Her kind were built to destroy, to kill and attack, not to be spoiled. She fights her very nature, and you've made her weak with your pampering. What idiots you both are. I wonder which will hurt her more—will it be the torture breaking her body? Or will it be the shame and guilt of not seeing what she had gained, being a literal bitch to the closest thing she ever had to a father? The worst daughter ever ?"
"NO!" Blitz shrieked, jumping back with a fervor he thought lost as rage exploded within him. But before he could strike, Mr. Redd cackled, his foot connecting hard with Blitz's stomach.
Pain surged through Blitz as he gasped blood, collapsing to the ground once more.
Redd shook his head, giggling sadistically, then turned to the barely conscious Loona. "Also, I lied—Loony isn't going to die… at least not yet. Oh, we have much BIGGER plans for her!"
Blitz's eyes widened in horror. His mind screamed for any merciful deity to protect his daughter. "Don't worry, fire toad; soon… you will be a grandfather," Redd cackled, gleefully walking away.
"REEEEEEEEEEDD!" Blitz's scream of rage and horror echoed through the base, a symphony of despair to Mr. Redd's twisted ears.
Minutes later, a Foundation Mobile Task Force (MTF) arrived, but they were too late. There was no sign of Loona or Mr. Redd, only the haunting sight of a weeping Tartarean Entity, its form twisted in despair.
After Blitz was captured, he cried and begged during the interrogation, desperation etched on his face. "I don't care what happens to me! Just make sure my daughter is safe!" But the Foundation offered no promises, only cold, indifferent stares. They were unsympathetic to the demon who had led an organization responsible for so much death and had threatened the veil countless times. It was only thanks to them and the Global Occult Coalition that the masquerade was healed. They assured him, however, that Mr. Redd would be hunted down.
Days later, in an abandoned church, the MTF found not Mr. Redd, but dead cultists, their bodies scattered, killed by Loona. She was still in critical condition, driven to the edge by whatever horrors she had endured. When she saw the MTF, she lashed out in a desperate attempt to fight back, but they quickly subdued her, paralyzing her with a tranquilizer. The most noticeable thing about her was that she was pregnant.
Immediately, the O5 Council ordered the MTF to bring her back. They contemplated using Procedure 110-Montauk on her, fearing the impending disaster that could arise from her condition. However, Blitz overheard this from a sympathetic Foundation doctor. In a moment of desperation, he seized the opportunity, taking the doctor hostage to reach Loona. Strangely, no one else seemed to come to their aid; only a few researchers rushed past, their faces pale with fear, as if their lives depended on escaping the chaos.
When Blitz finally reached Loona, alarms blared throughout the facility, and panic erupted. People ran and shouted, but Blitz stood frozen, incomprehensible shock and horror washing over him. He released his hostage, who dashed away in terror, leaving Blitz alone in the chaos.
Then, from the shadows, something stirred. An incomprehensible abomination rose, its form grotesque and twisted, staring at Blitz with eyes that glinted with an unsettling familiarity. It was the child of Loona, born from the dead and mutilated body of its mother—a monster was born.
Blitz's heart raced as he faced the unimaginable horror, a wave of dread crashing over him. He had wanted to save his daughter, but now he was confronted with the very embodiment of his worst fears staring down him hungrily.
An hour later….the Site's nuclear warhead was activated.
Hell, Earth, and Heaven—none were spared from the Scarlet King and his army of incomprehensible abominations' relentless onslaught. What little remained of these realms was nothing more than a patchwork of ruin, pieces of devastation stitched together like a ghastly asteroid belt.
Fragments of Hell, Heaven, and Earth intertwined, their remnants forming a grotesque landscape. Cities lay open like ribcages, their buildings resembling skulls that loomed overhead, casting shadowy figures that moved in the dying light.
Life, once vibrant and flourishing, now teetered on the brink of extinction. The remaining sentient beings—humans, demons, and angels—struggled to survive in a world where they had become mere prey for the monstrosities that stalked the ruins, creatures born from the darkest folds of reality. Their populations dwindled, each day ushering in fresh horrors that threatened to consume them entirely.
The air was thick with despair, echoing with the cries of those who had lost everything. Hope had become a ghost, hidden beneath layers of destruction, while shadows slithered through the rubble, whispering tales of a time when beauty and life flourished. Now, all that remained was the haunting reminder of what had once been—a world now ruled by terror, a Hell in the truest Biblical sense.
Of all the Sins, Belphegor was the first to be killed in her sleep, while Lucifer met his demise last, enduring the most agonizing fate of them all. In the end, Belghor was the luckiest of the Sins.
The Goetias, once the aristocrats of Hell, had been reduced to mere food, nothing more than sustenance for the insatiable horrors that ravaged the realms.
Highborn and low, Sinners and Winners alike—Angels or Demons—there was no distinction in the face of the coming Scarlet Tide.
No government in Heaven, Hell, or Earth survived; even the anomalous groups that once held power were shattered.
The PENTAGRAM unleashed their Eigeweapons, the anomalous equivalent of nuclear warheads, but it proved insufficient against the onslaught. The Horizon Initiative made a valiant last stand, yet all their efforts amounted to nothing in halting the inevitable.
The Global Occult Coalition lay in ruins, their member organizations too busy saving themselves, hastening their own demise.
The Fae, Children of the Night, and the Finnfolks perished, their gods unable to intercede on their behalf, only weep.
The UIU stood no chance against the encroaching darkness.
Even the DHORKS, often seen as the laughingstock among Groups of Interest, found themselves plunged into despair.
Marshal, Carter, and Dark, realizing there was no reasoning with the Scarlet King, attempted to flee, but they were devoured by Kenkgor, swallowed by the very chaos they sought to escape.
The Church of the Broken God tried in vain to resurrect their Machine God, yet their efforts ended in futility, leaving them nothing but rusted scrap heads, forgotten by time.
The alliance between the Crimson Mafia and Chicago's Spirit, forged in desperation, was doomed from the start, all thanks to Crimson himself—pride, as always, coming before the fall.
In one last desperate act, the SCP Foundation launched SCP-999, the Seventh Child, their Last Hope, away from the Red Archon and his legions' grasp, hoping it could lead to the end of the reign of Dust and Blood once and for all.
The Sarkics proved to be the most resilient; though the majority were hunted down, pockets of them remained, either in the name of Yaldabaoth or defiantly standing against Tyranny and Divinity.
Those who did not survive the first wave were the truly fortunate ones, spared from witnessing the world's descent into unimaginable horror.
The Gate Guardian offered temporarily refuge but...Eden was a far cry from what it was and it was no salvation as the Scarlet Tide soon came. Not even the Gate Guardian Survived.
Alastor no longer smiled.
Stolas watched helplessly as Via feasted on the flesh of her own mother, becoming the first Goetia Sarkic—a grotesque transformation that left her sickened by the Goetias and the shallow pretenses of Hell as the world around her burned.
Millie's family sought vengeance for their daughter, but they were mercilessly butchered by Moloch, their cries for justice silenced in an instant.
Sir Pentious and Cherri died holding hands, their final moments a bittersweet testament to love amidst the chaos.
Alto Clef perished cradling the lifeless body of his daughter, SCP-166, his grief echoing in the void left behind.
Agent Lawrence held Doctor Collingwood tightly as a nuclear warhead detonated, their embrace a futile attempt to shield themselves from the impending doom.
The Klavigars attempted to resurrect Grand Karcist Ion, but they were all killed before they could succeed—though it would have changed little in the grand scheme of despair.
There was no sign of Isabel Wondertainment; her absence felt like a void in the shattered remnants of their world.
Striker died as he lived—a vermin, crushed under the indifferent foot of Malikir Tsoh, one of the Scarlet King's offspring.
Barbie Wire chose to end her own life through an overdose, unable to bear the weight of existence in such a cruel world.
Robert Bumaro was torn to pieces, his body mutilated like a broken clockwork by Moloch, a fate befitting the horrors he had once inflicted.
Crimson's head was mounted as part of a sick decor, a macabre reminder of his reign, his end far more painful than the torment he had inflicted upon others.
Sera wept for Emily, her sorrow a reflection of the countless losses that surrounded her.
Saint Hedwig and Legate Tunnious fell to the might of Lord Goran, their fates sealed in the chaos.
The whereabouts of Verosika and her gang remained unknown, though whispers circulated that they were reduced to mere aphrodisiacs by Jeser, who found amusement in their suffering.
Jack Bright, the unwanted immortal, finally met his end, his last words a haunting plea: "I don't wanna go."
Lute fell like gravity, her hatred for Hell—fueled by the loss of the man she loved and the humiliating defeat—driving her to extremes. She became one of the Scarlet King's berserkers, her burning rage had no remedy.
The future did not belong to the Vees, who died screaming, representing everything the Scarlet King and his followers despised about modernity. Vox's severed head hung as a grim warning to those who believed in the lies of progress, while Velvette's agonizing end was broadcast for all to witness. Valentino, too, faced a violation and defilement beyond mortal comprehension.
SCP-682 was last seen ridden by SCP-53, its form transformed, now white with feathery wings—a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding it.
Doctor Kondraki buried his son and son-in-law, the weight of loss heavy upon him.
SCP-96 stopped weeping.
SCP-49 fell into a catatonic state, mumbling, "Pestilence is everywhere," his mind unraveling in the face of despair.
Carmine failed to save her daughters, their cries echoing in her heart.
Lilith learned the true meaning of oppression, her spirit crushed beneath the weight of the world.
Iris Thompson and the Last Hope faded into obscurity, their doomed resistance whispered about in hushed tones, devoid of any hope for victory.
For the first time, Doctor Charles Gears—infamous for his emotionless demeanor—displayed grief, a rare glimpse of humanity amidst the devastation.
The whereabouts of SCP-35 remained unknown, likely plotting in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Abel and Cain had disappeared, their fates intertwined with the chaos.
All O5 members were slaughtered, save for O5-1, who vanished without a trace. No one knew where Eve, the Mother of Humanity, had gone.
In a palace forged from the ruins of dead towns and cities, the Scarlet King lounged on a throne constructed from the bones of humans, demons, and angels. He gazed balefully at the red sky through an open entryway, relishing the suffocating dread that cloaked this pitiful universe. Soon, it would fall, and he would move on to the next conquest. But first, he awaited the arrival of his perfect antithesis to SCP-999—the one prophesied to become the Vermillion Prince and stand against him.
Deep within the non-Euclidean catacombs, a newly born monster awakened.
Humanoid in shape, it stumbled on its weak knees like a newborn emerging from a blackened gate, covered in blood and amniotic fluids, exposed to the oppressive gleam of the Scarlet Sky.
Its skin was paler than snow, and it bore goat-like legs cloaked in coarse brown fur. Elongated hands tipped with sharp nails trembled as the creature squirmed, shakey goat legs, attempting to adjust to the malevolent world into which it had been thrust. A goat-like snout adorned its face, two small horns projecting from its head, which would soon grow larger. Its eyes remained tightly shut, and bat-like ears fluffed together, still sensitive to the cacophony of noise that echoed in the dark.
From its back sprouted six bony draconic wings, ominous and intricate as if to mock the Seraphims. As it opened its arms and howled, the creature's crimson eyes flickered open across its body, revealing deep shades of red that glinted menacingly in the dim light. There was no doubt—this was his Prince, the perfect antithesis to SCP-999, destined to kill the Soon-to-be Vermillion Prince prophesied to thwart the Scarlet King.
A haunting screech filled the air, an unsettling harmony of deep, guttural roars and high-pitched wails that vibrated through the very fabric of this pitiful reality, signaling the birth of a force meant to bring darkness.
GRRRRRAAOOOHHHH! GAAAAHHH!!
As the sound erupted, the creature revealed its elongated mouth, stretching impossibly wide to expose rows of jagged, glistening teeth. The grotesque maw opened like a dark abyss, amplifying its shriek as it reverberated through the silence, resonating in the very bones of those who dared to hear it.
The chilling cry echoed across the red sky, a spine-tingling sound that bounced off the walls of the palace, vibrating through the air like a spectral vibration. It dripped with an ancient, primal terror—an unsettling blend of the growl of a predator and the shriek of the damned, intertwining in a horrific symphony of life and death.
With each agonizing note, baleful eyes across its body snapped open, revealing pools of crimson fury that reflected the desolation surrounding it. This cacophony swelled, overwhelming the senses and marking the moment of awakening.
The Dark Prince was born. Let there be Darkness.
Notes: This is a one-shot don't expect any big lead because I'm busy with my own projects and just not interested in making a follow up or expanding upon it.
Just a one-shot horror inspired by so many SCP/Vivzeverse fics that are popular in crossovers between these two brands.
I was inspired in doing this by a rather disappointing crossover I saw, though I will not name what and by whom so don't even bother asking me that.
If anyone wants to expand upon it or make a long-fic about it, be my guest. You don't even have to be faithful to my one-shot if you do, go crazy do deranged shit but do it with Scarlet King still be this personification of evil not some cartoon villain or pitiful sad boi and oh-so "misunderstood" Modern Disney Villain(looking at you Disney Star Wars's Brat Swolo and MCU Kang….).