"In the beginning, there was chaos, and from it, he emerged-a broken soul, forged by anger, vengeance, and betrayal. Al Simmons, once a man, became something more-Spawn, Hell's reluctant warrior and Heaven's greatest threat. Against the forces that sought to bend him, he rose. He fought, he bled, and he conquered. He tore the balance of power from the hands of both Heaven and Hell, not out of ambition, but necessity."
"With his chains and cloak, he laid waste to those who would dare control him. Malebolgia fell by his hand, and the Devil himself was cast down. And then, in an act that shook the very foundations of creation, Spawn did the unthinkable-he imprisoned both God and Satan, sealing them in a timeless abyss where neither could exert their will upon the world."
"For a time, he ruled over both Heaven and Hell, a reluctant king upon a throne forged from the broken bones of those who had sought to subjugate him. In his hands, the divine and the damned bowed. Angels and demons alike feared the shadow that cast itself across their realms. And with a singular will, he brought order to the chaos, reshaping the very fabric of existence according to his vision."
"But power is a double-edged sword, and the weight of it bore down upon him. For how could one build a paradise when burdened by such pain, by memories that claw at the soul? In the end, he found no solace in dominion. So he relinquished it all-Heaven, Hell, and the Earth he had cleansed and rebuilt-and walked away, seeking neither reward nor rest, only silence."
"Yet, the story of Al Simmons, of Spawn, does not end there. For what he accomplished in his world can be done again, on a far grander scale. A soul such as his, tempered by struggle, can carve light from darkness."
"And so, he was brought here, to a place teetering on the brink, where demons and angels alike tread the path of shadows. Not by his choice, but by design-a design that seeks not only the salvation of this universe but perhaps his own as well."
"For even the most scarred warrior deserves to know peace. Even the most tormented soul deserves to be content. And what better way to heal a broken man than to give him a purpose beyond himself?"
"Watch now, as the tale begins anew, in a world not unlike his own, but filled with potential and peril alike. This is the story of Spawn's redemption-if he can embrace it-and the destiny that awaits beyond the veil of Heaven and Hell."
"For I am the Mother of Existence... and I give shape to all worlds."
Pentagram City was alive with its usual chaos. Demons roamed the streets, indulging in their vices and scheming their schemes. Neon lights flickered, casting an eerie glow on the cracked pavement, while the air was thick with the sound of raucous laughter, drunken brawls, and the occasional gunshot. It was a place that thrived on disorder, where survival was the only rule.
The residents, both new and old, went about their hellish routines, some hawking wares on street corners, others sizing each other up for the next fight. In the sky above, the perpetual blood-red hue was only broken by the occasional thunderstorm, lightning bolts cracking like whips through the clouds. It was just another day in Hell, where even the most mundane activities were tinged with malice.
But then, something strange happened. A gleam of light appeared high above the city, bright and sudden, cutting through the smog-choked atmosphere like a knife. It was unlike anything the residents had seen in ages. Whispers rippled through the crowds, eyes turning upward in a mix of curiosity and fear. This was Hell, after all, and unexpected events rarely meant anything good.
"Is it an Extermination?" someone shouted, their voice tinged with panic. The memory of Heaven's brutal assaults lingered fresh in everyone's minds. Even the boldest of sinners knew better than to face those celestial butchers unprepared. A few demons scrambled for cover, darting into alleyways or diving into the nearest bars, while others just stared, transfixed.
But the gleam didn't spread out into the familiar swarms of Exorcists. Instead, it grew brighter, expanding into a concentrated beam that pierced through the sky, casting an unearthly glow over the city. There was a low, vibrating hum, as if the very air was charged with energy, making the hair on the back of every neck stand on end.
Then, in a single, blinding flash, the beam plummeted downward, crashing into the ground with an impact that shook the entire city. Windows shattered, and buildings trembled, but the light itself dissipated almost instantly, leaving nothing but a faint, shimmering mist where it had struck.
The silence that followed was deafening. Slowly, cautiously, the braver demons emerged from their hiding places, eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. There, in the middle of the street, was a figure, kneeling amidst a crater of cracked asphalt and dust.
The silence hung in the air, heavy and expectant, as the dust slowly dissipated, revealing the figure at the center of the impact. He knelt motionless, shrouded in the remnants of the crater, his silhouette stark against the fractured street. Then, with a deliberate, almost pained movement, he began to rise.
The figure stood tall, towering over the gawking demons that dared to edge closer. His presence was commanding, exuding a raw, palpable power that sent shivers down their spines. He was clad in a suit that seemed to drink in the light around him-a living darkness that wrapped around his form like a second skin. The black fabric was segmented, molded to his body with a sinuous, almost organic texture, highlighted by bold white patterns that slashed across his torso in the shape of a menacing V.
A crimson cape billowed out from his shoulders, its tattered ends whipping in the faint, sulfuric breeze like the wings of some great, nightmarish creature. It moved with a life of its own, shifting and coiling, giving the impression that he was cloaked in blood and shadows. Heavy chains, their links thick and jagged, draped across his chest and hung loosely from his arms, clinking softly with each subtle movement. They seemed to pulse with a dark energy, as if straining to break free, to lash out at anything that dared to come too close.
His face-or what passed for one-was concealed behind a mask of bone-white and black, its features set in a permanent snarl. Fiery green eyes glowed from within, radiating an eerie, unholy light that pierced through the gloom. Those eyes were the only part of him that seemed alive, burning with a fierce, unyielding will. They swept over the onlookers with a gaze that was both scrutinizing and dismissive, as if weighing their very souls and finding them lacking.
From the scent of the air alone and the color of the sky, Spawn already knew where he was. Hell. He didn't need to see the twisted spires of Pentagram City or hear the distant screams and laughter of the damned to recognize it. The acrid, sulfuric tang clung to his senses, the kind of stench that burrowed deep into the memory, never to be forgotten. The sky overhead was a sickly, unnatural red, churning with dark clouds that crackled with flashes of eldritch lightning. It was a vision straight out of the worst nightmares-one he had lived through before.
But something felt off.
"This is Hell," he said, his voice a deep, guttural rumble that reverberated in the silence. "But not the one I know."
His gaze flicked to the demons cowering in the shadows, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. They were expecting something, some signal or sign of what he was here to do. He ignored them, his focus inward, sifting through the sensations and impressions clawing at his mind. The ground felt wrong beneath his boots, the very air too thick, too oppressive.
He turned slowly, the tattered edges of his cape trailing like smoke. His chains scraped against the pavement, restless, as if they too sensed the wrongness of this place. His eyes narrowed, the harsh lines of his mask twisting into something almost resembling a snarl.
A few demons approached, swaggering with the brutish confidence of those who had learned long ago that might made right in Hell. Each one stood nearly as tall as Spawn himself, their bodies covered in thick, leathery skin and rippling muscle. Horns jutted from their bull-like heads, and their eyes gleamed with sadistic intent.
One of them stepped forward, snorting through his flared nostrils. "Well, well, fresh meat," he sneered, his voice a guttural rumble. "You must be new here. Let me give you a little welcome-"
"Back off," Spawn interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes locked onto the lead demon, unblinking and cold. "This is your one warning."
The demon blinked, taken aback for a moment before his lips twisted into a mocking grin. "Or what? You think you're something special? We run these streets, and if you don't pay up, you're gonna regret it."
The others chuckled, their laughter low and menacing, a promise of pain. They began to spread out, encircling Spawn, each one flexing their claws and brandishing makeshift weapons.
"Last chance," Spawn said, his voice a low growl. The air around him seemed to thrum with barely contained energy, his chains clinking softly in response to the rising tension.
The lead demon bared his fangs in a savage grin. "Screw you, tough guy."
He barely had time to finish the sentence before Spawn moved. In an instant, the chains shot forward, whipping through the air with a sound like cracking whips. One wrapped around the lead demon's throat, the barbed links digging into his flesh. With a savage yank, Spawn pulled him forward, his massive fist colliding with the demon's face in a brutal, bone-shattering punch.
The demon's head snapped back with a sickening crunch, his body crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap. The other demons hesitated, their eyes wide with sudden fear, but it was too late. Spawn was already upon them, a whirlwind of death and violence.
He tore through them with ruthless efficiency, his movements a blur of dark red and black. One demon was lifted bodily into the air, chains wrapping around his limbs and torso before yanking in opposite directions, tearing him apart in a grotesque display of gore. Another tried to flee, but Spawn's cloak lashed out, the tendrils of shadow wrapping around the demon's legs and dragging him back, his screams cut short as a blade of sharpened steel pierced his heart.
In seconds, it was over. The street was littered with the broken bodies of those foolish enough to test him, their blood pooling on the cracked asphalt. Spawn stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving slightly, eyes glowing with a deadly intensity.
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of onlookers who had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe.
"Let this be a lesson," Spawn said, his voice calm and cold, cutting through the stunned silence. "I'm not here to be pushed around. Cross me again, and you'll wish you hadn't."
He turned away, the chains retracting back into his armor, his cloak settling around him like the wings of a vengeful shadow. The demons parted before him, none daring to meet his gaze, and as he walked down the ruined street, the message was clear: there was a new power in town, and he was not to be trifled with.