Under the harsh glare of the crime scene lights, the chaos of the living room was laid bare. Salty stood by the doorway, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as his eyes scanned the gruesome tableau before him. Timmy, meanwhile, was meticulously jotting notes in his well-worn notebook, occasionally glancing up to inspect the shattered furniture and blood-spattered walls.

Backup had arrived in full force, officers securing the perimeter and forensics snapping photos of every grisly detail. The air was thick with the smell of copper and something far worse—something no one could quite place.

The coroner, a wiry woman with sharp eyes and a steady hand, crouched over the body of the store owner. Her gloved fingers carefully examined the jagged wounds that marred his torso.

"Got anything for us, Doc?" Salty asked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

The coroner didn't look up, her voice calm despite the carnage. "At first glance, I thought it might be similar to those other ritualistic cases—symbols, staging, all of that. But..."

She hesitated, her gloved hand tracing the edges of a particularly deep gash.

"But what?" Timmy pressed, his pen hovering over the page.

"This isn't just some staged scene for effect. The wounds—" she gestured to the mangled flesh—"are savage. There's an intent here, but it's not clean or precise like you'd expect from a ritualistic killing. This was..."

"Brutal," Salty finished for her, his tone grim.

The coroner nodded. "Brutal is putting it lightly. Whatever did this, it wasn't human."

Both detectives froze, exchanging a wary glance.

"Not human?" Timmy echoed, his voice tinged with skepticism. "You mean, like...an animal?"

The coroner finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "I can't say for sure until I get them on the table, but the bite marks don't match anything I've seen. And the claws..." She gestured to a deep set of parallel gouges running down the victim's chest. "Whatever it was, it had claws. Big ones."

Salty muttered a curse under his breath, crushing his cigarette into an ashtray someone had pulled from the wreckage.

Timmy's eyes darted back to the strange "V" symbol scrawled on the wall. "You think it's connected to the others? Or are we dealing with a copycat?"

The coroner shrugged, rising to her feet. "That's your job to figure out, Detectives. I'll have more for you once I've done the autopsy."

As she left the room, Salty rubbed his temples, his mind racing. "Not human," he muttered under his breath. "What the hell are we dealing with here, Timmy?"

Timmy flipped back through his notes, his brow furrowed. "I don't know, Salty. But I've got a feeling it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better."

Salty snorted, lighting another cigarette. "Ain't it always?"

In the dimly lit room of the Hazbin Hotel, Loona sat sprawled on one of the couches, arms crossed and her usual aloof demeanor replaced with something far softer. Her tail swayed idly behind her as her eyes drifted to Charlie, who was pacing back and forth, clearly deep in thought.

"How the hell does he even survive all that?" Loona asked aloud, her tone unusually serious. She usually wasn't one for open concern, but this time, she couldn't hide it. "The betrayal, the torture, the battles... How does anyone keep going after all that?"

Charlie paused mid-step, looking over at Loona. There was a heavy sadness in her eyes. "I don't think he even knows how," she admitted quietly. "He told me everything just before he left. I think it's the first time he's ever shared his story like that."

Loona leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she thought about everything she had seen in Spawn's memories through the pendant. "I get why he doesn't like to talk about it," she muttered, her ears flattening slightly. "I wouldn't either, if I'd been through all that. But..."

She hesitated, her voice softening. "The part where he almost... y'know, ended it..." Loona looked down, her usual tough exterior cracking as a genuine sadness crept into her voice. "That hit different. Like, I know what it feels like to think there's no way out, but..."

Charlie stepped closer, sitting down beside her. "It's hard to imagine someone like him—someone so strong—feeling that way," she said, her voice gentle.

Loona nodded. "Yeah. Makes you wonder how many people like him are out there, pretending to be okay when they're not."

Charlie reached over, placing a comforting hand on Loona's shoulder. "I think that's why he told me his story," she said. "Because he's starting to believe that he doesn't have to carry all of it alone anymore."

Loona looked at Charlie, her usually sharp eyes softened by something almost vulnerable. "I just hope he knows that we've got his back," she said. "Even if he's not here right now, we're not gonna let him face this crap alone."

Charlie nodded firmly, her determination renewed. "We won't," she agreed. "No matter what it takes, we'll find a way to help him. He's done so much for us already. It's time we do the same for him."

The two sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, before Loona let out a soft sigh. "Spawn's not the kind of guy to ask for help. But maybe... maybe he doesn't have to anymore."

Charlie smiled gently, her resolve unwavering. "He doesn't. Not as long as we're here."

Angel leaned against the bar, absentmindedly stirring his drink with a little straw. His usual flirtatious smirk was nowhere to be seen; instead, his expression was contemplative, almost somber. For once, the loud-mouthed spider was quiet, lost in thought.

Across from him, Husk silently poured another glass, his tired eyes flicking up at Angel occasionally. He didn't need to say anything to know what was on Angel's mind—they had all seen the same thing, after all.

"Y'know," Angel finally said, breaking the silence, "I always knew the guy was tough. I mean, the way he walks, the way he fights, it's obvious he's not someone you mess with. But... damn." He took a slow sip of his drink, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Husk grunted, setting down the bottle of whiskey and leaning on the counter. "Yeah. That kinda pain doesn't come easy. That's decades of carryin' more weight than any one person should."

Angel nodded, his fingers tightening around his glass. "The stuff he's been through... the shit he's seen... I can't believe he's still standing, y'know? Hell, if I'd gone through even half of that, I'd be six feet under—or dust, whatever happens to us when we're gone."

Husk's ears twitched slightly at that. "It's more than just standing," he muttered. "The guy's still fighting. Still... trying. That's what gets me."

Angel's gaze softened, and he swirled the remnants of his drink. "It's like... I look at him, and I see all the badass stuff he's done—taking down Satan, standing up to heaven, all of it. But then I see the cost. Physically, mentally, emotionally... it's like he's been carved out from the inside, and he's still standing there, staring the world down."

Husk lit a cigarette, the flickering flame briefly illuminating his face. "Yeah. I've seen a lot of messed-up shit in my time, but I don't think I've ever seen someone carry that kind of pain before. Not like him."

Angel leaned back, looking at the ceiling with a sigh. "Makes me wonder if any of us have a shot at getting better. I mean, Spawn's been through hell—literally—and he's still fighting. Makes me feel like a whiny brat for complainin' about my own crap."

Husk gave him a sidelong glance, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Pain's pain, Angel. Don't start playin' the comparison game. What he went through doesn't make what you've been through any less real. Just... makes it different."

Angel nodded slowly, processing Husk's words. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He looked down at his drink, his reflection shimmering faintly in the liquid. "Still, makes me wanna do... I dunno, something. To help him."

Husk raised an eyebrow. "Help him how? The guy's fought gods and devils. What're you gonna do, bake him a pie?"

Angel smirked faintly, the glimmer of his usual humor returning. "Hey, maybe he likes pie. Who knows?"

Husk chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Whatever you decide, just... don't push it. Guys like him don't always know how to accept help. You'll just piss him off if you try too hard."

Angel nodded again, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. "Yeah... but still. If anyone deserves a little kindness, it's him."

Husk said nothing, taking a long drag of his cigarette. For a moment, the two of them sat in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the enigmatic man who had somehow become a part of their strange little family.

Loona sat on the worn-out couch, her eyes focused on a spot on the floor that wasn't particularly interesting, but it kept her mind busy. She was quiet—not her usual brooding or sarcastic silence, but one filled with thought. Her tail flicked slightly as her arms rested on her knees.

She had always thought her own trust issues were insurmountable. The years of abandonment, betrayal, and emotional neglect had shaped her into someone who built walls so high even she couldn't see over them sometimes. But seeing Spawn's memories, she realized how small her walls were compared to the fortress Spawn had lived in for decades.

"Damn…" she muttered under her breath, running a hand through her fur.

Blitzo glanced over at her from his spot by the window, where he leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He wasn't one to admit when something affected him, but this was different. He felt it too.

"You're thinkin' about him too, huh?" he asked, his voice subdued.

Loona nodded slowly. "Yeah. I mean... what the hell do you even say to someone like that? He's been through... everything."

Blitzo turned back to the window, watching the city's lights flicker. He'd always thought his own self-loathing was justified. The failed relationships, the mistakes he couldn't take back, the people he'd pushed away—it was a heavy weight, but one he thought he deserved to carry. But Spawn?

"That guy doesn't just have baggage," Blitzo finally said, his tone serious. "He's got an entire fuckin' airport. And he's still standing. Somehow."

Loona leaned back against the couch, folding her arms across her chest. "It's not just that he's still standing. It's how. Like... he just keeps going. Doesn't matter how much shit gets thrown at him. Doesn't matter if he thinks he's a monster. He still tries to do the right thing, even if he hates himself for it."

Blitzo let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Kinda makes my problems seem... I dunno... tiny."

Loona looked up at him, her usual sharpness softened. "I wouldn't say that. Your problems are still your problems. But... yeah. Compared to what he's been through? It's... different."

Blitzo sighed, running a hand across his head. "I used to think I was a piece of shit, y'know? And, okay, maybe I am sometimes. But Spawn? He looks at himself like he's worse than anything I've ever thought about me. And that's just... I dunno. It's messed up."

Loona nodded again, her gaze distant. "He's been through hell. Literally. And I don't think he's ever had anyone who just... stayed. Not really."

For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint hum of the city outside.

Blitzo turned back to face her, his expression thoughtful. "Y'know, Loony, for someone who's all about pushing people away, you've come a long way yourself."

Loona rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Don't get sappy on me, Dad."

He grinned, though it lacked its usual mischief. "Hey, I'm just sayin'. If Spawn can keep going after all that, maybe we're not as screwed up as we think we are. Or maybe we are, but... I dunno. It feels different now."

Loona didn't reply, but her tail stopped flicking, settling into a slow, thoughtful sway. She didn't know what the future held for Spawn—or for them, for that matter—but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she wanted to try. To trust. To keep going.

Maybe Spawn's strength wasn't just about surviving. Maybe it was about showing others they could, too.

Loona leaned forward slightly, her usual guarded demeanor softened by the weight of her thoughts. Her arms rested on her knees, but her gaze shifted from the floor to Blitzo, who was still leaning against the window frame. For all his antics, for all his flaws, she realized how lucky she truly was.

The memories of Spawn's life—the deep, unshakable love he had for Wanda, and how that love had been cruelly ripped away from him—played in her mind. She thought about how he had to watch Cyan from a distance, unable to be a part of her life but still doing everything he could to protect her. It was heartbreaking, and it made her appreciate what she had even more.

Without a word, Loona stood up and crossed the room. Blitzo turned to face her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. Before he could say anything, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

Blitzo blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden display of affection. "Uh... you okay, Loony?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"I'm fine," she mumbled into his shoulder, her tone soft. "I just... I love you, okay?"

Blitzo froze for a moment, caught off guard by her words. Loona wasn't the type to openly express her feelings like this often, and he knew better than to take it lightly. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

"I love you too, kiddo," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

As they stood there, Blitzo couldn't help but think back to Spawn's memories. The way Spawn had cared for Cyan from a distance, always watching over her but never able to truly be a part of her life, struck a chord deep within him. Blitzo saw parallels between Spawn and himself—both deeply flawed, both trying to protect the ones they cared about in their own messy ways.

But unlike Spawn, Blitzo had the chance to be there for Loona. To show her he cared, to tell her he loved her. And in that moment, he was reminded of just how precious that was.

"You know," he said after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at her, "Spawn would probably give anything to have what we've got right now. I don't think I ever realized just how lucky we are."

Loona nodded, her expression unusually vulnerable. "Yeah... I guess we are."

Blitzo smiled, ruffling her hair playfully. "Well, don't get used to me being all sappy. You know I'm more of a 'deflect with humor' kinda guy."

Loona rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Yeah, I know."

As the two of them sat back down, the weight of Spawn's story lingered in their minds. But so did the gratitude for what they had. They didn't need to be perfect—they just needed to be there for each other. And that, they realized, was more than enough.

Vaggie sat in quiet contemplation, her spear leaning against her chair as the weight of Spawn's memories lingered in her mind. Of all the things she had seen, it wasn't his power, his battles, or even his suffering that struck her the hardest. It was his loyalty. His unrelenting, unconditional love for Wanda.

She couldn't shake the image of him standing in the shadows, watching over Wanda from afar. The way he still wore his wedding ring, tarnished and worn, as if it were a part of his very being. The way he protected her, even after death had ripped them apart and life had moved her on to someone else.

The pain that must have caused him. To see her with another man—his best friend, no less—to see her happy and loved in a way he could no longer provide. And yet, there was no bitterness, no malice. Just love. Pure and unshakable.

Vaggie's gaze drifted to Charlie, who was pacing nearby, clutching the pendant Spawn had entrusted to her. Charlie's determination to help Spawn, her unwavering faith in him, was nothing short of inspiring. But in that moment, Vaggie couldn't help but feel a pang of inadequacy.

Her love for Charlie was fierce, of course. She would fight for her, die for her without hesitation. But compared to the depths of devotion Spawn had shown—devotion that endured through death, betrayal, and unimaginable pain—her love almost felt... insufficient.

"How does someone love like that?" she muttered to herself, barely realizing she had spoken aloud.

Charlie paused mid-step, glancing over at her. "What?"

Vaggie shook her head, her thoughts still swirling. "It's just... him. Spawn. The way he loved his wife. It's... incredible. Even when it tore him apart, he never stopped loving her. Never stopped protecting her. I don't know if I could ever love someone like that."

Charlie frowned, her expression softening as she approached Vaggie. "Vaggie, you do love like that. You love me like that."

Vaggie looked up at Charlie, her brows furrowed. "Do I? I mean, I know I love you more than anything, but... I don't know if I'd have that kind of strength. To endure that kind of pain and still love so selflessly."

Charlie knelt beside her, taking Vaggie's hands in her own. "You don't have to go through what Spawn went through to prove your love. What he did... it's incredible, yes. But that doesn't make your love for me any less real or strong. You've been by my side through everything, Vaggie. You've fought for me, supported me, believed in me when no one else did. That's more than enough."

Vaggie squeezed Charlie's hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I just... I don't want to fail you. Ever."

Charlie smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Vaggie's forehead. "You won't. You never have."

For a moment, Vaggie allowed herself to relax, leaning into Charlie's touch. Yet, in the back of her mind, the image of Spawn's unwavering loyalty lingered, a reminder of just how powerful love could be—even when it came at the highest cost.

Lucifer stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed as he watched Charlie and Vaggie share a quiet, heartfelt moment. It wasn't uncommon to see his daughter so vulnerable, but it was rare to see her partner openly share her insecurities. Yet, it reminded him of something—someone—that had been weighing heavily on his mind since his conversation with Spawn.

For all his aloofness, all his pride, Lucifer was no stranger to love's burdens. He had been willing to go to the ends of the earth for Lilith. And when Charlie was born, he had sworn to protect her with every ounce of his being. No matter how far he had fallen into his own grief, that resolve had never truly left him.

He thought back to the memories Spawn had shown him, particularly those of Cyan. The way Spawn had shielded her, watched over her, loved her like his own, even though she wasn't. That instinct, that need to protect the innocent and the cherished, was something Lucifer understood all too well.

For years, he had tried to shield Charlie from the darker truths of Hell. He had let her dream, let her hope, even as he doubted her dreams would ever come to fruition. And while he had failed to be the father he should have been in recent years, he realized now that it wasn't because he didn't care—it was because he cared too much.

In Spawn, he saw a reflection of himself. A man broken by loss, driven by guilt, but still willing to fight for those he loved. A man who had endured the unendurable to ensure the safety of another.

"Protecting someone you love... it takes a toll," he murmured under his breath, though his voice was heavy with understanding.

Charlie looked up, hearing him, and gave him a questioning glance. "What was that, Dad?"

Lucifer shook his head, offering her a faint smile. "Nothing, my dear. Just... thinking about how much you've grown."

She tilted her head, a small, concerned smile playing on her lips. "You okay?"

Lucifer nodded, though his gaze drifted back to the pendant in Charlie's hand. "I'm fine. Just... reminded of how important it is to hold on to the things that matter most. No matter the cost."

Charlie exchanged a glance with Vaggie, then looked back at her father. "We'll find a way to help him," she said firmly. "I won't let Spawn face this alone."

Lucifer's smile widened, a rare glimmer of pride in his eyes. "I know you won't. You've always had your mother's tenacity."

As the two women turned back to their conversation, Lucifer remained where he was, silent and thoughtful. He couldn't help but think of Lilith, of how she would have handled all of this. And of how much he had learned from Spawn—a man who, in so many ways, was far more than just another soul in Hell.

Lucifer's expression grew darker as the weight of the situation settled over him. He couldn't just sit idly by and let events play out. Spawn wasn't just another sinner or lost soul. He had proven himself time and time again to be someone worth standing up for. Someone Lucifer could call a friend, even if neither of them would openly admit it.

As he glanced across the room at Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Angel, Niffty, Blitzo, and the rest of IMP, he considered their resolve. These were people who had all been touched by Spawn's presence in some way. People who had seen him at his most vulnerable, his most human. And even though none of them could physically go to Heaven, there was a way for them to help.

Lucifer tapped his chin, the glimmer of an idea forming in his mind. If Heaven was truly putting Spawn on trial and attempting to maintain a facade of justice, then they would have to allow witnesses. He could argue for Spawn's character, and so could the others.

He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the room. "I've been thinking," he began, his deep voice cutting through the quiet murmurs. "We can't just sit here and do nothing. Spawn deserves better than that."

Charlie immediately perked up, her pendant still clutched in her hands. "Do you have a plan, Dad?"

Lucifer nodded, his crimson gaze sweeping across the group. "If Heaven is going through the motions of a trial, they'll allow witnesses to speak on Spawn's behalf. We can't go to Heaven physically, but we can still testify through a holographic link."

The room fell silent for a moment as everyone processed the suggestion. Blitzo groaned loudly, breaking the stillness. "Ugh, another trial? I barely survived the last one with Satan. Now you're telling me we have to testify for Spawn? Again?"

"It might be the best, and only way we can help him." Lucifer said.

Angel shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "So you're saying I've got to play nice with the angels? Sounds like a nightmare."

Niffty clapped her hands together, her eyes gleaming. "Oh! Oh! I'd love to help Spawn! He's been so nice, even though he's super scary! And who doesn't love a good redemption story?"

Husk grunted, sipping his drink. "Don't see why not. Guy deserves someone in his corner."

Vaggie stepped forward, her expression determined. "If it means helping Spawn, I'll do whatever it takes."

Charlie nodded firmly, her own resolve strengthening. "Then it's settled. We'll do everything we can to make sure they see the real Spawn. The one who's been fighting for others, not for himself."

Lucifer's lips curled into a small smile. "Good. Then let's get to work."

The group immediately began planning, each of them determined to do their part. And as they strategized, Lucifer couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. If anyone could stand up for Spawn and show Heaven what kind of man he truly was, it was this group.

Charlie sat at the table, the pendant resting loosely in her hand as her mind churned with thoughts of how they were going to help Spawn. The pendant's weight felt heavier now, not just as an object, but as a symbol of the trust Spawn had placed in her.

Charlie's thoughts were so focused that she didn't notice the faint shift of light as a shadow stretched unnaturally across the floor, creeping toward her hand.

The shadow moved with an eerie purpose, slithering like liquid darkness until it touched the pendant. There was no sound, no sign of its presence—just a faint, almost imperceptible vibration as the shadow connected.

Unbeknownst to Charlie, the shadow belonged to Alastor. Somewhere in the depths of the hotel, Alastor's grin widened as his shadow-self touched the pendant, activating its power.

Through the shadow, Alastor began to see the truth of Spawn's past. The memories unfolded before him in vivid, haunting detail—the betrayal, the torment, the battles that defied comprehension. He saw the unimaginable power Spawn had wielded, the celestial realms he had reshaped, and the godlike authority he had once claimed.

Alastor's ever-present grin twisted into something sharper, more calculating. "My, my..." he murmured to himself, his voice carrying that unsettling blend of charm and menace. "What a fascinating little puzzle piece you are, Spawn. And here I thought you were powerful before."

By the time the memories faded, Alastor's shadow had withdrawn, retreating into the corners of the room where it blended seamlessly with the natural darkness. Charlie remained unaware, still clutching the pendant as she stared at it, lost in thought.

As Alastor made his way to his radio tower, his thoughts churned with newfound purpose. The memory of Spawn's incredible past replayed in his mind like a gripping drama. The power Spawn had wielded—enough to overthrow devils, gods, and reshape entire realms—was unlike anything Alastor had encountered in this world or the next.

"So, that's how he did it…" Alastor mused, his voice echoing faintly in the stillness around him. "The way he destroyed Angel's contract, like parchment in a flame—it wasn't just raw strength. It was authority. A kind of authority even the highest of powers here would tremble before."

The Radio Demon's grin grew wider, more sinister. He had initially thought Spawn was merely an anomaly—a fascinating enigma, yes, but nothing more than a footnote in the grand design of hell's power structure. Now, he realized Spawn was something far more valuable. Something far more dangerous.

As he ascended the spiraling staircase of his radio tower, the city below shrinking further and further from view, Alastor's mind began to race with possibilities. He had long been searching for a way to break free from his own infernal contract, a shackle he despised but tolerated because of the power it granted him. With Spawn, he thought he'd found his back door. But now...

"Oh, the possibilities!" he laughed, his voice carrying a chilling edge of delight. "He's already proven capable of defying the rules of this world. With a little... guidance, that potential could be turned toward more productive ventures. My ventures."

But then, Alastor's thoughts shifted. As much as his freedom appealed to him, it was the bigger picture that truly piqued his interest. Spawn wasn't just a means to an end. He was a force—a catalyst that could reshape hell itself.

"Why stop at contracts?" Alastor muttered as he reached the top of his tower, stepping into the room that housed his vast array of radios, antennas, and broadcast equipment. "Why not kingdoms? Why not entire power structures? If he could bring order to the chaos of his world, why not here? And why not for a purpose far more... useful?"

He took a seat at his desk, his long fingers dancing over the dials of his equipment as he began to broadcast his thoughts to himself, an old habit that helped him strategize.

"Spawn... a creature of infinite potential, bound by a past of tragedy and vengeance. A perfect storm of rage and reason. Oh, how delightful it would be to mold that storm into a hurricane of my design."

Alastor leaned back in his chair, his grin never faltering. He wasn't foolish enough to think Spawn would be easily manipulated. That much was clear from the memories he had seen. But Alastor wasn't looking for easy. Easy was boring. Easy lacked flavor.

No, this would require finesse, careful planning, and just the right touch of persuasion. Because if there was one thing Alastor knew, it was that power, no matter how great, could always be channeled.

"And when the time comes," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unsettling glee, "we'll see just how much of that power can be turned toward something truly... spectacular."

As his broadcast equipment hummed around him, Alastor's laughter echoed through the room, spilling out into the night like the crackling static of a distant storm.

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