The streets of Pentagram City were eerily subdued as Lucifer, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, and Niffty marched purposefully through the crimson-hued cityscape. Blitzo, Loona, Millie, and Moxxie followed close behind, their usual banter subdued by the gravity of their mission. Ahead loomed Heaven's embassy, an imposing structure of white marble and radiant gold that stood in stark contrast to the infernal surroundings, exuding an air of calm amid the chaos.

Charlie glanced up at the embassy, the pendant Spawn had entrusted her with clutched tightly in her hand. Her voice was low, tinged with unease as she addressed her father. "I thought the link between the embassy and Heaven only worked one way."

Lucifer, his gaze steady, replied without hesitation. "It does, in most cases. However, the link was designed to be bidirectional. For negotiations, arbitration...and emergencies."

Blitzo perked up at that, his mischievous grin breaking through the tension. "So, what you're saying is, it's bi. Hot."

Moxxie sighed audibly, his patience wearing thin as he shot Blitzo a glare. "Blitz, for the love of Hell, you're pansexual. You've said it yourself a hundred times."

Blitzo blinked, as if this realization was news to him, before shrugging nonchalantly. "Pan, bi—same energy. Still hot."

Loona groaned, rubbing her temples. "Yeah, sure, Blitz. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Millie stifled a giggle, patting Moxxie's shoulder. "He's just being Blitz, hon. Don't let him get to you."

Lucifer, unfazed by the exchange, glanced back with an arched brow. "If the imp has finished entertaining himself, we do have more pressing matters at hand."

Blitzo mock-saluted. "Aye aye, your hellish highness. No more jokes—cross my heart and hope to...well, you know."

As they approached the embassy, its towering golden doors shimmered with an ethereal glow. The divine energy radiating from within was palpable, even to the Hellborn among them. Husk paused, eyeing the structure with suspicion as he lit a cigarette. "Place gives me the creeps. Never thought I'd be standing this close to Heaven's doorstep."

Angel tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, well, let's hope they don't smite us for bad behavior. We're here for Al, not for show-and-tell."

Charlie took a deep breath, looking up at the embassy with determination. "We have to do this. For him."

Lucifer placed a hand on her shoulder, his usually imposing expression softening just slightly. "And we will. Let's move."

With that, the group stepped forward, the golden light spilling out from the open doors illuminating their path as they entered the embassy.

Spawn sat in the cold, sterile cell, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. His mind wandered, lingering on Frank. The little guy had been gone far longer than he should have been. While he had trusted Frank's knack for slipping into and out of places unnoticed, a sinking feeling began to gnaw at him. Frank might not be coming back. Or if he was, it wouldn't be in time to help.

A faint pang of guilt stirred in Spawn's chest. He'd sent Frank out into a world he didn't belong in, to gather information that might not even matter in the end. What if something happened to him?

The sound of the door creaking open shattered the stillness, and Spawn's gaze snapped up. His hope that it might be Frank was immediately dashed. It wasn't him.

Instead, Lute entered, flanked by a group of Exorcists, their expressions as cold and rigid as the room itself.

Lute crossed her arms, her tone dripping with smug authority. "It's time for your trial, Hellspawn."

Spawn said nothing, his expression unreadable as he rose to his feet. He adjusted his cape, letting it billow slightly before draping it behind him. The chains that bound him clinked softly as he moved, the sigils still burning faintly against his suit.

Lute smirked, as if she took his silence for submission. "You're taking this rather well. I expected more resistance from someone like you."

Spawn stopped in front of her, towering over the Exorcists. His voice was low, steady, and unwavering. "I just want to get this over with."

For a moment, Lute's confidence faltered under his gaze. She quickly turned on her heel, motioning for the other Exorcists to escort him. As they formed a tight circle around Spawn, he allowed himself a single glance back at the empty cell, where Frank should have been.

Without another word, he followed them out, ready to face whatever awaited him.

The chains dug into Spawn's wrists as the Exorcists reapplied the bindings outside the holding building, their holy sigils searing more sharply than before. He barely winced, but he could feel the discomfort ripple through Leetha, the symbiotic suit that had been his constant companion. It squirmed subtly beneath the surface, unable to feed on the sinless air of Heaven or resist the burn of the sacred metal.

Spawn walked silently, his gaze flickering over the golden streets and pristine structures of Heaven. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and filth of Hell, but he still wasn't impressed. A gilded city, hiding its flaws under a veneer of righteousness.

As they passed through a courtyard, something caught Spawn's attention. Standing off to the side, he spotted Emily, the young seraphim he had spoken to earlier. Her bright demeanor was unchanged, and she was chatting animatedly with a young man who looked to be around her age.

Spawn's sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the man's appearance. There was something oddly familiar about him, though he couldn't place it. The young man had a chunky build, with skin the color of fresh-cut lumber and striking fulvous eyes that gleamed with a warm light. His hair, a tousled mess of the same woodsy hue, framed his face, flicking outward in strands that gave him a boyish look.

There was a chip in his front teeth that added to his youthful, slightly awkward appearance. His pastel-orange wings glowed faintly. He was dressed in an ornate, high-collar cassock that looked almost like a marching band uniform, with cream-colored fabric adorned with golden accents. The golden epaulets on his shoulders and buttons across his chest gave him an air of importance, though his easy smile and relaxed posture suggested humility.

On his head sat a white shako, with a bold "A" emblazoned on the front of the crown.

Spawn's steps slowed as he observed the young man. There was an undeniable resemblance to someone he knew. Cain. Though the resemblance was younger, softer, and more vibrant, the similarities were too striking to ignore.

Leetha stirred again, almost as if it, too, was curious. Spawn's thoughts churned, but he kept his expression impassive. If this was who he suspected, it raised far more questions than answers.

The Exorcists, unaware of his thoughts, shoved him forward roughly, snapping him out of his musings. Spawn didn't resist, though his gaze lingered on the pair. Emily laughed at something the young man said, and the sound was as pure and genuine as he remembered.

He was tempted to call out or linger longer, but he didn't. There would be time to ask questions later, assuming he made it through whatever awaited him at the trial. For now, he kept walking, his thoughts heavy as the chains burned against his wrists.

As Spawn was led forward, the murmurs of onlookers grew louder. The air was charged with a mix of curiosity, unease, and judgment. Every step he took seemed to echo in the pristine halls, a stark reminder of where he was—a place he didn't belong.

As they approached the courthouse, Spawn glanced over his shoulder and noticed Emily turning her attention toward him. Her expression softened, and while he couldn't hear what she was saying, it was clear she was excusing herself from her conversation with the young man. With a few strong flaps of her six wings, she ascended into the air, gracefully making her way in the same direction he was being led.

Spawn narrowed his eyes slightly. He had a feeling she was going to be part of the trial as well, though whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

The Exorcists guiding him paused before the grand entrance of the courthouse. The structure loomed over them, a towering edifice of light and perfection, with intricate carvings of angelic symbols adorning its façade. The golden gates creaked open, and Spawn was ushered inside.

The interior of the courthouse was as immaculate as the exterior. Rows upon rows of angels filled the chamber, their eyes locked onto Spawn as he entered. Their forms were varied—some humanoid, others more ethereal, with glowing halos, shimmering robes, and radiant wings. The room was a kaleidoscope of divine energy, a sight that might have overwhelmed anyone else.

Spawn's gaze shifted upward, where the highest seat of the court resided. There, on a throne of gleaming light and adorned with celestial designs, sat Sera, the High Seraphim.

Her presence was nothing short of commanding.

Sera was strikingly tall, her slim frame draped in a two-layered gown of periwinkle-gray that shimmered in the light. The high-frilled collar framed her regal face, which was painted with an air of both authority and composure. Her cedar-brown skin bore a stark white streak down the bridge of her nose, flanked by white freckles.

Her eyes were mesmerizing—white irises surrounded by blue-gray sclera and dark purple pupils, adorned with thick lashes that extended outward in holographic hues of dark purple. Above her eyes, her expression was sharp and calculating, the look of someone who saw everything and missed nothing.

Her hair was a cascade of silver-like curls that fell to her hips, framing her face like a mane of moonlight. Behind her, six feathered wings stretched out, their light periwinkle and white feathers glowing faintly. Hovering above her head were two halos—the first adorned with crown-like spikes and blue gem-like circles, and the second floating above it like a divine sentinel.

Sera's presence alone was enough to silence the room.

Beside her, Emily sat at a slightly lower seat. While her youthful demeanor softened the intensity of the chamber, her proximity to Sera showed her importance.

The Exorcists brought Spawn to the center of the room, where he stood in chains, every eye in the chamber boring into him.

Sera tilted her head slightly, her holographic lashes catching the light as she studied him. Her voice, calm but laced with authority, filled the chamber.

"Al Simmons. Hellspawn. You stand before the court of Heaven to answer for your actions in the infernal realms. Do you understand the charges brought against you?"

Spawn met her gaze without hesitation, his voice steady. "I understand more than you think."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the angels in attendance, but Sera raised a hand, silencing them immediately.

"Then let us begin," she said, leaning back in her throne, her wings unfurling slightly. "This trial will determine not just your fate, but the balance between our realms. Choose your words carefully, Hellspawn."

Before the trial could formally begin, a sudden shimmer of golden light filled the room, and holographic projections of Charlie, Vaggie, Lucifer, Angel, Husk, Niffty, and the IMP crew materialized in the center of the chamber. Their presence caused an immediate stir.

Gasps and whispers spread through the courtroom like wildfire. "Lucifer!" one angel exclaimed in hushed shock. "What is he doing here?"

Lucifer stepped forward, his holographic image as whimsical as ever, his signature smirk firmly in place. "Apologies for the dramatic entrance," he said with mock sincerity. "I do hope we're not late. Traffic between realms can be...unpredictable."

Lute's face twisted in irritation, her feathers bristling as she stepped forward. "This is a heavenly trial," she hissed. "You and your kind have no right to be here."

Lucifer arched a brow, his smirk widening. "Ah, Lute, ever the ray of sunshine. Allow me to remind you of something rather important." His voice grew sharper, cutting through the murmurs. "Spawn is my enforcer. As such, I have every right to be present at his trial. More importantly, as this court claims to uphold fairness and justice, Spawn is entitled to witnesses. Surely, you wouldn't deny him that, would you?"

The room grew tense as all eyes turned to Sera, who seemed to consider Lucifer's words carefully. While several angels clearly wanted to agree with Lute, they knew Lucifer wasn't wrong.

Sera raised a hand, silencing the murmurs. Her voice, calm yet commanding, echoed through the chamber. "Lucifer is correct. As this is a trial, Spawn is entitled to representation and witnesses. They may remain."

Lucifer gave a mock bow, his smirk never fading. "Why, thank you. Always a pleasure to see justice upheld."

Lute scowled but said nothing further, stepping back with a huff. Charlie, meanwhile, looked at Spawn, her concern evident even through the projection. "We're here for you," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that stood in stark contrast to the cold, judgmental atmosphere of the courtroom.

Spawn nodded slightly, his gaze steady as he prepared himself for what was to come.

Lute stepped forward again, her wings flaring slightly in agitation as she jabbed a finger toward Blitzo and the rest of IMP. "And what about them?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Hellborn have no place in a court of Heaven. Their very presence here is a mockery of divine justice."

Blitzo opened his mouth, gearing up for what was undoubtedly going to be a colorful and long-winded insult. His hands gestured wildly as he began to speak, but before a single word could land, Lucifer casually snapped his fingers.

Blitzo's hologram immediately went silent. Though his mouth continued to move, and his gestures became even more animated in his frustration, no sound came from him. The comedic effect wasn't lost on anyone, as Millie and Loona both struggled to stifle their smirks, and Moxxie simply sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Lucifer turned his attention back to Lute, his tone smooth and unfazed. "I assure you, they are firmly under control." He gestured dismissively toward Blitzo's still-silent figure, who was now miming what looked like increasingly dramatic insults. "And while I understand your disdain, they are crucial to this case. These individuals have a direct connection to Spawn and can provide context to his actions. Surely, a court that prides itself on fairness would see the value in that."

Lute's expression soured further, but before she could retort, Sera raised her hand once more, signaling for silence. Her piercing gaze settled on Lucifer, and then on the muted Blitzo, who was still pantomiming his tirade.

"Enough," Sera said, her voice cutting through the tension. She glanced at Lute. "Let them remain. Their testimony may hold relevance."

Lucifer gave a slight bow of acknowledgment, his smirk returning. "As always, your wisdom shines." With another snap of his fingers, Blitzo's voice returned, mid-rant.

"—and another thing! You self-righteous, feather-covered—"

"Blitzo!" Charlie hissed, cutting him off with a sharp glare.

Realizing he'd been unmuted, Blitzo froze, looking sheepish as he muttered, "Right, shutting up now."

Lucifer rolled his eyes theatrically before turning back to Sera, his smirk never fading. "Shall we proceed?"

Sera's commanding voice echoed through the grand courtroom. "Let this trial commence. The first charge against the defendant, Spawn, is the killing of Exorcists in Hell. These acts of violence are a direct affront to the divine order and cannot be ignored."

Spawn stepped forward slightly, his movements slow and deliberate. He locked eyes with Sera, his voice calm but unyielding. "Let's not dress it up. The only reason I killed those Exorcists was because they attacked me first. I defended myself."

Lute flared her wings, her posture stiff with indignation. "They were sent to bring you in for questioning! You refused to comply, leaving them no choice but to act."

Spawn's gaze turned to her, sharp and unwavering. "Refused to comply?" he echoed, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone. "I didn't refuse anything. I didn't even know why they were there. They didn't ask questions—they came at me with swords and divine energy, weapons drawn. You call that 'questioning'?"

The murmurs in the courtroom grew louder as angels exchanged uneasy glances.

"And another thing," Spawn continued, stepping forward. "Why is it that Exorcists are allowed to be violent, but when I fight back, suddenly it's a crime? Do you realize how hypocritical that is?"

Lute opened her mouth to retort, but Sera raised her hand, silencing her. "Enough, Lute," she said, her voice firm. Turning to Spawn, she asked, "Do you have evidence to support your claim that the Exorcists initiated the violence?"

Spawn glanced at the holographic projection of Lucifer and the others. "I don't have fancy evidence to show, but I've got witnesses," he said. "And some of them are sitting right there."

Lucifer smirked, tilting his head toward the angels. "You know, it's not often I agree with mortals, but Spawn does have a point. Your Exorcists aren't exactly known for their subtlety. Perhaps you should look into their methods before pointing fingers."

The angels murmured again, and even Sera seemed to consider his words.

Lute glared at Lucifer before addressing Sera. "Their methods are not on trial here. The defendant's actions are. He killed them, regardless of their approach."

Spawn's voice cut through the noise. "I defended myself. If they hadn't come at me like I was some rabid animal, none of them would've died."

Lute's wings flared with renewed vigor as she stepped forward, her tone sharp and cutting. "Even by Hell's standards, your acts of violence are exceptional, Spawn. Do you truly expect us to believe that every single instance was just self-defense?"

Spawn didn't flinch, his voice steady as he replied. "I've never gone looking for a fight. Every battle I've fought was because someone else came after me first. I didn't pick those fights, but I damn well ended them."

Lute's lips curled into a sly smirk as she motioned to a nearby Exorcist. "Let's test that claim, shall we?" With a wave of her hand, a holographic projection materialized in the courtroom, displaying a grisly scene—Crimson's flayed body hanging like a macabre centerpiece. Gasps echoed throughout the room, and even the angels accustomed to harsh realities shifted uncomfortably.

Charlie's eyes widened in shock, her voice a trembling whisper. "How did she get that image...?"

Spawn remained unmoved, his posture unyielding. His glowing green eyes bore into Lute as she turned to him with a triumphant expression. "Was this, too, just self-defense?" she asked, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Spawn's response was calm, almost cold. "The punishment fit the crime."

Lute raised a brow, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. "Excuse me?"

"Crimson wasn't just a horrible person—he was a monster," Spawn continued, his voice gaining an edge. "He exploited, abused, and destroyed lives for his own gain. I didn't flay him out of anger. I did it because that's exactly what he deserved. He caused excessive harm to others, so I figured it should be paid back in kind."

The courtroom was silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.

Lute's composure faltered for a brief moment before she regained her footing. "And who are you to decide that? You're no judge, no decider of morality."

Spawn's gaze didn't waver. "I'm someone who's lived through the consequences of people like him. Someone who's seen what happens when monsters like Crimson are left unchecked. If that makes me a judge in your eyes, so be it."

Charlie, still shaken, found her voice. "Crimson was evil. What he did to Moxxie, to others, was unforgivable. Spawn didn't just lash out—he stopped someone who would've kept hurting others if he wasn't stopped."

Lucifer chimed in, his voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and authority. "Well, isn't this fascinating? Heaven, the supposed bastion of justice, questioning whether stopping a tyrant was too harsh. Perhaps next we'll debate whether Exorcists are just misunderstood artists with swords."

Sera, seated high above the courtroom, raised her hand to quiet the murmurs of the assembled angels. Her wings shifted slightly as her sharp gaze swept over the room. "We will now hear from character witnesses," she announced, her voice resonating with an authoritative yet melodic tone. "And I have chosen one to speak first."

She gestured to the projection of Husk, who was clearly annoyed at being put in the spotlight. "You," Sera addressed him, "you have interacted with the accused. Tell us, in your own words, what kind of man Al Simmons—Spawn—is."

Husk sighed heavily, running a paw through his tuft of fur before setting his drink aside. He crossed his arms and looked at the crowd of angels, Exorcists, and the ethereal projections of his companions.

"Alright, fine," Husk began, his gravelly voice carrying a mix of irritation and sincerity. "I ain't one for speeches, but if you're gonna make me talk about Al, I will."

He shifted his weight and glanced at Spawn, who stood silently, his imposing presence never wavering.

"Look, when I first met Spawn, I didn't trust him. I barely trust anyone, let alone some guy wrapped in chains and wearing a cape that moves on its own." There was a faint chuckle from the audience, but Husk ignored it. "But the thing is, Spawn didn't come into the hotel looking for power or to start fights. He came in quiet, kept to himself. He didn't expect anyone to give him anything."

Husk's gaze softened slightly as he continued. "I've seen what he's done for people. For Charlie. For all of us. He doesn't talk much about his past, but when you look at the guy, you can see he's been through hell. Literally, figuratively and everything in between."

He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall to his sides. "But he still gets up every day and fights for the people around him. Even when he doesn't have to. Even when it costs him. That says a lot more about the kind of man he is than anything I could say."

Husk turned back to Spawn, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're one of the good ones, Al. Whether you see it or not."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Husk's words hung in the air. "That's all I've got. Can I go now?"

Sera raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head slightly, her gaze still fixed on Husk's projection. "Before you go," she said, her tone measured, "are you and Spawn related in any way?"

Husk furrowed his brow and adjusted his tie out of habit. "No, we're not related," he replied, sounding genuinely confused. "Why are you asking?"

Sera leaned back slightly in her seat, her wings shifting as if in thought. "It's just that you and Spawn sound... identical. The tone, the rasp. It's uncanny."

For a moment, the courtroom was silent, save for a soft chuckle from someone in the audience. But then Angel Dust's eyes lit up like fireworks. His grin stretched ear to ear as he suddenly pointed toward the projection of Husk and shouted, "HA! I KNEW IT! FINALLY!"

The outburst startled a few angels nearby, and even Sera looked mildly taken aback. "Excuse me?" she asked, her voice firm.

Angel, completely unbothered by her confusion, threw his arms in the air in victory. "I've been saying it for ages! Spawn and Husk sound exactly alike, and nobody believed me! Not Charlie, not Vaggie, not even Husk himself!" He turned toward the others in his group, jabbing a finger in their direction. "But now, a freakin' seraphim says it, and suddenly it's gospel truth! I feel so vindicated right now!"

Husk pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, "You've gotta be kidding me."

Sera, clearly unimpressed by Angel's antics, tapped a finger against the armrest of her throne. "While I am unsure why this is a cause for celebration," she said, "I merely made an observation."

Angel spun back toward her, his grin still plastered on his face. "Observation or not, you've just made my century, toots. Thanks for the divine validation!"

Sera allowed the interruption to settle before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. "Are we finished with this... tangent?" she asked, glancing pointedly at Angel.

He shrugged, still basking in his moment of triumph. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Trial stuff. Whatever."

Sera rolled her eyes faintly before motioning for the next witness to step forward. Husk, meanwhile, sighed heavily, muttering something about needing a drink.

At the gates of Heaven, Saint Peter stood with his brow furrowed, his finger running down the golden pages of his book for what felt like the hundredth time. He muttered to himself, flipping back and forth between sections, each turn of the page accompanied by a faint chiming sound.

"This doesn't make sense," he grumbled, scratching his head. "The book wouldn't glow without reason. It's never wrong."

The gates stood silent behind him, their gilded edges gleaming under the perpetual light of Heaven. No new soul stood waiting, no voices called out for entry, and yet, the golden aura of the book's notification persisted.

Peter tapped his chin, his expression growing more concerned. "Could it be a clerical error?" he mused, though he knew how absurd that sounded. The book was infallible—meticulously kept by divine law.

He flipped through the entries again, checking each one. The names of the newly admitted were there, glowing faintly in affirmation. But none of them matched the timing of the alert he'd received.

Then, a thought struck him, one he'd initially dismissed as impossible. His fingers froze on the edge of a page as his eyes widened in realization.

"No... Surely not," he murmured, glancing nervously around.

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