Eddie On a Cross: A Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction

by Kiki94NightWitch588

Eddie, aka Headshot, is a sinner demon assassin. To give his sister a better future, he leaves her at the Hazbin Hotel. An accident convinces him to stay and use his powers for good. Adam's return will disrupt everyone's lives, a birthday present will prove dangerous, Charlie will discover his dual nature, and Angel Dust will finally find someone who truly loves him.

9. Threads of Redemption

—A Few Days Earlier—
Weary and with his chest throbbing with pain again, Alastor closed his room door behind him, slamming it shut with a dull thud. Rescuing that bratty princess again had completely exhausted him. Sure, he hadn't risked his own life this time, but constantly trying to protect and save someone just didn't feel right to him.
He took a deep breath and let himself fall onto the bed, tired as he had rarely been before. He turned his gaze to the corner, which he transformed into a bayou swamp, reminding him of his home with the chirping of crickets and the cries of Louisiana night animals. The fake fireflies dancing in the air and the imaginary scent of wet moss lulled him into an illusion of peace. It was only a trick, but it was enough for him.
Lying down, he closed his eyes and imagined himself still there, among the muddy banks of the river. Maybe, in a parallel universe, his mother had managed to escape his father in time. Maybe his father had not killed her in front of him, and they had lived a peaceful life together.

Slowly, he let his mind wander, dreaming of what might have been.

He imagined himself going to school while she was teaching or working as a nurse. He imagined graduation day, the two of them taking a picture together, smiling. He imagined himself working at the radio station and knowing that his mother was listening to him every day, proud of him.

He imagined himself retired, after years of working as a radio broadcaster, caring for his elderly mother in a cottage on the shores of the Bayou.

He could see himself with wrinkles and gray hair, fishing and farming, and his mother in a rocking chair, enjoying a well-deserved rest, listening to the crickets along the riverbank.

As he lost himself in these impossible thoughts, the crickets' song suddenly stopped.

Alastor's eyes widened: he hadn't broken the spell. He sat down on the bed, trying to figure out what was going on, and the room was engulfed in darkness. The corner of the bayou was the last to disappear, almost as if it was meant to hurt Alastor right where he was most vulnerable.

He recognized that style immediately.

«Alastor, dear...» A mellifluous, piercing voice made him freeze. Roo emerged from the shadows, her form distorted and unnatural, her movements fluid but eerie. The creature approached him, her face adorned with a fake maternal smile, almost as if she wanted to cuddle her favorite.

«... I see you're exhausted!» Roo said in a convincing voice, stroking his hair «The little Nephilim gave you a hardtime, didn't she? This isn't the first time you've rescued her, is it? And that act you pulled with your subordinate, Niffty... If I didn't know better, I'd say you're turning into a hero like them!» she laughed mockingly as Alastor remained rigid under her touch.

«But I'm not here to tease you, I just have one small question.» she continued, her tone becoming as sweet as honey.

Still smiling, Roo continued to stroke his hair, her voice turning into an eerie, almost hypnotic melody, «Tell me, why haven't you told me...»

Suddenly, the melody stopped. Her face contorted into a grimace of pure rage as she brutally pulled at Alastor's hair, forcing him to look into her eyes.

«... THERE'S A DEUS EX MACHINA IN HELL?!»

Her voice exploded into a shrill scream, charged with anger and contempt, like a blade slicing through the silence.

Alastor clenched his teeth in pain, but tried to keep his composure. «I beg your pardon?»

«The bracelet of the butterfly, you CRETIN! Do you have any idea how much easier that would make things for me?»

Alastor continued to clench his teeth in pain, despite the perpetual smile on his face, trying not to show that he was suffering. «My lady, this is the first I've heard of it. I didn't even know it had a name.»

With a grunt of disappointment, Roo let go of Alastor's hair and slapped him on the back of the head. «I know you are smarter than that, Alastor. I know you understand how valuable this object is. What I can't understand is why it isn't already in your hands!»
Alastor massaged his head, where the Root of All Evil had pulled his hair, and continued his charade: «Roo, ma'am, the rookie has figured out how to be obeyed by that object. If I approach him too boldly, I could get in big trouble.» his manipulative skills came in handy as he tried to bargain «But, if I may be so bold, as powerful as that bracelet may be, I don't think you need it. From what I see, you're doing pretty well on your own: just a few decades ago your spirit wouldn't have been able to pull my hair.»

«IT'S TAKING TOO MUCH!» cried Roo, her voice vibrating with frustration and anger as she moved around the room, her movements restless like a shaking shadow. «Thousands and thousands of years of devouring souls, and yet I am but a pale echo of what I should be! My body just lies there, motionless, while I languish in this form! I must get my hands on the Nephilim or the bracelet, and I must do it now, if I aim to regain my full abilities.»

Alastor had never seen her like this: worried, agitated, almost afraid of being discovered. If he had any hope of getting anything out of her without selling himself out again, he had to take advantage of this moment of weakness: «My lady, why all of a sudden such a hurry?»

«Are you pretending not to understand?! The Deus Ex Machina is literally a piece of my brother, and as such he can do anything and KNOWS everything! If that butterfly finds a way, those two idiots might remember what happened in the Void, and then I would lose the surprise effect!»

Alastor was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning Roo intently. «So that's why Adam and Pentious came back... They managed to escape you...»

Roo's look changed in an instant, becoming pure hatred. His eyes narrowed as she approached Alastor, her tone deep but sharp. «Are you accusing me of slacking off, Radio Demon?»

Alastor straightened up. Despite his perpetual smile, his face grew serious. Though fear was a feeling he had long forgotten, the intensity of Roo's contempt was something he could not ignore. «I wouldn't dare, my lady.»

With a quick, jerky movement, Roo came even closer, pointing her finger forcefully at his chest, almost piercing the fabric of his outfit. «Listen to me carefully, Alastor. With these two on the loose and the Deus Ex Machina in the hands of our enemies, my time is running out and so is yours. Either you get the Nephilim to me, or you get that damned bracelet, is that understood?»

Alastor tried to keep his composure. Despite Roo's hatred and implied threat, he decided to respond. «With all due respect, my lady... if you had given me a heads-up earlier, I might have been able to get rid of Adam.»

Roo lifted her chin in a sarcastic grin. «Unless you have found a way to reach Heaven and kill Sir Pentious again, getting rid of Adam is useless. What you need to do is keep him away from the new guy and get that damn bracelet. Got it?!»

Alastor, though not showing it outwardly, was conflicted, but decided to pretend. «Certainly, my lady.»

With a stiff tone that allowed no retort, he concluded: «I'll give you one month, Alastor. One month, and at that point you will either hand over the Nephilim or you will hand over the Deus Ex Machina to me. Or maybe you lied about not having any bonds?»

Alastor stiffened slightly at the Root of All Evil's implied accusation, but feigned nonchalance again, bowing his head slightly in respect. «That is always true, milady.»

Roo stared at him for a moment, her eyes burning with a dark light, then turned with a dismissive gesture. «Then get on with it!» and with those words, the Root of All Evil disappeared, the darkness around her dissipating like a cloud of poisonous smoke.

The room gradually recomposed itself, like a curtain rising over a completed act. The walls resumed the warm and fleeting reflections of the illusory bayou, a mirage of colors and shadows that seemed to breathe with the beat of the crickets, returning to intone their song. Yet the relief offered by this artificial stillness was fragile, a mask of normalcy over a tension that pulsed beneath the skin.

Alastor rose with a calculated slowness, like a puppet restarting the strings one by one. The weight of Roo's demands was overwhelming, a crushing presence that clutched at his chest and weighed on his shoulders with the force of a boulder. But his face betrayed nothing. His eyes, normally sharp and bright with cynicism, now reflected a colder, more impenetrable shadow, as if peering into an intricate maze of thoughts and decisions.

The silence of the room mingled for a moment with the song of crickets, forming a distorted, almost hypnotic melody. The illusion was complete, but the atmosphere vibrated with tension. Alastor inhaled slowly, trying to regain the rhythm of his own breathing. Each beat seemed to measure the time he had left to act.

He would not give in. He would not allow Roo to manipulate him any more than he was willing to let her believe. But he knew that the game was becoming more complicated. The rules were changing, the pawns were in motion on a board where the margin for error was dangerously thin. And him? He would have to play better than ever, without losing control, and most importantly, without revealing his true intentions.

His smile widened imperceptibly. «Next move will be mine.»
—present time—

Inside the library, Eddie studied the flyer with a mixture of disbelief and resignation.

In the center of the sheet, in large, bold letters, were the words, "Do you have what it takes to be a Guardian? Do you have the courage to join the Hotel's Shield? Headshot is waiting for you!" Further down was a list of practical requirements: "Determination, teamwork, and a minimal amount of combat experience desirable" followed by a note stating the date and time of the meeting.

All around, an explosion of drawings in pure Charlie style: shields with smiles printed on them, knights with guns instead of swords, winged hearts, and, of course, a giant rainbow embracing the title.

Eddie looked away from the paper to give his sister a wry look. «Admit it, you asked someone for help, didn't you?»

Sitting at the computer with the handout file open and ready for any changes, Molly shrugged. «Charlie suggested the drawings, and Angel gave me the title. By the way, why does he call you the Hotel's Shield?»

Eddie shook his head, a half-smile brushing his lips. «I don't know, he just started calling me that and I just accepted the title, no matter how silly it was.»

Molly tilted her head, watching her brother with an affectionate look. «I don't find it silly at all. In fact, it's cute.»

Eddie continued to look at the flyer with a puzzled expression, which Molly noticed. The little girl turned her chair to face her brother and said: «I know that look. What don't you like about it?»

Eddie pointed to the part of the flyer. «The part that says "Guardians". We're not guardians, we're security guards. I don't want to give the wrong impression.»

Molly huffed, refusing to argue. Gesturing, she said: «Guardians, security guards...it's practically the same thing! Besides, come on, the title "Guardian" sounds so cool!»

Eddie barely smiled, but his tone remained firm. «It's not about looking more "cool", it's about being honest about what we're doing.» Eddie lowered his arm and rested his other hand on his own hip «We're not knights, Kitty. I'm not trying to start a guild, and I don't want anyone to think I am. I'm looking for guards, nothing more. And that's okay.»

Molly stared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. «You're really stiff sometimes, you know that? It's not that founding a guild is a bad thing, on the contrary! It could bring people together and give them a purpose.»

Eddie sighed and looked at the flyer again. «Bruce tried that once and it didn't end well. Democracy doesn't last long in Hell.»

Molly made a grimace, crossing her arms and wrinkling her nose. «All right, okay... I'll change the title. But know that I'm doing it against my will!» she said in an exaggeratedly dramatic tone.

Eddie winked at her. «I appreciate the sacrifice, sis.»

Molly chuckled as she went back to the computer to edit the flyer. «Sure, sure ... just know that I'm still going to refer to you as "Guardians" on the blog, whether you like it or not.»

The library door opened loudly, shattering the peaceful atmosphere like a midnight explosion. Angel made his grand entrance, with an exaggerated walk and a smile that seemed to say, "Here I am, the main character has arrived!" «Hey, geeks! Has anyone seen my...» He paused, his eyes brightening as they met Eddie's. His smile immediately turned into something more insolent, almost predatory. «Shotty! I was just looking for you.»
Molly rolled her eyes and whispered: «Geeks...he just can't help acting like a dramatic jerk.»

Eddie shook his head in amusement. «What is it, Angel?» he asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone, though the warmth he felt at seeing the familiar face gave him away slightly.

Angel ignored the silence of the place as if it were optional, and walked confidently across the room. «Well, the other day when I was teaching you the true meaning of shopping—and don't deny you enjoyed it—I bought a black leather bag. I can't find it anymore. Are you sure you didn't keep it for yourself to add some style to your life?» he asked, tilting his head in a dramatic gesture.

Eddie thought for a second, then nodded: «Ah, yes. I found it and left it on my bed. Sorry I didn't tell you, but with all the extra work I have to do on my own... it just didn't occur to me.»

Angel huffed theatrically and rolled his eyes as if he was under a tremendous strain. «Toots, I understand. It's hard being the savior of the situation, but don't worry, you're forgiven!» Then, with a bright smile, he added: «Is there any way I can go and get it back? I promise not to touch anything... maybe.»

Eddie pulled a key out of his pocket and handed it to him without a second thought. «Go ahead. The important thing is that you leave the door open and put the key back under the pillow when you're done.»

Angel took the key with an elegant gesture, but made sure his fingers brushed against Eddie's. The contact was brief, almost innocent, but Eddie felt his heart miss a beat. Angel looked at him with a complicit smile that said: Yeah, I did that on purpose.

«Thanks, Shotty.» Angel crooned. Then, in one fluid motion, his eyes fell on a flyer in Eddie's hand. «What's this?» he asked and grabbed it without waiting for an answer.

His heterochromatic eyes shone with curiosity as he scanned the paper, tilting his head. «Let me see... Ah, it's for recruiting guards for the Hazbin Hotel, huh?»
Eddie leaned in a little closer to point out some of the details. «Yeah, we're looking for new guards. I need some help here, and Kitty helped me prepare the flyer.»

Angel's lips curled into an expression somewhere between amusement and dismay as he stared at the drawings on the paper. «But, my dear, are those drawings?» He picked up the flyer and turned it over as if searching for a better angle. «It looks like a script for a school play! Too much sugar, not enough pepper. Wait...Charlie drew this, didn't she?»

Molly lifted her head with an annoyed expression. «I'm ten years old, you know! Of course I like Charlie's style!»

Angel shook the flyer with a dramatic gesture as if it were the script of a Greek tragedy. «Honey, beautiful, brilliant Kitty, your designs are cute, yes...but cute doesn't cut it in this dump! It needs a touch of glamour!» Then he turned to Eddie, leaning in with a mischievous grin. «And maybe a hint of, um... testosterone, don't you think? Like you, posing like a cursed hero. You know, heart poundin' stuff.»

Eddie cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable as he tried to maintain his usual demeanor. «Okay, all right, maybe... maybe we can work on that. But without overdoing it, huh?»

Angel ignored the last part and took a few steps forward to shorten the distance between them. «Oh, but there's nothing wrong with overdoing it a little, Shotty.» With a fluid gesture, he slid a finger along the zipper of Eddie's jacket, pausing just before it closed completely. «You know, giving a glimpse of something... creates mystery.»

Eddie gasped slightly, his face growing hotter. He took half a step back, his heart feeling like it was ready to explode. «Maybe we'll think about this...later?» he stammered, trying to break this overly intense moment.

Molly watched the scene with her mouth agape: «HUH?! Are you serious?!»

Angel turned to her with a smile so wide it looked like a billboard. «Mini-Mozart, I love your enthusiasm, but leave it to the experts.» He made a theatrical bow and held up a flyer as if it were a trophy. «After all, marketing is an art, and I am a living masterpiece.»

With a final glance at Eddie, he winked and tilted his head as if he had already won an invisible game. «Anyway, Shotty... if you ever need a muse to inspire you, you know where to find me.» He turned with innate elegance and added in a seductive tone: «And remember: I only approve of your look because it seems made to make me dream.»

Then, with a confident, swaying stride, he headed for the exit, leaving a trail of his scent behind him. When he reached the door, he paused, barely turned, and announced with one last disarming smile: «Don't linger too long, boys. The world needs me, and I need a drink.»

And with that, the door closed behind him. Eddie stood motionless, staring at the spot where Angel had just disappeared. Slowly, his hand slid over the zipper of his jacket as an involuntary smile formed on his face.

Molly stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds, then exploded: «What the HELL happened here?!»

Eddie, still lost in his thoughts about Angel, slowly turned to her with a confused expression on his face. «W-what?»

Molly waved her arms in the air and almost jumped. «This! First you were all serious, like, "Oh, we can't do that, we have to change the title, democracy blah blah blah," and then Angel comes along with that smile of his, calls you Shotty, and poof! It's all good! The title is perfect, you agree with him about the drawings, and-and-and you gave him the key to your room! Like it's the most normal thing in the world! What's wrong with you, BigBro?»

Eddie looked away, feigning indifference. «It's nothing, Kitty. He's Angel. You know what he's like.»

«Yes, yes, I know what he's like! » Molly said, hands on her hips and chin raised like a tiny schoolteacher. «But what I don't know is why you turn into a wobbly pudding every time he talks to you! I don't even recognize you anymore. Why are you so— » She suddenly froze, her eyes widening as if she'd just had a brilliant idea. «Wait, wait, wait... Oh no. Oh YES! YOU. ARE. CRUSHED!»

Eddie blinked, feigning confusion. «I'm what now?»
«Crushed, smitten, totally head over heels! Like when you dip a cookie in milk for too long and it falls apart! Ugh, it's so obvious. You're adorable!»
A strong wave of embarrassment rose inside him, but Eddie tried to keep his composure. «I have no idea what you're talking about. Angel's just a friend, that's all. I gave him the key because… I don't know, I trust him.»
Molly tilted her head, putting on an expression that clearly said, I don't buy it for a second. «Oh, sure. And I'm the Queen of England. Who, by the way, just got here recently—she seems nice.»
Eddie forced himself to look stern. «Kitty, I'm serious. Knock it off with this nonsense.»
She rocked back in her chair, grinning mischievously. «Ooooh, mine are just nonsense, huh? Sure, you totally weren't melting like ice cream in the sun when he touched you. And you definitely didn't implode when he zipped up your jacket. Look at that lovestruck face... you. Are. Gone.»
Eddie let out a heavy sigh. «No, Kitty. He's a friend. Period. Drop these ideas. Angel is… Angel. Complicated, unattainable, and not my type anyway.»
Molly threw her arms wide in an overly dramatic gesture. «Not your type?! Let me guess: too handsome? Too charming? Too good at making you squirm like a schoolboy every time he looks at you?!»
Eddie rubbed his forehead, frustrated. «Kitty, listen to me. Even if he was, Angel has a contract with Valentino, okay? That stuff's serious. I can't—»
«No, you can't.» Molly interrupted, her tone suddenly calmer. She stood up on the chair, reaching out to poke him in the chest. «But you want to. And that's the difference. You want to help him, you want to protect him, you want to be his hero. You know what? Maybe while you're busy trying to save him… he's saving you.»
Eddie stared at her, feeling his antennae twitch slightly. He stayed silent for a long moment before putting on a mock-amused expression. «And where's all this wisdom coming from?»
Molly shrugged. «From being a child slave on a cocoa plantation from ages three to eight.» She delivered the line with a sad smile but quickly shifted back to her cheerful tone. «But aside from that, bro, you really should think about it. Maybe Angel doesn't just need a Shield. Maybe he needs… you.»
Eddie lowered his gaze, searching for the right words: Molly was dead wrong, and he had to make her see it. «Of course he needs me. Just like everyone else here does. I'm the Hotel's Shield now, the Guardian I always wanted to be. So yeah, I'm Angel's Guardian too. Nothing more.»
Molly raised her hands. «Sure, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, I need to update my blog's couple list. "The Shield and the Spider" has a nice ring to it, don't you think?»
Eddie shook his head, trying to suppress a smile. «You're impossible.»
Molly gave an exaggerated bow. «I'll take that as a compliment.»
Facing her computer, Molly tapped her chin with two fingers, thinking aloud. «Hmm, given the situation, I could start calling him "Uncle Angel."»
«DON'T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!» Eddie shot back, exasperated.
Molly smirked at Eddie's frustrated outburst. «Oh, relax, bro. I'm just joking! Maybe…»
Eddie ran a hand down his face, trying to stop another wave of frustration from boiling over. «I don't even know why I bother arguing with you.»
Molly gave him an exaggerated bow, her expression the picture of perfect mischief. «Because, dear big brother, deep down you love me. And because you know I'm always right.»
Eddie let out a huff but couldn't suppress a faint smile. «Yeah, sure. I forgot you're Hell's resident oracle.»
«Exactly!» Molly said with triumphant flair as she turned back to her computer, already engrossed in some new project that Eddie was certain he'd regret not shutting down sooner.
Eddie shook his head and headed for the door, trying to put the conversation behind him. «I'll see you later. Try not to cause any trouble.»
Molly raised a hand without turning around. «No promises, bro! Have fun with Uncle Angel!»
Eddie paused for a second at the threshold, clenching his teeth to stop himself from replying. Then he shook his head and stepped out, shutting the door behind him with a sigh.

As he walked down the hallway, Molly's words echoed in his mind. "Maybe Angel doesn't just need a shield. Maybe he needs… you."
He stopped, leaning against the wall. The weight of his emotions, which he had been trying to ignore for days, now felt unbearable. He tried to push the thought away, but images of Angel forced their way into his mind, vivid and relentless: that sly smile, the fleeting touch, the unmistakable way he broke through Eddie's defenses without even trying.
Instinctively, his hand rested on his chest, as if to relive that moment. Realizing what he was doing, he jerked his hand back and muttered under his breath, "I'm an idiot."
His antennae twitched slightly as he shook his head, trying to sort through the mess of his thoughts. "I can't be falling for him. Not him" he told himself, but the words felt hollow.
Angel was everything he should have avoided: a complicated man, a walking storm, tied to the most dangerous demon Eddie had ever encountered. And yet, when they were together, that chaos felt strangely… comforting. As if, somehow, Angel made him feel a little less lost.
That smile… that incredible smile was a double-edged sword. It made Hell feel less suffocating and made Eddie's heart beat in a way it hadn't in years.
He shook his head again, shoving his hands into his pockets and clenching his fists. "He's just a friend. He's having a hard time, and I want to help him. That's all." But the voice in his head, the one accusing him of lying to himself, refused to be silenced.
With a sigh, he rubbed his temples, trying to smother the tangled mess of thoughts. "I need to stop this. This is Hell. There's no room for this kind of nonsense."
But Molly's words crept back in, like a whisper: "Maybe while you're busy trying to save him, he's saving you."
He froze. Those words hit him with unexpected force. His chest felt heavier, and his breath slowed. Maybe Molly was right. Maybe Angel wasn't just someone to protect. Maybe, in some way, Angel was giving him back something he'd lost long ago.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "But what's the point?" he thought. The risk was too great. He couldn't afford to hope—not in a place like this, not with everything stacked against them.
He muttered to himself: «Angel needs someone to protect him, not a foolish idiot who doesn't know what he's doing. I'll only end up making things worse.»
He reached the entrance and leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. The silence of the room wrapped around him, but the voices in his mind wouldn't stop. "I'll help him. I'll find a way to free him from that contract. And I'll do it without getting involved. I can do this. I have to do this."
But even as he repeated those words to himself, he knew that a part of him didn't believe it.
Charlie was finally back to her usual cheerful self. It was almost hard to believe that just a few days ago, she had unleashed a fury that left half the neighborhood in ruins. She was once again the tireless, optimistic figure everyone knew, flitting around the Hazbin Hotel like a whirlwind, always focused on improving the lives of its residents. Every guest who felt lost or "unprepared" to face the path of redemption found in her a beacon of hope, always ready with solutions and encouragement.

Despite her radiant smile and contagious energy, the weight of her recent struggles hadn't entirely lifted. Her health, still recovering, forced her to slow down more often than she would have liked. Mandatory breaks punctuated her hectic days, a silent admission of vulnerability she preferred to ignore. Yet, even in those moments of fatigue, it was clear how much her efforts brought her joy: every small step toward improving the Hotel or supporting a soul in need reignited her spirit.

Still, behind that bright smile, a shadow of impatience lingered. She was constantly waiting—waiting for her father, or Adam, or whoever to show up with a stack of papers and say the words she longed to hear: "We've got the Nephilim training materials. Let's get to work!".

Two days had passed since she had awakened in her regular form. Two days during which she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her duties at the Hotel, but she couldn't shake the oppressive feeling that she was wasting precious time. Every hour spent away from learning how to control her Nephilim form felt like another hour where that power might slip out of her grasp—a risk too great to ignore.

For now, though, there was nothing to do but wait. And, as always, keep striving to make the Hazbin Hotel a place that could truly feel like home.

A detail caught her attention for a moment: a young girl she now knew well was pinning up flyers along the Hotel's hallways. Charlie allowed herself a small smile. Kitty, with her usual contagious enthusiasm, was helping her brother recruit new security guards for the "Shield of the Hotel," as he was often called now, thanks to Angel.

Charlie felt a pang of guilt tug at her heart. If it hadn't been for the chaotic events of the past few days, she would never have left Headshot alone to protect the entire Hotel. It was an enormous responsibility for one person, especially now that Cherri had quit, and Vaggie, though she'd stepped in to help, wasn't enough. With the influx of new guests and the growing media attention, Headshot simply couldn't handle it all anymore. Charlie had even resorted to relying on Alastor's shadows and his underlings to fill the gaps, but she knew she couldn't keep asking so much of those already stretched to their limits.

She approached the young girl, who was finishing putting up a flyer. Her curly hair, a soft and wild tangle, was left untamed, with small branches and leaves peeking through the curls, wrapping around her tiny frame like a natural embrace. Charlie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, causing Kitty to jump slightly in surprise.

Charlie chuckled softly at her reaction. «Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.» She glanced at the flyer the girl had just pinned up. «I see you've finished making the flyers... » she said, eyeing the design with curiosity. She noticed it looked different from what she remembered: no more rainbows and smiles. In their place were edgy borders, details like bullets, and a stylized silhouette of Headshot with his retractable wings spread wide. Still, there were also lively, playful touches—sparkling stars, metallic hearts, and a background that faded from black to hot pink.

Charlie frowned slightly, puzzled. «It's different from how I remember it.»
Kitty turned with a mischievous smirk, shrugging. «Yeah, no offense, but… my brother got talked into changing it by a certain Spider.»
Charlie burst into laughter. «Let me guess, Angel insisted on something more… showy?»
Kitty laughed too. «Exactly! He said it needed "a touch of glamour!"» She did a spot-on impersonation of Angel's voice, waving her hands theatrically like she was on a runway.

Charlie shook her head, smiling with amusement and a warm feeling in her chest.
Angel was still the same: exuberant, flamboyant, but an essential part of the Hotel's community. Yet a flicker of concern crossed her mind. «I hope he didn't make you feel uncomfortable.»
Kitty shrugged nonchalantly. «Honestly, I've heard worse. And besides, given the situation, I guess I'd better get used to Uncle Angel's jokes.»
Charlie froze mid-step, tilting her head. «Uncle Angel?»
Kitty nodded with absolute seriousness. «Uncle Angel.»
Charlie frowned, confused. «Why Uncle Angel?»
Kitty's grin turned devilishly mischievous. «Because brother-in-law Angel sounds weird.»
Kitty leaned in slightly, watching Charlie with sparkling eyes, waiting for her to connect the dots. Charlie stood still for a moment, then something clicked in her mind. Her face lit up, and she gave a little jump, exclaiming: «WAIT A SECOND… Are you saying… your brother… and Angel…?»

Her voice jumped an octave, and she started shaking her hands like a child who just got a pony for Christmas.
Kitty threw up her hands, explaining with growing enthusiasm: «It's not official or anything, but it's so obvious my brother adores him!»
Charlie let out a cheerleader-like squeal, clutching her fists close to her face. «AAAH! That's so cute!»
Kitty joined in, bouncing up and down. «I knooow!»
Charlie grabbed Kitty's hands, and they started spinning in circles, like in an improvised musical. «Headshot is so reserved, and Angel is so bold! They're like… the PERFECT mix!»
«Tell me about it!» Kitty added, her eyes sparkling. «The only one who refuses to see it is my brother!»
Charlie gave a little hop, bringing her hands to her face. «Oh, they'd be so cute together! Angel could finally have someone who treats him the way he deserves! And Headshot could stop being so lonely! It's fate! I can't wait to tell Vaggie!»
Kitty nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming with excitement. «I'd love to see her reaction!»
Charlie paced back and forth in the hallway, daydreaming with shining eyes about a romantic setup. «We have to find a way to push them into each other's arms! Maybe a romantic evening! Soft lighting, Angel singing a jazzy love song just for Headshot, and then—»
She stopped abruptly, placing a finger on her chin as a flash of pragmatism crossed her mind. «Wait a sec… we don't actually know how Angel feels, do we?»
Kitty's face fell slightly, as if she'd been struck by the same realization. «Damn, you're right. Sure, he flirts, teases him, and calls him Shotty with that high-pitched voice, but… doesn't he do that with pretty much everyone?»
Charlie tilted her head, thoughtful. «Yeah… you've got a point. We need to test the waters. Like… run some experiments!»
Kitty nodded with a sly grin. «Yes! A few casual questions, watch how they act around each other… maybe throw in a little provocation here and there!»
Charlie clapped her hands. «Exactly! And then, if things go the way we think, we move on to the romantic plan! Oh, it'll be perfect!»
Kitty gave Charlie a high-five, already visibly ecstatic. «Alright, let's get to work. Shield and Spider HAVE to become a thing!»
Charlie nodded with theatrical seriousness. «This will be our mission. Operation Cupid is officially underway!»
Kitty burst out laughing and dashed down the hallway, waving the remaining flyers and shouting at the top of her lungs: «Shield and Spider on the move!»
Charlie stayed behind, her heart pounding with excitement. Clutching her hands to her chest, she sighed dreamily: «Oh, I can already picture Headshot blushing when Angel compliments him… they'd be so adorable!»
With a smile that sparkled with pure excitement, she walked off to find Vaggie, ready to recruit her into Operation Cupid.
Adam stared at the keypad in front of him, hesitating for a moment before punching in the code. Every step he took to assist the oddball crew at the Hazbin Hotel brought him closer to home—his true goal. And now that he had effectively betrayed them, he needed to act quickly and leave before Alastor could use what he'd revealed about the Deus Ex Machina.

Behind him, the clinking of a chain served as a constant reminder that he wasn't alone.

«You sold out a friend to learn how to manipulate people, and you still haven't convinced anyone to get rid of this damn chain?» Husk snapped, his tone dripping with irritation as he scowled.
Adam paused, turning to face Husk with a calm but icy expression. «Patience, Cat. Soon, you won't have to follow me anymore.» he replied, his voice cold, though a pang of guilt wormed its way into his heart. «And as for your accusation: I didn't sell him out. I only explained what that bracelet really is. It wouldn't have stayed a secret for much longer anyway.»

He adjusted the chain around him with a mechanical motion before adding: «If you must know, I'm not scheming against anyone. I'm earning their trust.»
Husk raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. «Making a deal with Alastor and handing over critical information is such a brilliant way to earn someone's trust!» he remarked dryly.
Adam clenched his fists. A scream of frustration clawed at his throat, but he forced it back down. Never, under any circumstances, show your true feelings. He turned to Husk, his voice hard. «When I'll help Charlie control her Nephilim form, you won't have anything to say about me. The little princess will be satisfied, this crazy project will stay on track, and I'll finally go home.»

Husk snorted, crossing his arms as best he could with the chain restricting him. «So that's it, huh? Just stick around long enough to make yourself look good and then vanish. What a hero.»

Adam didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted to the minimalist room ahead, his face composed but his eyes shining with unyielding resolve. «Yes and no.» he said, his voice quieter but steady. «I'll help you all because it's the right thing to do. But getting back to Heaven? That's not just something I want. It's… a necessity.»

He paused, then turned to Husk, his expression darkened by a shadow of weariness. «You've been here for decades. Does it really surprise you that I want to leave?»
Husk's smirk faded, and for a moment, his gaze softened with unspoken understanding. But he didn't reply. A quiet sigh escaped him instead, dismissing the conversation without admitting defeat.

Without another word, Adam stepped into the small room housing the Heaven Phone, dragging Husk along with him. The silence closed in around them, broken only by the clinking of the chain, which seemed to grow heavier with each step.
Up in Heaven, yet another debate had taken place. Once again, votes were cast, arguments presented, and yet the result was the same: a nerve-wracking deadlock that kept every decision teetering on a knife's edge. To make matters worse, Lute had projected the infernal news broadcast showing Charlie in her terrifying Nephilim form, wreaking havoc across an entire district, further undermining the progressives' position.

The atmosphere around the long, glowing table was tense. Sera sat at the head, her face etched with frustration as she stared at the numbers hovering before her: another tie. Beside her, Emily struggled to maintain composure, her hesitant smile a feeble attempt to cut through the cold air. Across the table, Sir Pentious sat slouched over, looking dejected, as though he wished he could vanish.

«A tie.» Sera's voice broke the silence, heavy with palpable frustration. «Another tie.» she repeated softly. Her eyes lingered on the table, searching for a shift in the numbers that would never come. «We've tried everything: emotional appeals, compromises I never thought I'd agree to, even strategic concessions. And yet…» She clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white. «And yet we can't sway the opposition. Every step forward gets blocked, every idea torn apart before it's even heard.»

Emily, trying to lighten the mood, offered a half-hearted smile. «Well, at least we haven't lost any votes… that's something, right?» she ventured hesitantly.

Sera looked up at her, her eyes icy and cutting. «It's not enough, Emily. Not even close to enough.» Her voice was steady, laced with a restrained anger that felt ready to erupt.

Emily lowered her gaze, unable to respond. She wrung her hands, searching for the right words, a deep sense of inadequacy eating away at her usual optimism.

But Sera spoke first, her voice now vibrating with fierce determination. «We need Adam.»

The declaration struck like a hammer, plunging the room into silence. «At any cost. Without him, we'll never break this deadlock.»
Emily nodded slowly, grasping the weight of Sera's words. «We could use the Hell Phone.» she suggested cautiously. «Bring it to the debate. Adam could speak on our behalf in real-time. A direct intervention might shift the tide.»

Sera remained silent for a long moment, her gaze distant. Then, intertwining her fingers in a symmetrical gesture Emily knew well, she announced: «There will be a direct intervention. But it will be in person.»

Emily's eyes widened, and Sir Pentious lifted his head, stunned. The idea was as bold as it was sacrilegious.

At first, neither had the courage to voice the question they both were thinking, fearing Sera, already tense as a tightly strung wire, might explode.
It was Pentious who finally gathered his nerve and broke the silence, his sibilant voice laden with disbelief. «With all due respect, Sera… how could he possibly ascend to Heaven? Adam is a sinner now. No sinner has ever left Hell to come here—aside from me—and even I had to die for that. How could we ever make it work?»

Sera clenched her jaw. «That is a dilemma I will present to the Archangels.»

Her words left the other two speechless. The tension in the room was palpable: it was already shocking to hear Sera suggest bringing a sinner to Heaven, but to hear the High Seraph propose disturbing the Archangels themselves was beyond anything they could have imagined.

Noticing their stunned expressions, Sera fixed them with a sharp look, almost chastising. «Don't look at me like that. You both know as well as I do that they're the only ones who can authorize such a transfer. And Adam is crucial. He won't be nearly as effective from behind a screen.»

Her gaze shifted to Sir Pentious, still burdened by the weight of his old mistakes. «And you!» she snapped, her tone firm. «You must prove that redemption is not an illusion. If you fail, every sacrifice made for this project will have been in vain.»

The room fell into an icy silence as Sera's words echoed like a dire warning, leaving a heavy, oppressive weight in the air. Pentious lowered his gaze, as though the gravity of her statement was a chain pulling him down further.

Emily glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her expression betraying a quiet concern for the former sinner.

Suddenly, a shrill ring broke through the tension, startling everyone. The Hell Phone—the group's only reliable link to the Inferno—buzzed with urgency. Since its activation, it had never been left unattended, a constant reminder of its importance as the sole bridge between realms while Heaven's blockade remained in place.

Emily, momentarily forgetting the weight of the conversation, lit up with excitement. «It must be Charlie!» she exclaimed, rushing toward the device. She eagerly picked up the receiver, hoping to hear from the princess of Hell, to check on her well-being, and maybe even share some progress. But as the device activated, the receiver transformed into a floating screen, projecting the caller's image.

Emily froze, her hopeful smile vanishing the moment Adam's face appeared on the screen. The relief she had anticipated turned into a flicker of disappointment at the sight of the former exorcist, a man responsible for countless exterminations. «Oh… it's you.» she said flatly, her tone betraying her dismay.

Adam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the reception. «Always a pleasure to feel so welcome, Emily.» he said dryly.

Emily caught herself, forcing a smile as she tried to smooth over her rudeness. «Sorry, I thought it was Charlie. But it's good to hear from you. What's going on? Did something happen?»

Adam paused, studying their faces through the screen with a mix of calculation and guarded concern. «That depends. How much do you know about Charlie's… transformation?»

Emily glanced at Sera before replying, her tone careful. «We know what Lucifer shared with us. And Lute…» She hesitated, her voice tinged with frustration. «Lute found a segment from Hell's news network. They're using it against us, painting Charlie's "evolution" in the worst possible light. It's already given the opposition more fuel to discredit us.»

Adam sighed, running a hand across his forehead—a gesture betraying a weariness he rarely let show. «I figured she'd go that far…» he remarked with dry sarcasm. Then he lowered his hand and straightened up, summoning the confidence born from his pact with Alastor and his manipulative skills.

When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, and his gaze carried an icy determination. «Anyway, that's exactly what I wanted to talk about.»
He turned his attention directly to Sera, his tone a mix of plea and challenge. «Charlie barely came back to herself, Sera. It was practically a miracle—we almost lost her for good. If she disappears, her entire redemption project will collapse with her.» His voice grew sharper, almost accusatory. «I know you want to help her, especially now that you've realized how wrong you were to grant me those annual exterminations. But you need to understand: if Charlie doesn't learn to control her Nephilim nature, it's only a matter of time before it happens again. And next time, I might not be able to activate an angelic seal to stop her.»

His words fell like a heavy weight in the room. Emily stood frozen, her lips parted as if she were about to respond, but no words came. The thought of Charlie as an enemy filled her with a deep sense of dread. Sera, however, kept her gaze fixed on the screen, her face expressionless, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of turmoil.

Adam continued, his tone firm with conviction. «Charlie isn't just the princess of Hell. She's the only one with the courage and vision to attempt what no one else has dared. But that vision is fragile—it hinges entirely on her. Without support, without preparation, we risk losing everything. And I know you don't want that to happen.»

He paused, letting his words settle, before adding in a softer tone: «Sera, you and the others can make a difference. Help me give her the tools to face what she's become. We can't afford another crisis—not now.»

Sera remained silent for a moment, her icy gaze fixed on Adam as if weighing every word. Then, with a calm that masked the intensity of her emotions, she asked: «And you're convinced this is the only solution?»

Adam tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips but failing to reach his eyes. «It's not just the only solution. It's our last chance.»

Sera nodded slowly, her fingers intertwined as she made her decision. «You'll have the Nephilim training manual. But there's one condition: we want you here, in Heaven, speaking on our behalf.»

Adam didn't flinch. «Fair enough. Do you already know how to get me there?»

Sera pressed her lips into a thin line, her gaze sharp. «I still need to discuss it with the Archangels, but I'm certain we'll find a way.» She paused, her stare piercing through the screen. «Don't fail us, Adam. There is too much at stake.»

Adam nodded without another word and ended the call. The floating screen shrank back into the receiver, and the Hell Phone let out a final click before falling silent. The room was left in a heavy stillness, thick with reflection.
Pentious tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the spot where the screen had just disappeared. «Adam seems… different.»

Emily turned to him, puzzled. «Different how?»

Pentious laced his fingers in front of him, his tone more measured. «He used to be… impulsive. Always ready for a fight, with an arrogance that bled into every word he said. Now, though, he seems… calculated. Every sentence is deliberate, every gesture has a purpose. He reminds me of someone I met… before my redemption.»

Emily froze for a moment, her lips pressing into a thin line. «Do you think he's lying?»

Pentious lifted his gaze to meet hers, a rare unease flickering in his eyes. «I don't know. But anyone who's tasted power once is unlikely to forget it.»

Sera cut in, her tone sharp as a blade: «It doesn't matter. Adam is our only chance. If he's hiding something, we'll find out. But first, we need to bring him here.»

Silence fell over the room, and Pentious, after a moment of hesitation, reached out toward the dormant phone, his fingers brushing against it lightly. It was an unconscious gesture, but the delicate touch seemed like an attempt to decipher something invisible.

—Two days later, Hazbin Hotel, Eddie's Room—
Despite finding the courage to open up about his past, Eddie still couldn't find peace. Every night, his trauma returned like a relentless shadow, ready to engulf him the moment he closed his eyes. He was back there again, chained to that cold, crumbling wall in the damp, dark basement that had gifted him his claustrophobia. And every time, inevitably, his father was there. The figure of that man, furious like a raging beast, came back to haunt him: those hands striking him, the sharp metal carving into his flesh, the searing heat of burning embers pressed against his skin.

Then, as always, came the awakening. A brutal jolt, like falling into a void. His hand reached for the bed, touched the sheets, and the real world slowly reassembled itself around him: the safe walls of his room in the Hazbin Hotel, the distant echoes of voices in the hallway, the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. He was safe. All that pain was just a terrible memory. And yet, even though that time was behind him, the scars it left remained—etched into his skin and soul.

Since that incident in the pool, Eddie no longer felt the same compulsive need to cover his torso to hide those marks, but their presence was still a weight he couldn't ignore. They were a constant reminder, a tangible testament to what he had endured, what he had survived. It wasn't always easy to manage. More than once, he had woken up furious, grabbing the first object within reach and hurling it against the wall. It was the only way he'd found to vent the frustration of a mental torture that refused to leave him, even after opening up to his friends and sharing everything: the horrors of his past, the captivity, and the scars it left behind.

But that morning was different. He woke up suddenly again, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding in his chest. But there was no anger, only the crushing weight of frustration and helplessness.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. His fingers tangled in his black hair, now long enough to brush his shoulders. The unruly waves twisted around his fingers as Eddie stared at the floor, lost in thought. Then, as if speaking to someone who wasn't there, a low groan escaped him, filling the silent room.
«I've already opened up to the others… what else do I have to do to stop these nightmares?»

His voice was a rough whisper, a question more for himself than anyone else. He sat there in the dim light, hoping the echo of his words might somehow bring an answer. But the room remained silent, as always.

Frustrated, he let his hands fall, his gaze landing on the Deus Ex Machina, forever bound to his wrist as if it were an extension of his own flesh. The bracelet pulsed faintly with a soft, irregular blue light, almost as though it were breathing. It had been that way ever since he'd activated the angelic seal to stop Charlie, but aside from its gentle glow, it showed no signs of life.

Eddie stared at the object with a mix of irritation and resignation.
«Of course you're not going to help.» he muttered, tilting his wrist slightly to study it. «You'll just sit there, glowing and useless, like you don't have all the power in the world. Great job.» His voice dripped with sarcasm, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. The Deus Ex Machina, as always, remained inert.

Eddie sighed, lowering his gaze. There was no point in dwelling on it. He had more pressing matters to attend to: today, he'd be meeting his new security guards, the people who would work together to protect the Hotel. It was his job to train them, give them direction, and, most importantly, build a sense of teamwork.
The idea unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It had been years—since Bruce's guild—since he'd worked with a team. And that guild had met an inglorious end: half of its members dead in a bloody massacre, the other half wandering aimlessly through Hell, stripped of their memories. That was his fault. He'd erased their memories to protect himself from secrets that, in the end, had come to light anyway. Ironically, he'd revealed them himself to Alastor, pretending to be untouchable after his stunt with the angelic seal.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. How much suffering had he caused for nothing? His mind drifted back to what he'd told Adam that day: he wanted to be a guardian. But what kind of guardian sacrifices others for his own needs?

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. There was no use dwelling on his guilt. He had confessed, bared his soul, and the Deus Ex Machina had deemed him worthy. Didn't that mean he deserved a second chance?

And if he was worthy of the bracelet, wasn't he also worthy of leading a new team? Eddie promised himself he would learn from the mistakes of his past. This time, he would be a leader—a good leader. Not a cold, detached commander, but a guardian, just as he'd always wanted to be.

After all, wasn't that the mission of the Hazbin Hotel? To give lost souls a chance to improve, to redeem themselves, and, for the lucky ones, to earn a place in Heaven?

Not for himself, Eddie thought with a bitter chuckle. Him in Heaven? After everything he'd done—all his sins and failures—it felt like an impossible dream.

But maybe, just maybe, he could be something else: a good demon. Someone who helped Charlie and the others. Someone who left a positive mark and didn't just exist to survive. Not for his own salvation, but for theirs. That thought, simple yet grounding, steadied him.

Despite the weight of his past, Eddie knew he couldn't remain trapped in his thoughts. If he wanted to lead his new team, he had to start with something simple: the way he presented himself.

Angel had dragged him along last time, turning a simple shopping trip into an epic spree that had transformed his wardrobe into a small masterpiece.

Eddie remembered his closet before Angel: spartan, divided into two neat, precise sections. On one side, clothes—practical, essential, nothing unnecessary. On the other, weapons, meticulously arranged. Now, though, that precision had been invaded by Angel Dust's creative chaos. The section reserved for weapons had been nearly colonized by a cascade of new outfits, each one absolutely perfect for him. It was as if Angel had been the artist and Eddie his muse.

The thought brought a smile to his face, one of those silly, uncontrollable smiles, and the familiar blue glow lit up his chest. The intricate veins glowing beneath his skin transformed the room's dimness, casting an ethereal azure light around him.

He glanced down at his chest and sighed. «Great, guess I'll have to skip anything with a deep neckline.» he muttered, half-ironic, half-resigned.

He turned his attention to the organized chaos of his closet. Finding the right outfit took longer than expected—every piece seemed to stare back at him, challenging his resolve.

In the end, he made his choice.
He picked out a pair of charcoal-black combat pants, snug but flexible, with thin luminescent blue accents running down the sides, pulsing faintly as if in rhythm with his thoughts. He paired them with a dark blue technical shirt that clung perfectly to his frame, complementing the glowing veins that sometimes burned beneath his skin. To complete the look, he added a lightweight, asymmetrical black jacket with metallic details that caught the light, and a pair of high-top sneakers—sleek, functional, and ready for any confrontation.

It was understated, practical, and carried just enough style to earn Angel's approval. Maybe even more than that.

He stood for a moment in front of the cracked mirror by his bed, letting his gaze drift over the faint scars visible beneath the fabric. He took a deep breath and straightened his posture. He wouldn't let the past define who he was—not anymore. Today, he'd take the first step toward something different, something better.

Tying his hair back into a ponytail, he looked at his reflection and murmured, almost with a smile, «Alright, Eddie… let's see if you can be a real guardian this time.»
While waiting for the meeting with the new recruits, Eddie decided to pay Bruce a visit. Lately, Bruce had been incredibly helpful, taking care of Molly when Eddie couldn't and offering his support like a nurse always on call for anyone in need.

Eddie sighed, letting the memories wash over him. Every single time Bruce had patched him up after a dangerous mission or grueling training session came back with painful clarity. In those early days, Eddie was practically a regular patient: scratches, cuts, bruises, wounds that told a story of sacrifice and peril. Anytime he tried to downplay the severity of his injuries with a nervous smile or a joke, Bruce never let him shirk his responsibilities to himself. With a firm grip on Eddie's shoulders, Bruce would make him sit and get treated, as if every single scratch could be potentially fatal.

But there had always been more to those moments—something unspoken yet ever-present. The scent of regret seemed to follow Bruce every time he tended to Eddie's wounds. It wasn't just concern; it was a tangible sorrow, a bitterness that surfaced whenever their conversations touched on what Eddie had endured in life, the atrocities his father had committed, or even when Bruce's gaze lingered on the scars that told stories Eddie never needed to repeat to him.

In a way, Bruce had cared for him the way a father should. Not like the monster who had held him captive, but like a true parent—understanding, protective, firm when needed, but never cruel. He was the kind of figure Eddie had never had in his life but had always needed.

Eddie paused, letting the thought fully take shape. If Bruce had been his father—someone so open and compassionate—his life would have been completely different. There would have been no nights in that dark basement, no scars marking his body like a map of suffering. Everything would have been different.

Eddie sighed again, more deeply this time. But he couldn't let himself get lost in those thoughts. The past couldn't be changed, and even though his relationship with Bruce wasn't one of father and son, it was something just as meaningful. Bruce was here, in his life, and that was all that mattered now.
He knocked on the infirmary door, and the deep, familiar voice of his mentor called out from inside: «Come in!»

Eddie pushed the door open and found Bruce finishing up bandaging a young woman's arm. The girl, a regular presence in the infirmary, immediately flushed when she saw Eddie enter. Molly, sitting nearby on a tall stool, was engrossed in her phone, typing away with almost obsessive focus—most likely updating her blog.

«Ah! Headshot!» Bruce exclaimed, turning to him with a warm smile. «Always a pleasure to see you.»

The mentor turned back to his patient for a moment, his expression serious but kind. «Next time you feel overwhelmed, remember the exercises they gave you in the support group. And if you still can't manage, come to me first. I'll help you through it.»

The girl nodded shyly, standing up. As she left, she gave Eddie a hesitant wave, nervously playing with her hair before quickly making her way out.

Bruce watched the scene and chuckled with a mix of affection and irony. «Another Headshot victim, I see. IIf you were into girls, kid, you'd have a different one swooning over you every day.» he remarked, with a hint of pride.
Eddie glanced at the door the girl had exited through. «With my personality? Nah, I don't think so.» Then he turned back to Bruce, his tone growing more serious. «Anyway, Bruce… I came to ask for some advice about… today.»

Bruce crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly with interest. «Ah, yeah, I saw the flyer. The Shield of the Hotel, huh?» A sly smile spread across his lips. «Looks like you're climbing the ranks.»

Eddie chuckled weakly, shrugging. «Something like that, I guess. It's just… a bit different from what I'm used to.»

Bruce studied him with the kind of attention only someone who knew all his former pupil's hesitations could muster. «Headshot, you're here to ask for advice on leading a team, aren't you?»

Eddie's slight nod and thoughtful expression confirmed Bruce's suspicion. He nodded slowly, stroking his chin. «You know, when I founded the guild…» he began, his tone heavy with reflection, «I had no idea how to be a good leader. Sure, I had military training, but in the end? I was just winging it. I tried to be firm, decisive, but never cruel. Because I knew one thing: if I wanted to be an asshole, I could've done everything differently.» He paused, his gaze growing more intense as he continued. «I could've convinced anyone who joined my guild to make a pact with me. I could've gotten their true names and become an Overlord. But I didn't. Because I knew that wasn't the kind of leader I wanted to be.»

Eddie listened in silence, taking in every word as if they were fragments of a truth he'd been searching for. Bruce went on, his tone softer but no less meaningful. «My advice? Follow what you learned from me. Be firm when you need to, but never forget to listen. And most importantly, remember that you can't control everything. All you can do is your best and hope the people around you do the same.»

The silence that followed was laden with respect. Eddie lowered his gaze for a moment, reflecting on Bruce's words. When he looked up again, his eyes were more determined. «Thanks, Bruce. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off, but… I'll try to be the kind of leader you've been to me.»

Bruce smiled, a smile full of pride and affection. «Kid, you're already so much more than you think. And remember, if you ever find yourself in trouble… I'm here.»

Bruce took a deep breath, his smile widening into a mischievous grin. «By the way, how's that glowing thing going?» he asked casually, tilting his head just slightly, as if casting a net and waiting to reel in a reaction.
Eddie stiffened instantly, as if his old mentor had just hit a raw nerve. His jaw tightened involuntarily as he tried to mask his discomfort. «The glowing? Why do you want to know?» he replied, attempting to keep his tone neutral. But his expression betrayed him—a mix of embarrassment and irritation crossed his face.

He didn't even have time to think of an excuse before Molly intervened, hopping off the stool with her phone still in hand. «I'll answer that!» she exclaimed, her enthusiasm making it clear just how much she was enjoying herself. «He glows like a lightbulb! Especially when a certain Spider is around…»

Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to keep his patience intact. He punctuated every word with an exasperated wave of his hand. «You. Need. To. Stop!» he snapped, his tone exasperated but laced with a hint of resignation. «It's just adrenaline, okay? You know, I'm always busy, always active…»

Molly burst into laughter, hopping back onto her stool as if she'd just won a personal victory. «Sure, except it happens randomly, outside of battle, when you're neither angry nor scared! No, it practically always happens when Angel is around.» She crossed her arms in an exaggerated pose, a mischievous smile spreading across her face. «If I remember correctly, those famous "butterflies in your stomach" are an adrenaline response, aren't they? You really can't connect the dots?»

Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in his throat. He needed to come up with a plausible excuse.

«Or maybe…» he began slowly, curling his lips into a grimace «...it's just… frustration! Because Angel… is Angel!» he tried to justify, his voice cracking slightly with nervousness.

Molly clapped her hands together like she'd just exposed a criminal in court. «Uh-huh, Angel is Angel. And you LOVE that he's Angel!» she shot back with a touch of sarcasm, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Eddie groaned, running his hands through his hair like he might actually tear it out. «What do I have to do with you?!» he moaned, his tone betraying the first signs of surrender.
Bruce chuckled, watching the exchange between the two. «Kid, let me give you another piece of advice: never underestimate the instincts of a little girl.» He pointed at Molly. «Especially this one. She's got an eye for certain things.»

Eddie sighed, rubbing his temples with both hands. «It's not about instinct. It's just… a physical reaction. It doesn't mean anything.» His voice was firm, but the slight bouncing of his right leg betrayed his nerves.

Bruce observed him silently for a moment, the earlier smile replaced by a more thoughtful expression. «Maybe it doesn't, Headshot. Or maybe you should stop fighting it and start asking yourself why it happens. Sometimes the body tells us things the mind refuses to admit.»

Eddie opened his mouth to argue but couldn't find the words. He just sighed and changed the subject. «Alright, enough about the glowing. Do you have any more advice for today, or can I go?»

Bruce chuckled again, raising his hands in mock surrender. «Fine, fine. But remember this: don't ignore what you're feeling. Sometimes, that's where you'll find the answers you're looking for.»

Molly, still thoroughly entertained, watched him as he left the infirmary. «Hey, Headshot!» she called out teasingly. «Tell him the glow only happens for him!»

Eddie shook his head, but a smile escaped his control anyway. «You're impossible…» he muttered, closing the door behind him.
—Mid-afternoon, outside the Hotel's gym—

A crowd of guests had gathered outside the gym, turning the hallway into a lively crossroads of curiosity and hushed chatter. Some had pressed their faces against the cold glass panes, eager to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside. They were anxious to see who had the guts to answer the call to protect the Hazbin Hotel.

Or, more likely, they were there to see the Hotel's Shield in action. His reputation preceded him, and for many, curiosity far outweighed any actual interest in participating.

Eddie, meanwhile, had prepared himself with the meticulous calm that defined him. His arsenal was an extension of himself, carefully chosen for every possible scenario. His trusty sniper rifle, dismantled and secured in the case he held in his right hand, was ready for any demonstration. Beneath his jacket, two guns were strategically concealed, while another two were visible on his belt—a silent reminder of his role and skills. Several knives were hidden in key locations, ready for use if needed. Among them, the easiest to reach was one knife in particular: the one he had taken from that thug the other day.

The orange-haired guy, with feline-like features—maybe a tiger, or a lion—was still fresh in his memory. Word had it that the kid planned to show up today, but not to become a guard—just to get his knife back. Eddie smirked to himself. "It could be an interesting lesson for him" he thought.

As he approached the gym, he felt the weight of countless eyes on him. They didn't bother him; in fact, they sharpened his focus. Every step, every movement was measured, as if he were walking onto a battlefield.

In the crowd, he spotted his sister, phone in hand, documenting the event for the Hotel. Beside her, Bruce stood guard, calm and watchful as ever.

Molly looked up from her phone, waving enthusiastically at her brother. Eddie returned the gesture with a small smile.

Inside, though, a swirl of agitation mixed with determination churned within him. Bruce's advice was solid, but putting it into practice was another story. So many thoughts ran through his mind: would he be a good leader? Would he screw up? Who would he have to deal with? Would he be able to convince the punk to stay? And most importantly, how hard would he have to work to create perfect security guards?
Pushing past the crowd, Eddie stepped into the gym. He was a bit disappointed to see only five people inside, though at first glance, they all seemed to know what they were doing.

The first one he noticed was the kid he'd taken the knife from: leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, glaring at Eddie with the smoldering resentment of someone nursing a bitter defeat. His green eyes gleamed like those of a predator lying in wait, ready to strike. His thick, orange hair almost seemed to burn under the neon lights, and his hands were wrapped in worn bandages—a clear sign he wasn't afraid to use his fists.
"So he doesn't rely only on knives" Eddie thought. "Good to know".

Further ahead, a stern-looking woman stood rigidly against one of the walls, as still as a sentinel. She wore a tattered uniform bearing the marks of bygone eras, her gaze as sharp and cold as a blade, analyzing every movement in the room. Eddie noticed her shadow—it seemed to move slightly out of sync with her, casting eerie images of burning planes in its wake.

Crouched on the floor near a pile of broken equipment was a small demon with long, thin fingers, tinkering with a battered machine. His diminutive frame moved in quick, precise motions, never seeming to rest. Occasionally, the rotating horns on his head emitted a faint ticking sound, and bluish sparks flared from his fingers as he fiddled with the wires.

At the center of the gym, an athletic woman was stretching, her body sculpted by muscles that looked like they were carved from stone. The fluid motion of her tail, swaying in rhythm with her exercises, added an unexpected grace to her movements. Her head tilted slightly as her eyes followed Eddie, calm yet predatory, as if assessing a potential opponent.

Finally, sitting cross-legged in a dark corner of the gym was an imposing figure clad in fractured armor and a blank white mask. He didn't move, and his stillness gave the impression of a predator waiting to strike. A faint, drifting shadow lingered around him, like smoke dispersing into the air, and his mere presence seemed to compress the atmosphere of the room.

Eddie stopped, taking them all in one by one. They didn't know each other, but there was already a tangible energy between them—a tension ready to ignite.

They weren't many, but for now, they were all he had. "More will come if this works out" he thought.
He gave a small nod and began: «Good afternoon. Thank you for showing up. Would you kindly line up here in front of me so I can get a better look at you?»

The five exchanged glances before doing as instructed.

Eddie thanked them again. He let out a small sigh; the air was heavy, and the five of them looked like they might pounce on him at any moment. But he had to trust they would hold back. After all, they'd chosen to join the Hazbin Hotel.

He introduced himself: «I'm Headshot, security guard for the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie gave me this role some time after I joined this… madhouse.» He chuckled softly to himself. «Like all of you, I've been through Hell. First in life, and now… here. If we're in this Hotel, it's because we believe—or at least hope—that change is possible. We know that everyone, even the most lost, deserves a second chance.»

His voice grew more serious, the smile fading. «But change is never easy. Sometimes it feels impossible. And slipping back into old habits can happen in an instant. That's why security is necessary. We're not just here to maintain order: we're here to make sure everyone has a real shot at working on themselves, without their past or their surroundings dragging them down again.»

Eddie took a step forward, his tone heavier. «Hell never changes, and plenty of people down here want it to stay exactly as it is: cruel, ruthless, unchanging. But the Hazbin Hotel is different. Here, we're building something new, and that draws unwanted attention. Some guests have ties to the outside that could become dangerous: furious ex-lovers, criminal gangs, or even… possessive Overlords.»

He paused for a moment, his voice faltering slightly under the weight of an emotion he couldn't entirely hide. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but he pushed it away with a deep breath. «Our job is to protect the guests—not just from others, but sometimes from themselves. Because there's something fragile here, something worth defending. And yes, we have the support of Lucifer, Charlie, and Alastor. But their strength doesn't mean we can lower our guard. On the contrary, the more work we take off their shoulders, the more they can focus on bigger threats. Every small action matters.»

Eddie clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining an upright, almost military posture. His presence radiated authority and a sense of control that left no room for hesitation.

«Alright. Let's start with a quick round of introductions, and then we'll see what you're capable of. But first… how many of you have only recently arrived in Hell?»

From the line, the athletic woman and the thug raised their hands. The movements were hesitant, as if unsure whether this was an admission of vulnerability or strength.

Eddie nodded, offering a faint smile that masked his concern. «Good. And now, how many of you are using your real name?»

The same hands stayed up, this time almost defiantly. Eddie ran a hand down his face, visibly displeased but maintaining his composure. When he spoke, his voice was calm yet firm, with an edge of severity.

«Great.» The irony in his tone was unmistakable. «Let's take this opportunity to learn the first rule of Hell: never give out your real name. No matter how insignificant it might seem, your name is tied to your soul. Here, anyone who knows your name holds immense power over you. It's almost like owning a piece of your essence. Don't let that happen. Find yourselves a new name—something that represents who you are now, not who you were before.»

He moved slowly down the line, stopping in front of the austere woman who looked like she was carved from ice. Her cold, penetrating eyes and rigid stance suggested unshakable self-discipline. Eddie studied her for a moment before speaking.

«Let's start with you, Ice Eyes.» His tone softened slightly. «What's your name, and what's your story?»

The woman immediately stood at attention, as if responding to a commanding officer. Her voice was clear, precise, with a slight Russian accent. «Yaga, sir! Former soldier of the Night Bomber Regiment 588 of the Soviet Union, sir.»

Eddie raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. «A soldier, huh? And from the legendary 588th, no less. That puts you in World War II.»

«Correct, sir.» she replied, her rigidity unyielding.

Eddie made a vague gesture with his hand, a casual attempt to ease the tension. «Alright, but relax. This isn't the army; we're just security guards. You don't need to call me "sir". You can call me Headshot.»

A slight shift in Yaga's shoulders hinted at a degree of relaxation, but her expression remained stoic. Eddie nodded approvingly, moving on to the next person in line, ready to continue the introductions.

Moving further down the line, Eddie stopped in front of the second: a small demon crouched on the floor, tinkering with a tangled mess of wires and metal scraps. His tiny frame moved in frantic, jerky motions, and his long, thin hands seemed to dance across the wires with maniacal precision. A faint electric charge occasionally sparked across his rotating horns, emitting a rhythmic ticking sound. Eddie crouched down to meet him at eye level, intrigued.

«Your turn.» he said calmly, trying to get the demon's attention. «What's your name, and what brings you here?»

The little demon looked up, his wide eyes brimming with an almost excessive energy, like an overcharged battery on the verge of bursting. «I'm Sprock!» he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and excited. «I build stuff! Always! Even when I was alive, I was an engineer!» He gestured proudly at the chaos at his feet, as if it were an unfinished masterpiece.

Eddie barely had time to respond before he noticed Sprock's expression shift. The demon's eyes locked onto the Deus Ex Machina on Eddie's wrist, the shimmering bracelet catching his full attention. «Ooooh, what a shiny toy!» Sprock exclaimed, his grin stretching unsettlingly wide as he leaned closer.

Before Eddie could react, the demon grabbed his arm with surprising speed, pulling out a screwdriver from who-knows-where.

«What makes it glow?!» Sprock demanded, his excitement bordering on delirium as he tried to pry at the triangular symbol embedded in the bracelet. His hands moved with the frenzy of a child tearing into a birthday present.

For a brief moment, a flicker of alarm crossed Eddie's mind. He jerked his arm back, quickly regaining his composure as he spoke in a calm yet firm tone. «This isn't a piece of tech!» he said carefully, choosing his words. «It's… a birthday gift.»

It was a half-truth, but enough to deflect the demon's overzealous curiosity.

Sprock paused, staring at him for a moment with a disappointed pout. Then, as if his boundless energy needed a new outlet, he started bouncing on the balls of his feet. «Fine, whatever,» he muttered with a shrug. «Back to my work, then. If I don't do something, I might just explode!» With an hysterical giggle, he darted back to his invention, moving in rapid, jerky bursts.

Eddie exhaled through his nose, watching the little demon as he dove back into his work with almost contagious enthusiasm. "He reminds me of Niffty" he thought, shaking his head. Then he stood up and moved on to the next in line.
His gaze landed on the third person in line: the athletic woman, standing with a posture that was relaxed yet alert. Before Eddie could speak, she stepped forward, her confident smile as solid as carved marble.

«Linda.» she said firmly, her voice strong and decisive, as if introducing herself in a boxing ring. «Martial arts champion. Two-time Olympic gold medalist.»

Eddie raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. «Impressive.» he said with a nod. «Let's hope your competitive spirit translates well to teamwork.»

Linda gave a faint smile, a spark of challenge gleaming in her eyes.

Finally, Eddie reached the figure that loomed in the line: an imposing demon clad in broken, rusted armor. His presence was unnerving, amplified by the expressionless white mask he wore and the faint shadow that seemed to ripple around him, like smoke that refused to dissipate.

Eddie stopped in front of him, studying him carefully. «And you?» he asked, his tone calm but inquisitive. «Got a name? A story to share?»

The figure didn't respond. Instead, with slow, deliberate movements, he extended a letter to Eddie, bowing deeply. For a moment, Eddie hesitated, but he accepted the paper, opening the envelope with care.

Inside was a letter, written in shaky, almost childlike English, recounting a tale steeped in tragedy and silence—a fallen samurai, condemned to a mute existence for failing to uphold his code of honor.

Folding the letter back up, Eddie looked at the blank white mask. «Muto.» he said with a slight nod. «Nice to meet you.» Though the figure didn't speak, the bow that followed felt like an acknowledgment.

Eddie lingered for a moment, then moved on to the last person in line, ready to finish the introductions.

«You…» Eddie said as he approached the thug he already recognized. «…we've met before, haven't we? You're the idiot who tried to come at me with a knife.»

The thug continued to glare at him, his green eyes burning like a lit fuse.

«Remind me of your name?»

«Tiger.» he replied aggressively. «And I'm not here for this guardian bullshit, or security guard bullshit or whatever the hell this is. I'm here to get my knife back!»

Eddie stopped in front of the orange-haired kid, meeting his glare with a calm yet authoritative gaze, a stark contrast to the boy's provocative attitude. «Tiger, huh?» he repeated slowly, his tone measured but with an edge of challenge. «Tell me, Tiger, do you think waving a knife at someone is the best way to get what you want?»

Tiger crossed his arms, the worn bandages on his hands creaking slightly under the tension of his muscles. His green eyes burned with suppressed rage, like a caged animal ready to pounce. «I don't care what you think. That knife is mine. Period.»

Eddie let the silence stretch out, heavy and deliberate. Then, with controlled, deliberate movements, he pulled the knife from his belt and held it up, gripping it by the blade with practiced ease. «Is this what you're talking about?» he asked, swinging the knife slightly, just enough to catch everyone's attention.

Tiger stepped forward, but Eddie raised his free hand, stopping him in his tracks with a simple gesture. «Hold it.» His voice was firm, without rising in volume. «If you want this knife back, you'll have to earn it. And no, not with a fight. This isn't the Bronx.»

Tiger clenched his jaw, visibly frustrated. «And how exactly am I supposed to earn it, then?» he spat, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Eddie let his gaze sweep across the others, ensuring he had their attention before speaking. «By proving you're more than the kind of guy who jumps people over something so trivial. By showing discipline, control, and that you can be part of something bigger than yourself.» He took a step closer, locking eyes with Tiger. «You like fighting, don't you? You want to be strong. You want to be respected. And that's fine. But respect isn't the same as fear. Respect is earned through honor, not arrogance.»

Tiger didn't respond immediately, but his glare betrayed an internal struggle.

Eddie turned to the rest of the group, holding up the knife with a sweeping motion. «That goes for all of you. If you're here, it's because you believe you have something to offer. But let me be clear: there's no room in this team for selfishness, arrogance, or anyone who's just in it for themselves. We're here to protect, to build something that matters. If that's not what you're interested in, there's the door.»

The silence that followed was thick.

Eddie turned back to Tiger, slowly sliding the knife back into its sheath. «I'll give you a chance, Tiger. Just one. If you want the knife, prove to me that you're more than a thug. Prove to me you can be part of this team.»

Tiger huffed, his gaze still defiant, but he said nothing. He looked at the knife, then back at Eddie. Something inside him seemed to shift, as if he was willing to do whatever it took to reclaim it—even if it meant submitting, for now, to someone who had bested him.

With slow movements, he returned to his place in the line, crossing his arms again in defiance but offering no further protest. Eddie watched him for a moment, letting the silence solidify their unspoken agreement. Then he gave a slight nod, satisfied he hadn't lost the kid right away.

«Good.» he said, raising his voice to address the group. «Now that we know a little more about each other, I want to see what you can do. And don't expect an easy ride. I need to know how far I can rely on each of you. Got it?»

A murmur of agreement rose from the line.

Eddie placed his hands on his hips, his gaze sweeping across the gym, already envisioning the next step. «To start, let's see how you handle a simple team exercise.» He paused, his tone sharpening with a note of warning. «And yes, I'll know right away if you're not working together.»
—Hotel's bar—

Angel was half-sprawled on the booth seat at the bar, his usual spot. The effects of the martinis he'd downed earlier had long since worn off, leaving room for clearer—and far sadder—thoughts. With one finger, he lazily scrolled through his phone screen, skimming the comments under his latest Sinstagram post. Each comment was more explicit and vulgar than the last, as always. The notifications flooded in like clockwork after every upload, eventually dwindling to a slower trickle, about one comment every three minutes. Angel sighed audibly, not even bothering to mask his disgust.
He still couldn't understand why Valentino had insisted he keep a profile on Sinstagram. The photos skirted the edge of pornography, posted solely to boost his visibility—or rather, to line Valentino's pockets. And as if the films and videos he churned out daily weren't enough. What was the point? "The point is that Valentino is a narcissist who loves to show off his toys." he thought bitterly.

The thought of Valentino made his teeth clench. Sometimes, Angel wondered how he'd ever fallen for him, back when he hadn't yet uncovered the moth demon's true nature. What a fool he'd been. He should have seen the signs from the start: Valentino screaming at the slightest mistake, losing control whenever anyone fell short of his impossible standards, raising his hand without a second thought. Coercion, violence, manipulation, lies… and yet, in those early moments, there had been something. A sweetness, a poison that had made him feel alive, even if only for fifteen fleeting minutes.

"God, I was such an idiot" he told himself, gripping his phone tightly.

An incoming message lit up the screen, Valentino's name glaring at the top. Angel held his breath, dreading yet another summons to the studio ahead of schedule. But thankfully, it wasn't that. Valentino was complaining—as usual—about some issue with the smoke machines that hadn't been replaced yet. Angel exhaled, reading the text with minimal interest. Apparently, ending Louis hadn't been enough to appease his fury.

With an exasperated sigh, Angel tossed the phone beside him. It landed on the empty seat next to him—a void that marked the absence of someone important. At this hour, Headshot was often there with him. Calm, reflective, strong. And so… sexy.

Angel chuckled softly to himself, but the thought lingered in his mind.

He'd never had trouble admitting who he'd willingly sleep with—even without payment—and Headshot was no exception. The first time he'd seen him, right there in that bar, Angel had thought of him as just another fling—someone to seduce, sleep with, and forget. But as time passed, he became something more.

Then there were all those adventures they went through together: the job Headshot had ruined, the chase, the time they'd spent together afterward…

Headshot wasn't just attractive—there was something else, something that had hooked Angel in a way he couldn't quite explain.

The butterfly demon didn't look at him as an object, but as a person. He showed it in the small gestures, the kind words, like that day when he'd said, "You're important too." A simple phrase, but one that had made Angel blush. Not out of embarrassment, but because no one had ever told him that before.

"Not a toy. Not a product to be sold to the highest bidder" Angel thought, running his hands along his arms.

When he'd made that disastrous mistake at the pool party, yanking off Headshot's costume, Angel had been sure he'd destroyed everything they'd built. But the next day, Headshot had forgiven him. "I said things you didn't deserve. I'm sorry." he'd said, with that unshakable calm that always disarmed Angel. The relief had been overwhelming, almost heartbreaking.

Since then, their bond had only grown stronger. Angel couldn't deny it: Headshot was gorgeous, but there was so much more. So much it burned inside him. It had almost ignited during that day at the shooting range, when Headshot had taught him how to use a sniper rifle. The patience he'd shown, the way he'd guided him, the encouraging look in his eyes, and that gentle touch that made Angel feel… safe.

Angel let his head fall back against the booth, closing his eyes for a moment.

It wasn't just physical attraction. It was something deeper, something that scared him and thrilled him at the same shook his head decisively, as if to chase away that insidious thought. Between work, daily hassles, and especially Valentino, there wasn't room for anything else. And besides, what could there really be between them? "At most, a nice friendship… with benefits, maybe." he thought, chuckling bitterly to himself. It was easier to reduce it all to something frivolous, something he knew well: lighthearted flings, more about the body than the heart.
But even that rationalization didn't bring him any comfort. Angel sighed, lifting his phone and staring blankly at the lit screen without really seeing anything. "Friends with benefits." he repeated in his mind, trying to convince himself it could really be that simple. Yet the thought left a bitter aftertaste.

With a huff, he shook the thought away and got up from the couch with his usual brazen attitude. That cocky grin lit up his face again as he stretched lazily, swinging his arms. He sauntered over to the bar, where Husk was busy cleaning glasses, his usual grumpy expression made even more irritable by Adam sitting next to him. The chain linking their wrists clinked faintly as Husk worked, his sour mood practically radiating out.

«Well, bitches.» Angel declared, leaning dramatically on the counter, «I'm way too sober, and frankly, I'm bored out of my mind.» He paused, shooting a glance at Cherri, who was seated nearby, before adding theatrically, «I'll have one last drink, then go see how Shotty's handling his new recruits!»

Cherri raised an amused eyebrow. «Oh, really? I thought "military recruits" weren't your type.»

Angel chuckled, dragging a hand dramatically along the counter. «Sweetheart, it all depends on who's playing general. And trust me, Shotty fits the role well!» He winked, but the comment only managed to catch Husk's attention. Husk looked up from his glass with an even wearier expression.

«I'm not sure who I pity more.» Husk muttered, setting a clean glass on the shelf with a clink of the chain. «Headshot, for having to put up with you, or you, for constantly following him around like a lost puppy.»

Angel stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide in a mock display of offense. Then he leaned over the bar with dramatic flair. «Aw, Huskie, are you jealous?» he teased, his voice sugary and taunting, the way only Angel could manage. «I didn't know you cared so much about me!»

Husk stared back, unflinching. «Oh, sure. Absolutely. Just wait until Adam takes this damn chain off me—you'll see how much I care.» The sarcasm practically dripped from his words.

Adam, seated at the edge of the bar, didn't even look up from his drink. «Soon, Husk, very soon. Have faith.» he said smoothly, his tone dripping with insincerity.

Angel burst into laughter, accepting the Martini Husk had slid his way with the least effort possible. «Thanks, Huskie! You really know how to make me feel special.» He downed the drink in two gulps, then turned to Cherri with a theatrical wave. «Now, excuse me, I have to go save that poor butterfly from his recruitment nightmares. Bye-bye!»

With his usual light, confident stride, he headed toward the gym, ready to cause some chaos… or to see Headshot in action. After all, there was always something interesting about watching his dear Shotty at work.
—Outside the Gym—
Angel strutted down the corridor, his high heels echoing against the floor with the precise, rhythmic beat of a metronome. As he turned the corner, the scene unfolded before him: a dense crowd pressed against the glass walls of the gym, their faces smushed up as if trying to absorb every detail of the spectacle inside. The air buzzed with muted chatter and eager whispers, the excitement thick enough to choke on. It was as if this gym session was the hottest ticket in Hell.

Angel rolled his eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. «Like kids at the circus.» he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He had no intention of waiting his turn or being stuck behind some gawking sinners. With a mix of strategic nudges, cutting glares, and his signature brand of theatrical intimidation, he began carving a path through the throng.

«Fuck off, VIP coming through!» he declared sarcastically, giving one particularly bold sinner who dared to glare at him a look sharp enough to cut glass. The comment silenced any budding protests, and soon enough, Angel found himself at the front, his path cleared.

Leaning against the glass, he tilted his head slightly, angling for the best view. There, in the center of the gym, was the main attraction. Headshot stood before five sinners lined up in formation, each looking more out of place than the last: a scrappy thug radiating defiance, a hulking figure cloaked in broken armor, a wiry tinkerer with ticking horns, an athletic woman stretching like a predator, and a rigid, statuesque soldier with an aura of unyielding discipline.

Angel let his gaze drift across the group before a smirk tugged at his lips.
"A ragtag bunch of lost causes." he thought, chuckling to himself.

But then his eyes returned to Headshot—and stayed there.

He couldn't look away.
Headshot seemed… different. Shoulders squared, posture commanding, his presence radiated confidence and control. Every movement was deliberate, every glance purposeful. The usual restraint Angel had come to expect from him was nowhere to be seen. In this moment, he wasn't the quiet, brooding guy Angel loved to tease—he was a leader. Someone who knew how to command a room, who carried himself like he belonged in charge.

«So you've got a hidden side, Shotty...» Angel murmured softly, the smirk on his face widening ever so slightly. There was a glint in his eye now, not just playful or teasing, but something deeper. Something… intrigued.
When Headshot stepped up to the orange-haired kid—the thug—the air in the gym shifted. Angel leaned in a little closer, his keen eyes fixed on the tension brewing between the two. He noticed how Headshot held his ground: calm, steady, but never crossing into aggression.

Then, Headshot pulled out a knife. For a split second, Angel tensed, his heart skipping a beat. But one look at Headshot's movements told him there was no threat behind the gesture. The knife spun lightly between his fingers, a tool of persuasion rather than intimidation.

Headshot began to speak, though Angel couldn't make out much of the words over the murmurs of the crowd around him. Still, it was clear he was giving one of his motivational speeches—the kind of thing Angel would usually dismiss with a cynical comment.
"Little pep talks." he thought, holding back a snicker. "But damn if they work."

Headshot had a knack for knowing just what to say. The thug, visibly frustrated, reluctantly stepped back into line, his green eyes still simmering with restrained anger. Angel raised an eyebrow, quietly impressed.

Leaning against the glass, arms crossed and a satisfied grin tugging at his lips, Angel watched as Headshot continued. There was something about him—something Angel couldn't ignore. That calm authority, that quiet confidence… it was magnetic. But it was more than that. When Headshot was there, he made everything feel steady, safe, like he had it all under control.

Angel let his grin grow wider as he kept his gaze locked on his friend.
"You're not just good, Shotty. You're… ridiculously good."
Angel stayed where he was, his chin propped on one hand as he kept watching through the glass. Headshot was running a team exercise for the recruits, and while it was clear he wasn't expecting miracles, what struck Angel was the way he handled it: no shouting, no barking orders. The young sniper spoke with firm authority, but without aggression, explaining everything with a calmness that, paradoxically, seemed to heighten the tension in the air.

Leaning closer, Angel caught snippets of what Headshot was saying.
«It's not just about strength.» he was explaining, pacing slowly in front of the line of sinners. «It's about trust. I want to see how you move together, how you communicate, if you understand what it means to work for something bigger than yourselves.»

Angel tilted his head, intrigued. This wasn't the brutal approach one expected in Hell, where survival often meant stepping over others. No, Headshot was teaching them something different: teamwork, discipline, respect. A smirk tugged at Angel's lips.
"Shotty, you're trying to redeem them, aren't you? Charlie better watch her back—you're stealing her job."

The recruits started the exercise. Their task was to navigate an obstacle course while carrying a heavy sandbag, relying on one another to get through it. Linda was the first to act, grabbing the sandbag without waiting for instructions. Headshot observed her for a moment, then stepped forward.
«Linda, great enthusiasm, but this isn't a solo race.» His voice was firm but nonjudgmental. «This is a team exercise. Call someone to help you.»

Linda hesitated briefly, then nodded and called for Yaga. The soldier stepped forward silently, grabbing one end of the bag without fuss.

Angel smiled to himself as he watched the interaction. Headie had a knack for reading people, for nudging them in the right direction without pushing too hard. It was a delicate balance, yet it seemed effortless for him.

The exercise continued, and Angel couldn't help but notice how Headshot stepped in at just the right moments. When Sprock, overexcited, started bouncing everywhere, Headie stopped him with a decisive gesture but didn't quash his enthusiasm.
«Focus, Sprock. You need to work with them, not against them.»

When Tiger refused to cooperate, Headshot didn't raise his voice. He approached him calmly, crouching slightly to meet his gaze.
«You're here to prove you're more than a thug, remember? This is your moment to show it—not for me, not for them, but for yourself.»

Angel found himself pressing his hands against the glass, struck by his friend's poise. Headshot was different from anyone he'd ever known. He didn't enforce his authority with fear or brute strength, but with respect. And it worked. Slowly, even Tiger relented, grabbing the sandbag with clear reluctance but without further resistance.

When the exercise ended, Headshot gathered the recruits in a circle, his gaze sharp but encouraging.
«You did well for a first attempt.» he said, hands on his hips. «But you can do better. Next time, I want to see more communication. None of you can do this alone. If you're here, it's because you have something to prove—to yourselves more than anyone else. And trust me, I know how hard that can be. But believe me: it's worth it.»Angel felt a small knot form in his throat. There was a raw sincerity in Headshot's voice that struck him deeply. This man understood what it meant to fight, to fall, and to claw his way back up. He wasn't just a leader; he was someone who truly knew what it felt like to be broken and painstakingly rebuild himself, piece by piece.

He continued to watch as the team exercise unfolded. It was impressive how Headshot handled the recruits, maintaining control without ever being overbearing. His voice was firm but not harsh; his gaze sharp but never intrusive. It was clear he was striving to bring out the best in each of them.

When Yaga and Linda coordinated seamlessly to overcome a particularly tricky obstacle, Angel noticed a faint smile tugging at the corners of Headshot's lips. It wasn't big or dramatic, but it was there, and before Angel realized it, he was smiling too.

"You like being in charge, don't you, Shotty?" he thought, leaning casually against the glass. His relaxed posture was a façade; his eyes followed every movement Headshot made, soaking in every detail of his demeanor.

Headshot, immersed in his role, was focused on the task at hand. But at one point, as he paced along the line of recruits, supervising their progress, his gaze lifted ever so slightly—and met Angel's through the glass.

For a moment, Headshot looked surprised to see him there. His step faltered slightly, a hesitation so brief it was almost imperceptible. Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he acknowledged Angel's presence—a quiet gesture of recognition that anyone else might have overlooked.

Angel's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. He hadn't expected to be noticed, let alone acknowledged so directly. For a moment, he froze, unsure how to respond. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. With a theatrical wave of his hand, he returned the gesture, as if to say: "I see you, Shotty."

Headshot didn't linger on the interaction. He returned his attention to the recruits, but Angel noticed something different in his posture—a faint tension that hadn't been there before. He wondered if his gaze had unsettled him, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Headshot didn't seem like the type to be easily rattled.

Angel, on the other hand, found himself more engaged than he cared to admit. He watched as Headshot continued to direct the exercise, his calm, commanding presence mesmerizing not just the recruits but also Angel himself.

When the exercise ended, and Headshot gathered the recruits for a brief debriefing, Angel pushed off from the glass and walked away with a light step, a satisfied smile still playing on his lips.
«Well done, Shotty.» he murmured to himself, straightening his shirt. «Maybe I've been underestimating just how special you are.»
—Heaven—
Despite the disaster that had unfolded with Eve, the Garden of Eden remained intact, unaltered in its perfection. It was an idealized replica of the primeval Earth, untouched by civilization or sin. Here, no animal bit or scratched, and no plant was poisonous or stinging. Everything had been designed to be a safe haven, an idyllic place where a human could live immersed in nature without fear.
Since Lilith had made her pact with Adam, Eden had become her sanctuary. Accustomed to the luxury of her infernal palace, she had reshaped the primal environment, constructing a lavish villa overlooking the sea. Its opulent architecture clashed slightly with the garden's austere simplicity, yet the villa seemed to reflect the duality of her nature: once the Queen of Hell, now a restless resident of Heaven.

After the incident with the Hell Phone, when she had betrayed herself by revealing her presence to Charlie, Lilith had essentially barricaded herself inside her villa. She only emerged for meetings with Lute, limiting her communication with Emily and Sera to letters that detailed the latest moves of their adversary.

Emily had initially respected her decision, convinced that the encounter with Charlie had shaken her deeply.
"After all, seeing her daughter after so long, without even being able to truly speak to her… it must have hurt her." she thought. But as the days stretched into nearly a week of near-total silence, Emily's concern began to grow.

She could no longer ignore Lilith's behavior. True, the Queen had always been enigmatic and reserved, but this level of isolation was unlike her. Emily paced back and forth in her chamber, the rhythmic sound of her steps mirroring her mounting unease.

"Sera can be patient…" Emily thought, pressing her lips into a thin line. "But I can't. Someone needs to do something."

With a resolute sigh, she took up a parchment and an ivory pen, intending to write a formal letter to Lilith. But before she could finish the first sentence, she stopped. "No, that won't work. Not with her." Their relationship had never been built on formalities. She needed to confront her in person.

With this decision, Emily left her study, her light wings brushing the gilded corridor walls as she made her way to Eden. She didn't know what she would find in the villa, but one thing was certain: she wouldn't let Lilith continue shutting herself away without trying to reach was a relatively short flight. Eden loomed on the horizon, its brilliant green creating a surreal contrast against Heaven's ethereal light. Lilith's villa, grand and opulent, rose from the untouched nature like a jewel of extravagance. Landing before the main entrance, Emily hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to intrude, and slipping in through an open window would have been blatantly rude.

With an uncertain hand, she pressed the doorbell. Its melodious chime echoed in the air, but no response came. Emily waited for a few seconds, her gaze fixed on the heavy door, before tilting her head slightly in puzzlement. "Is she even home?" she wondered, scanning for any signs of movement within.

She tried again. This time, she pressed the bell more insistently. Still nothing. The silence enveloping the villa grew oppressive, and a sense of unease began to take root within her.

Shaking her head, Emily stepped back a few paces, enough to get a broader view of the building. She looked up toward one of the first-floor windows, hoping to catch sight of a shadow, a movement—anything that would confirm Lilith's presence.

«Lilith!» she called out loudly, her wings twitching slightly, a reflection of her mounting concern. «Are you home? It's me, Em! Emily! I'm worried about you!»

But the villa remained still and silent, as though it had been deserted for ages. The only sound was the soft breeze brushing through the garden, rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees.

Emily chewed on her lip, torn. "Maybe she really isn't here… or maybe she's deliberately ignoring everything". The latter thought made her purse her lips. Lilith wasn't one to shy away from confrontation easily, but the incident with Charlie had clearly shaken her deeply. Emily could only imagine how heavy the burden of that moment must have been.

But she couldn't let her continue like this.

Resolute, she walked around the villa, searching for a side entrance or another way to catch Lilith's attention. «Lilith!» she called again, this time with a hint of exasperation. «I know you're in there! You can't hide forever!»

Still nothing.

Emily stopped in front of a slightly ajar side window. The temptation to peek inside was strong. "It's not trespassing if I'm doing it for her own good" she told herself, trying to justify her actions. She gently slid the window open, peeking inside. The interior of the villa was as luxurious as its exterior, but everything seemed strangely… still. There was no mess, but no life either. It was as though the entire house had been frozen in time.

«Lilith…?» she called out softly, almost a whisper.
«What do you think you're doing?» A cold, cutting voice behind her made her spun around, coming face-to-face with Lilith, who stood with arms crossed, her expression a portrait of irritation. Tucked under one arm was a wicker basket brimming with fresh berries, an ironic contrast to her stern demeanor.

«Surprise!» Emily exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air theatrically, her guilty smile betraying her attempt at levity. «Your favorite Seraph has come to visit!»

Lilith raised an unimpressed eyebrow. «Really? To me it looks more like my not-so-favorite Seraph was trying to break into my house.»Emily's nervous laugh didn't help her case, and her body language screamed guilt louder than her words. «Whaaat? Nooo, I'd never do that! I was just… uh… trying to figure out if you were… home?»

Lilith's expression didn't budge. «Lucky for us I'm the one playing both sides.» Her voice dripped with sarcasm. «If Sera and Pentious were relying on you, we'd have lost the war already.»

Emily slumped her shoulders in defeat. Lying to Lilith was like trying to fool a lion with a leaf of lettuce. «Okay, fine, I was trying to get into your house.» she admitted, her tone conciliatory. «But only because I'm worried about you. You've been hiding away ever since we contacted Charlie!»

Lilith let out a long, weary sigh, her gaze softening just a fraction. «And what exactly did you hope to accomplish by breaking into my villa?»

Emily shrugged, forcing a sheepish smile. «I don't know. Maybe figure out why you've locked yourself in here, avoiding everything except the mission. Or uncover what made you react that way in front of Charlie. You haven't said a word about it since.» She hesitated, studying Lilith's expression. «Lilith, is something wrong? You can talk to me.»

Lilith turned away, the basket swaying lightly at her side. When she spoke, her voice was low and laced with a profound weariness. «Nothing is wrong. And everything is.»

Emily stepped closer, her tone softer. «Then let me help you. Whatever it is that's weighing you down, you don't have to carry it alone.»

For a long moment, Lilith stood in silence. Then, without turning back, she said, «Fine. Come in. But don't expect me to answer everything.»

Emily allowed herself a faint smile as she followed Lilith inside.
It's a start, she thought.
The villa was a masterpiece. Every detail, from the placement of the furniture to the intricate carvings on the walls, spoke of refined taste and a meticulous devotion to harmony. Emily watched silently as Lilith moved through the kitchen with the poise of a queen in her domain, beginning to prepare a pot of aromatic tea.

She placed the herbs into a cylindrical infuser, pouring boiling water over them. The water slowly began to change color, turning into a warm, inviting liquid as the scent of the herbs filled the air.

«It still needs to steep.» Lilith explained, almost absently, setting the teapot on a tray. «The smell is calming, isn't it?»

Emily nodded, watching quietly. Even in the smallest of gestures, Lilith exuded an almost unnatural composure.

At last, Lilith sat across from Emily at the table. Her gaze was steady, direct, but not hostile. Emily, however, hesitated to speak, still slightly embarrassed about her earlier attempt to force her way into the villa.

Lilith raised an eyebrow, breaking the silence with a calm authority. «Well? What do you want to know?»

Emily faltered for a moment, then drew a deep breath, steeling herself to ask the question that weighed most heavily on her mind. «I want to know… why you reacted the way you did when I was about to tell Charlie what it means to be a Nephilim. Why did you lose control like that?»

Lilith remained silent for a moment, her gaze lowering to the teapot, which continued to steep with unruffled calm—a stark contrast to the storm of emotions roiling beneath her surface. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper laden with meaning. «You of all people should understand why I reacted that way. You know the myth.»

Emily nodded, a bit hesitant, before answering. «Of course. It says a Nephilim will defeat the Root of All Evil. But no one really believed it. No one thought someone born in Hell could be more than just another demon, even if they were the child of a fallen angel and a human.» She paused, her face brightening with a spark of hope. «But Charlie proved us wrong. She's different, Lilith. So… she's the chosen one, I guess.»

Lilith sighed, the sound filled with resignation. «Exactly. And I'm doing everything I can to make sure it doesn't happen.»

Emily blinked, stunned. «What? But why? It's a difficult task, sure, but it could lock Roo away in her prison forever.»

Lilith shook her head slowly. «It's not just that.» Her tone was bitter, heavy with a sorrow that seemed to run deep. «Charlie won't just confine her. Roo will be erased from existence entirely because of her. If she trains, if she embraces her nature, she'll become strong enough to destroy Roo for good. The Root of All Evil will be eradicated. From that point on, evil will become subjective, confined to the hearts of living beings. More manageable. More human.»

Emily leaned forward slightly, trying to comprehend. «Isn't that a good thing?»

Lilith looked up, locking eyes with Emily with an intensity that made her waver. A shadow passed across her face, a reflection of the burden she carried. «When has losing a daughter ever been a good thing for a mother?»Emily was left speechless. Lilith's words hit her like a punch to the stomach. «But… what are you saying? That's not what the myth says.»

She tried to recall it from memory, reciting with a trembling voice:

«The Root had sunk in darkness thick as air,
Corrupting worlds, extinguishing the dawn,
But ancient flames arose, the light laid bare.
With fiery strength, it tore through shadow drawn,
Destroyed the Root, and severed its dark veins»
She paused, searching Lilith's gaze. «See? It doesn't speak of death.»

Lilith scoffed, an ironic smile twisting her lips. «That's because you don't know the myth in its entirety.» She glanced at the teapot, checking that the tea was still steeping, then rose from the table with a fluid motion. «Come with me.»

—

Lilith led her to a spacious and orderly study, the soft light filtering through the curtains giving the space an almost sacred atmosphere. The refined details caught Emily's eye: statuettes, shimmering crystals, and impeccably bound books. The insignia of the Celestial Archives gleamed on the spines of many volumes, making Emily's eyes widen in disbelief.

«These… these aren't supposed to be here.» Emily murmured.

Lilith shrugged nonchalantly. «Is there any divine law that forbids keeping them?»

Emily flushed slightly but pressed on. «It's not right to take them without notifying anyone.»

Lilith chuckled—a rare light sound in the midst of their heavy conversation. «Oh, I notified Adam. But he was too busy flirting with his soldiers.»

Emily rolled her eyes, a mix of exasperation and fondness. "Classic Adam" she thought.

Lilith ran her finger along a row of volumes until stopping at a lilac-colored book. She pulled it out with care and began flipping through its pages, searching for a specific passage. When she found it, she handed the book to Emily with a firm gesture. «Read this.»

Emily's hands trembled slightly as she took the book. She read aloud:
Within Hell's womb, a heart was born anew,
Of light and shadow, forged in blazing fire,
A fractured soul, a song split through.
From the fallen father, power dim and dire,
From the mortal mother, love both thick and true,
Between guilt and grace, it rose from the mire.
It carried hope into the endless hue,
A banner of peace 'twixt Heaven and despair,
Within its chest, an abyss deep and blue.
The Root had sunk in darkness thick as air,
Corrupting worlds, extinguishing the dawn,
But ancient flames arose, the light laid bare.
With fiery strength, it tore through shadow drawn,
Destroyed the Root, and severed its dark veins,
And paid its price to turn the fatal pawn.
For sacrifice is flame that burns through pains:
Redemption or damnation? None can say.
Eternal rests the line 'tween peace and chains.
Now shines within the sky a joyous ray,
The Daughter of the Dawn, her tale revealed:
Forever lost, yet to all evil, bane.Tears began streaming down Emily's face as she finished reading. Her hands trembled, and her voice broke. «It… it can't be. Not her. Not after everything we're doing to make redemption a credible idea…»
Lilith stepped closer, her face rigid but her eyes heavy with pain. «Now you understand? Do you understand why I can't let her know what she's destined for?»

Emily tried to steady herself, shaking her head firmly. «But myths aren't always reliable! Look here, it says: "For sacrifice is flame that burns through pains: Redemption or damnation? None can say.". It might be a loophole. We can change her fate!»
Lilith shook her head, her voice a whisper steeped in sadness. «And what if we can't? Emily, I've done everything to keep her from learning her true nature. I've been her mother, but a mother who chose not to teach her anything about who she really is. I left her to protect her. I'm trying to push Heaven to collaborate with her redemption project in hopes of convincing Elohim to bring her here, to safety… And despite all of it, she still obtained a Nephilim form.»

Lilith paused, her body trembling slightly under the weight of her confessions. «And not just that. She did it alone, without guidance, without knowing how to control it. It's like… like putting a three-year-old behind the wheel of a car. And now I wonder what I did wrong. If I should have done things differently. If I should have told her everything from the beginning, instead of hiding it. If I should have stayed with her instead of running away. Or maybe… maybe I should have listened to Belphegor and abort when I had the chance.»

Emily held her breath, shaken by the intensity of those words. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then reached out and gently rested a hand on Lilith's shoulder. «Listen, Lilith, I may be younger than you and maybe less experienced, but there's one thing I know: just because Charlie has transformed doesn't mean her fate is sealed. Not yet.»

Lilith slowly raised her gaze to meet hers, her eyes filled with a vulnerability she rarely allowed to surface. Emily tightened her grip slightly on her shoulder, her tone more resolute. «You made mistakes, yes. But who hasn't? You're her mother, Lilith. You did what you thought was best for her, bearing a truth that would have broken anyone. But it's not too late. It never is. Charlie is strong, stronger than you think. And she's not alone. She has us. She has you. If anyone can rewrite this myth, it's her.»

Lilith was silent for a long moment, her tense shoulders gradually relaxing under Emily's hand. A faint smile, barely perceptible, formed on her lips. «You're right.» she murmured at last. «It's never too late. Perhaps… perhaps there's still hope.»
Emily nodded, her smile encouraging. «Of course there is. But we have to work together. Charlie will need all our support, all our love. And we can't protect her by lying to her or hiding the truth. She has to know, Lilith. She has to know what lies ahead, so she can choose her own fate.»

Lilith closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Her chest rose and fell with an apparent calm, as if preparing for a step she knew she could no longer postpone. When she opened her eyes again, a spark of determination gleamed within them. «You're right, Emily. No more running. It's time to act. I have to help her.»

She moved with a speed that seemed at odds with her usual measured grace. From the shelf, she grabbed several books with worn edges and a bundle of letters tied with rough twine. She thrust them into Emily's arms abruptly. «Take these to Sera. Tell her to find a way to get them to Charlie.» Her voice was firm, every word carrying an undeniable urgency.

Emily, now laden with books and letters, stumbled more from the bulk than from any actual exertion—being a seraph, she didn't truly experience fatigue. «Hold on a moment...» she said, trying to steady the wobbling pile. «... what are you going to do in the meantime?»

Lilith retrieved a blank sheet of fine paper and an elegant pen from her desk drawer. «I'll write a letter of apology.» she replied, her gaze fixed on the page before her. «To Charlie. And to Lucifer.»

Emily stopped in her tracks, peering curiously over the mound of books. «To your ex-husband, too?» she asked, raising an eyebrow in intrigue.

Lilith paused for a moment, her fingers absently brushing the ring she still wore on her finger. «Technically, we never divorced.» she admitted with a faint, bittersweet smile. «But… I'll understand if he doesn't want to see me again. After all, I left everything and everyone behind for what I thought was right. I hurt him, too.»

Emily tilted her head slightly, choosing her words carefully. «It's just my feeling, Lilith, but I think he'll understand. He wants Charlie to be safe, too. And maybe… he's been waiting for this moment, too.»

Lilith didn't answer immediately, but her smile grew a little more genuine. «Maybe. But first, I need to help Charlie understand that I've always been by her side, even if she couldn't see me. And, if necessary, I need to make amends for the mistakes I've made.»

Emily nodded with conviction. «Then let's not waste any time. She's going to need every bit of help we can give her.» She paused, shifting the tomes into a more manageable position in her arms. «And Lilith… you're not alone in this. Not anymore.»

Lilith looked at her for a long moment, a glimmer of gratitude softening her sharp gaze. «Thank you, Emily. Now go. We have time to make up for.»
—Hell, Balcony of the Hazbin Hotel—
If Eddie had to choose a soundtrack for that moment, it would undoubtedly have been Idea 22: a gentle, melancholic melody played solely on piano. Leaning against the balcony railing, he gazed out at Hell sprawling below him, wrapped in an oddly serene atmosphere. The stars, rare and faint in this plane of existence, seemed brighter tonight. He couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the beginning of a new chapter in his life, perhaps it was the feeling of finally finding a place to belong… or maybe it was Angel Dust, an image that had slipped into his mind and refused to leave.

Earlier that day, he'd caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye as Angel weaved his way through the crowd of onlookers to peer into the gym. That sly smile, the way he always seemed on the verge of saying something cheeky or provocative—it had left an indelible mark. And the more time Eddie spent with him, the more he felt an undeniable pull to be near him.

He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts with a faint motion of frustration. "He's just a friend. Nothing more." He repeated it to himself like a mantra, though with every repetition, it felt less and less convincing. Then why, he wondered, couldn't he think of anything else?Eddie took a deep breath, trying to anchor himself in reality. The acrid scent of sulfur drifted from the distant cities, a typical scent of Hell that he had now learned to ignore. But there was another scent, closer, that reached him like a familiar caress: sweet honey mixed with fresh tobacco. A scent he knew all too well, unmistakably marking Angel Dust's presence.

Eddie didn't even need to turn around, a subtle smile tugging at his lips as he remained leaning against the balcony railing. «Do you always sneak up so quietly, or is it just me you play ninja with?» he asked in an amused tone, his gaze still fixed on the stars.

Behind him, Angel Dust let his hands drop to his sides with his usual sly attitude, his towering heels barely audible as they grazed the floor. «Damn. And here I was hoping to catch you off guard.» he said, approaching gracefully and leaning against the railing beside him. He crossed his boots, his lithe body bending with an effortless elegance.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and shot him a sidelong glance. «You can't sneak up on a hitman, Silly.» he replied calmly, his tone carrying a hint of camaraderie. «Especially not one with super sense of smell.»

Angel feigned an offended expression, his cerise eyes gleaming in the night's darkness. «Hey! I just got out of the shower!» he protested, raising one of his four hands as if in defense.

Eddie shook his head slightly, the smile on his lips growing. «That's not what I meant. Everyone has their own scent, their own… essence. It's not about sweat or dirt. It's something unique. Something that represents them.» His voice was calm, almost reflective. «And I happen to have the fortune—or the misfortune—of being able to sense it.»Angel turned toward him, leaning his elbow on the railing and tilting his head, making the soft cascade of his white hair streaked with pink sway. «Interesting.» he commented with his trademark playful tone, a crooked smile that promised trouble. «So, tell me, Butterfly Boy, what does my… essence say to you?»

Eddie paused, his breathing just a touch slower as he carefully picked his words. «Honey… and fresh tobacco.» he finally answered, his voice slightly lower, almost intimate. «Sweetness and… something deeper. Something that lingers.»

Angel's grin widened into an expression that was both mischievous and contemplative. «Sweetness and depth, huh? Are you sure you're talking about me, Shotty? Because that sounds a little… romantic.»

Eddie let out a faint sound of disapproval and turned his gaze away, trying to suppress another smile. «Don't let it go to your head. It's just an observation.»

But Angel was watching him, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, a spark in his demeanor that Eddie was finding increasingly hard to ignore.

With a deliberately casual tone, Angel pressed on: «And what about you? What do you think your scent says, Shotty?» The question sounded innocent on the surface, but the curiosity behind his smile was anything but.

Eddie crossed his arms, the fabric of his jacket stretching slightly over his broad shoulders, his veins still dormant but ready to glow at the first sign of intense emotion. «I don't know. Maybe like the wind before a storm.» he replied, his gaze drifting back to the horizon. «Powerful, but not overbearing. Cold, but never cruel.»

Angel paused for a moment, the playful grin softening into something more reflective, almost thoughtful. He wasn't used to receiving such… intimate descriptions. Then, as always, he hid himself behind his brazenness. «Well, then, I've definitely got the best scent of all. Honey and tobacco, huh? Guess that makes me irresistible.»

Eddie shook his head, a resigned but amused smile spreading across his face. «Irresistible enough to put yourself in trouble.»

Angel smirked, his mismatched eyes shimmering under the faint starlight. «If there's no risk, what's the fun?» he replied with his usual mischievous tone, though the confidence he displayed was a mask. His gaze lingered on Headshot, taking in the details: the subtle twitch of his antennae, the breadth of his shoulders, the faint bluish glow that pulsed just beneath his skin. It was… captivating. Too much.

He turned away, shaking his head as if to dispel the thought. He couldn't go there. Headshot was a friend, nothing more. "Friends with benefits." he reminded himself silently, as if repeating a rule that would keep him safe. There couldn't be anything else, not after Valentino. The thought tightened his chest: the false smiles, the poisonous words, the wounds that had left him broken and distrustful.

No, he would never fall into that trap again. Not with Headshot. Not with anyone. Angel took a deep breath, trying to focus on the moment. That's all this was: a moment between friends, under the stars. Nothing more.

And with that silent promise, he let the quiet stretch between them.

The sudden stillness, however, made Eddie uneasy enough to break the silence himself. «You know… it meant a lot seeing you today among the crowd. In the middle of all those unfamiliar faces, seeing someone I knew—it helped. I don't know if it showed, but I was scared out of my mind.»

Angel turned to him, visibly surprised. «You? Scared? Shotty, you're shattering my illusions!» he exclaimed, placing a hand over his chest in mock disbelief, though this time the dramatics weren't entirely insincere.

Eddie huffed, amused. «Of course! I've never done anything like that before. But… seeing you there kind of… pushed me, you know? So… thanks. For being there.»

Angel froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity of Eddie's gratitude. His usual snarky reply got stuck in his throat as he looked at Headshot, so open, so… damn beautiful. Turning to lean against the railing, his thin torso resting against it, Angel pulled a cigarette box from the pocket of his shirt with his lower hands.

«No problem, Shotty,» he said, his voice casual, though it failed to mask the warmth that was steadily growing inside pulled a cigarette from the pack and slipped it between his lips, then extended the box toward Eddie with a casual gesture. «Want one?» he asked lightly, though his eyes kept studying him.

Eddie raised a hand, shrugging. «Oh, I quit a while ago...»

Angel arched an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from his voice. «Why? Afraid of dying from lung cancer?» he asked with a chuckle, the idea of breaking such a habit in Hell itself clearly amusing to him.

Eddie grimaced. Angel had a point—fighting vices in a place like this was almost laughable. And at that moment, just to keep him company, he found himself willing to give in to the old habit. «Alright, fine.» he admitted, reaching for a cigarette. «But I don't have a light.»

Without missing a beat, Angel flicked open a lighter, holding the tiny flame between them. The flickering light danced in the darkness, a spark that seemed to illuminate more than just their surroundings. Both leaned in to light their cigarettes, and Eddie realized too late just how close they were.

Their faces were mere inches apart, and the sweet scent of honey and tobacco that clung to Angel blended with the acrid smell of the flame.

Eddie's heart skipped a beat, and for a fleeting moment, the faint blue glow of his veins shimmered beneath his velvety skin, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. He pulled back abruptly, taking a deep drag on the cigarette as if trying to smother the overwhelming rush of emotion.

Angel, who had caught the brief glow, smiled to himself but said nothing. Instead, he leaned back against the railing, watching Eddie with a calmness that belied the storm inside his own head.

Eddie exhaled a cloud of smoke, eager to steer the conversation back to safer ground. «I'll admit, I missed this. Not even sure why I quit.»

Angel chuckled, taking a theatrical drag from his own cigarette. «Maybe you wanted to be a good boy,» he teased lightly. Then, without looking at him, he added, «Though, if you ask me, you're better at just being… yourself.»

Eddie kept his eyes on Angel, the smoke curling around his gaze like a veil. His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm both familiar and foreign—stronger, more insistent. He said nothing, but the silence between them felt heavy, as though words would have been unnecessary.

In that moment, beneath the faint stars and with the infernal city glowing in the distance, Eddie allowed himself to savor the calm—the rare serenity of simply existing next to Angel Dust.
Meanwhile, just behind them, Molly was casually walking down the hallway, a book in her hand she planned to finish before bed. She froze mid-step when she saw her brother and Angel leaning against the balcony, so close, immersed in their little bubble of shared silence.

Molly's eyes widened, and her mouth formed a small "o." Excitement bubbled up inside her, her hands trembling as she fumbled for her phone in the pocket of her hoodie. «Oh my God…» she whispered to herself, trying not to laugh or squeal. Struggling to keep quiet, she raised her phone and snapped a photo in secret, angling it perfectly to capture the moment without being noticed.

In the picture, Angel's tall, slender figure leaned ever so slightly toward Eddie's sturdier, broader form. Both seemed lost in their own thoughts, with tendrils of cigarette smoke curling upward into the night sky. Molly stared at the image on her screen, feeling a swell of emotion that nearly brought tears to her eyes—it was just too perfect.

Biting back a squeal, she ducked around the corner and started typing furiously. She sent the photo to Charlie, accompanying it with a dramatically enthusiastic caption: "Shield and Spider strike again! ️️️" along with a flurry of spider, shield, and hearts pierced by arrows emojis.

Unaware of the little scheme unfolding behind them, Eddie and Angel stayed where they were, wrapped in a silence that was anything but empty. Or perhaps, as Eddie might have put it, deliberately unaware.

Eddie's antennae had twitched slightly when Molly approached, and a quick glance down the hall had confirmed her presence and her not-so-stealthy movements. But he chose to stay quiet—maybe because he didn't want to break the harmony of the moment, or maybe because he knew his sister well enough to understand there was no stopping her when she got this exuberant.
Angel, for his part, seemed completely absorbed by the view before them. The infernal horizon was a patchwork of flickering lights and ominous shadows, a panorama that, in its own strange way, managed to be breathtakingly beautiful. The smoke from their cigarettes mingled with the hazy night air, performing a soft, weightless dance.

Eddie glanced at Angel again, stealing fleeting looks at the details of his profile: the way the faint starlight reflected off his pink stripes, the almost hypnotic rhythm of his lower arms as they tapped lightly against the railing. It struck him, more and more, like a painting he couldn't stop admiring.

«You know what's weird?» Eddie said, breaking the silence.

Angel turned toward him, raising an eyebrow. «What?»

Eddie shifted slightly, his veins faintly glowing with their residual blue light. «That in a place like this, living a life like this… there are moments like this. Quiet. Almost normal.»

Angel smiled, softer than usual, his sharp edges momentarily dulled. «Well, Shotty, I guess even Hell's gotta give us a break sometimes. Otherwise, we'd all lose it.» He paused, his cerise eyes catching the dim light. «Or, you know, lose it even more.»

Eddie chuckled, a low and warm sound that seemed to make the air feel lighter. And so, ignoring—or perhaps accepting—Molly's little schemes and the strange calm around them, the two stayed there, watching the horizon as the smoke drifted away and time seemed to hold its breath.

Eddie turned slightly toward Angel, his gaze contemplative. «Sometimes…» he began, his tone almost casual, «…I think that if everything went to hell—well, more than it already is—I'd at least know who I'd want by my side when it all falls apart.»

Angel tilted his head, his sly smile widening. «Oh, so you're saying I'd have to put up with your face during the apocalypse? Wow, Shotty, what an honor.» His tone was theatrical, but beneath it, there was a warmth he couldn't fully hide.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. «Could be worse, you know. I've seen worse.»

Angel paused, taking one last drag of his cigarette before extinguishing it elegantly against the railing. «Well, just so you know, I don't back down. If chaos comes, I want front-row seats. But only if it comes with a decent view.»

Angel's mismatched eyes flicked to Eddie briefly, a glimmer of something deeper flashing in their depths before vanishing just as quickly.

Eddie noticed it—or maybe he felt it—like a gentle breeze brushing past. «Then I guess we've got a deal, Dust.» His smile was calm, but the faint glow of his veins betrayed something stirring beneath the surface.

Angel laughed softly, shaking his head. «A deal, huh? You're always so formal. But fine, Shotty. We stick together… no matter what happens.»

He said it with his usual lightness, but the words lingered in the air, heavier than either of them would admit—a quiet promise neither fully understood but both felt deeply.

The night stretched on in quiet stillness, but the silence between them was no longer empty. Something had shifted, a fragile thread pulling them closer together. A thread that, whether they realized it or not, would only tighten as time went on.