Five days had passed since Charlie's coronation—five days since she'd stood before Hell's throngs, her crimson suit gleaming, gold accents sharp, vowing to forge a better realm from her father's legacy. Five days, and chaos had swallowed her whole. The Reborn's rise, lockdowns, evacuations, Lute's brutal assault—meetings blurred into investigations, emergency protocols stacking like bricks on her shoulders. Rest was a phantom, chased away by relentless duty.

She'd soared above Pentagram City, wings slicing the sulfurous air, scanning the outskirts as the Reborn multiplied—mindless husks, alive yet vacant, their numbers swelling with no purpose she could grasp. Her clash with Lute replayed in her mind, the Exorcist's impossible speed and strength a jagged thorn of dread. Answers eluded her, slipping through her grasp like smoke.

Charlie exhaled, rubbing her temples as she stood in the Grand Hall, its rune-carved walls looming under hellfire chandeliers. The weight of those five days bore down, fracturing the control she'd clung to. If anyone could pierce this mystery, it was the king who'd ruled before her. She snatched her phone, firing off a summons to her father, fingers trembling faintly.

The massive doors groaned open, admitting Lucifer and Lilith. Charlie rose, wings twitching behind her suit, masking her exhaustion with a queen's poise. Lucifer approached, crimson eyes sweeping the table's chaos—scattered reports, maps, ink-stained notes. "Well," he drawled, brow arching, "you've certainly kept the fires stoked."

Lilith glided beside him, her sharp gaze softening as it settled on Charlie. "You're not sleeping enough," she said, voice edged with quiet worry.

Charlie sighed, a faint slump in her shoulders. "Sleep's a luxury I can't afford, Mom."

"No one ever can," Lilith countered, dry as ash.

Lucifer leaned on the table, his clawed hand brushing parchment aside, eyes narrowing. "I doubt this is a social call. Updates?"

Charlie nodded, shoving documents clear. "Anything in the records? Any hint of this before?"

Lucifer's head shook, his face a mask of stone. "Nothing. The dead don't rise in Hell—not like this."

Her grimace deepened, teeth grazing her cheek's inside. The answer she'd dreaded. She steadied herself, voice firm. "Then I need your help."

Lucifer's brow lifted, a spark of intrigue flickering. "Oh? A royal decree so soon? Tongues will wag."

"Dad," she snapped, patience thinning.

He waved a hand, mock mirth dancing in his eyes. "Fine, fine. What's the task?"

Charlie stepped toward the hall's arched windows, glass glinting with the city's neon haze. "The Reborn are massing southwest, in Carmilla's district—skirting the city, coming from the wastes. We don't know why." Her wings shifted, feathers rustling faintly.

Lucifer's smirk faded, his gaze sharpening. "You want me to scout."

"Yes," she said, turning to face him. "Fly further out—beyond the outskirts. Look for anything odd, anything we've overlooked."

He hummed, stroking his chin, crimson eyes glinting thoughtfully. "The wastes stretch wide, Charlie. If something's stirring out there, it's not lounging nearby."

"Then take your time," she pressed, urgency cutting her tone. "I won't wait for it to reach us first."

Lilith's voice sliced through, piercing and calm. "You think something's summoning them."

Charlie swallowed, her golden eyes steady. "I know it is."

A tense silence hung between them, the Grand Hall's rune-etched walls swallowing the echo of their words. Lucifer exhaled, pushing off the table with a resigned groan. "Alright, then. I'll poke around Hell's far corners and see what's stirring."

Relief flickered in Charlie's chest, fleeting but tangible, easing the knot there. Lilith's sharp gaze lingered, unease shadowing her poised frame.

"And if you find something?" Lilith asked, voice low.

Lucifer's smirk returned, stripped of its usual bravado. "You'll hear it first, my dear." His crimson eyes met Charlie's, softening briefly. "Be careful," she said, wings folding tight against her suit.

His grin widened, theatrical and mocking. "Please, Charlie. It's me." She sighed—his confidence was exactly her worry.

He didn't dawdle. Spinning on his heel, his long coat flared like a dark flame as he strode toward the archway. With a snap, a portal blazed open—crimson and gold swirling like molten blood. "Back before you miss me," he called, vanishing into the southwest wastes without a glance, the portal winking out with a faint crackle.

Charlie's breath eased out, the silence settling like dust. Lilith remained by the table, her piercing eyes studying Charlie with a mother's scrutiny. Charlie shifted under the weight of it, brushing soot from her crimson suit. "What?" she asked, forcing a lightness she didn't feel.

Lilith tilted her head, weighing her response. "You're tired," she said, her tone cutting through pretense.

Charlie's lips quirked faintly. "Everyone seems to agree on that."

Lilith's expression held, but a rare softness glimmered beneath her edge. "Have you eaten today?"

Charlie faltered, caught. Lilith's brow arched, expectant. "Thought so," she murmured.

"I don't have time—" Charlie began, but Lilith stepped closer, cutting her off. "You do. Even queens need sustenance."

Charlie relented, recognizing that tone—unyielding, maternal. She gestured toward a plush sitting area nestled in the hall's corner, its velvet chairs a stark contrast to the chaos-strewn table. "Fine. Tea?"

Lilith blinked, surprise flickering across her face. Charlie smirked, a spark of mischief breaking through. "What? You look like you could use it too."

For a heartbeat, Lilith stared, then exhaled, her shoulders easing. "A cup wouldn't hurt," she conceded.

Charlie moved to a nearby cart, pouring tea with practiced grace—hellflower and citrus leaves blooming in the air, a warm, fleeting balm. She handed Lilith a cup, porcelain delicate against her clawed hands, and sank into a chair, wings rustling as she settled. Lilith sat opposite, cradling her tea, watching as Charlie's tension unwound, if only for a moment.

The world's weight lifted—no Reborn, no Lute, no looming threats—just the steam curling between them, quiet and still. Charlie let the warmth seep into her palms, her golden eyes softening as she breathed, truly breathed, for the first time in days.

She lifted her cup to her lips, taking a small sip before glancing at her mother across the table.

"So," she started, tilting her head slightly. "How am I doing?"

Lilith arched a single perfectly shaped brow. "You're asking me?"

Charlie chuckled. "You always have your ear to the ground. What's the general consensus on Queen Morningstar so far?"

Lilith hummed, setting her cup down with a soft clink against the saucer.

"Surprisingly good," she admitted. "The people of Hell are a… prickly bunch, to say the least. They don't trust easily. They certainly don't worship the ground you walk on. But…"

She gave a small, thoughtful pause.

"They see you working."

Charlie felt something tight in her chest loosen.

"Really?"

Lilith nodded. "You haven't hidden in your palace. You haven't ignored what's happening. You've been out there, flying above the city, meeting with leaders, handling crisis after crisis. And that means something."

Charlie smiled faintly, relieved, but before she could relax too much—

"Of course," Lilith continued, her tone turning slightly drier, "you have your enemies already."

Charlie's brows furrowed. "That's normal.. right?"

"Obviously."

"Who?"

Lilith lifted her cup again, taking a slow sip before answering.

"A few Overlords…Vox and Valentino, of note."

Charlie sat up a little straighter, her suspicions immediately flaring.

"What do you mean? What have Vox and Val done?"

Lilith hesitated.

A beat too long.

Charlie's eyes narrowed.

Lilith's gaze flickered down to her cup, her lips pressing together slightly before she said, almost too casually—

"Oh… I thought you had seen."

Charlie's stomach twisted.

That was not a good sign.

Charlie immediately tensed, her wings giving a slight twitch as she leaned forward.

"Seen what?" she pressed, her molten gold eyes narrowing.

Lilith sighed, shaking her head, finally setting down her tea cup before folding her hands neatly in her lap.

"Vox is running constant news reports, trying to paint you in a bad light," she said smoothly, as if discussing the weather.

Charlie stiffened, her wings giving a slight twitch as she sat up straighter.

"Vox is running hit pieces on me?"

Lilith sighed, leaning back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Oh, constantly. He's spinning the Reborn as your fault—saying your 'ideals of redemption' have disrupted the natural order and now demons are rising from the dead."

Charlie's jaw clenched. "That's ridiculous."

"Obviously," Lilith agreed. "But that doesn't stop people from believing it. His network reaches almost everyone in Hell, and he's hammering the same message over and over again—'This all started when Queen Morningstar took the throne. Coincidence?'"

Charlie groaned, rubbing her face.

"The worst part?" Lilith continued. "He's not outright lying. He's just framing it that way."

"Great," Charlie muttered.

"The good news?" Lilith smirked slightly. "Your father made a substantial donation to multiple smaller networks, so your approval ratings aren't sinking entirely. Even an Overlord can't completely shut the Morningstars out."

Charlie exhaled. "So, it's not just a one-sided smear campaign."

"Not entirely," Lilith confirmed. "But Vox still has a higher pull than most of the independent stations. So, while you're not drowning, you're still treading water."

"Fantastic," Charlie muttered, taking another sip of her tea.

"Now, Valentino, on the other hand…"

Charlie frowned. "What about Val? What's he doing?"

Lilith was silent for a second.

Then, she cleared her throat. "He's, uh… back to making his porn."

Charlie blinked.

"…Okay? And?"

Lilith's face twitched, and for the first time in a very, very long time, she looked mildly uncomfortable.

She hesitated.

Then—to Charlie's growing concern—her mother actually blushed.

"It's better if I just… show you."

Lilith pulled out her cell phone, tapping the screen with deliberate precision, clearly searching for something.

Charlie leaned forward, her concern growing. "Mom?"

Lilith turned her phone, sliding it across the table with a faint scrape. Charlie snatched it, her golden eyes darting to the screen—and her mind imploded. Valentino's latest posters glared back: Morningstar's First Time – A Royal Awakening , Holy and Horny – The Angel, The Queen, and Their Blasphemous Love , Sapphic Sins – Vaggie Tames the Queen , Morningstar in the Sheets – Heavenly Bodies, Hellish Passion , Hell's Favorite Power Throuple – When the Queen Submits . Worst of all, the star: Look-alike Charlie Morningwood . Her wings snapped wide, a flush scorching her face as she choked out a strangled, "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Lilith sipped her tea, serene as ever, eyes averted. "So, yes," she said, voice velvet-smooth, "that's happening."

Charlie gaped, her cup clattering against the saucer. "WHY DIDN'T YOU START WITH THIS?!"

Lilith glanced up, smirking faintly. "Would it have softened the blow?"

Groaning, Charlie thrust the phone back, her voice rising. "He's making porn of me—Emily—Vaggie! Oh my God!"

Lilith shrugged, unruffled. "Technically, it's 'Charlie Morningwood.'"

"That's NOT BETTER!" Charlie buried her face in her hands, her wings quivering with mortification.

Lilith sipped again, calm as a still lake. "On the bright side, it's a hit. Hell's quite taken with—"

"MOM, STOP!" Charlie's plea cut through, desperate.

Lilith's laugh rang soft and sharp. "Vox wants your throne shaken. Valentino just wants you… profitable."

Charlie slumped, her crimson suit creasing, looking ready to combust. "I'm killing him."

"Warn me first," Lilith quipped, pocketing her phone, amusement glinting. "I'd pay to see it."

Charlie groaned louder, palms pressing harder against her flaming face. "What the actual fuck?!"

Lilith set her cup down with a delicate clink, unfazed. "Don't overreact, dear."

"OVERREACT?!" Charlie snapped upright, eyes wild. "Valentino's churning out smut about me, and I'm supposed to shrug?!"

Lilith arched a brow, tilting her head. "If you think I've dodged such tributes over centuries, you're dreaming."

Charlie made a guttural, horrified noise, clapping her hands over her ears. "NOPE. NOT HEARING THIS."

Lilith pressed on, swirling her tea with a thoughtful hum. "It's inevitable for public figures. People… indulge."

"STOP!" Charlie gagged, voice cracking.

"Don't be prudish," Lilith chided, waving a dismissive hand. "The issue isn't its existence—it's that you're not cashing in."

Charlie froze, hands dropping as her jaw fell slack, staring in abject horror. "What?!"

Lilith leaned back, smirking with regal nonchalance. "You heard me."

"Mom," Charlie rasped, disbelief choking her.

"Charlotte," Lilith echoed, scrolling her phone idly.

"Tell me you didn't just say that."

"Why do you think our wealth endures?" Lilith mused, eyes glinting. "Not just palace coffers—I staked my claim early, took my cut of the profits."

Charlie's stomach lurched, her voice a strangled whisper. "YOU TOOK SALES?!"

Lilith shrugged with effortless grace, her sharp nails glinting as she lifted her teacup. "Would you rather they profit off your image entirely, or claim a share for yourself?"

Charlie's soul seemed to claw for escape, her golden eyes wide with horror. "I—I don't—you—" she stammered, clutching her hair, strands slipping through her fingers.

Lilith smirked, unfazed. "A cornerstone of the Morningstar fortune, darling. I don't lift a finger—just collect a cut from every sale. And trust me, they're still raking it in."

Charlie collapsed face-first onto the table, the polished wood cool against her burning cheeks, a pitiful groan escaping her. "I'm going to die."

Lilith hummed, swirling her tea. "You're fine. Thank me later—control your image, or someone else will. It's Hell; everything's a commodity."

Charlie's wings twitched in distress, her muffled voice rising. "You enjoy flustering me way too much."

Lilith's smile gleamed, unapologetic. "It's Queen training, dear."

Lifting her head, Charlie narrowed her eyes, suspicion sparking. "Queen training?"

Lilith nodded, poised as ever. "Fluster you enough, and you'll forge a poker face of steel."

Charlie's dry laugh cracked the air as she dragged a hand down her face. "Or you'll give me a stroke by year's end."

"That's also an option," Lilith quipped, smirking wider.

Charlie groaned, rubbing her temples, the hellflower scent of her tea a faint anchor. Her mother required a whole new tier of patience. She leaned back, the chair creaking under her wings, the weight of the past day—Lute's thrashing, Valentino's smut—still heavy. "What about you and Dad?" she asked, eyeing Lilith. "What've you been up to while Hell's imploding?"

Lilith swirled her tea, watching the liquid dance before replying. "Your father's barely left the study, truth be told."

Charlie blinked, surprised. "Really? I pictured him stirring chaos somewhere."

Lilith chuckled low, shaking her head. "Oh, he is—just not how you'd think. When he emerges, we've been scouring the Rings—digging through old artifacts, lost legends, buried scrolls—for any thread tied to this mess."

Charlie straightened, her cup clinking softly. "You're hunting answers?"

"Of course," Lilith said, sipping slowly before her gaze sharpened. "We are doing everything we can to help you, Darling.. We've tapped every resource since it started."

Charlie stared, processing. "I thought you'd delegate to scholars and enjoy retirement."

Lilith laughed, rich and amused, setting her cup down. "Charlotte, dear." Her eyes locked onto her daughter's, softening yet firm. "We'll never leave you to shoulder Hell alone."

Charlie's breath snagged, a lump rising in her throat.

Lilith's voice gentled, resolute. "The moment this began, we rallied every scholar, archivist, servant—searching nonstop. We haven't paused."

Charlie sat speechless, the warmth of her tea seeping into her hands, grounding her as Lilith's words sank deep.

Charlie's fingers brushed the tabletop, warmth spreading through her chest—not just from her mother's words, but the unshakable certainty behind them. Days of bearing Hell's chaos alone had frayed her edges, every choice a solitary burden. Yet here, in Lilith's steady gaze, she glimpsed truth: she wasn't alone. She swallowed, a small smile breaking through as she met those sharp violet eyes. "Thank you."

Lilith's lips curved faintly, a rare softness flickering as she leaned back, lifting her teacup with regal ease. "You're welcome, dear. Now finish your tea before it cools."

Silence settled, comfortable yet weighted, as they sipped. Lilith set her cup down with a delicate clink, her scrutiny pinning Charlie, who shifted under its intensity, the crimson suit rustling faintly. "Charlotte," Lilith began, voice firm yet measured, "if you're to rule Hell, you must delegate."

Charlie opened her mouth, but Lilith's raised hand silenced her, sharp nails glinting. "Not retreat," she clarified, "but self-care. You're the Queen—be present, but don't break yourself."

Charlie frowned, glancing at her half-empty cup, hellflower steam curling upward. "I know, but—"

"No," Lilith interrupted, smooth as silk. "You think you know, yet you're fraying at the seams. You can't mend everything alone. You have allies—use them."

Charlie sighed, raking a hand through her hair, strands catching on her claws. "Yeah, delegate, rest, don't collapse. I hear you."

Lilith's look was unimpressed, brow arching. "If you truly heard, I wouldn't repeat myself."

Huffing, Charlie sipped her tea, the citrus bite grounding her. After a beat, Lilith tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Have you done the commitment ceremony with Emily yet?"

Charlie sputtered, tea sloshing as she set the cup down, wiping her mouth with a flustered swipe. "What? No! We haven't—there's no time."

Lilith's brow lifted higher. "No time?"

"Emily's stuck in Heaven," Charlie muttered, rubbing her temples, wings twitching. "I barely text her at night to check in. A ceremony? There's no room for it."

Lilith exhaled sharply, shaking her head, the sound a quiet rebuke. "Then make room."

Charlie blinked, startled by the sudden gravity in her mother's tone. Lilith leaned forward, chin resting on interlaced fingers, her gaze piercing yet soft. "Charlie, time runs thin in Hell—unpredictably so."

A chill snaked down Charlie's spine, her throat tightening. "I know," she whispered.

Lilith's eyes gentled, but her voice held firm. "Then act like it."

The words landed heavy, stirring a whirl of neglected moments—promises to Emily, stolen glances at her phone, plans shoved aside for "later." This wasn't a scolding; it was a warning, urgent and raw. Lilith leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur, intimate and pressing. "You owe it to yourself. When Emily returns, take an hour—just one. Show her your love."

Charlie's chest ached, the weight of time's fragility sinking deep, her mother's wisdom a quiet, unyielding beacon.

Charlie's throat tightened, her fingers curling around the half-empty teacup as she shrank beneath Lilith's piercing gaze. "Mom, I—" she began, but Lilith shook her head, a subtle cut-off.

"If the worst comes," Lilith said, her voice steady yet laced with a fragile edge, "you need to know you seized your chance. That's all." Her usual sharpness softened, her violet eyes holding Charlie not as Hell's Queen, but as her child.

Charlie blinked, startled by the rare tenderness. Lilith reached out, her cool fingers cupping Charlie's cheek, a quiet anchor. "I love you, Charlie," she murmured, soft and raw. "And I'm so, so proud of you."

Her breath snagged, eyes misting as she leaned into the touch, wings quivering faintly. "I love you too, Mom," she whispered, voice thick.

Lilith's lips curved, a knowing glint returning as she withdrew. "Good. I'd hate to ground you for ignoring me."

Charlie rolled her eyes, a smile tugging free. "Fine," she said, setting her cup down with a clink. "I'll spend time with Vaggie. Call if anything shifts?"

Lilith smirked, pleased. "Of course, darling. Go—enjoy yourself for once."

With a dramatic sigh, Charlie stretched her wings—gold and crimson feathers catching the light—then folded them neatly, striding toward the doors. One night, she could steal.

She stepped into the Hazbin Hotel's lobby soon after, neon lights bathing the walls in a kaleidoscope of reds and purples, a balm against Hell's turmoil. The Reborn, Lute, the unknown loomed—but here, normalcy flickered. Her golden eyes scanned the room, landing on Vaggie—silver hair spilling over her shoulder, lounging on the couch, phone in hand.

Charlie's wings twitched, warmth blooming as she softened her voice. "Hey."

Vaggie glanced up, her single eye softening instantly, tension melting from Charlie's frame. "Hey, babe," she murmured, tossing her phone aside. "You okay?"

Charlie hesitated, then sighed, sinking beside her. "Not really."

Vaggie didn't pry—just took her hand, pulling her close. Charlie melted into the embrace, resting her head on Vaggie's shoulder, the world fading to a hum. Her gaze drifted to their clasped hands, engagement rings glinting under the neon glow—simple bands forged in trust. A smile curved her lips as she traced Vaggie's ring, the metal cool against her fingertips. "I love this," she murmured, voice tender, layered with depth.

Vaggie tilted her head, grinning. "The ring?" she teased. "Or me?"

Charlie chuckled, leaning in, her lips brushing Vaggie's cheek in a slow, lingering kiss, savoring the moment. "Both."

Vaggie's smirk widened, brow arching. "Oh?"

Charlie straightened, her golden eyes sparking with mischief as she clasped Vaggie's hand, tugging her up from the couch. "Let's head upstairs," she said, voice casual but laced with intent, a sly edge curling her lips.

Vaggie blinked, then grinned, stepping closer, her silver hair catching the neon glow. "Tired already?"

Charlie laughed, wings twitching as she steered them toward the elevator, her fingers brushing Vaggie's wrist. "Not even close." She leaned in, breath warm against Vaggie's ear. "I've got energy to burn, and you're my favorite way to spend it."

Vaggie's breath hitched, a chuckle escaping as she laced her fingers tighter with Charlie's. "Oh, you're trouble tonight. Lead on, Queenie."

Charlie pressed the elevator button, the ding sharp in the quiet lobby. As the doors parted, she shot Vaggie a look—golden eyes glinting with promise, a silent vow that the night was theirs. They stepped inside, the doors sliding shut, sealing out Hell's clamor. No crown, no crises—just them.

The suite door clicked behind them, a soft barrier against the world. Charlie exhaled, shoulders easing, wings giving a relieved flutter as she shed her queenly weight. Vaggie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirking faintly. "You look beat."

Charlie stepped forward, laughter soft as she took Vaggie's hands, pulling her close. "You're supposed to say I'm gorgeous."

Vaggie rolled her eye, smirk softening, her grip tightening. "You always are—exhausted or not."

Charlie's smile widened, and she leaned in, lips grazing Vaggie's in a teasing brush before sinking into a deeper kiss—slow, warm, a balm of reassurance. Vaggie's arms slid around her waist, fingers tracing the small of her back, igniting shivers. Charlie sighed into it, tilting her head, savoring the gentle dance of Vaggie's touch along her spine.

Pulling back, Vaggie rested her forehead against Charlie's, noses brushing. "Stay here," Charlie whispered, voice a tender thread.

Vaggie's lips quirked, fingers tugging playfully at Charlie's shirt hem. "Where else would I go when you're looking at me like that?"

Charlie grinned, mischief flaring anew. "Good answer." She nipped Vaggie's lower lip, earning a soft laugh, then tugged her toward the bed, their hands tangled in a playful wrestle. "Think you can keep up with me tonight?"

Vaggie arched a brow, stepping closer, her voice dropping low. "Try me, Princess." She brushed a kiss along Charlie's jaw, lingering just enough to tease.

Laughter spilled between them, muffled by light kisses as they stumbled onto the sheets, the night unfolding in their own rhythm—unhurried, theirs alone, a sanctuary from the storm outside.

The suite hummed with stillness, neon light seeping through the curtains, casting a soft, kaleidoscopic glow across the Hazbin Hotel's cityscape beyond. Charlie sprawled across the warm sheets, golden hair fanning around her shoulders, her bare skin tingling with lingering contentment. Vaggie draped over her, head nestled just above Charlie's breast, their bodies intertwined in the afterglow, a quiet symphony of closeness.

Charlie's fingers traced lazy circles above Vaggie's lower back, grazing her skin with featherlight touches, relishing the calm radiating from her fiancée. Vaggie sighed, her breath a warm whisper against Charlie's chest as she burrowed closer, silver hair spilling like liquid moonlight. For the first time in days, peace wrapped Charlie like a blanket. She tightened her arm around Vaggie's waist, pressing a tender kiss to her crown. "I talked to Mom today," she murmured.

Vaggie hummed, drowsy, her fingers sketching idle patterns along Charlie's side. "Oh yeah?"

Charlie exhaled, head tilting back against the pillows, the ceiling a blur of shadow and light. "Vox and Val are stirring their usual chaos."

Vaggie scoffed, voice soft but sharp. "Naturally."

Charlie hesitated, her fingers pausing on Vaggie's skin before she sighed. "Valentino's making… look-alike porn."

Vaggie lifted her head, brow arching, eye glinting with curiosity. "Of who?"

Rubbing her face, Charlie muttered, "Me. You. Emily."

A beat of silence, then Vaggie smirked, propping herself on an elbow, hair cascading over her shoulder. "Yeah, I know."

Charlie blinked, startled. "Wait—you knew?"

"Angel's been tracking Val," Vaggie said, her fingers trailing down Charlie's stomach, sparking a shiver. "Even free of him, he keeps tabs." She leaned down, kissing Charlie's jaw with teasing warmth.

Charlie groaned dramatically, flopping back, arm over her forehead, the other anchoring Vaggie close. "I'll never unsee it. Mom said I should claim the profits."

Vaggie chuckled low, her lips brushing Charlie's shoulder. "She's got a point."

Sitting up slightly, Charlie gaped, incredulous. "You're siding with her?"

Vaggie shrugged, smirking. "They'll make it regardless, babe. Might as well cash in."

Charlie groaned louder, hands covering her face. "This conversation is unreal."

Laughing, Vaggie pressed another lazy kiss to her shoulder. "Angel said it's… tame for Val. Soft stuff—hand-holding, kisses, tender vibes."

Charlie peeked through her fingers, brow furrowing. "Valentino? Soft?"

"Yeah," Vaggie confirmed, chin resting on Charlie's chest, her smirk widening. "It's a hit. Turns out demons are a little love deprived."

Charlie narrowed her eyes, voice dry. "You're way too chill about this."

Vaggie stretched, settling back against her, laughter soft. "It's not us, Charlie—just knockoffs. Means they're obsessed." Her fingers danced along Charlie's ribs, playful and light, coaxing a reluctant grin.

Then—her phone buzzed, a sharp jolt against the nightstand. She groaned, ignoring it, her arm draped lazily over Vaggie's waist, unwilling to shatter their fragile peace. A second buzz. A third. Then ringing sliced through the quiet, insistent and shrill.

Charlie muttered, "Seriously?" stretching an arm to fumble blindly for the device, her fingers brushing wood as the sound died—only to flare again, a relentless clamor. Her pulse quickened, a prickle of dread cutting through her drowsy haze. One call could wait; this barrage screamed emergency. She snapped upright, snatching the phone, Lilith's name glaring in stark white. Her stomach sank like a stone.

Swiping to answer, her voice cut sharp. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Lilith's reply crackled through, tight and urgent. "Charlie—the Reborn have turned violent."

Ice surged through her veins, chilling the warmth from her bones. "What?!"

"They're rioting in the Carmine District—right now," Lilith said, her usual poise fraying. "No warning, no trigger. They were just standing there, then started tearing everything apart."

Charlie flung the blankets back, scrambling out of bed, wings snapping wide as her heart hammered against her ribs. "How bad?"

"Bad," Lilith snapped, voice clipped. "Streets are a warzone—buildings smashed, demons fleeing. It's chaos. I've dispatched Goetia to lock the area down currently."

Her mind spun, thoughts colliding as she yanked on her crimson suit, gold accents flashing in the dim light. The Reborn's eerie silence, their growing ranks—it had been a prelude, and now the storm broke. "I'm on my way," she said, already halfway into her jacket, the fabric cool against her flushed skin.

Vaggie jolted upright, silver hair a wild cascade, her single eye sharpening. "Charlie?"

"The Reborn," Charlie replied, lacing her shoes with frantic precision, the leather creaking under her haste. "They're attacking."

Vaggie sprang up, grabbing her spear and belt, movements fluid and fierce. "I'm with you."

"Good." Charlie dialed Emily, hitting speaker and tossing the phone onto the rumpled sheets as she strapped on her shield, its weight a familiar anchor. Vaggie mirrored her urgency, buckling her holster, the spear's tip glinting ominously.

The phone rang once, twice—Emily's voice broke through, eager and bubbly. "Hey Charlie, what's up?"

"It's bad," Charlie said, tugging her trident free from its stand, the prongs catching the neon glow. "The Reborn are rioting in Carmilla's district—no buildup, just snapped."

A beat, then Emily cursed, low and fierce. "How bad?"

"Bad enough Mom's rattled," Charlie said, shoving her phone to her ear as she paced, boots thudding against the floor. "I'm heading there now."

"I'll ram Heaven into gear," Emily vowed, frustration biting her words. "Michael's dragging his heels, but I'll make him move."

"Force him," Charlie urged, wings twitching, the shield's strap biting into her shoulder. "We're going to do our best to keep this in one district—but we need help."

Vaggie stood ready, spear gripped tight, her stance unyielding. Emily's sigh hissed through the line. "If they're hitting with purpose, something sparked it. Find it."

"I will," Charlie promised, her voice steel. Then Emily softened, a thread of fear weaving in. "And Charlie? Don't die before I'm back beside you."

Her chest tightened, but she mustered a faint, defiant smile. "Not happening. I love you Em. See you soon."

Call ended, phone pocketed, she locked eyes with Vaggie—resolute, fierce. "Let's go."

With a sharp gesture, a portal flared to life—crimson and gold swirling like a tempest's core, the air humming with power. They stepped through, plunging into the heart of Hell's unraveling chaos.

Charlie and Vaggie stumbled from the golden portal onto the high-rise rooftop, the wind snagging at their clothes—Charlie's crimson suit flapping sharply, gold accents glinting as she steadied herself, Vaggie's silver hair whipping across her face as she clutched her spear. "Brace yourself," Charlie muttered, her voice tight, stepping to the ledge. Below, Carmilla's district churned in anarchy, far worse than she'd feared. The Reborn flooded the streets—thousands strong, their erratic jerks now laced with venomous intent, no longer the aimless husks she'd tracked days ago.

Glass shards tumbled from shattered storefronts, furniture lay splintered across the pavement, and the district's proud arteries were clogged with ruin. "Holy shit," Vaggie hissed, her spear tilting as she leaned forward, eye wide. The Reborn raged—claws slashing wood, raking stone, leaving gashes in walls. They flipped carts with guttural roars, smashed lamps into sparking heaps, and ripped signs from their moorings, metal screeching in protest. Charlie's stomach twisted, her wings rustling against her suit. "They're pissed," she said, her golden eyes darting over the carnage. "No hesitation—just destruction."

Vaggie scowled, shifting her weight. "Last check, they were just drifting. What the hell changed?"

Charlie shook her head, jaw clenching. "No clue, but we're not waiting to find out." She scanned frantically, relief flickering as she saw no civilians—Carmilla had cleared the streets, heeding her evacuation call. "At least no one's caught in this," she murmured, though the thought did little to ease her.

Lilith's handiwork was evident. Hellborn squads manned intersections, blades drawn, magic snapping in the air as spellcasters conjured towering barriers—shimmering walls of infernal red and violet pulsing under the city's neon glow. "Mom's not messing around," Charlie said, tracing the barricades' lines, her voice catching as a Reborn slammed against one, claws screeching. "They're trapped—for now."

Vaggie squinted, her spear's tip glinting. "They've got them pinned? That's holding?"

"For now," Charlie replied, wings twitching as she gripped the ledge. The Reborn didn't relent, thrashing within their glowing cage, tearing at anything in reach. "They don't care they're stuck—they just keep going."

"This isn't chaos for chaos' sake," Charlie added, her tone sharpening as she pointed. "Look—they dodge each other, skirt debris, hit specific targets. There's a purpose."

Vaggie's brow furrowed, her grip tightening. "You're saying they're aware?"

"Not completely," Charlie said, her eyes locking on a cluster of Reborn veering toward an old Carmine warehouse. "But watch." They didn't demolish it—claws pried doors apart, and they slipped inside, shadows swallowing them. "What the fuck?" Vaggie muttered, stepping closer, spear raised.

Charlie launched off the ledge, hovering above the warehouse, Vaggie trailing her. "They're not trashing it like the rest," Charlie said, her voice low, urgent. "They're after something." Her wings beat steadily, the wind tugging at her suit as she stared down, pulse hammering. "I spoke with Carmine. She swore there was nothing in her district that would interest these things.."

Vaggie hovered beside her, frowning. "We going in?"

Charlie held up a hand, hesitating. "Wait. Let's see." Her gut screamed caution—blind action wouldn't crack this. Seconds dragged into minutes, the rooftop wind howling as they watched, tense and silent.

Then the Reborn emerged, and Charlie's blood froze. They carried weapons—long, gleaming blades of angelic steel, their edges catching the neon light with deadly promise. "No," she whispered, voice trembling as she hovered lower. "No, no—Vaggie, tell me that's not what I think it is."

Vaggie's face paled, her spear dipping slightly. "Charlie, that's angelic steel. Fuck."

Not Hell's jagged iron, not scavenged junk—angelic steel, the Sinner's final end. And they weren't just clutching them—they passed them out, deliberate, methodical, arming the horde blade by blade. "They're organizing," Charlie said, her voice rising, wings faltering briefly. "This isn't a random riot.."

Vaggie's eye narrowed, her stance shifting. "What the hell's the play here?"

Charlie shook her head, her mind racing. "- But why—how do they know?" Her golden eyes tracked the blades' spread, dread coiling tight. "We need to stop this, Vaggie—now."

Charlie's jaw clenched, her mind a storm of questions, one clawing louder than the rest. "Where the hell did Carmilla stash that much angelic steel?" she growled, her voice sharp as she glared at the Reborn below, their blades glinting under the district's flickering hellfire lanterns. "She swore she handed over every scrap!"

Vaggie snorted, her spear tilting as she shifted beside Charlie. "She lied. Overlord habits die hard—even the 'friendly' ones. Surprised?" She chuckled at Charlie's question, and shrugged. "

Charlie exhaled, slow and deliberate, forcing the frustration down. "I don't give a damn about her reasons right now. We stop this from spiraling worse—focus on that." Her wings twitched against her crimson suit, gold accents catching the neon haze.

Vaggie's silver eye flicked to her, spear gripped tight. "Then call it, Charlie."

Charlie straightened, wings flaring wide as she leaned over the ledge, her voice—amplified by magic—booming across the ruined streets. "All Hellborn—pull back outside the shields! No risks, no heroics!" The demon squads snapped to attention, boots scuffing pavement as they repositioned, their weapons flashing in the dim light. She jabbed a finger at the spellcasters, their runes pulsing with strain. "Hold those barriers! If you're fading, signal—don't push past your limit!"

A burly spellcaster with glowing horns nodded fast, relief flashing in his eyes, while a wiry imp beside him wiped sweat from her brow, muttering, "Thank fuck." The infernal shields flared brighter, their red-violet walls solidifying, a fragile line between the living and the armed dead.

Charlie scanned the new positions, her golden eyes narrowing as soldiers settled into safer vantages—no easy prey for the Reborn's blades. "Good enough for now," she murmured, her fingers flexing against the rooftop's edge.

Vaggie's stance tightened, her voice low. "What are we gonna do..? We can't just hold these shields forever…"

Charlie nodded, her gaze locked on the horde. "I know Vaggie.."

Vaggie's head whipped around, her silver hair snapping in the wind. "If they get out with that steel—"

"I know, Vaggie!" Charlie cut in, her tone sharp but steady. "Decapitation didn't even slow them—remember? We need a plan, not a brawl. Fuck, do the damn exorcists just leave their fucking weapons laying around every year?" She said, gesturing wildly.

Vaggie chuckled grimly. "Adam used to.. 'Encourage' weapon losses, so he could get newer and sharper weapons each year…"

"Of course he fucking did.." Charlie said, placing her face in her hands for a eyes tracked the Reborn's eerie dance—dodging each other, sidestepping rubble, passing blades with silent precision. "Look at how they move. A group of them will suddenly focus on something, and not stop attacking it until its destroyed.. Like somethings choosing their targets.."

Vaggie frowned, spear dipping slightly. "You're waiting for a pattern?"

"I.. I don't know yet," Charlie said, her voice softening as she tossed her phone over. Vaggie caught it one-handed, her grip firm. "Call Dad—see if he's dug up anything in the wastes."

Vaggie's brows knit, but she swiped the screen open. "And the Sins?"

"Them to. Get them here—now," Charlie ordered, her wings rustling as she leaned further, the smoky air stinging her nose. "Tell them to drop everything and assemble."

Vaggie's fingers flew across the phone, her voice clipped as she dialed. "Lucifer first—hope he's not napping out there." She paused, then muttered, "Sins next—gonna owe Bee a favor for this rush."

Charlie's wings twitched faintly against the smoky air as she leaned over the rooftop's edge, her molten gold eyes locked on the Reborn swarming the streets below. The Carmine District sprawled beneath her like a wounded beast, its once-gleaming facades now scarred with claw marks and shattered glass. Neon hellfire lanterns flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows across the chaos. From up here, the Reborn didn't look like monsters—they looked like Sinners. Perfectly normal Sinners, their humanoid forms as varied as Hell's endless tapestry of souls, each one a reflection of the life they'd left behind.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure with a lion's mane and golden claws prowled near a toppled cart, his posture upright, his movements precise. Beside him, a wiry woman with shimmering scales and gills along her neck—marks of a drowned death—tilted her head as if listening to an unheard whisper. Another, a spindly man with spider-like limbs and a fedora tipped low, wove through the crowd, his extra arms flexing with purpose. Their features were sharp, their demonic traits vibrant—tails, horns, feathers, fur—all the hallmarks of Sinners reborn from human sins or final moments.

Charlie squinted, tracking their patterns. They didn't stumble or flail like before. They sidestepped each other with eerie precision, their gazes—sharp, animalistic, or eerily human—fixed on specific targets. The lion-man didn't just smash the cart; he clawed through its wooden panels methodically, as if searching beneath. The scaled woman pried open a weapons shop's shutter, ignoring Hell-forged blades to focus on a locked cabinet, her webbed hands deft and deliberate. Purpose. Intent. It wasn't random—it was directed.

Her wings twitched, a muted flap against the rooftop's concrete ledge. "Something's pulling their strings," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the distant snarls and crashes. "But what?"

Behind her, Vaggie's voice cut through the haze, sharp and focused. "Lucifer, it's Vaggie. Pick up—we need you." A pause, then a frustrated huff as she lowered the phone, thumbing through contacts again. "Straight to voicemail. Great." She didn't look up, already dialing the next number. "Satan, it's Vaggie. Carmine District—Reborn are rioting. Charlie needs you here, now."

Charlie didn't turn, her attention riveted on the streets. A small knot of Reborn had gathered near an overturned delivery truck, their varied forms a gallery of Hell's creativity. A Sinner with a serpentine tail and no legs—reminiscent of Sir Pentious—slithered forward, using a rusted pipe to lever the truck's dented doors. Beside him, a bird-like demon with talons and a cracked beak waited, head cocked at an unnatural angle, while a third—a woman with nails for teeth gleaming in her grin—stood still, her posture eerily calm. When the doors gave way, spilling crates of canned goods, they didn't scramble for the food. They dragged the crates aside, digging deeper into the wreckage.

"They're not hungry," Charlie murmured, her brow furrowing. "They're not scavenging. They're… looking." Her fingers tightened against the ledge, claws scraping faintly against the stone. What could Sinners—reborn as they were—want that wasn't power or survival?

Vaggie's voice rose again, steady but clipped. "Bee, yeah, it's me. Carmine District—Reborn are armed and tearing shit apart. Get here fast." Another pause, then a curt, "Good. See you soon." She flipped the phone shut, stepping up beside Charlie, her spear still gripped tightly in one hand. "Sins are mobilizing. Satan's already on his way, Bee's rounding up the others. They'll be here in two, maybe three hours."

Charlie nodded absently, her gaze still fixed below. "Good. And Dad?"

Vaggie's jaw tightened, a flicker of unease crossing her face. "No answer. Voicemail again."

Charlie's chest tightened, but she forced it down, her wings giving a faint shudder. "He's probably deep in the wastes. Signal's bad out there." Her voice wavered just slightly, betraying the doubt she tried to suppress. Lucifer was the Morningstar—unstoppable, unshakable. If he wasn't answering, it didn't mean he was hurt. It just meant he was busy. Right?

She exhaled slowly, straightening her posture. "Okay. Two to three hours. We can hold this until then." Her eyes darted back to the streets, where the Reborn's numbers seemed to swell with every passing minute. The containment shields—glowing walls of infernal energy—shimmered under the strain, their edges pulsing as Hellborn spellcasters poured their strength into keeping them upright. The soldiers had pulled back as ordered, their silhouettes dark against the neon backdrop, weapons drawn but held steady. No one was taking risks yet.

Charlie's wings flicked again, a restless rhythm against the rooftop. "I've got this," she said softly, more to herself than Vaggie. "The shields are holding. The Sins are coming. Dad's just… doing his thing. We're on top of it." She nodded once, as if the motion could cement the words into reality. She couldn't afford to doubt herself—not now, not with Hell watching her every move.

Vaggie didn't respond, her silver eye narrowing as she followed Charlie's gaze. Below, the Reborn's movements shifted. A larger group—dozens, then hundreds—began converging on one of the shields at the district's western edge. Their forms were a vivid mosaic: a towering bull-horned Sinner with a butcher's apron, a sleek cat-like figure with glowing eyes, a moth-winged demon whose squeaks echoed faintly in the air. They pressed together, a tide of vibrant demonic life, moving as one toward the barrier. They didn't claw or strike yet; they just… gathered, their heads tilting in unison, staring at the glowing wall with unsettling focus.

Charlie's breath snagged in her throat, her golden eyes widening as she hovered above the rooftop. "What are they doing?" she muttered, the air thickening with sulfur and the feral musk of animalistic Sinners. Below, the Reborn massed shoulder to shoulder, their ranks swelling as more poured in—bipedal figures with twisted limbs, serpentine forms slithering over rubble, others scuttling on clawed legs, echoes of their human sins carved into their flesh. A few gripped angelic steel, blades flashing under the hellfire lanterns, but most stood empty-handed, claws twitching with latent menace. The shield before them pulsed, its red-violet surface rippling under their vivid, soul-reflected stares.

Vaggie shifted beside her, spear tilting forward, her silver eye narrowing. "They're testing it," she said, voice taut as she leaned over the ledge.

Charlie frowned, wings flaring faintly against her crimson suit. "Testing what? Those barriers are solid." She'd seen the spellcasters weave them, runes glowing with infernal precision. They'd held against Overlords—surely a mob of Reborn couldn't crack them.

Then one stepped forward—a tall, sinewy figure, antlers branching like a stag's from his skull, flayed skin draped over his shoulders like a hunter's trophy. He didn't charge or slash. He raised a clawed hand and pressed it to the shield. A jolt of red light flared, crackling where flesh met energy, but he didn't recoil. He leaned harder, antlers tilting, and the barrier quivered. Charlie's stomach lurched. "They're not attacking—they're pushing," she said, her voice tightening.

More joined— a shark-toothed woman swaying like a sailor, a hulking bear-Sinner with a logger's axe swinging idly, a lithe figure with feathers and a dancer's poise. Their hands pressed in eerie unison, the shield's glow fraying as the pressure built. The spellcaster holding it—a wiry Goetia with rune-tattooed arms—gritted his beak, sweat gleaming on his feathered brow, hands trembling as he channeled more power.

Vaggie's knuckles whitened around her spear. "Charlie, if they keep this up—"

"I know!" Charlie snapped, her hair whipping as she dove from the rooftop, wings cutting the wind. She landed near the barrier, boots scuffing pavement. "Get more Goetia here—now!" she shouted, hovering above the straining caster. "I want three backing him up!" Her voice echoed, sharp and commanding, as Vaggie darted off, barking orders. More Goetia rushed in, their cloaks billowing, hands glowing as they bolstered the shield.

Charlie drifted to Vaggie's side, wings steadying her. "We've got time," she said, forcing steel into her tone. "The shields hold until the Sins arrive—they have to." Her golden eyes flickered with doubt, but she squared her shoulders. "I've got this under control."

The Reborn pressed harder, a wall of vibrant forms—clawed, webbed, scaled—shoving as one. The barrier's hum pitched higher, sparks spitting at its edges. The lead Goetia, his feathers ruffled, waved her down frantically. "Your Highness!" he rasped, voice strained as he braced against the magic.

Charlie swooped lower, her suit's gold accents catching the shield's glow. "What's wrong?"

"The barriers—" he panted, talons flexing, "—they're built to shock, to repel touch. But these things—" He gestured at the Reborn, unflinching as jolts seared their flesh. "They don't care! They push through—concentrated like this, it's not holding!"

Charlie's claws dug into her palms, her heart hammering as the shield flickered violently, the Reborn's relentless force bending its design beyond its limits.

Her golden eyes swept the other barriers, their red-violet glow steady under the spellcasters' firm hands. But the western shield wavered, its edges fraying—the weak link, and the Reborn knew it. She darted higher, wings cutting the smoky air, scanning the streets for a hint—a commander, a gesture, anything. Nothing met her gaze—just a gallery of Sinners, their twisted forms a grotesque tapestry of human sins, moving as one.

A screech pierced the din—a shark-toothed Reborn jamming his angelic blade against the shield. Sparks erupted, the metal shrieking as it scraped the energy, and the barrier flickered wildly. The lead spellcaster below—a wiry Goetia with rune-etched arms—grunted, dropping to one knee, his talons digging into the pavement. Sweat streaked his feathered face, his hands quaking as he strained to hold the magic.

Charlie swooped toward the western line, her voice booming. "Reinforce that shield! Two more Goetia—now!" Her wings flared against her crimson suit, gold accents flashing as she pointed. The Reborn pressed harder, blades multiplying—a moth-winged Sinner squeaked, shoving with spindly arms, a spider-limbed figure wove extra limbs into the assault. The shield warped, tendrils of energy snapping like frayed threads, its hum pitching into a frantic whine.

She shot a glance at Vaggie, hovering nearby, phone pressed to her ear. "Still nothing from Dad?" Charlie asked, her voice dropping, edged with strain.

Vaggie shook her head, her silver eye glinting with frustration as she snapped the phone shut. "Voicemail—again. He's not answering."

Charlie's jaw tightened, a chill snaking up her spine. "He's fine," she said, forcing the words out. "Probably just… out of range." Her tone wavered, doubt seeping through, but she shoved it aside, refocusing on the Reborn. Their numbers surged, a tide of cat-like eyes, serpentine coils, and human remnants pressing forward, eerily composed. The barrier's glow dimmed, its edges sparking.

She'd banked on holding this—two hours until the Sins arrived. But the Reborn weren't playing by her clock. Then—a sound cut through: a sharp, splintering crack, like glass under a hammer. Charlie's blood turned to ice, her wings faltering as she whipped around, staring at the fracturing shield.

Her eyes snapped to the shield. A jagged fracture spiderwebbed across its surface, glowing red light seeping from the break like blood from a wound. The spellcaster cried out, collapsing fully, his magic snuffed out. The Reborn didn't hesitate—they surged forward, claws and blades pressing into the crack, widening it with every push.

"No," Charlie breathed, her wings flaring wide. "No, no, no—"

The shield shuddered, its edges crumbling. The Reborn's vivid eyes gleamed, their Sinner forms—lion, snake, spider, bird—eerily calm as they tore at the barrier. Another crack split the surface, then another, the infernal energy unraveling like a tapestry pulled apart thread by thread.

Vaggie's voice was sharp beside her. "Charlie—!"

"I see it!" Charlie's heart pounded in her throat as she swept low, trying to grab the Goetia before the crowd could get to him.

The shield gave a final, anguished groan—and shattered.

Shards of infernal energy rained down, dissolving into sparks as the Reborn poured through the breach, their blades gleaming in the flickering light.

"Hell help us." Vaggie murmured.

Her stomach plummeted, her grip tightening on the Goetia as the shattered shield's sparks faded into the night. The Reborn flooded through, their angelic steel flashing, a tide of chaos she couldn't stem—not like this. So—she let go. Power surged within her, a wildfire igniting parched earth, roaring through her veins as her form twisted. Her wings flared, golden edges darkening, flames licking their tips, heat warping the smoky air. Her horns spiraled skyward, jagged and hellfire-kissed, smoke curling from their roots. Her golden eyes blazed molten red, pupils narrowing to slits, predatory and fierce. The pavement beneath her cracked, scorched by the raw energy radiating from her transformed body.

She didn't pause. With a thunderous beat of her wings, she dropped, plummeting through the remnants of the shields, straight into the path of Reborn swarm. Her shoes hit the ground with a shuddering crack, embers flying as she landed. Hundreds of hollow eyes snapped to her, heads jerking in eerie unison, their Sinner forms fixing on her with lifeless intent. They froze for a heartbeat, then surged as one.
She threw up her arms, a large bright wall of Hellfire cracking the pavement as it roared nearly 15 foot tall. She strained, sweat beading at her temples as she sustained the fire, eyes wide as the Re-born charged blindly into the fire, clinging to their bodies like molten Tar. Their flesh ignited in white-hot agony, and for the first time, they screamed—a raw, soulless wail, no words, just pain echoing through the Carmine District.

Her stomach twisted at the sound, a pang of guilt she couldn't afford, but she pressed on. "I've got no choice," she muttered, hooves striking pavement as she strained, embers scattering as she took a labored step forward. Her wings swept wide, unleashing scorching gusts as she raised her claws again, another firestorm bursting forth, engulfing dozens more. The flames devoured them—flesh melting, bones crumbling into smoking husks, some collapsing entirely, others twitching in severed ruin.

Charlie's chest tightened, her molten gaze flickering over the carnage. She knew this wasn't final—they'd rise again, relentless as ever. But she burned them anyway, buying time, slowing their march. "You're not taking Hell," she snarled, her voice cutting through the screams as the bodies piled, a grim testament to her resolve.

"Hell forgive me," Charlie whispered, her voice a jagged thread lost in the chaos. She lashed out, a wave of hellfire surging from her claws, her tail whipping like a live wire, hurling burning debris across the cracked street. A Reborn lunged, charred fingers clawing for her throat. She seized its face, claws sinking deep into its husk, and shoved. Flames erupted, crawling over its skull, its torso, consuming it in a silent, writhing scream as it crumpled. Her stomach churned, bile rising, but she held firm.

These weren't demons—not anymore. Yet they echoed familiarity—Sinners who'd once roamed Hell, their movements deliberate, sparing each other, targeting only the world around them. A flicker of memory lingered in their hollow eyes, a ghost of what they'd lost. Charlie gritted her teeth, shoving down the grief clawing up her chest. "They're already dead," she muttered, the mantra a lifeline. "They're already dead."

She had to stop them—slow them—buy Hell a fighting chance. Her breath rasped, sharp and uneven, as the heat thickened, the ground beneath her hooves blackened, the air rancid with sulfur and charred flesh. Her claws trembled, wings quivered, her molten-red eyes blurring over the carnage. Dozens of Reborn lay strewn—scorched husks, some twitching, smoldering, emitting broken, voiceless whimpers. Her stomach lurched, nausea surging, but she swallowed it, biting back a sob. "I can't break," she hissed to herself, forcing steel into her spine. This wasn't final—they'd rise again—but the weight crushed her, flames flickering at her fingertips.

Heavy wings and snarling cries cut through her haze. Reinforcements had arrived. From shattered rooftops, Goetia sorcerers descended, robes snapping in the blistering wind, their hands weaving blazing sigils. "Hold the line!" one barked, his voice a whipcrack as they unleashed torrents of infernal magic—hotter, fiercer than Charlie's own—engulfing swathes of Reborn in roaring pyres. Hellhounds followed, aggression given form, their talons glinting as they tore into the horde, snarls reverberating off the walls. "Rip 'em apart!" a burly hound roared, claws slashing with infernal precision, aiming to sever and burn.

Charlie snapped to action, raising a clawed hand. "Over here!" she shouted, hurling a fireball as a Reborn lunged at a Goetia, its twisted maw gaping. The flames struck, blasting it back, flesh sizzling, bones blackening. She didn't linger—there was no time—spinning to face the next wave, her tail lashing as she braced for more.

Charlie spun, hurling another fireball as it nearly wounded a nearby Hellhound, its claws grazing the air near a Hellhound's flank. The creature shrieked, collapsing into a smoldering heap, but the chaos roared on. Above, Vaggie swooped down, her spear dripping with dark, viscous ichor from a fresh kill, her silver eye wild with urgency. "Satan and Bee are here!" she shouted, voice straining over the snarls and screams. "The others are inbound!"

Charlie's wings twitched, flames flaring brighter along her claws as she snapped her head up. "Good—see if they've got anything to stop these bastards!" she barked, her molten-red eyes narrowing as she braced for the next wave.

A thunderous beat of wings shook the air, and Beelzebub burst onto the scene, her foxlike form a riot of color—bright pink, aqua-blue, and orange lava-lamp hair swirling around her shapely hips, her light yellow fur striped with dark fuchsia. Her pink crop-top and shorts gleamed under the neon haze, her four arms flexing as she landed with a bounce, her insect wings buzzing faintly. "Well, hot damn, Charlie-girl!" she chirped, her voice loud and bubbly, hot-pink pupils glinting with cheer despite the carnage. "This party's a total rager—let's turn up the heat, yeah?"

She threw her head back, laughing, then raised all four hands, her magic humming to life. "Time for a sweet fix!" she sang, twirling like a hostess welcoming guests. Thick streams of golden Ambrosia—her signature honey—poured from her palms, cascading over the street in sticky, glistening waves. The Reborn stumbled, their claws sinking into the gooey mess, their once-relentless advance grinding to a sluggish crawl. "Stick around, losers!" Bee cackled, clapping her upper hands as she strutted forward, her lower pair weaving the honey into a sprawling web. "Ain't no one crashing my vibe tonight!"

The Reborn thrashed, their blades slashing uselessly at the Ambrosia, each swing bogging them deeper. Bee grinned, flipping her lava-lamp tail with a playful flick. "Aw, look at 'em squirm—cute, right? Almost feel bad for the little creeps!" Her tone was light, but her eyes flicked to Charlie with a flash of concern, her extroverted mask slipping just enough to show she was worried for her. "Hang tight, Queenie—I've got your back!"

Before Charlie could respond, a seismic roar split the air, and Satan landed hard, his titanic draconic form shaking the pavement. His red scales gleamed with lava-like orange-yellow stripes, his four eyes—two pairs blazing—locking onto the chaos with a snarl. His mauve tank top strained over his muscular bulk, black vest tassels swaying as he stomped forward, his cowboy boots cracking stone. "Enough of this shit!" he bellowed, his voice a wrathful growl, his pitchfork-like horns glinting as he tossed his head. "Fall back—now!"

He jabbed a claw at the Goetia and Charlie, his tail's spearhead lashing behind him. "You heard me—move it, kid!" His fury surged as he turned to the Reborn. Raising his massive hands, his magic flared—flames hotter than Hell's core erupting from his palms, a roaring inferno that swept the honey-soaked street in a blinding blaze. "Burn, you freaks!" he roared, stomping a boot as the fire devoured everything— exploding even hotter upon contacting the Ambrosia, devouring Reborn, pavement, bricks—turning it into a molten sea.

The Reborn shrieked, their forms melting under the combined assault, honey sizzling as Satan's fire raged unchecked. Charlie stumbled back, wings shielding her face from the heat, her voice sharp. "Satan—watch the squads!" She gestured at the Hellhounds and Goetia retreating behind her, their silhouettes blurring in the inferno's glare.

Satan snorted, smoke curling from his nostrils, but he adjusted his aim, the flames curving away from the living. "They're fine—toughen up, niece!" he snapped, though his lower eyes flicked to her with a hidden warmth. Bee twirled beside him, laughing wildly. "Oh, lighten up, big guy! We're a team—let's make it a show!" She shot Charlie a wink, her third arm tossing a playful salute as she thickened the honey around straggling Reborn.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she collapsed against a dented mailbox, its warped metal groaning under her weight. She sucked in a deep, heated breath, the air thick with sulfur and the acrid tang of scorched flesh. Her wings drooped, flames flickering faintly at their blackened tips, her molten-red eyes dimming as she watched the chaos simmer down. "The Reborn take time to recover," she murmured, her voice rough, tail flicking absently. "A beheading took four hours to heal—who knows how long whole bodies'll take after this?"

Below, Satan stomped through the contained square, his draconic bulk towering as he unleashed torrents of fire, his roars mingling with the Goetia's chants. Their sigils flared, searing the trapped Reborn into smoldering husks, the street a glowing crucible under their combined assault.

Beelzebub flitted over, her foxlike form buzzing with energy, lava-lamp hair swirling as she darted back and forth, her four arms gesturing wildly. "Whew, Charlie-girl!" she chirped, landing with a bounce, her pink crop-top glinting. "That was a blast—literally! You okay, Queenie?" She zipped to Charlie's left, then right, her insect wings humming as she grinned, hot-pink pupils sparkling.

Charlie managed a tired smile, straightening slightly. "Barely. You're way too chipper for this mess, Bee."

"Gotta keep the vibe alive!" Bee laughed, twirling midair, her lower hands clapping. "Satan's got the grumpy fire thing down, so I'm the sunshine—sticky sunshine!" She winked, flitting closer to nudge Charlie's arm. "That honey trick slowed 'em good, huh? Bet they're cursing me in whatever's left of their heads!"

Charlie chuckled, brushing soot from her crimson suit. "Yeah, you and Satan bought us breathing room. Thanks, Bee."

"Anytime, babe!" Bee beamed, darting upward then back, her tail flicking playfully. "Now, let's keep this party rocking—next round's on me!"

Charlie slumped against the dented mailbox, her tail flicking lazily as Beelzebub buzzed around her, her cheerful chatter a stark contrast to the smoldering street. Satan's fire still crackled in the square, the Reborn reduced to charred husks. Then Vaggie swooped down, her spear clattering as she landed, her silver eye dark with dread. "Charlie!" she snapped, her voice cutting through Bee's giggles, her face shadowed with urgency.

Charlie shot upright, her molten-red eyes flaring. "What's wrong?"

Vaggie's wings quivered, her spear gripped tight. "Your mom called—your dad's hurt. He portaled into the palace, torn up bad—Lilith's losing it."

Charlie's breath stopped, her wings bursting wide, flames roaring along their blackened edges as her horns sparked. "No—he can't—" Her voice broke, claws gouging the mailbox, metal screeching. "Hurt? How bad? What happened?" She staggered forward, her tail thrashing, embers flying as panic seized her.

Beelzebub halted mid-twirl, her lava-lamp hair swaying, her four arms dropping in shock. "Hold up—Lucifer's hurt?" she gasped, her hot-pink pupils shrinking, her foxlike grin fading. "Wh—what the hell got him?" She darted to Vaggie's side, wings buzzing, one hand grabbing her shoulder.

"I don't know!" Charlie shouted, spinning to Vaggie. "We're going—now!" Her hooves scraped pavement, her mind flooding with visions of Lucifer bleeding out.

Vaggie seized her shoulders, her grip steady but tense. "Charlie, focus! We've got Reborn here—you can't lose it now!"

"My dad's hurt, Vaggie!" Charlie shoved her off, wings shaking. "I can't wait!" She whirled to Beelzebub, frantic. "Bee, you're in charge—hold this down!" She froze, eyes flicking to Satan's hulking form bellowing at the Goetia. "Wait—no—Satan's got this. Satan!" Her voice boomed, magically amplified. "Take over—keep them locked in!"

Satan glared back, his four eyes narrowing, smoke curling from his snout. "Go, kid—I've got it!" he growled, stomping forward, claws igniting.

Bee crossed her upper arms, pouting dramatically. "Oh, rude much, Queenie?" she huffed, flitting upward with a mock scowl, her lower hands on her hips. "I'm a total boss—Satan's just the grumpy muscle!" She stuck out her tongue, but her eyes softened, flicking to Charlie. "Go see your dad, though—I'll forgive ya!"

Charlie barely registered her, grabbing Vaggie's arm. "Portal—hurry!" Her wings thumped, lifting Vaggie in her arms as she opened a golden rift, her face grim. Bee waved, muttering, "Kick ass, Charlie-girl…" as they vanished, Charlie's heart hammering with fear.