Once inside the cathedral, Octavia paused.
There was something… off.
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but the sensation crept up her spine like a cold draft that had nothing to do with the broken windows or the open doors. She'd been in abandoned buildings before—plenty of them, in worse shape than this—but this place felt different.
Wrong, but not in the way she was used to.
It didn't feel haunted or cursed, like some demon-squatted ruin in Hell. No, this was something else.
Octavia stepped further in, her foot steps soft against the cracked stone floor, echoing faintly through the vast, empty space. Her eyes scanned the interior, half-expecting something to move in the shadows, but there was only stillness. Still, the feeling in the air made her skin crawl—like she was being watched, not by something malicious… but by something measuring her.
She stopped near the broken altar, her eyes narrowing.
Cathedrals like this were usually a no-go for demons. The sanctified energy clung to the walls long after the last hymn was sung. But this place was abandoned. Empty of priests, of prayer, of purpose.
There shouldn't have been anything divine left.
And yet...
She inhaled slowly through her nose. The air was heavy. Not with dust, not with decay—but with something purer. Something... radiant.
It was faint. But it was there.
A lingering scent of... something. A warmth nestled beneath the cold, just enough to be noticed by someone who knew what to feel for.
It was divine.
Octavia's eyes scanned the stained glass again. Her pulse had quickened, but not from fear.
Something had been here.
Recently.
The sudden thud behind her was loud—too loud to be anything small.
Octavia jolted and whipped around, her heart leaping into her throat. Dust stirred from the impact point, swirling in the soft moonlight pouring through the shattered stained-glass windows. Her eyes widened as the silhouette began to rise—slow, deliberate, and massive.
The figure stood tall, broad-shouldered and cloaked in darkness, his form partially obscured by the mist of dislodged grime and shattered silence.
But it wasn't the sheer size that sent a chill through her.
It was the outline—wings.
Large, imposing, unmistakably angelic wings stretched and flexed as the figure took a step forward, heavy boots echoing against the stone floor like a drumbeat of judgment. For a split second, Octavia froze, panic bubbling in her chest. An angel? Here?
Had Heaven come for her?
She stepped back, her wings twitching slightly beneath her hoodie, ready to bolt—
And then… she saw the eyes.
That unmistakable, hellish glow. Two vibrant green beacons cutting through the dark like twin embers.
Her breath caught.
"…Spawn?"
The dust finally settled enough for her to see the rest of his face—scarred, weathered, hardened. Covered by that unmistakable mask.
Spawn didn't speak at first. He just stared at her, those eyes narrowing as if unsure whether she was real.
Octavia blinked, her voice trembling in a breathless, stunned whisper.
"Y-You're alive…"
A moment passed between them—silent, charged, surreal.
Then Spawn stepped fully into the light, the cathedral somehow feeling smaller with him in it. And despite the weight of what he'd clearly been through, despite the strange new energy clinging to him like fire and ash—
He gave her the faintest, most subtle nod.
He was still him.
Octavia's eyes swept over him slowly, taking in every detail. The same massive frame, the same hard-edged presence—but something was undeniably different. His signature red cape, that jagged, living shroud that moved like a beast of its own, was gone. In its place were wings—divine, glowing faintly in the low light. Angelic in shape, yet darker in tone, as if Heaven had left fingerprints on a soul still half-wrapped in Hell.
It made her uneasy, seeing him like this. Like the Spawn she knew had been forced into something else. Something he never asked to be.
But those eyes—those glowing green eyes—were still the same. And in them, she could still see him. The real him.
She cleared her throat and tried to speak, her voice cracking slightly. "I-I don't know if you… remember me…"
Before she could finish, his voice cut through the space between them. Low. Familiar. Solid.
"I'd never forget you," he said simply.
He took a step closer, a small trace of something resembling a smirk touching his usually emotionless features.
"It's not every day someone asks me for an autograph."
Octavia's breath caught in her chest, eyes widening just a little. A half-laugh slipped out of her lips—half disbelief, half emotion.
"…You do remember."
He nodded once, and the cathedral, for just a moment, felt warmer.
She blinked hard, trying to keep the emotion from welling over. "You have no idea how much that means right now."
Spawn tilted his head slightly, his glowing green eyes narrowing with curiosity as he looked at her.
"What are you doing here, kid?"
Octavia gave him a wry smile, brushing her hair to the side as she leaned against a cracked pillar. "I could ask you the same thing," she said. "Half of Hell's been tearing itself apart looking for you. Trying to drag you back home."
She paused, her tone shifting, a little more serious now. "Some people thought you were dead…"
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sound of wind pushing through broken stained-glass windows.
Then Spawn let out a quiet, almost dismissive scoff.
"It takes a lot more than a few overly zealous angels to bring me down." His voice was calm, resolute—like the idea of dying never even crossed his mind.
Octavia couldn't help but smile again, a little softer this time. "Yeah… I figured. But it's good to see you again."
Octavia's expression lit up with urgency, her feet scraping across the dusty stone floor as she moved toward the cathedral's broken entryway.
"We need to get back to Hell. Right away," she said, the faintest edge of hope slipping into her voice. "Everyone's gonna lose their minds when they see you. They thought you were gone for good."
But before she could take another step, a heavy hand gently clasped her shoulder. She froze.
"I can't go back," Spawn said, his voice low and steady—like the quiet before a storm.
Octavia turned, brows knitting together in confusion. "What do you mean you can't go back? You're alive. You're standing right here."
"I'm not the same," he replied, the dim silver moonlight from the cathedral's broken windows washing over him. As his wings shifted behind him—those radiant, angelic wings—Octavia felt a cold realization tighten in her chest. "If I return to Hell now, looking like this, it won't just put a target on me. It'll put one on everyone I care about. And I can't let that happen."
She stared up at him, her breath catching in her throat. Spawn's imposing figure was the same, but there was something different now. Something in the way he held himself. As though a weight far heavier than his cape—or now, his wings—had settled on his shoulders.
"Spawn…" she whispered, struggling to grasp the scale of what he was saying. "What… what happened to you in Heaven?"
There was a pause. He looked away, toward the altar, eyes glowing softly beneath the shadows of his mask. For a moment, he seemed a thousand miles from her—lost in something too vast, too painful to put into words.
"It's a long story," he said at last, and though the words were simple, they carried the gravity of a war she couldn't yet imagine. A story not just of what had been done to him—but what he now carried with it.
Octavia said nothing more. She just stood there, her hoodie slightly shifting in the cold breeze drifting through the broken stained glass, the Spawn picture across her chest seeming to burn brighter in the moonlight.
Back at the Hazbin Hotel, the air shimmered as a swirling portal burst open in the center of the lobby. Out stepped Blitzo, looking thoroughly annoyed, followed by Moxxie, Millie, and Loona, each looking equally disheveled. Dust clung to their clothes, and a dry breeze from the portal kicked up a swirl of grit before it closed behind them with a sharp snap.
Blitzo scowled as he tugged a small cactus from his thigh with a hiss, flicking it across the floor where it bounced with a pathetic thump. "Okay," he grumbled, tail flicking in irritation, "turns out there's more than one Alpine in the world. Who the hell names a cactus-ridden, middle-of-nowhere dump Alpine?!"
"Technically, that was Alpine, Texas," Moxxie muttered, brushing sand out of his horns. "I told you to specify—"
Blitzo whipped around, pointing a clawed finger at him. "Don't technically me right now, Moxxie! I spent four hours roasting like a rotisserie chicken in that godforsaken wasteland while Loona threatened to kill a tour guide for asking if we wanted 'authentic frontier grub.'"
Loona, still picking spines from her arm, rolled her eyes. "He called me 'little lady.' I regret nothing."
Millie let out a sigh as she adjusted her gear. "Well, one thing's for sure… he wasn't there. Not even a whiff of Spawn in that whole damn desert."
Blitzo crossed his arms, his tail flicking with agitation as he glanced toward the large windows of the hotel. "Wherever Spawn is… he's making it real hard to find him."
He paused, the annoyance in his face fading slightly, replaced with something more thoughtful—maybe even concerned. "And I'm starting to think we ain't gonna find him the normal way."
Moxxie, still brushing sand from his coat, looked up at Blitzo with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean by that, boss? Different methods?"
Blitzo gave a half-hearted shrug, his usual sarcasm briefly giving way to something a little more serious. "I mean… maybe we stop chasing ghost stories and start looking into actual magic—rituals, tracking spells, soul tethers. You know, all that woo-woo crap people never shut up about."
He paced a few steps, scratching his head with a frustrated growl. "We've been hopping around the mortal realm like jackasses, and Spawn's still playing hide and seek like a goddamn pro. If he's out there—and I know he is—then we need something stronger than hunches and portals."
Loona snorted and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Finally. Took you long enough to stop wasting my time with travel portals to sandpits and meth motels."
Then, with a glance toward Millie, her expression shifted slightly. "By the way… what the hell happened to you out there?"
Millie blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"
"You almost puked on that guy grilling fish. You looked green, and that's saying something for a demon." Loona raised an eyebrow. "Something you wanna share?"
Millie waved her off with an awkward laugh, her Southern drawl slipping into overdrive. "Oh, that? Please. That fish smelled like it'd been sittin' out for a week in the Texas sun. Anyone'd lose their lunch smellin' that." She chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm fine, Loona. Really."
Loona narrowed her eyes a little, unconvinced. "Yeah… sure."
Millie turned away quickly, trying to hide her flushed cheeks. She hadn't planned on telling anyone yet—especially not while they were still chasing Spawn. But Loona was sharper than she let on. And that wasn't going to make keeping this secret any easier.
As the I.M.P. crew continued tossing around ideas, their voices rising and falling in a blur of sarcasm, strategy, and speculation, Charlie stood off to the side, her hands folded tightly in front of her. Her gaze lingered on the swirling remnants of the last portal before it faded into nothingness.
She let out a soft, disheartened sigh.
They were doing their best—Blitzo and his team. Everyone who'd seen past Spawn's terrifying exterior, who understood that there was more to him than hellfire and shadows, was out there searching. Desperately. Tirelessly.
And yet she was here.
Tethered to the Hazbin Hotel.
Charlie looked around the lounge, her eyes passing over velvet curtains and polished tiles, the portraits hung askew on the walls. This place, once a beacon of her dream to redeem souls and offer second chances, now felt like a gilded cage. She couldn't leave—not for long. Not when so many sinners were depending on her. Not when Heaven was watching more closely than ever.
Still… there had to be something she could do. Some way to help. She wasn't the type to sit idle, to wait while others bore the weight.
Her fingers twitched slightly, a mix of anxiety and determination sparking in her chest.
Maybe she couldn't step through every portal or scour every alleyway, but she had influence. Connections. Knowledge of Heaven's structures. Maybe there was a thread she could tug—someone she hadn't called in yet.
Her voice was quiet, nearly lost beneath the others' chatter, but her resolve echoed in it as she spoke to herself:
"There has to be something. Anything…"
Then it struck her.
Charlie's eyes widened just slightly as a memory surfaced—just a few weeks ago, a new batch of residents had checked in. Most of them were nothing to speak of or already causing minor chaos, but one of them stood out… if only because he went out of his way to not stand out.
An inventor.
Her gaze swept the hotel lobby, scanning past a few chatting sinners lounging on mismatched furniture—until she spotted him. Tucked away in the shadowy far corner of the room, nearly cocooned in old scientific equipment and stacked notes, was Baxter.
The peculiar fish-like demon sat hunched over a glowing contraption of some kind, muttering to himself with quick, twitchy motions as he tightened bolts and adjusted knobs. His blue-grey skin shimmered under the lobby's light, and the coral pink lenses of his goggles flickered with the reflection of whatever unstable device he was working on.
The cyan freckled dots beneath his eyes twitched with every nervous blink, and his fingers, clad in dark gloves with faint glowing dots, moved with jerky precision. His fin-like ears gave a slight flick as someone laughed across the room—and he hissed under his breath like a cat before turning his back to the rest of the hotel.
Charlie walked over carefully, trying not to startle him—though startling Baxter was basically a guarantee.
"Um… hey, Baxter?"
He jolted upright with a shrill gasp, knocking a few papers off his table. "Don't sneak up on people! That's how things explode!" he screeched, swatting at the air as though she were a hallucination.
Charlie held up both hands in a peace gesture. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. I just—well, I remembered you mentioned once that you're good with tech, and… I think I might have something important for you to work on."
Baxter squinted at her through his goggles, then slowly turned back to his project, muttering, "Define 'important.' If it's a toaster that needs to sing when it finishes burning waffles, I swear on my esca I will—"
"No, no," Charlie interrupted quickly, stepping a little closer. "It's about Spawn. I think you might be able to help us find him."
That made him freeze. His fin twitched once. Then, slowly, he turned his head back toward her, his irises glimmering with curiosity. "Help find him?" he repeated, voice quieter now, more analytical. "Explain. Thoroughly. No vague 'we'll get to that later' promises. I loathe that."
Charlie smiled, a hopeful glint in her eye. "Then let's go somewhere quiet. I have an idea—and I think you're the only one who can pull it off."
Baxter, twitchy as ever, gave a reluctant nod and scooped up a glowing device that immediately sparked and hissed. "Fine. But if anything explodes, it's your fault."
Charlie guided Baxter through the winding halls of the hotel, her pace brisk but careful, almost reverent. She didn't say much on the walk, and for once, Baxter didn't fill the silence with grumbling. He was too busy eyeing the walls, half-expecting something to leap out and interrupt his focus.
They came to a stop at a thick, heavy door at the end of a quiet corridor. The sign was dusty, but Baxter could just barely make out the etched lettering above the frame:
"Al Simmons"
Charlie paused for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. "No one's been in here since he disappeared," she said quietly. "I made sure of it."
With a soft click, the door opened, revealing a room preserved like a shrine. Everything remained exactly as it had been: the simple bed, the chair near the window, the workbench cluttered with cleaning supplies for his weapons. The air was still, not stale—but heavy, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
Baxter stepped inside slowly, blinking behind his goggles as he took everything in. His long fingers drummed at his sides, a nervous tic, while his eyes darted from object to object, calculating… assessing.
"So," Charlie began, careful with her tone, "do you think you could… invent something? Something to track him? A way to trace his energy or signature—or something that could point us in the right direction?"
Baxter didn't answer at first. He walked further in, brushing a gloved hand along the windowsill, inspecting the faint indentations in the wooden floor near the foot of the bed, sniffing once like he was trying to catch the scent of residual energy.
His nose wrinkled.
"I hate this," he finally muttered. "Holy-adjacent energies always make my fins itch." He flicked one of the side fins in emphasis, then crouched near the nightstand, eyeing the half-burned candle still sitting there.
Charlie waited, watching him with a quiet desperation.
After a long pause, Baxter stood up and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead, revealing those coral-pink eyes that were usually hidden. "I might be able to work something up," he said reluctantly. "Some kind of… trace resonance extractor. The energy that was left behind here—it's faint, but it's specific. If I can isolate it, I could create a kind of… metaphysical fingerprint."
Charlie's eyes lit up. "So you can find him?"
"Maybe," Baxter snapped, holding up a finger. "But only if no one bothers me. That means no surprise visitors, no side projects, no musical numbers suddenly erupting in the hallway—especially that."
She chuckled softly. "You got it. Total privacy. I'll even put a ward on the door."
Baxter huffed and looked around one last time, his lips curling into a half-sneer. "Fine. I'll need tools. Materials. Privacy. And caffeine. Lots of caffeine."
"You'll have it," Charlie said. "And… thank you, Baxter. Really."
He grumbled something under his breath, already pulling a strange, humming instrument out of his coat as he hunched over a chair, muttering to himself like a mad scientist returning to the lab.
Charlie had just reached the door, her hand on the frame, when a chirpy voice piped up behind her.
"Heyyy, what's goin' on in here?"
She turned to see Niffty skipping into the room with her usual boundless energy, her dress fluttering and her one large eye darting between Charlie and the hunched-over figure of Baxter. She trotted up behind him, peering curiously over his shoulder at the odd device he was tinkering with.
Baxter stiffened instantly. "No. No, no, no—why is she here?" he hissed, already on edge.
Niffty leaned in, her smile bright and innocent. "I just wanted to ask you something, Baxxy! Just a teensy little question!"
Charlie opened her mouth to intervene, but froze as Niffty leaned in closer and chirped, "Do you know the difference between toilet paper… and curtains?"
Baxter blinked. His goggles slid up slightly as he gave her a sideways glance. "What kind of asinine question is that? No. I don't know."
There was a pause.
A dangerous pause.
Suddenly, Niffty's grin stretched just a little too wide.
"So it was YOU!"
With a flourish, she pulled a comically large, overly-shiny kitchen knife from behind her back and lunged at him with a giggle that was somehow both adorable and terrifying.
"YOU'RE THE CURTAIN MONSTER!"
Baxter screamed—high-pitched and shrill—and bolted from his spot, knocking over a chair as he scrambled away, goggles flying askew.
Charlie yelped in surprise, dodging out of the way as Baxter zipped past her, Niffty hot on his heels, waving the knife and shouting accusations like a tiny, pastel tornado of vengeance.
"I SPENT HOURS CLEANING THAT STAIN, YOU FREAKY FISH-WEIRDO!"
"I HAVE NEVER EVEN TOUCHED YOUR CURTAINS, YOU DERANGED GOBLIN!"
"YOU DIDN'T KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!"
Charlie slapped a hand over her face, exhaling deeply through her nose. "This is my life," she muttered.
From down the hallway, a crash echoed as something fragile met a very unfortunate end, followed by Baxter's distant shrieking:
"CHARLIE! CONTROL YOUR GREMLIN!"
Charlie sighed again, but despite everything, she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips.
"At least he's still working."
Back in the quiet stillness of the cathedral, the shadows flickered gently across the cracked stained glass as Spawn finished his recount of the events that had driven him into hiding. His voice had been low, steady, but there was a weight behind each word—like every syllable dragged a memory far heavier than he wanted to carry.
He finally fell silent, letting the last of his words echo off the stone walls and into the solemn quiet that followed. His glowing green eyes watched Octavia carefully, gauging her reaction, though his face betrayed little emotion.
Octavia just stood there, processing.
Her arms were crossed, but not in defiance—more like a reflex. Her brow furrowed deeply, and her mouth hung slightly open as if her brain was still trying to figure out how to respond.
"Okay…" she finally muttered. "So... lemme get this straight…"
She looked up at him with a look that was part disbelief and part awe. "You—you—have divine power in you? Like... actual angelic stuff? And Heaven is hunting you because you basically embarrassed them?"
Spawn didn't answer right away. He simply gave a slow nod, wings flexing ever so slightly behind him, the faint shimmer of divine energy still crackling at their edges.
Octavia blinked hard. "That's... insane. Like, absolutely bananas."
She started pacing in a short, tight line, running a hand through her hair as she tried to wrap her head around it all. "I mean, I believe you. You're not exactly the type to make up crap just to sound cool, and you're already terrifying as hell—so, y'know, no need for embellishment."
She stopped and looked back at him.
"But damn... that's a lot. No wonder no one's seen you. And here I thought you just ditched us because you got bored."
His eyes narrowed slightly at the jab, and she quickly raised her hands in surrender, smirking a little. "Kidding."
A heavy silence followed before she spoke again, softer this time.
"I just… I don't know what to say. I came out here thinking maybe I'd just find a clue or a place you'd been. Not you in the middle of a church, halfway to being a divine nuke."
Spawn didn't move for a moment, then stepped forward, placing a hand gently on her shoulder.
"I never meant to disappear," he said. "But if I'd come back the way I am now… Hell would've had a target painted across its back."
Octavia looked up at him, her expression still mixed between awe and concern.
"Then what now?" she asked.
His response came after a moment's pause. "Now… I wait. Until I'm ready."
Octavia stared at Spawn, her brow tight with concern and frustration.
"I need to go back to Hell," she said firmly. "Tell someone who can actually do something. Someone like Charlie. If we had some backup—someone smart and powerful—we could figure out how to fix this. Together."
Spawn's glowing eyes narrowed, not out of anger, but out of hardened conviction. He shook his head slowly, wings shifting behind him as he took a step back into the flickering shadows.
"No," he said. "That's out of the question."
Octavia frowned. "Why?"
"Because I know Charlie," Spawn said, his voice heavy but resolute. "The second she finds out I'm alive—especially in this state—she'll do everything in her power to find me. To help. She's like that."
His gaze drifted downward for a moment, as if picturing her—smiling, hopeful, determined. "And I care too damn much about her—and the others—to let them get caught in this."
Octavia's mouth parted slightly, searching for a counterpoint, but none came.
"Alastor, Vaggie, Husk, even Blitzo and his weird murder crew—they'd all get involved," Spawn continued. "And Heaven wants that. They want me to lead them back to the people I care about. They want to purge every last connection I've made in Hell."
"And you think hiding's the answer?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
Spawn looked up at her again, the green glow of his eyes sharp and clear. "No. Not forever."
He folded his arms across his broad chest, his voice calmer now. "I'm staying here. On Earth. Long enough to regather my strength, to repress this divine form. Once I can do that—once I'm in control again—I'll return."
Octavia's arms dropped to her sides, reluctant but understanding. "So… what? You're just gonna lay low in an abandoned cathedral and wait?"
"I don't have a choice," he said. "Not until I can walk into Hell without leading a divine beacon straight to its doorstep."
She looked at him a moment longer, then let out a breath and rubbed her temples. "This is insane."
Spawn smirked faintly, just barely. "You said that already."
"I'll say it again if I have to." She said.
Octavia's eyes dropped to the worn stone floor beneath them. Her hands dug deep into the pockets of her hoodie, fidgeting with the photo she always kept there. When she finally looked up again, there was a certain hesitation in her eyes—one that made Spawn tilt his head ever so slightly, watching her with guarded curiosity.
"I know this is gonna sound… weird," she started, her voice low. "But maybe you shouldn't be here alone. Maybe it'd help if someone stuck around. Helped with… stuff."
Spawn blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "You want to stay here? In this place?" He gestured around to the cracked walls and stained glass barely clinging to the window frames. "You do realize this is a cathedral, right? It's cold, it's run-down, and it's not exactly welcoming to Hell-borns."
Octavia looked away, her shoulders tensing. There was a long silence before she spoke again, her voice quieter, heavier.
"It's not about the building…"
That answer alone shifted the mood. Spawn watched her closely now, the green glow of his eyes dimming slightly with concern.
"I just… I don't want to be home right now," she muttered. "Not after what they did."
"They?" Spawn asked, voice edged with caution.
Octavia nodded, then looked up at him again, her expression grim.
"My mom. Stella. And my uncle, Andrealphus. They're the ones who told Heaven about you."