[Sorry for the long wait between updates! This chapter ended up being a lot bigger than I originally planned, but I really wanted the grand reopening to feel important instead of rushing through it. I hope you enjoy the chapter, especially seeing more of how Evelyn's presence has changed Hell and the people around her.]
Evelyn POV
It has been a few months since the extermination was cut down to half a day, and somehow those months have vanished beneath construction schedules, political meetings, supplier contracts, and preparations for today. Scylla's party feels much farther away than it actually is, though every few days I still hear some sinner humming We Rise Anyway and have to resist the urge to vanish into the nearest wall. The Hazbin Hotel's grand reopening begins in only a few hours, which means I currently have more immediate problems than my accidental musical fame. If one more decorator asks me whether a ribbon should be crimson or scarlet, however, I may personally add murder to tonight's entertainment.
The hotel barely resembles the crumbling building Charlie first showed me, although enough of its original personality remains that it still feels unmistakably hers. Warm chandeliers cast gold across polished floors, while crimson stone, dark wood, ivory fabric, black iron, and carefully restrained gold detailing give the foyer a richer appearance without turning it into another royal palace. Serpents curl through the sweeping staircase rails, carved apple branches frame the arches, and ruby-glass fruit hangs among the lights where it catches every flicker of flame. Most importantly, nothing looks remotely capable of dropping a support beam onto my sister anymore.
Mother's influence is quieter, woven through musical notes hidden among the molding, curtains, mirrors, ironwork, and decorative filigree. Charlie discovered the first one during construction and immediately turned finding the rest into a game, dragging Vaggie from room to room while several increasingly tired builders attempted to work around them. Some of the symbols are obvious once noticed, while others disappear into curling vines or serpent tails until the light strikes them at the correct angle. I may have pretended not to notice how happy Charlie looked every time she found another.
The finished lobby is anything but peaceful as hotel staff, servants, caterers, florists, and hired workers move around me in organized chaos. Two imps struggle with a floral arrangement near the stairs until I finally point toward the left and say, "Three inches over, rotate the lower roses, and move that candle before the curtain catches fire." They correct all three problems with impressive speed while I mark another item off my Hellpad. I have discovered that sounding mildly disappointed is often more effective than actually threatening anyone.
Sir Pentious is supervising several Egg Boiz along the upper balcony, although one is currently hanging backward over the railing while another has wrapped himself in enough gold ribbon to resemble a badly packaged gift. Angel Dust lounges nearby while insisting he is taking a well-earned break despite my having seen remarkably little evidence that he ever started working, and Niffty keeps appearing beneath furniture with increasingly alarming amounts of cleaning equipment. Charlie darts between all of them with a clipboard, answering questions and making final adjustments while Vaggie follows close enough to stop her whenever enthusiasm begins overruling self-preservation. It is loud, ridiculous, and somehow functioning.
A sweet mixture of cherries and citrus draws me toward the newly rebuilt bar, where Husk is lining several glasses along the polished counter. The reopening menu is almost entirely alcohol-free, with mild enchantments recreating the warmth and pleasant looseness of drinking without actual intoxication or the consequences that come afterward. Husk complained bitterly when I first proposed the idea, then became personally offended when one of the kitchen staff suggested enchanted drinks might make a skilled bartender unnecessary. Pride remains one of Hell's most reliable motivators.
He notices the folded garment over my arm and immediately narrows his eyes. "If that thing has a bow tie, take it back wherever the fuck it came from." I place the charcoal-and-burgundy uniform on the counter and reply, "No bow tie, room for your wings, breathable fabric, and pockets deep enough for whatever mysterious garbage you insist on carrying." Husk unfolds it, inspects the subtle gold piping and embroidered hotel crest, then gives the irritated grunt I have learned means he approves.
"Still looks fancy as shit," he mutters, throwing it over one shoulder before returning to his drinks. I smile and say, "We are hosting Overlords, nobles, business owners, and enough wealthy sinners to finance a small war, so your usual interpretation of presentable will unfortunately not survive tonight." His ears flatten while he points a cocktail spoon at me like a weapon. "Keep smiling, Princess, and I'm putting real booze in yours."
A faint thread of radio static brushes through the room before Alastor appears beside the bar as though he has simply stepped out from behind reality. He offers me a shallow bow, and I hand him the finalized guest list containing the Overlords and influential figures who accepted invitations or agreed to lend some degree of public support to the hotel. His eyes move over the names with obvious amusement, lingering on several before one claw taps lightly against the page. "My, what a wonderfully combustible collection of personalities you have assembled, Princess."
"Not everyone attending believes in redemption, and I do not need them to," I answer while taking another sheet from beneath my Hellpad. Their attendance alone gives Charlie legitimacy, and several of them are intelligent enough to understand that publicly supporting a Morningstar-backed project is preferable to openly undermining one. Others are merely curious, opportunistic, or interested in whatever political favors may eventually come from being able to say they supported the hotel early. Motives can be sorted out later, provided everyone behaves tonight.
I slip the second page behind the first and lower my voice as another group of servants passes. "The Vees have spent months testing how much irritation I am willing to tolerate, and Katie Killjoy apparently mistook losing her career for a suggestion rather than a warning." Alastor's smile widens as the shadow beneath him twists into shapes with far too many teeth. "Once Charlie's formal reopening is finished, you have permission to educate them, but keep it elegant."
Alastor places one hand dramatically over his chest while the radio static around him grows almost musical. "Princess Evelyn, you do spoil me." I give him a flat look and reply, "Think of it as an employee incentive, and remember that any property-damage reports created by your enthusiasm are coming out of your budget." His laughter follows him into the shadows as they swallow him whole, leaving Husk staring at the empty space with open disgust.
With the major problems temporarily handled, I finally catch my reflection in one of the tall mirrors near the staircase. My gown is rich crimson silk, strapless and fitted closely through my waist and hips before widening into an elegant asymmetrical skirt with ivory fabric visible beneath the red outer layers. Gold embroidery curls down one side in apple blossoms, thorned vines, leaves, and subtle serpentine patterns that shimmer whenever I move beneath the chandeliers. It is regal, dramatic, and sharp enough that no one will mistake tonight for an ordinary hotel opening.
My hair has been swept upward and carefully wrapped around my curved horns, using their shape as part of the style rather than treating them as obstacles. Smaller braids disappear beneath thicker twists while a few softer strands frame my face, keeping the arrangement elegant without becoming painfully severe. Between the horns sits my crown of blackened metal, rubies, polished obsidian, and narrow thorn-like points that catch the light whenever I turn my head. A Morningstar crown should never look completely safe.
The rapid strike of familiar heels warns me half a second before Charlie nearly runs straight into my train. "Evelyn, you look gorgeous, like if a royal gala and a revenge fantasy had a baby!" she blurts before wrapping her arms around me, thankfully remembering at the last moment not to crush several thousand souls worth of silk beneath her shoes. I return the hug and warn, "Charlie, careful, because if you rip this dress, I will make you cry."
Vaggie approaches behind her and gives my outfit an appreciative look before nodding. "She's right, you look really good, although you also look like you might sentence someone to death before dessert." Charlie pulls away and immediately looks toward me with suspicious delight. "You are really excited about punishing people tonight, aren't you?"
I place a hand against my chest and arrange my face into what I consider innocence. "Charlie, I cannot imagine what could possibly give you that impression." Vaggie looks at me for exactly two seconds before saying, "That may be the least convincing expression I have ever seen on another person." Charlie immediately bursts into laughter while I decide dignity sometimes requires pretending not to hear things.
Her laughter fades as she looks around the completed lobby, and something softer replaces it. "It feels real now," she says quietly, eyes moving over the chandeliers, the rebuilt stairs, and the musical detailing worked into the walls. I squeeze her hand and answer, "That was the goal." Charlie's smile wobbles for a moment before she abruptly asks whether I personally checked all the welcome baskets.
"Twice," I assure her before she can start spiraling through another checklist. Charlie immediately begins asking whether the soaps are scented too strongly, whether the room keys are labeled correctly, and whether the gift vouchers might accidentally have been printed with the old hotel name. Vaggie places both hands on Charlie's shoulders and says, "Babe, breathe before you pass out at your own reopening." Charlie inhales deeply, holds it, then lets it out with enough drama to make both of us smile.
She turns back toward me and smooths one hand over my sleeve. "You really do look beautiful, Sis." I tuck one loose blonde curl behind her ear and reply, "And you look like you are approximately thirty seconds from vibrating out of your skin." Vaggie immediately adds, "So basically a calm day for Charlie."
That is when I finally take in what both of them are wearing and frown. Charlie notices first, glancing down at the red business attire she has been wearing through preparations before giving me a knowing look, while Vaggie crosses her arms in immediate suspicion. "Uh-oh," Charlie says, already smiling because she knows me far too well. Vaggie sighs and mutters, "That face means you're about to do something."
"Your instincts serve you well," I reply, looking between them with growing dissatisfaction. Charlie lifts both hands and says, "I was going to change, I swear, I just wanted to make sure everything was finished first." I glance toward the clock, then back at her. "With you, nothing is wrong, but with that outfit at this hour, absolutely."
Charlie snorts because she knows perfectly well that formalwear is not some alien concept being forced upon her. She has spent two centuries attending royal banquets, ceremonies, court functions, diplomatic receptions, and events where Mother considered three outfit changes a reasonable minimum. Around the hotel she simply prefers practical suits, business clothing, and dresses she can actually work in without worrying about a train collecting dust behind her. Tonight requires something different.
"A correction," I say before raising one hand. Deep red smoke pours from my fingertips and winds around Charlie and Vaggie from the floor upward while gold sparks pulse through the haze like embers. Fabric shifts beneath the magic, jewelry chimes softly, and their hair lifts weightlessly as the spell begins reshaping clothing and styling rather than their bodies. Vaggie watches me through the smoke and warns, "If you put bows on me, we are going to have a problem."
"If I wanted to humiliate you, Vaggie, I promise I could be considerably more creative," I answer as another wave of magic rolls through the smoke. Charlie is perfectly calm, merely lifting her arms so the forming sleeves do not catch because Morningstar wardrobe magic stopped impressing her sometime around infancy. Vaggie remains suspicious but obediently stays in place. "Stand still."
The smoke clears around Charlie first, revealing a fitted deep-red bodice decorated with intricate gold embroidery above a sweeping skirt whose crimson outer panels frame a long ivory center. Sheer ivory fabric drapes elegantly from her arms while fine golden chains and subtle apple details accent her waist without weighing the entire design down. The gown is unmistakably royal but still light enough to move in, dance in, and inevitably run across the lobby in if Charlie forgets she has a train. Familiarity settles into her expression almost immediately.
Her blonde hair rises into an elaborate braided crown, with softer bangs and loose tendrils framing her face while the remaining length falls gracefully behind one shoulder. One of her formal black-and-ruby crowns settles securely among the braids, and Charlie automatically checks its placement with the practiced motion of someone who has worn crowns since childhood. She studies herself in the mirror, lifts one side of the skirt, and turns enough to see how the layers move. "Oh, this is much better than the one I had upstairs."
"Obviously," I reply, earning the affectionate eye roll I expected. Charlie shifts her shoulders, checks the draped sleeves, and takes several comfortable steps before nodding in approval. There is no awkward transformation into some newly discovered princess because nothing about the role is new to her. She simply looks like Charlie attending court instead of Charlie halfway through reorganizing a hotel kitchen.
The smoke falls away from Vaggie next, leaving her in a flowing gown of silver and charcoal that darkens gradually toward the hem. Metallic embroidery spreads across the neckline, shoulders, and wrists while translucent gray drapes fall from her arms without restricting movement. Her pale hair tumbles down her back in long waves, the upper sections gathered into elegant twists and braids decorated with subtle silver vines and tiny pale ornaments. Her eyepatch remains exactly where it belongs.
Vaggie immediately lifts both arms, turns at the waist, and takes several quick steps as if evaluating battle equipment rather than eveningwear. "Okay, that's actually really good," she admits, sounding almost annoyed that she cannot complain. Charlie turns toward her and lights up, taking both of her hands before saying, "Vaggie, you look gorgeous, like some mysterious storm princess who could destroy someone at a ballroom and on a battlefield." Vaggie stares at her for a moment before muttering, "That is weirdly specific, babe."
Charlie whirls toward the mirror again with her skirts sweeping around her ankles, clearly delighted by the finished look. "Oh, this is definitely better than the one I picked upstairs." I raise one brow and reply, "Obviously." Charlie rolls her eyes and mutters, "Yes, yes, your impeccable taste remains undefeated."
Her excitement makes one passing imp servant stumble over his own feet, though another catches him before the tray in his hands can hit the floor. Vaggie moves beside Charlie, and for a moment the two of them simply stand together beneath the chandeliers, red and ivory beside silver and charcoal. Charlie looks warm, bright, and unmistakably royal while Vaggie carries herself with the steadiness of someone who belongs at her side rather than several steps behind her. They look like partners, not decorations.
Charlie's smile slowly softens as she catches my expression through the mirror. "You did this because everyone is going to be watching us tonight, didn't you?" I straighten one small gold chain at her waist and answer, "Tonight every detail matters, because this hotel will be watched, weighed, and judged by people waiting for an excuse to dismiss it." My eyes meet hers in the glass as I add, "So let them look."
Charlie turns and hugs me again, this time considerably more carefully. "Thank you, Sis." Vaggie gives me a smaller smile and adds, "Yeah, seriously, thank you." I point toward both of them and warn, "You are welcome, but if either of you ruins those outfits before the first guest crosses the threshold, I reserve the right to become unbearable."
The protective wards around the property ripple against my senses before Charlie can respond. Engines and carriage wheels begin gathering outside, distant voices swell beyond the doors, and servants throughout the lobby straighten almost simultaneously as the first guests cross onto the grounds. Husk disappears behind the bar to change while Sir Pentious begins hissing frantically at the Egg Boiz to get down from the chandelier before anyone important sees them. Niffty screams something about a fingerprint on the front doors and vanishes.
Charlie's eyes widen, and for half a second all the polished royal composure gives way to pure excitement. Vaggie reaches for her hand while I move to Charlie's other side, watching her take one slow breath before her shoulders settle naturally into the posture she learned long ago. "Ready?" I ask, although the smile forming across her face already gives me the answer. "I've been waiting for this for months."
The enormous doors begin to open, spilling Pentagram City's crimson light across the polished floor while music rises somewhere deeper inside the hotel. I squeeze Charlie's shoulder once before stepping back, because the guests are entering her hotel and tonight belongs to her first. She lifts her chin, Vaggie matches her pace, and together they move forward to greet the first silhouettes approaching the threshold. Now they look the part.
Third-Person POV
The first guests arrived in a steady stream beneath the crimson glow of Pentagram City, with sleek infernal cars stopping beside antique carriages pulled by skeletal beasts and stranger creatures. Chauffeurs, bodyguards, assistants, and lesser demons hurried to keep pace as their employers crossed beneath the hotel's towering doors. Powerful sinners entered beside wealthy hellborn, nobles mingled with business owners, and several Overlords paused long enough to inspect the renovated lobby before moving farther inside. Even the guests determined not to look impressed found their eyes wandering upward toward the chandeliers and sweeping staircase.
Charlie stood at the entrance with Vaggie beside her, greeting each new arrival with a warmth that never quite lost its sincerity no matter how many hands she shook. The gown and crown made her royal status impossible to miss, but neither changed the enthusiasm in her voice when she welcomed someone personally. Vaggie exchanged greetings while her single visible eye quietly monitored anyone who lingered too close or approached Charlie with suspicious interest. Evelyn remained several steps behind them, near enough to intervene but deliberately refusing to turn her sister's reopening into another event centered around the Crown Princess.
"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, and thank you so much for coming!" Charlie greeted another group while gesturing toward the ballroom beyond the foyer. "Food and drinks are available throughout the evening, and you're welcome to explore the public areas before the presentation starts." The guests thanked her before continuing inside, immediately beginning a quiet conversation about the hotel's new architecture. Charlie waited until they were safely out of hearing distance before giving Vaggie a look that practically screamed they like it.
Vaggie caught it instantly and squeezed Charlie's hand beneath the folds of their skirts. "Don't celebrate yet, babe, we still have an entire night to survive." Charlie's smile only widened as she whispered, "Nobody has insulted the hotel in the first ten minutes, so statistically we're already doing better." Vaggie tried to remain serious and failed when the corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Across the lobby, Husk had become the unwilling center of attention as guests discovered the enchanted mocktails tasted considerably better than expected. One sinner took a suspicious sip of something glowing orange, blinked when comfortable warmth spread through him, and immediately demanded to know how there could possibly be no alcohol inside it. Husk explained the enchantment with the irritated pride of an artist being forced to remind everyone that he knew what he was doing. Angel leaned against the opposite side of the bar and loudly claimed responsibility for the entire menu until Husk threatened to beat him with a shaker.
Sir Pentious was having considerably more trouble maintaining dignity because the Egg Boiz had apparently decided the reopening was their opportunity to become professional waiters. One marched through the crowd carrying a tray nearly twice his width while another followed behind giving instructions that contradicted everything Pentious had just told them. A third stopped before an elaborately dressed sinner and proudly announced, "Would you like a tiny sandwich, sir, because they are tiny because they are fancy!" Pentious made a strangled sound while the sinner laughed and took two.
The atmosphere shifted subtly when more recognizable Overlords began entering with entourages trailing behind them. Conversations lowered, curious eyes turned toward the entrance, and several guests began instinctively measuring territory and influence even though the hotel was neutral ground for the evening. None openly tested the rule, especially after noticing Evelyn beneath one of the chandeliers with a glass in hand and her dark crown gleaming between her horns. Those who met her gaze suddenly remembered their manners.
Charlie noticed the tension but did not retreat from it. "I'm glad you came, and I hope you'll give the hotel an honest chance before deciding what you think of it." Her voice held no desperate plea and no attempt to force belief from people who had already arrived skeptical. She merely sounded certain that time and results would eventually make her argument for her.
One elderly hellborn noble studied her for several seconds before giving a thoughtful nod. "You sound considerably more certain than the last time I heard this project discussed, Your Highness." Charlie smiled and replied, "I've had a few months to learn what doesn't work, and I have a lot of people helping me figure out what might." Across the foyer, Evelyn caught the exchange and raised her glass slightly when Charlie glanced toward her.
Hell's 666 News arrived shortly afterward in a burst of camera flashes, whispered speculation, equipment cases, and reporters already searching for something dramatic enough to lead tomorrow's broadcasts. Several gathered in clusters just beyond the entrance and openly stared as wealthy hellborn, powerful sinners, nobles, and Overlords spoke beneath the same roof without immediately trying to kill one another. Producers murmured instructions into headsets while camera demons struggled to decide whether the renovated hotel or the impossible guest list deserved more attention. More than one reporter quietly began estimating the cost of the entire event.
Two succubus maids intercepted the press before anyone wandered outside the permitted areas, both dressed in fitted black-and-crimson uniforms that were remarkably conservative by succubus standards. That did not stop several reporters from straightening when the women gave them slow, playful smiles, nor did it stop one particularly handsome demon from nearly walking into his cameraman after his eyes wandered down the nearer maid's figure. She noticed immediately and leaned just close enough to make his face heat beneath the attention. "Press seating is this way, handsome, unless you were planning to interview my chest instead."
His face went scarlet while another reporter burst out laughing, and the succubus turned away with a satisfied flick of her tail. Her partner directed the group toward a roped-off section offering a clear view of the presentation stage while keeping cameras away from the hotel's private corridors. Even after sitting down, several journalists continued staring around the room at guests whose names normally belonged in completely different social circles. Whatever story they expected to write tonight was already becoming more complicated.
Another ripple moved through the entrance when an ornate Goetian carriage stopped outside and the doors opened for a towering owl-like noble. Stolas stepped inside dressed in a long formal coat embroidered with celestial patterns, while Octavia followed several steps behind in dark clothing clearly chosen to accommodate her tastes as much as possible. She still looked like a teenager being forced through a social ritual she would happily trade for headphones and a locked bedroom door. One claw repeatedly tugged at a cuff as her eyes scanned the crowd with quiet discomfort.
Stella entered after them in an elaborate pale gown, swan-like and immaculate as she swept into the hotel with the expression of someone searching for flaws. Her nose wrinkled almost immediately, though whether at the sinners, the press, or the simple existence of people she considered beneath her was difficult to tell. She barely acknowledged her husband before spotting several noblewomen across the foyer and briskly heading toward them. Within moments she had joined their conversation and left Stolas and Octavia behind without another glance.
Charlie spotted them and brightened immediately as she approached with Vaggie at her side. "Stolas, I'm so glad you came, and Octavia, you look really nice tonight!" Octavia glanced down at her clothes before mumbling, "Thanks, apparently jeans and a hoodie failed the royal definition of formal." Stolas gave his daughter an affectionate smile that suggested they had already argued over the subject several times.
"You were permitted to choose the darkest gown in the wardrobe, darling, surely that counts for something." Octavia slowly turned her head toward him with the exhausted stare of someone who had heard that defense repeatedly. "It still has lace." Charlie giggled before telling her about a quieter balcony upstairs and several tables of food that had deliberately been kept uncomplicated for guests who hated formal event menus.
That earned the smallest hint of interest from Octavia before Evelyn approached with her glass resting loosely between her fingers. "Stolas, Octavia, I'm glad you both came, and how is the guitar practice going, Octavia?" The younger Goetia's posture loosened almost instantly when the conversation moved toward something she actually cared about. "Better, except Dad keeps pretending he can't hear when I mess up."
Stolas placed one hand dramatically over his chest and looked wounded by the accusation. "I would never deceive my precious daughter concerning her musical talents." Octavia stared at him and replied, "You said the amp exploding added character." Evelyn hid a laugh behind her glass while Stolas became intensely interested in the nearest chandelier.
Once Charlie distracted Octavia with the musical notes hidden through the hotel's architecture, Evelyn turned back toward Stolas. "And have you thought any more about my offer, because arranging the proceedings would not be particularly difficult once you authorize them?" His expression shifted almost imperceptibly, but Octavia caught the final word and looked back with immediate suspicion. "What proceedings?"
Stolas opened his beak and discovered far too late that he had no convincing answer prepared. Evelyn gestured smoothly toward the lobby and said, "Administrative arrangements, nothing you need to worry about tonight, because I would rather know what you think of the renovations." Octavia narrowed her eyes with the unmistakable knowledge that adults were hiding something from her, but Charlie was already pointing out another hidden musical pattern nearby. Within moments she had been pulled toward the staircase, leaving her father behind.
Stolas waited until his daughter was comfortably beyond hearing distance before releasing a long breath. "You realize she is absolutely going to interrogate me about those proceedings later." Evelyn took an unhurried sip from her glass and answered, "Then I suggest you prepare a more convincing answer before she does." His feathers puffed slightly while her amused smile made it clear she considered that entirely his problem.
The amusement disappeared as Evelyn glanced toward Stella, confirming that she remained across the ballroom surrounded by several noblewomen and nowhere near enough to overhear them. "I mean it, Stolas, because I know your marriage is miserable and I know she is abusive." His hand tightened sharply around his glass while his eyes snapped toward Evelyn. "I also have no affection for Stella or her power-hungry brother, so neither of them has enough favor with me to make protecting you politically inconvenient."
Stolas remained silent while Evelyn's voice lowered beneath the surrounding music. "I am Crown Princess of Hell, acting ruler of Pride while my parents are away, and Father has delegated royal judicial authority to me over matters involving the noble houses and Crown law." The Goetia could administer their estates and internal affairs, but their titles, contracts, inheritances, and political privileges ultimately existed beneath Morningstar sovereignty. "If you consent to a royal review, I have the authority to dissolve the marriage under Crown seal if the evidence supports annulment."
That statement pulled something raw and uncertain across Stolas' face. "And Stella or Andrealphus couldn't simply overturn it?" Evelyn shook her head and answered, "They could petition for review, but overturning my ruling would require an appeal to the King himself, and I would genuinely enjoy watching Andrealphus explain to Father why protecting an abusive marriage serves the Crown." For the first time since the subject began, Stolas almost smiled.
"Once proceedings begin, I can temporarily freeze disputed marital assets and prevent either family from altering inheritance arrangements until the review is complete," Evelyn continued. Octavia's title, bloodline standing, succession rights, and protected inheritance would remain untouched regardless of what happened between her parents. Stella could return to her birth family with whatever property the original marriage contract legally entitled her to, while boundaries between both households could be enforced through royal order. Stolas stared into his wine as though someone had quietly placed an exit where he had spent years seeing only walls.
"It isn't only Stella, Evelyn, because Via has already been hurt enough by everything between us." His gaze drifted toward the staircase where his daughter had disappeared with Charlie. Evelyn followed it before answering, "Which is why this should be handled legally instead of being allowed to rot into a private war between two Goetian houses." Octavia deserved clear inheritance protections, enforceable household boundaries, and parents who stopped pretending their hatred was somehow less damaging than separation.
Stolas' shoulders lowered by a fraction before Evelyn's expression hardened again. "Unfortunately, your marriage is not the only matter involving you that has reached my desk." He looked back toward her, wary now, and Evelyn let him experience exactly one second of uncertainty. "We need to discuss your grimoire."
Stolas nearly choked on his drink before managing, "My grimoire?" Evelyn lifted one brow and replied, "Please do not insult either of us by pretending you do not know what I mean." The color beneath his feathers seemed to drain as several recent decisions apparently began replaying behind his eyes. Evelyn allowed the silence to work for her.
"Unauthorized crossings into the living world fall under Crown law, inter-realm security statutes, and the secrecy regulations governing contact with humanity," Evelyn said quietly. Monitoring wards surrounding recognized portal routes had been flagging repeated unregistered openings connected to the same Goetian magical signature for months. She had investigated rather than immediately opening a prosecution because she wanted to understand exactly what was happening before turning the matter into a formal royal case. "Your book has been remarkably noisy for something you apparently hoped nobody would notice."
Stolas swallowed while Evelyn continued before he could begin inventing excuses. "I know about Blitzø, his employees, their assassination business, and the fact that you have been lending them restricted Goetian property so they can reach Earth without authorization." She could suspend his grimoire privileges, seize the book pending review, freeze their terrestrial operations, or refer every recorded crossing to a Crown tribunal if she chose. "Do not mistake my decision not to do those things yet for an inability to do them."
"In their defense, they are usually rather careful," Stolas offered weakly. Evelyn stared at him long enough that he visibly reconsidered the wisdom of the sentence. "Usually," she repeated with painful flatness. "That word is doing heroic work for you right now."
A nervous smile tugged at his beak before Evelyn finally let a little steel leave her posture. "I do not actually care that a group of imps found an unusual business model, because if I wanted the company destroyed, I would already have shut it down." Stolas blinked at her, clearly having expected almost anything except that answer. "If they want to keep operating, they can apply for legal inter-realm access like everyone else."
A commercial permit would require registered employees, secrecy agreements, portal tracking, approved access methods, and mandatory reporting whenever something went wrong. Evelyn could grant the business provisional authorization while the full review took place, provided everyone cooperated and no concealed exposure incidents surfaced during the investigation. The process would be irritating, invasive, and buried beneath enough paperwork to make even seasoned administrators reconsider their life choices. It was still considerably better than criminal charges.
"Blitzø is going to hate this," Stolas murmured, already sounding tired at the thought. Evelyn stared at him and answered, "I do not govern Hell according to Blitzø's feelings about paperwork." That actually pulled a laugh from him, quieter than his usual theatrical voice but genuine enough to briefly loosen the tension between them. Evelyn's mouth twitched before she continued.
"The secrecy of the afterlife exists for a reason, and I will not risk exposing Hell because four reckless imps find regulations inconvenient." Humans learning beyond doubt that demons, angels, Heaven, and Hell were real could destabilize far more than one assassination company. Evelyn already dealt with overcrowding, housing shortages, territorial disputes, and a sinner population that expanded every day without anyone adding a mortal-world panic to the list. "Hell is crowded enough without humanity collectively losing its mind and sending me even more souls to house."
Stolas rubbed one hand over his face and muttered, "You make ruling sound exceptionally unpleasant." Evelyn replied, "It is mostly forms, threats, meetings, more forms, and occasionally reminding powerful idiots that laws apply to them too." He laughed again despite himself. For a few seconds they simply stood beside each other while the reopening continued around them.
His gaze eventually returned to where Octavia had disappeared upstairs. "May I think about the annulment before I give you an answer?" Evelyn nodded immediately because the entire point was to return a choice to him rather than replace one controlling demand with another. "Take whatever time you need, because unless something requires immediate Crown intervention, that decision remains yours."
Relief softened Stolas' expression before caution returned almost immediately. "And the grimoire?" Evelyn smiled sweetly enough that his relief vanished on the spot. "That one is not optional, and you are bringing Blitzø and the rest of his company to my office within seven days." Stolas sighed so deeply his shoulders dropped.
"I will have provisional licensing papers prepared, along with a temporary amnesty for previous unregistered crossings provided everyone cooperates fully and there are no concealed exposure incidents," Evelyn added. Stolas blinked twice before asking, "You already drafted an amnesty?" She lifted her glass and answered, "I started three weeks ago." He stared at her as if suddenly remembering exactly why most of Pride preferred never to become one of her administrative problems.
"Sometimes I forget how terrifyingly prepared you are." Evelyn's smile widened just enough to show the faint edge of a fang. "That is usually when people create problems for themselves." Somewhere across the lobby, Alastor's distant radio laughter slipped through the music as another group of guests entered, and Evelyn glanced toward the doors with quiet anticipation.
Charlie POV
The music slowly lowers until the last notes soften into the background, and conversation throughout the ballroom begins fading with it as everyone realizes something is about to happen. One by one, the chandeliers dim while smaller lights around the stage glow to life in warm red, ivory, and gold, drawing every eye toward the closed curtains. Camera demons in the press section straighten behind their equipment, and the mechanical whir of adjusting lenses suddenly sounds much louder in the growing silence. My stomach does a very enthusiastic somersault.
Behind the curtain, Vaggie stands closest to me with her hand wrapped firmly around mine while Angel, Husk, Niffty, Sir Pentious, and the Egg Boiz crowd nearby in varying states of excitement. Angel gives me two thumbs up while Husk leans against the wall with his arms folded, pretending he is not watching despite both ears pointing directly toward me. Sir Pentious whispers frantic last-minute instructions to the Egg Boiz, who nod with such aggressive seriousness that I immediately worry they misunderstood something important. Niffty simply grins up at me and whispers, "If anybody boos, can I stab them?"
"No stabbing the guests," Vaggie answers before I can, earning a deeply disappointed noise from Niffty. I peek through the narrow opening between the curtains and immediately find Evelyn seated to one side of the stage. Two of her personal imp maids have just finished carrying in a summoned black-and-gold throne decorated with twisting apple branches and serpentine details, positioning it where she can see both me and the audience. One maid hands her a fresh glass of apple wine while the other offers a plate of rose-shaped Hellish Delights, and both brighten when Evelyn thanks them.
Evelyn settles into the throne with the effortless familiarity of someone who has probably attended more ceremonies than I could count without getting bored halfway through. Her crimson gown spills elegantly over one side while she takes an unhurried sip of wine, watching the stage with absolutely no indication that she doubts me. When she notices me peeking through the curtains, one corner of her mouth lifts and she raises the glass slightly in my direction. Somehow that tiny gesture untangles something tight beneath my ribs.
"You're going to do great," Vaggie murmurs beside me, squeezing my hand until I finally turn back toward her. "You've practiced this presentation enough times that I could probably give it for you, and nobody in that room knows this hotel better than you." I swallow and whisper, "Half of them might only be here because Evelyn terrified them into accepting the invitation." Vaggie snorts and replies, "Then take advantage of your captive audience."
A laugh escapes before I can stop it, carrying a surprising amount of nervousness away with it. I inhale slowly, smooth both hands over my gown, and look toward everyone gathered behind me. "Okay, no pressure, just several of Hell's most powerful people, most of the major press, a room full of nobles, and probably thousands of demons who will see clips of this tomorrow." Angel grins and says, "Exactly, babe, practically a private dinner with friends."
The lights beyond the curtain fade until the ballroom becomes almost completely dark, leaving only a soft golden glow around the edge of the stage. A gentle piano melody begins beneath the silence, and an enchanted spotlight appears at center stage as the curtains slowly draw apart. My heart jumps hard enough to hurt, but I release Vaggie's hand and step into the light anyway. The moment my heels cross onto the stage, hundreds of faces turn toward me.
For half a second, everything disappears except the sound of my own breathing and the blood rushing in my ears. Then I see Vaggie standing just beyond the curtain, Evelyn watching from her throne, and several members of the staff shamelessly peeking around one another backstage. I straighten my shoulders, letting familiar royal composure settle over the nerves without smothering the excitement underneath them. "Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the grand reopening of the Hazbin Hotel."
The ballroom answers with polite applause that travels gradually through the crowd before fading into silence again. I let it settle instead of rushing over it, remembering lessons Mom drilled into me during speeches long before I understood why controlling silence mattered. Several reporters lean forward while Overlords watch with carefully unreadable expressions, and even nobles who spent most of the evening gossiping have finally stopped talking. Good, they are listening.
"A few months ago, this building had holes in the walls, failing supports, barely enough staff to function, and one chandelier I was becoming increasingly convinced wanted me dead," I begin, earning a ripple of laughter from the audience. From somewhere backstage, Angel whispers something that makes Husk cough suspiciously like he is trying not to laugh. "We have changed a lot since then, obviously, but the purpose of this place hasn't." I gesture toward the hotel as golden illumination begins rolling slowly across the surrounding walls.
Enchanted projections appear above the stage, displaying guest rooms, therapy spaces, dining areas, gardens, recreation rooms, classrooms, and quieter private spaces throughout the renovated building. Rather than showing the hotel as some impossible palace, the images focus on comfortable rooms, welcoming common areas, useful facilities, and spaces actually intended for people to live in. Several guests begin murmuring among themselves as one projection shifts into another. This time the sound carries curiosity rather than ridicule.
"The Hazbin Hotel is not a prison, and nobody is dragged here because somebody else has decided they need to change," I continue. "Anyone who comes through these doors chooses to be here, and anyone who stays is choosing to try, even if they fail sometimes along the way." The projections change to show staff helping residents, group activities, and ordinary moments rather than some glittering image of Heaven waiting at the end. "Because becoming better probably isn't going to happen because somebody gives one inspiring speech and suddenly everything you did or everything that happened to you disappears."
The entire room grows quieter as I move closer to the front of the stage. "It means learning, failing, trying again, apologizing when you hurt somebody, understanding why you keep making the same choices, and deciding whether you actually want something different." I take another breath before continuing, "Maybe redemption exists exactly the way I believe it does, maybe it works differently, or maybe proving any of this will take longer than we expect.""But I refuse to believe the only answer Hell has for someone who genuinely wants to become better is telling them they should have thought of that before they died."
Someone near the middle claps once before apparently realizing nobody else has started yet and stopping abruptly. A few demons laugh softly, but there is nothing cruel in it, and one reporter actually lowers her pen for several seconds instead of immediately scribbling something down. Evelyn sits completely still except for the slow turn of her wineglass between her fingers, wearing an expression proud enough that I quickly look elsewhere before I start crying onstage. This is already going considerably better than television did.
The music beneath the speech shifts as strings gradually join the piano and the projections change again. Angel appears laughing with the others rather than posing for a camera, followed by Husk behind the bar, Niffty attacking a stain, and Sir Pentious desperately attempting to organize the Egg Boiz. The audience laughs when one projection catches an Egg Boi proudly carrying a mop backward through the lobby. From backstage comes an offended hiss of, "That was an experimental cleaning formation!"
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing and continue before Pentious can defend his methods in greater detail. "The people working here are not perfect examples of redemption, because pretending they were would completely defeat the point." Another projection shows the staff together during construction, dusty, exhausted, irritated, and laughing after a long day. "They are people trying to make this place work while dealing with their own problems too, and I think that matters more than pretending any of us already have everything figured out."
Vaggie watches me from beside the curtains with an expression soft enough that I know exactly what she is thinking without hearing a word. Angel has stopped joking entirely, Husk looks down when the projection catches him helping an Egg Boi reach a high shelf, and Pentious has gone strangely quiet beside them. Niffty remains completely herself and waves enthusiastically at her projected image like they are old friends meeting across dimensions. Somehow that makes my smile widen.
The projections fade until only the hotel emblem remains suspended above the stage while the lighting turns warmer around me. "Tonight is not me asking everyone in this room to suddenly believe everything I believe." I look across the Overlords, nobles, sinners, hellborn, and reporters before continuing, "I am asking you to watch what happens here, judge us by what we actually accomplish, and give the people who walk through these doors enough time to show whether they can change.""If we fail, then at least we will fail because we tried something better than simply accepting that nothing can ever improve."
The emblem above me breaks apart into hundreds of small golden lights that drift slowly across the ceiling like stars. Several briefly form apples, serpents, and musical notes before dissolving again, drawing quiet sounds of appreciation from throughout the ballroom. The piano begins building toward something brighter while I look across the hotel my friends and family helped bring to life. For the first time since stepping onto the stage, I stop wondering whether I am performing correctly.
"Hell has spent a very long time teaching everyone down here that survival is enough," I say, allowing my voice to soften. "Maybe for some people it is, and maybe some people really are happy exactly where they are, but anyone who wants more deserves somewhere they can try to find it." My gaze travels across the ballroom before lingering briefly on Vaggie and then Evelyn. "That is what the Hazbin Hotel is here to offer."
For one terrible heartbeat after I finish, nobody moves and the silence feels enormous. Then applause erupts, beginning near the middle of the ballroom before spreading outward until clapping, whistles, cheers, and voices fill the room. Several guests rise from their seats while press cameras flash rapidly enough to turn the audience into a blur of white light. Behind the curtain, Angel whoops loud enough to be heard over everyone while Vaggie presses both hands against her mouth, smiling like she is desperately trying not to cry.
I turn toward Evelyn almost instinctively, needing to see her reaction even with hundreds of others applauding. My sister has risen from her throne, her glass now resting on the small table beside it. She brings her hands together in slow, deliberate applause while smiling at me without making the slightest attempt to hide how proud she is. The two imp maids beside her immediately join in, one nearly bouncing on her heels while the other suspiciously wipes at the corner of one eye.
Suddenly, the applause from everyone else matters just a little less than it did a moment ago. I grin so hard my cheeks hurt while relief and something much warmer settle together inside my chest. For the first time since I began this hotel, it does not feel like I am standing in front of Hell begging everyone to hear me. They are listening.
Alastor POV
The applause rolls through the ballroom in a magnificent wave, rattling glasses and sending the little golden lights above the stage trembling. I remain beside the curtains with both hands resting neatly over my cane, watching Princess Charlie attempt not to cry while a respectable portion of the room rises for her. She possesses considerably more backbone than many of Hell's inhabitants seem determined to give her credit for, though optimism remains a terribly peculiar foundation for a business. Watching a room arrive prepared to mock her and leave genuinely considering her argument has nevertheless been delightful.
I cannot claim to share her faith that some hidden reservoir of goodness waits patiently inside every miserable soul damned to this place. She did not, however, ask these people to believe her blindly or promise that one cheerful song would somehow erase centuries of depravity. She asked them to observe, judge results, and decide whether those who genuinely wanted something different deserved the opportunity to pursue it. That is considerably more interesting than simple naïveté.
My gaze drifts from the stage toward Princess Evelyn, who has risen from her throne to applaud her younger sister. One imp attendant retrieves her abandoned glass while the other guards a plate of rose-shaped sweets with the solemn dedication of a soldier protecting state secrets. Evelyn catches my eye across the ballroom, and the warmth reserved for Charlie sharpens into something colder for less than a second. Permission.
The Vees have spent months discovering exactly how far they can test Evelyn Morningstar's patience, which is generally an inadvisable hobby for anyone who enjoys comfort. Katie Killjoy has somehow demonstrated even poorer judgment by losing her career and continuing to insult the same royal family responsible for ending it. Evelyn requested elegance rather than restraint, and fortunately I have never considered those concepts mutually exclusive. I have been looking forward to this little errand all evening.
I wait until Charlie leaves center stage and Vaggie immediately catches her in an embrace before allowing myself to move. Angel, Niffty, Pentious, and several Egg Boiz quickly join them, creating something that resembles an extremely emotional traffic accident while guests begin drifting toward refreshments. Reporters gather into excited clusters to dissect everything they just witnessed, leaving nearly every useful set of eyes pointed away from me. Only then do I turn toward the nearest patch of darkness.
Husk notices before the shadows can take me and asks, "Going somewhere?" from behind the bar. I adjust one cuff and answer pleasantly, "Merely attending to a small matter of professional development." He gives me a long stare over the glass he is polishing and mutters, "That means somebody's fucked, doesn't it?" The shadows swallow me before I am forced to endure such dreadful cynicism.
Pentagram City reforms around me in violent strips of neon while traffic and distant gunfire blend beneath the permanent red sky. I step from an alley several blocks from VoxTek Tower, brushing imaginary dust from my coat as the building dominates the skyline ahead. Enormous screens crawl across its exterior, selling products, personalities, subscriptions, and the rather charming illusion that anyone inside matters beyond their quarterly revenue. How welcoming.
Entering is almost disappointingly simple because Vox has invested tremendously in cybersecurity while apparently neglecting the possibility that shadows do not require passwords. Evelyn's laws have prevented the Vees from spreading into royal markets as freely as they desire, but the tower still employs enough guards and terrified assistants to maintain an impressive appearance. Employees hurry between departments carrying tablets, equipment, drinks, and enough anxiety to poison the air. I travel beneath their feet without one of them noticing.
Voices eventually lead me toward a private lounge several floors above the main studios, where the door has conveniently been left open just enough for sound to escape. Vox complains about coverage of the hotel, specifically the number of journalists using unfortunate words such as compelling and promising instead of pathetic. Velvette scrolls through photographs from the reopening while Valentino sprawls across an entire sofa smoking something both expensive and unpleasant. Such lovely company.
Then I notice the fourth guest sitting comfortably near their table and nearly laugh aloud at the convenience. Former 666 News anchor Katie Killjoy holds a drink in one hand while a microphone rests beside her, apparently enjoying whatever unofficial platform Vox has offered after respectable broadcasters stopped employing her. She discusses tomorrow's planned commentary about Charlie with the confidence of someone who has confused continued survival with protection. A blacklisted reporter sitting beside three people already irritating Evelyn could not have arranged itself better if I had planned it personally.
"You know what that bitch needs?" Katie says, swirling her drink as though she still possesses an audience worth impressing. "Someone who isn't terrified of her sister telling everyone what a fucking joke that hotel really is." Vox gives an electronic chuckle and replies, "Now that is exactly the kind of independent journalism I support." Static whispers softly through the room.
All four heads turn toward the darkened corner at once as I step into view, the tip of my cane clicking pleasantly against the floor. "Good evening, everyone," I announce, delighted by how quickly Katie's face loses color. Velvette lowers her phone while Valentino removes the cigarette from his mouth and Vox's screen glitches hard enough to distort his expression. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
"Alastor," Vox growls as electricity crawls around the edges of his screen. "What the fuck are you doing in my tower?" I tap one claw against the top of my cane and answer, "Why, visiting an old acquaintance and several exceptionally stupid strangers, of course." His electricity brightens.
Vox rises and demands, "You think you can just walk into my building and threaten us?" I laugh softly as radio static begins bleeding beneath his voice and answer, "Think?" The doors slam shut around us while shadows crawl upward across the walls and every television in the lounge collapses into black-and-white static. Vox's confidence finally wavers.
Then the security cameras begin moving.
Every lens in the lounge pivots toward us despite Vox frantically entering commands into the nearest control panel, and faint golden sigils flicker across several housings before vanishing. The televisions remain filled with static from my presence, but the camera system itself is answering to someone entirely different, recording every angle while Vox's attempts to shut it down fail one after another. I look directly into the nearest lens and smile.
"Well, Princess, I do hope you capture my good side." Somewhere back at the hotel, I imagine Evelyn watching whatever secure feed she has stolen while sipping another glass of apple wine. Vox follows my gaze toward the camera and understands immediately that the visual record belongs to Evelyn, not me. Electricity tears from his hand toward the lens, only for a golden barrier to flare and throw the current straight back through his arm.
His scream makes a charming opening note, but pictures have never been my preferred medium. The first cry has barely finished before every radio in Pentagram City crackles violently and surrenders to my frequency, from car stereos and antique sets to cheap alarm clocks buried inside apartment blocks. My voice spreads through Pride wrapped in warm static while Evelyn's cameras continue silently recording whatever they please. "Good evening, dear listeners, and welcome to tonight's unscheduled educational program."
Recognition changes Vox's anger into something far more entertaining because he remembers exactly what this sound once meant for powerful demons who believed themselves untouchable. My shadow erupts beneath him before he can recover, claws wrapping around both legs and wrenching them apart until bone tears through fabric with several wet cracks. Crimson sprays across the polished floor and spatters Valentino while Vox screams loud enough for every radio microphone to capture beautifully. "Do try to project, old boy, we have quite an audience."
The shadows drag Vox toward me while his fingers gouge bloody streaks into the floor in a useless attempt to stop himself. Damaged joints finally surrender, and one leg tears free at the hip amid cables, muscle, and dark blood stretching until everything snaps apart. I lift the severed limb briefly toward one of Evelyn's cameras as Vox chokes on another scream. Somewhere inside the tower, several employees will undoubtedly regret coming to work tonight.
Valentino lunges before Vox has even stopped bleeding, which is exactly as predictable as I hoped. His smoke forms claws around my throat before my shadow catches him halfway over the shattered table and drives him face-first through it. Bottles burst beneath his skull while glass buries itself across his face, and one sharp strike of my cane caves something important inside his neck. "One," I announce pleasantly as his body collapses.
Velvette stares at Valentino's twitching corpse before abandoning him with admirable speed and sprinting toward the sealed door. A wall of shadow rises before she reaches it, filled with eyes and teeth, while one tendril coils around her waist and another locks around her throat. I lift her from the floor as she claws at the darkness and tell her, "Now, now, we haven't even discussed your manners." Then I pull.
Her spine bows backward as vertebrae crack one after another loudly enough for the microphones to catch each break. Blood spills from her mouth while the tendrils continue bending until her body gives way completely and separates at the waist. Both halves strike the floor in different directions as I glance briefly toward the nearest camera. "Two."
Katie vomits beside her chair, which seems terribly inconsiderate after Vox presumably paid someone to clean this room. She staggers backward through the spreading blood, slips, and hits the floor beside Valentino before immediately attempting to crawl away on trembling hands. I stroll after her and say, "Miss Killjoy, surely you were not planning to leave before your interview." Her terror smells considerably stronger than her perfume.
"Stay the fuck away from me!" Katie screams before hurling a broken bottle at my face. I tilt my head enough for it to pass and hear it shatter harmlessly against the wall while one of Evelyn's cameras smoothly follows Katie instead. My shadow catches her ankle after three desperate feet and yanks her back hard enough to split her lip against the floor. I place one shoe lightly between her shoulder blades and ask, "What exactly were you planning to call Princess Charlie tomorrow morning?"
"Fuck you!" she shrieks into the carpet while clawing uselessly against the floor. I sigh with genuine disappointment and reply, "Incorrect." The shadow beneath her opens like a mouth before hands emerge and seize each limb, pulling slowly in four different directions. Her scream tears through every radio in Pride as joints dislocate and flesh finally begins giving way.
One arm tears loose first, followed by the other as blood splashes across the carpet beneath her. Her legs follow soon afterward, leaving the shadows holding what remains upright while regeneration already struggles to close wounds that no longer possess anything to reconnect. I lean close enough for Katie to see my smile and murmur, "Remember this feeling the next time Princess Charlie's name reaches your tongue." A snap of my fingers turns her head completely around.
Silence fills the lounge except for Vox choking through the pain of his missing leg and the faint electrical buzz coming from his ruined equipment. Valentino lies motionless amid shattered furniture, Velvette's divided body twitches across opposite sides of the room, and Katie collapses into the widening pool beneath her. My shoes are thoroughly stained. What an inconvenience.
Then Valentino's fingers move, and the evening becomes interesting all over again. None of tonight's instruments contain angelic steel, so Hell refuses all four of them the convenience of permanent death while broken tissue begins crawling back together. Bone resets beneath torn flesh, organs reconstruct themselves, and Velvette's separated halves begin dragging toward one another in wet, involuntary movements. My radio broadcast carries every crack, gasp, and horrified realization.
"For our newer listeners, do remember that sinners are remarkably durable creatures," I announce while strolling among the regenerating bodies. Vox glares up at me as flesh slowly rebuilds around the ragged ruin of his hip, and I tap his forehead lightly with my cane. "It is one of Hell's more useful qualities when a lesson requires repetition." His remaining eye widens with perfect understanding.
Valentino finishes reforming first and receives exactly one breath before my hand closes around his throat. I drive his skull into the wall hard enough to burst it against concrete, sending blood and pale fragments across one of VoxTek's expensive paintings. His body falls before the last pieces finish sliding downward. "Four."
Velvette regains consciousness moments later, gasping violently as newly restored nerves begin reporting pain again. She manages to push herself upright before a shadow spear erupts through her abdomen and carries her into the ceiling. I twist my fingers, and the spear branches inside her before black points punch outward through her stomach, ribs, back, and chest. "Five," I hum as the spikes retract and her ruined body crashes to the floor.
Katie wakes while her arms are still reforming and immediately discovers my shoes directly in front of her face. I crouch until we are level and hold one finger against my lips before saying, "Now, Miss Killjoy, we are going to practice professional restraint." She responds by spitting blood directly into my face. For one second, I stop smiling.
The absence frightens her more than anything else has managed so far, and I find that tremendously satisfying. "How disappointing," I murmur before driving my claws through both cheeks and tearing downward until blood pours freely along her jaw. When her hands reform enough to grab my wrist, I seize her tongue and pull until every choking noise is carried through the radio. Then I tear it free and drop it beside her.
Across the room, Vox finally manages to stand on a half-regenerated leg as rage apparently defeats what remains of his survival instinct. Electricity floods the lounge, lights explode overhead, and blue current crawls along the walls while he screams, "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" He fires directly at me, and I disappear into shadow before the blast destroys several monitors instead. I reform behind him with my shadow's claws already hooked beneath the edges of his screen.
"Smile for the camera," I whisper into whatever qualifies as his ear while one of Evelyn's lenses zooms closer. I pull, tearing the screen free amid snapping wires, shredded flesh, blue sparks, and a spectacular spray of crimson before Vox's body collapses onto its knees. His face continues flickering weakly across the detached screen while I hold it toward the camera like a particularly ugly trophy. "Six."
The camera zooms closer, and I laugh hard enough that my radio signal crackles across the city. One surviving monitor suddenly clears its static long enough for gold letters to appear across the screen reading, PROPERTY DAMAGE IS COMING OUT OF YOUR BUDGET. I stare at the warning, then at Valentino's blood and skull fragments decorating the cracked wall, before turning back toward the message. "That seems unnecessarily punitive."
The text disappears and is replaced almost immediately by, YOU BROKE THE WALL. I glance toward the impact crater and answer, "He broke the wall." The monitor changes one final time until only ALASTOR remains in enormous gold letters. I sigh and concede, "Fine."
Behind me, Valentino begins regenerating again while Vox's body twitches and Velvette groans from the floor. Katie sobs through a mouth that has already started rebuilding itself as static rises louder across every radio in Hell. I turn toward all four of them while my shadow expands across the blood-soaked wall behind me and say, "Now then, dear listeners, those of you just joining us have missed only the first round." Their expressions shift together as they realize exactly what comes next.
I spread my arms while the cameras continue recording and every radio under my control hisses with delighted static. Evelyn has her footage, I have my audience, and our unfortunate performers remain entirely capable of regenerating for another lesson. "Fortunately, our stars appear remarkably resilient." My smile widens as I add, "I believe several encore presentations are in order."