Heaven - Courthouse.
The Speaker's hall had recovered part of its calm after the historic verdict. Sir Pentious remained in the center, his chains already dissolved in golden light, blinking with a mixture of relief and bewilderment as he processed that he had really been accepted into heaven.
The Spokesperson of God floated majestically above her pedestal, her white and golden plumage radiating a maternal warmth. Her six wings, the largest of any being present, maintained a welcoming gesture that made even the redeemed sinner feel momentarily safe.
"Sir Pentious," her voice resonated with the sweetness of celestial bells, "your selfless sacrifice has purified your soul. You have atoned for your sins. You have nothing more to fear."
Emily practically vibrated with excitement, her hands intertwined in front of her chest. "I knew it! I knew it was possible!" She turned to Sera, her eyes shining. "See? Charlie was right about redemption!"
Sera remained silent, her expression carefully neutral though the tension in her shoulders was visible.
In a corner of the hall, Lute remained motionless like a statue of ice. Her new prosthetic arm gleamed with cold light, a constant reminder of everything she had lost. Throughout the entire trial she had fought—had demanded, had pleaded, had used every argument her grief-deteriorated mind could conceive to have Sir Pentious expelled, to have them order the total annihilation of hell.
And they had rejected her. Every time.
The ancient angels, those beings created at the dawn of time whose forms were less humanoid and closer to pure divine geometry, watched from the shadows of the hall. Raziel, a cherub covered in eyes arranged in impossible patterns, emitted a contemplative hum.
"An unprecedented precedent," he murmured with a voice that resonated like distant bells. "The implications for the cosmic order are... considerable."
Lute couldn't contain herself any longer.
"This is an aberration!" Her voice cut through the air, making several angels startle. She stepped forward, her body trembling with barely contained rage. "This sinner attacked Adam during the battle! He was going to fire his machine at him! And now we just let him in as if—!"
"Lute." Sera's voice was firm, a clear warning.
But Lute continued, turning toward the Spokesperson with desperate eyes. "Spokesperson! I recognize that your wisdom is far above mine, but... this sinner lied and manipulated to get here! His story is just a trick! Demons always lie, it's their nature, they can't—"
"I perceive no lie in him," the Spokesperson responded calmly, her tone patient but firm. "His soul was purified by a genuine act of sacrifice."
"But the exterminations!" Lute insisted, her voice rising in pitch. "Hell is rebelling! Charlie Morningstar used this sinner as part of her plan! Adam knew they would take advantage of the opportunity and that's why—!"
"Lute." This time it was Sera who intervened, her voice cutting like ice. "That's enough. Your disrespect has gone too far."
Lute turned toward her, and for a moment it seemed she was going to continue arguing. But something in Sera's gaze—the silent warning, the reminder of her position—made her back down. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"...My apologies, High Seraph," she muttered through clenched teeth, though her tone made it clear she didn't mean it at all. She went to a corner and stood with her arms crossed.
Now she had her head down, her hair partially covering her face. Her fists were so clenched that her knuckles had turned white, and she could feel her nails digging into her palms through the glove (her non-prosthetic arm). Her jaw ached from clenching it so hard.
Powerless. The word resonated in Lute's mind like a war drum. I feel completely powerless.
Abel watched from the side, his pale yellow uniform impeccable except for the slightly tilted shako cap. His expression showed that somewhat awkward kindness that characterized him.
"So... Sir Pentious?" Abel stepped forward with a genuine smile. "Is that your real name? Because it sounds a bit like 'pentode,' which is a type of electronic valve, and—"
Saint Peter gave him a subtle nudge, his turquoise eyes shining with amusement. "Maybe this isn't the time for etymology, Abel."
"Oh. Yeah. Right." Abel blushed slightly, scratching the back of his neck with one hand.
Saint Peter took advantage of the pause to approach the newcomer, his characteristic smile in place. "I must say, for being the first redeemed sinner in history, you have a certain... exotic charm." He winked playfully. "The scales are definitely a unique look up here."
Emily turned toward Sera with renewed enthusiasm. "This changes everything! If Sir Pentious could redeem himself, then other sinners can too. Charlie's program could work!"
"Emily." Sera's tone was firm, a warning. "One event doesn't establish a pattern. We must study this case before drawing conclusions."
"But—"
"Emily." This time it didn't allow for discussion.
The young seraph closed her mouth, clearly frustrated but obedient.
In her corner, Lute felt a wave of bile rise up her throat. Charlie's program. The same demon princess whose hotel had been the scene of Adam's death. The same one who had led the defense that ended with him being stabbed thirteen times by a psychopathic maid.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to draw her sword and...
No. She couldn't. Sera had made it clear that any further action would be considered treason. And Lute, despite all her pain and rage, respected the seraphim's authority.
Adam would have wanted it that way.
Adam...
His name was a dagger in her chest.
Abel cleared his throat uncomfortably, breaking the tense silence. "Uh... speaking of changes and all that... the seraphim appointed me as the new leader of the exorcist army."
The air in the hall froze.
Lute slowly raised her head, her eyes meeting Abel's. She said nothing. She couldn't say anything. But her gaze spoke volumes—pain, betrayal, disbelief.
She had been Adam's right hand. She had led alongside him for years. She had been by his side until the end.
And they had passed her over.
For his son. The same son Adam barely looked at, whom he treated with cold distance, who had never been part of the exterminations.
"Apparently they believed I would handle the situation with greater... fairness," Abel continued, clearly uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze. A slight blush colored his cheeks at the implicit compliment. "Emily was the one who suggested I would be fairer than... well..." He left the sentence incomplete.
Saint Peter, unable to resist, murmured: "Ouch. That must hurt."
Lute turned toward him with a look that could have melted steel. Saint Peter instinctively stepped back, raising his hands. "Just saying, just saying..."
"Shut up, Peter." Lute's voice was low, hoarse, barely recognizable. "You're nothing but a glorified pet."
Saint Peter frowned, clearly offended. "Hey! At least I wasn't degrad—"
He stopped abruptly when he saw Lute's hand move toward her sword. For a terrible moment, it seemed she was going to attack him.
But then, slowly, her hand stopped. It was visibly trembling.
Lute closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Once. Twice. Three times.
When she opened them again, there was something dead in them. Something that had given up fighting.
Without saying another word, she returned to her corner. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms over her chest, and lowered her head again. Her hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable, charged.
Emily was the first to break it, her voice small and hesitant. "She... she's really suffering, isn't she?"
"Grief affects each being differently," the Spokesperson responded softly, her white eyes briefly resting on Lute's motionless figure. "Some process it with sadness. Others don't know how to process it. And others..." she paused, "others transform it into anger."
Abel had discreetly approached where Lute was, stopping at a prudent distance. "Hey, Lute..." his voice was soft, awkward in his attempt at comfort. "I know Dad and you were... that he meant a lot to you. And I know this isn't what you wanted, but—"
"No." The word came out like a broken whisper. Lute didn't raise her head. "Don't talk about him. Don't act like you understand. You barely knew him."
Abel stepped back as if he'd been slapped. Pain briefly crossed his face—because it was true, wasn't it? Adam had rarely given him the time of day. He had never been the father Abel had wanted.
But even so...
"I'm sorry," Abel said quietly. "I really am sorry, Lute."
She didn't respond and only glared at him as if she was about to kill him.
The Spokesperson of God descended softly, her presence gradually calming the tension in the hall. "We've had a difficult day. We all need time to process what has happened here."
Sera approached the Spokesperson, her voice low and urgent. "Spokesperson... the implications of this..."
"I know." The Spokesperson looked toward the celestial horizon. "But there's something else that concerns me. I've felt... disturbances. Something is moving in hell."
"What kind of disturbances?"
Before she could respond, it happened.
The air changed.
It was subtle at first, so subtle that only the most ancient angels noticed it immediately. Raziel, the multi-eyed cherub, visibly tensed, all his eyes rotating toward an invisible point on the horizon.
"What...?" he murmured, his voice losing its usual resonance. "That energy signature..."
The shapeshifting angel abruptly solidified, adopting a defensive configuration. "Impossible. That frequency was eradicated millennia ago."
The Spokesperson of God went completely still, her luminous aura flickering for the first time since anyone could remember. Her white eyes opened wider, and those watching her swore they saw something they had never witnessed in her: uncertainty.
"Spokesperson?" Sera stepped forward, her own alarm growing. "What is—?"
Then the wave arrived.
A massive, ancient, and primordial energy exploded from somewhere beyond the limits of heaven with such force that the entire hall shook. It wasn't simply raw power—it was something more fundamental, something that touched the very essence of creation.
The stained glass windows showing scenes from Genesis burst inward, fragments of colored crystal raining down on those present. The pillars of celestial marble vibrated with a frequency that made bones ache. The golden light that always bathed heaven flickered violently, alternating between bright and dark in erratic patterns.
Sir Pentious screamed, covering himself instinctively while Emily created a shield of light around him. Abel lost his balance, his wings automatically unfurling to stabilize himself. Saint Peter fell to his knees, his hands covering his ears though the sound wasn't audible in the conventional sense.
Lute had moved away from the wall, her hand on the hilt of her sword. The pain in her chest had been momentarily replaced by pure alertness. "What's happening? Is it an attack?"
The ancient angels rose immediately, forming a protective barrier around the younger ones. Raziel emitted an alarm hum while his multiple eyes scanned frantically in all directions.
"The energy signature!" he shouted. "It's from the Tree! The Tree of Knowledge!"
"That's impossible!" Sera responded, her own six wings unfurling as she struggled to maintain balance. "The apples were destroyed! Every single one was eradicated after the Fall!"
The Spokesperson of God remained strangely still in the midst of chaos, her eyes fixed on something only she could see. When she spoke, her voice had lost some of its usual warmth, replaced by something graver, more ancient.
"Not all of them..." she whispered, so low that only Sera could hear her. "One of the apples... remained... missing..."
"What?" Sera turned toward her, panic evident in her voice. "What are you talking about? How is it possible that—?"
Another wave hit them, stronger than the previous one. This time, the ground itself cracked, lines of pure light emerging from the fissures like veins of uncontrolled energy.
"What's happening?! Is it an attack?!" Abel shouted, trying to maintain balance.
"I don't know!" Emily responded, her voice trembling as she maintained the shield around Sir Pentious. "But whatever it is, it's coming from hell!"
"This energy is... it's like nothing I've ever felt before!" Emily continued. "It's as if creation itself is screaming!"
Saint Peter had clung to one of the cracked pillars, his face paler than normal. "This is bad! This is very, very bad! Who let this in?! Because it definitely wasn't me!"
The ancient angels exchanged loaded glances. Their forms glowed with defensive intensity, but there was something more in their expressions—something that dangerously resembled fear.
"If someone consumed the fruit..." Raziel began.
"Then their soul is being transformed," the shapeshifting angel completed. "Rewritten at a fundamental level."
"But who?" Sera demanded. "Who in hell would have access to an apple from the Tree? Who would be powerful enough to survive its consumption?"
The Spokesperson of God finally moved, turning to face those present. Her expression was indecipherable, but her words fell like stones in still water:
"Someone who was already connected with its essence from the beginning. Someone created in Eden, under the shadow of the Tree itself."
The silence that followed was absolute.
And then, understanding struck Sera like lightning.
"No..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "It can't be... he's dead... we confirmed his death!"
The Spokesperson didn't respond, but her silence was answer enough.
Lute had frozen, her sword slowly lowering as she processed the words. "Adam...? Are you saying that... that he...?"
"We don't know for certain," the Spokesperson responded, her voice recovering some of its compassionate warmth. "But the energy signature... is compatible with a primordial soul. One of the first created."
Abel had visibly paled, his usually kind expression transformed into something more vulnerable, younger. "Dad...? But how? He died. The exorcists who returned confirmed... I saw the reports... there was so much golden ichor..."
"Death," one of the ancient angels said with a solemn voice, "is not something that can be easily evaded even for primordial souls, but if something... or someone... interferes. Then..."
Lute felt as if ice water had been poured down her back. Her hands trembled. Adam? Could it be that...? Despite the confusion, she had hope that Adam was completely alive, though she wasn't thinking about the implications of the apple.
Before anyone could respond, the energy that had been bombarding them vanished abruptly. As suddenly as it had begun, the chaos ceased.
The resulting silence was almost worse. It was the silence of calm before the storm, the breath-holding moment before the thunder.
The angels looked around, assessing the damage. The Speaker's hall had suffered considerably—cracked pillars, shattered windows, the floor marked with lines of residual energy. But structurally, it remained intact.
"Is it over?" Emily asked tentatively, her shield still glowing around Sir Pentious.
"No," the Spokesperson responded, her voice laden with somber certainty. "This was only the beginning."
And she was right.
An aura began to manifest. This time it wasn't an explosion of energy, but something completely different. It was pure darkness, distilled malevolence, the very concept of evil made tangible.
It spread slowly from the edges of reality, like ink spilling into crystalline water, tinting the margins of heaven with colors that shouldn't exist in this plane.
Sera staggered backward, her face showing a horror that none of those present had ever seen in her. "No... the barrier..."
"What barrier?" Emily asked, her voice small and frightened. "Sera? What's happening?"
But Sera didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the dark aura continued to expand, where impossible cracks began forming in the very fabric of celestial reality.
The Primordial Barrier. The last line of defense that separated Evil Incarnate from heaven, the seal that had been established at the dawn of creation, was giving way.
"Everyone back," the Spokesperson of God ordered, her voice losing all softness. It was the voice of divine authority, of ancient and unbreakable power. "NOW!"
The angels obeyed instinctively, grouping behind her as her aura expanded, forming a barrier of pure light between them and the approaching darkness.
The ancient angels took defensive positions, their forms glowing with power accumulated over eons. Raziel emitted a series of tones that formed a secondary shield. The shapeshifting angel fragmented into thousands of points of light, creating an additional defense network.
Lute had instinctively positioned herself in a defensive stance, her sword raised, her body tense like a bow about to fire. Abel was nearby, his wings spread protectively though his expression showed more fear than determination.
Saint Peter had taken refuge next to Emily and Sir Pentious, his celestial keys pressed against his chest. "This isn't good... this isn't good at all... I knew I should have called in sick today..."
Emily maintained the shield around Sir Pentious and now also included Saint Peter, her arms trembling with the effort. "This energy is... it's like nothing I've ever felt before!"
And then, with a sound like the universe itself tearing apart, the barrier broke.
The aura expanded completely, flooding the edges of heaven with a presence that made even the Spokesperson of God take a step back. It wasn't simply malevolent—it was the antithesis of everything heaven represented. It was distilled chaos, pure corruption, free will taken to its darkest and most twisted conclusion.
The lesser angels fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the presence. Emily screamed, her shield flickering dangerously. Sir Pentious had curled into a ball on the floor, his multiple eyes closed tightly as he whispered something that sounded like a prayer—or perhaps an apology.
Abel fell to one knee, struggling to keep his wings spread. Saint Peter trembled violently behind the pillar.
Sera had frozen, her body trembling as she fought against the weight of the invading presence.
The ancient angels maintained their defenses, but even they showed signs of strain.
The Spokesperson of God remained standing, her light fighting against the darkness, but for the first time in the memory of any being present, she seemed to be genuinely straining.
Lute held firm, though every fiber of her being screamed in protest against the presence. Her sword trembled in her hand, but she didn't lower it.
And then, resonating from every corner of heaven, from every crack in the broken barrier, came the laughter.
It was soft. Almost intimate. A feminine laugh that was beautiful and terrible at the same time, musical but devoid of any real warmth. It wasn't the triumphant cackle of a villain revealing themselves—it was something worse. It was the laugh of someone who had just won a game they had been playing for longer than anyone could comprehend.
"Hehehe..."
The laughter faded, leaving a silence charged with anticipation.
And then, a voice. Soft as silk, sweet as poison, ancient as the stars themselves.
"Thank you."
A single word. Pronounced with sarcasm so thick, so palpable, that it seemed to have physical weight. It dripped with contempt, mockery, and something more—something that sounded dangerously like genuine satisfaction.
"Really... thank you~"
And with that, the presence withdrew. The dark aura retreated, sliding back toward hell like the tide receding. The cracks in the barrier remained, but the invading pressure had disappeared.
The silence that followed was absolute. No one moved. No one spoke. The weight of what had just happened fell upon them like an avalanche.
Sera was the first to break the silence, her voice barely a whisper:
"Roo..."
The name fell like a curse.
Emily, who had managed to keep her shield active throughout the entire invasion, finally let it drop. "Who... who is Roo?"
The Spokesperson of God turned to face those present. Her aura had diminished considerably, and for the first time, she seemed... tired. Truly tired.
"Evil Incarnate," she responded, her voice grave. "Not evil personified, but the very essence of wickedness. An entity as ancient as creation, contained behind the Primordial Barrier since the beginning of time."
"And now she's free?" Abel asked, his voice surprisingly steady considering his hands were trembling.
"No... not completely," the Spokesperson responded slowly. "The barrier is damaged, not destroyed. But if she can partially break it now, when before she couldn't even touch it..."
"It means something changed," Raziel completed. "Something gave her the power necessary to weaken the seal."
All eyes turned to the Spokesperson, waiting for confirmation of what everyone feared.
"The apple," Sera finally said, her voice hollow. "Whoever consumed it... their transformation gave Roo the power to break the barrier."
"But why?" Abel asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Why would someone do that? Why consume the apple knowing the consequences?"
No one responded. No one had an answer they wanted to give out loud.
Saint Peter finally emerged from behind Emily, his face ashen. "So... what do we do now? Because frankly, this is way above my pay grade as a gate guardian."
The Spokesperson of God closed her eyes for a moment, her lips moving in what might have been a silent prayer. When she opened them again, there was determination in them along with something more—something that looked suspiciously like sorrow.
"We prepare," she finally said. "We reinforce what remains of the barrier. We investigate what exactly happened in hell and who consumed the fruit. And..." She paused, looking directly at Sera. "And we consider the possibility that we'll need allies we never thought to seek."
Sera nodded slowly, understanding the weight of those words. "I'll summon the archangels. All of them. And..." she swallowed visibly, "I'll contact Hell. Lucifer."
The protests began immediately, but Sera silenced them with a gesture.
"We have no choice! If Roo can break the barrier, if she has access to that level of power... we'll need all available help. Even from those we've been at war with. Besides, he has many explanations to give."
Sera was becoming increasingly frustrated—lately nothing was going right, and the order of heaven she had watched over was beginning to crack. And knowing that Lucifer was partly to blame, since it happened in his realm.
Lute didn't like how that sounded, but she set aside her resentment for something much more important, so she stepped forward, her expression tormented. "But ma'am... if it really was him... if Adam..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
The Spokesperson of God approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I understand your pain, Lute. But right now, we don't have confirmation of anything. We only know that something terrible has happened, and that we must be prepared for what's coming."
"And what exactly is coming?" Saint Peter asked with a trembling voice.
The Spokesperson looked toward the horizon, where the cracks in the barrier still glowed faintly with residual light.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But after millennia of silence, Roo finally spoke. And she said thank you."
Her words fell like stones in still water.
"That means, whatever happened... she got exactly what she wanted."
Lute let herself collapse against the nearest wall. Her legs no longer supported her.
Adam, if it's really you then... what did they do to you? Those damn demons.
There were no answers. Only the echo of that laughter, and the crushing weight of a world crumbling around her. But even if Lute was wrong, she planned to find out and no one was going to be able to stop her—she was desperate for answers and prayed that Adam was alive.
Sera sighed with frustration and regret, made a silent prayer before looking at the younger seraph. "Emily, Abel, Saint Peter... take Sir Pentious to see his new home. It's been a long day for everyone."
Emily was still uncomfortable from the situation that had just occurred. "But..."
Sera shook her head. "Help our new guest. We need to see the amount of damage there was in heaven, not to mention we need to calm the population. I'll summon you when the problems are resolved."
Emily nodded stiffly, recovering her smile though it was now dimmer. "Let's go, Sir Pentious! We'll show you all of heaven. It's beautiful, you're going to love it!" She only hoped the damage wasn't so severe as to ruin the presentation.
Sir Pentious, who had remained silent and afraid throughout the entire altercation, finally found his voice. "I... I just wanted to see my friends again... before the end of the world finds us."
Abel patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Uh... it's not the end of the world... I think... but hey, heaven is great. It has... uh... very pretty clouds. And the food is incredible. Well, not that you need to eat, but..."
Saint Peter rolled his eyes but joined the group, still casting nervous glances around. "Let's go before something bad happens again."
With that, the four walked away. Still nervous, but maintaining optimism. Hoping the situation would be resolved.
.
.
.
Lilith - In Her Celestial Refuge
The cabin was small, modest, completely different from anything Lilith had inhabited during her millennia of existence. Built with angelic magic on a private beach in the most remote confines of heaven, it was a refuge designed to go unnoticed.
There was no gold here. There was no velvet or marble. Just walls of wood bleached by the celestial sun, simple but comfortable furniture, and the constant sound of waves breaking against sand that glowed with its own light.
Lilith was reclined in a hammock on the cabin's porch, a glass of celestial wine in her hand. Her blonde hair, normally impeccable, fell loose over her shoulders in careless waves. Her horns, which she normally kept hidden (at Adam's request), were now completely exposed. She wore a simple white linen robe, so different from the elaborate dresses of her life as Queen that she almost seemed like another person.
[Imagen]
Her celestial phone rested face down on the table, permanently silenced. Lucifer's calls had surpassed a hundred weeks ago. Charlie's messages...
"Mom, please call. Something incredible happened..."
"Mom, I need you..."
"Mom... are you still there?"
Lilith closed her eyes, pushing those thoughts away. Seven years. Seven years of peace, of silence, of simply existing without the crushing expectations of hell.
Seven years.
Seven years of peace. Of silence. Of not having to be the Queen of Hell, Lucifer's wife, Charlie's mother with her impossible dreams of redemption. Seven years of simply... existing.
It was strange, she thought as she took another sip of her drink, how heaven could feel both like a prison and a liberation at the same time. Technically she was a prisoner—part of her deal with Adam meant she couldn't leave this specific area of heaven. But compared to the constant pressure of hell, the endless politics, the crushing expectations...
This was freedom.
Or at least, the closest thing to freedom in the last millennia.
Sometimes she wondered if she had made the right decision.
But then she remembered the politics. The overlords. The constant mask. Lucifer and his endless depression. Charlie and her impossible dreams.
Here, at least, she could breathe.
Though "here" came with its own complications.
The wooden chair next to the hammock was empty now, but it wasn't always. Sometimes—not often, but occasionally—Adam would appear. He would sit in that chair without saying anything, looking at the celestial ocean with an expression she couldn't decipher.
They didn't talk. Not really. The first encounters had been tense, charged with millennia of mutual resentment. He had called her a traitor. She had called him a coward and complacent. They had exchanged insults like in the old days, except now both were too tired to put real venom behind the words.
Gradually, the silences had become less tense. Sometimes he brought wine. Sometimes she made tea. They never talked about Eve, or Lucifer, or Eden. They never talked about the deal that had brought them to this situation—her exiled to this beach, him starting the exterminations to ensure no other rebellion attempt would be possible.
It was strange, Lilith thought as she took another sip of wine. After everything that had happened between them, these shared silences were the closest thing to peace they had had since Eden.
Eden.
It always came back to Eden.
Lilith allowed herself to remember, something she rarely did. She remembered the perfect garden, the impossibly vivid colors, the sensation of being completely new, completely innocent. She remembered waking up next to Adam, both created from the same divine dust, both equally confused and marveled by their existence.
Adam...
In those early days, he had been different. So different that sometimes it was hard for her to reconcile those memories with the arrogant, cruel being he had become.
The Adam of Eden had been... sweet. Awkwardly sweet. He had picked flowers for her without knowing exactly why, only because the angels had told him that's what was done. He had tried to name all the animals with a seriousness that made her laugh. He had held her hand during the first nights, both of them watching the stars without fully understanding what they were.
But he had also been complacent. Too complacent. Every time an angel gave an order, Adam obeyed without question. Every rule, every restriction, every "you must not"—he accepted them with a smile and a nod.
And that had driven her crazy.
"Why don't you ask why?" she had asked him one night, frustrated beyond reason.
"Why should I?" Adam had responded with genuine confusion. "The angels know more than us. God knows more than everyone. If they say we shouldn't do something, there must be a good reason."
"But don't you want to know what that reason is?"
Adam had looked at her with those golden eyes that then still knew neither pain nor betrayal, and had simply responded: "Does it matter? We're here, together, in this beautiful place. What more could we need?"
Lilith had needed more. She had always needed more.
And then Lucifer had arrived.
The brightest angel, the most curious, the only one who asked the same questions she did. He understood her hunger for knowledge, her frustration with arbitrary rules. She had always been curious about the Tree—Lucifer had explained to her what it meant, what it could give her.
She had decided to leave with Lucifer and broke what was left of her relationship. Ignoring the apple and its possible free will, but then Eve was born and she had felt envy of her and above all angry at having been replaced (when she had no right to be), then came the apple.
The damn apple.
Lilith shuddered involuntarily. She didn't like thinking about that. She didn't like remembering how she had convinced Lucifer to convince Eve that she was helping her, that knowledge was freedom, that biting the fruit would free her from the chains of ignorance.
She hadn't lied. Not exactly. Knowledge was liberating.
But it was also a curse.
She, Lucifer, and Eve had bitten together, an act of solidarity and defiance. They had shared the weight of original sin, believing they would be stronger united.
She hadn't anticipated the consequences. She hadn't understood that her "help" would unleash sin upon all of humanity, that it would condemn countless generations to suffering.
That it would destroy any possibility of reconciliation with Adam.
She had loved him once, before his blind obedience drove her crazy, before his inability to question anything pushed her toward Lucifer.
And after the apple... after the Fall... Adam had become something different. The betrayal, the abandonment, the pain—all of it had crystallized in him, turning him different from the optimistic, trusting man into someone narcissistic and sadistic who led the exterminations. A man full of bitterness and cynicism.
I did that, Lilith thought bitterly. Sometimes she wished she could go back to at least not lose his friendship. She still loved Lucifer and didn't regret leaving with him, but... if she had Adam's trust, maybe their relationship would be different. Eve would still be with them, not hiding in hell and hating them to death. Maybe they would be an incredible quartet.
Then she felt it.
A tug.
Lilith sat up abruptly, her glass falling from numb fingers. The wine spilled onto the porch wood, red as blood against the white.
"What...?"
The bond.
That damn primordial bond, forged when they were created from the same divine dust. The invisible thread that connected her to Adam from the beginning of her existence.
She had tried to ignore it for millennia. She had tried to bury it so deep she could pretend it didn't exist. But it was always there, a constant presence in the back of her consciousness.
And now...
Two months ago, the bond had disappeared.
Lilith remembered that moment with terrifying clarity. She had been here, in this same hammock, when suddenly—nothing. Absolute emptiness where there had always been a presence.
Adam was dead.
She had felt... something. Not sadness, exactly. Her relationship was too complicated for simple emotions. But it had been like losing a phantom limb—suddenly aware of something she had taken for granted for so long.
And then, a few hours ago, the bond had returned.
Weak. Faint. Like a flame about to extinguish. But there.
Adam was alive. Or something close to alive.
Lilith hadn't investigated. She was afraid of the answers.
But now she couldn't ignore it.
The bond pulsed violently, sending waves of sensations through her being. It wasn't exactly pain, but it wasn't pleasant either. She didn't know what was happening with the bond, but she realized something was changing, something fundamental.
"Adam..." she whispered, getting to her feet on trembling legs. "What's happening to you?"
Then the wave of energy arrived.
Lilith screamed, falling to her knees as the tsunami of power hit her. Her cabin shook, the windows bursting outward, furniture overturning.
But it wasn't the physical damage that affected her.
The bond burned.
Knowledge. Free will. Primordial power.
The sensations flooded her, fragments of what Adam was experiencing. She could feel his agony through it, overflowing like a broken dam. She could feel a kind of strange and forbidden energy flowing into him, rewriting his essence.
She knew that sensation.
She had experienced it herself millennia ago.
"No..." Lilith gasped, some tears rolling down her cheeks without her noticing. "No, no, no... Adam, what did you do?"
He had eaten the apple.
The same fruit she had bitten. The same forbidden knowledge that had freed and condemned her simultaneously.
"Damn idiot..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "Damn stubborn idiot... why...?"
Through the bond, fragments of an answer arrived. Desperation. Loneliness. Abandonment. An impossible choice between death, slavery, or...
Freedom.
Oh, Adam... Lilith closed her eyes, the pain in her chest having little to do with the energy bombarding her. What did they do to you? What pushed you to this?
Then heaven trembled.
Lilith looked up just in time to see cracks forming in the firmament. A dark, ancient, malevolent presence spread across the edges of reality.
The barrier. The Primordial Barrier was giving way.
"No..." She forced herself to stand, staggering toward the edge of the porch. "No, no, no..."
And then, resonating throughout all of heaven, came the laughter.
Soft. Intimate. Satisfied.
"Hehehe..."
A pause.
"Thank you~"
The voice—feminine, musical, venomous—made every fiber of Lilith's being tense with instinctive recognition.
Who...?
The presence withdrew, taking the laughter with it. But before disappearing completely, Lilith felt something more.
An invisible hand grabbing the bond.
"What—?" Lilith clutched her chest, her eyes opening with panic.
It wasn't Adam. It was something else. Something that shouldn't be able to touch that primordial connection.
The hand squeezed.
Lilith screamed.
And then, with a violence that made her fall to the ground, the bond was torn out.
Not cut. Not faded. Destroyed.
It was as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out a fundamental part of her being. The pain was indescribable—not physical, but existential. A connection that had existed since her creation, eliminated from reality as if it had never been there.
Lilith curled up on the wooden floor, moaning in agony. Despite the physical pain, she also felt another kind of pain and didn't understand why it hurt so much. She hated Adam, didn't she? He hated her. They had spent millennia destroying each other.
But the bond had been hers. Part of who she was. The last reminder that once they had been created together, from the same dust, with the same purpose.
And now there was nothing.
Only emptiness.
And then, just when she thought it couldn't get worse, a voice resonated directly in her mind.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't cruel. It was almost... conversational.
"Stupid bitch."
Two words. Pronounced with such casual, absolute disdain that Lilith felt as if she'd been slapped.
"He's mine now."
And then silence.
The presence withdrew completely, taking its malice with it, leaving Lilith alone on the floor of her destroyed cabin.
For a long moment, she didn't move. She couldn't. The emptiness where the bond had been pulsed with a dull pain, a constant reminder of what she had just lost.
"He's mine now."
The words repeated in her mind like a dark mantra.
Who? Who was that voice? Who had taken Adam? Who had destroyed something as fundamental as the bond between the First Ones?
And most importantly... why did she care so much? And why did she feel rage growing inside her?
Lilith forced herself to sit up, wiping the tears with trembling hands. Her cabin was in ruins around her. The celestial ocean continued to shine peacefully, completely indifferent to her pain.
Her phone had somehow survived, glowing faintly among the rubble.
53 missed calls from Lucifer.
29 messages from Charlie.
For the first time in seven years, Lilith considered answering.
Because whatever had just happened... whatever that voice had done to Adam...
She couldn't face that thing alone.
.
.
.
Hell - Pentagram; Hazbin Hotel.
The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel was unusually quiet for a very late Monday night. Most of the new guests were already sheltering in their rooms. Of course, there were one or two sinners who weren't asleep and were walking through the hallways, but fortunately no new guests were in the lobby, since Charlie didn't have the energy to deal with them and their enthusiasm for learning to kill angels.
Charlie was sitting on the lobby sofa, remote control in hand and eyes fixed on the television screen. Katie Killjoy's words resonated in her ears like a constant, painful buzzing.
"HELL'S GREATEST THREAT" screamed the headline in bright red letters over her photo.
On the screen, Katie Killjoy smiled maliciously as she described Charlie as a "vile, angel-loving tyrant" who supposedly planned to betray hell. Worse still, the broadcast showed the Vees—Vox, Valentino, and Velvette—as "concerned humanitarians" who "only wanted to protect sinners from the Morningstar threat."
"Turn it off," Vaggie said softly, sitting next to Charlie. KeeKee jumped onto the princess's lap, purring comfortingly.
"They're lying," Charlie whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "Everything they said... it's all lies. I would never—never betray hell. I just want to help..."
"I know, honey." Vaggie put an arm around Charlie's shoulders, pulling her close. "I know. And everyone who matters knows it too."
"But what about those who don't?" Charlie asked, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "What about all the sinners who now think I'm... that I'm some kind of monster? How am I supposed to help them if they won't even listen to me?"
From the bar, Husk snorted while cleaning a glass. "Charlie, if there's anything I've learned in all my years down here, it's that the truth eventually comes out. Vox's lies will only work until someone calls him out on his bullshit."
"And when that happens," Angel Dust added, lounging at the bar in a rather strange position, but not peculiar for his body, "that TV clown is gonna fall faster than my Hollywood career."
Charlie wanted to feel better. She really did. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sir Pentious being hit by Adam's beam. She saw his body disintegrate, becoming nothing more than ashes and golden dust.
And the worst part was that no one seemed to understand what his death meant. Reporters asked about "war plans." Sinners wanted to know when they would attack heaven. Even the damn news had turned it into some kind of military victory.
But Sir Pentious was dead. Permanently dead. There was no redemption, no second chance. Just... nothing.
"Charlie," Vaggie said softly, pulling her from her thoughts, "I know what you're thinking. And I know it hurts. But Sir Pentious chose to sacrifice himself. He chose to save Cherri, all of us. That means something."
"But for what?" Charlie sobbed, tears finally spilling over. "He's dead. Permanently dead. And what did we change? What did we really accomplish? The exterminations stopped, yes, but only because we killed the exorcist leader. Not because we proved anything about redemption or goodness or..."
She couldn't continue. KeeKee meowed worriedly, rubbing against her.
"Hey," Vaggie turned her so she would look at her, her hands soft but firm on Charlie's shoulders. "What Sir Pentious did matters. His sacrifice mattered. Even if the rest of hell doesn't understand it, we do. We remember him."
"But we'll never see him again," Charlie whispered. "He's gone forever and we couldn't even say goodbye properly."
"I know," Vaggie responded softly. "I know, honey."
Alastor appeared from the shadows with his perpetual smile. "Although I find all this sentimentality a bit excessive, I must admit your little snake friend showed admirable bravery in his final moments. It's a shame death is so... final." Despite what he said, he showed no pity, nor sadness for the snake-shaped sinner.
"Thanks, Alastor," Charlie wiped her tears, trying to compose herself. "It's just that... everything is so hard now. And these reports aren't helping."
"Then let's ignore them for tonight," Vaggie suggested. "No thinking about reporters or Vees or infernal politics. Just us, maybe a movie, some food. How does that sound?"
Charlie nodded and gave her a beautiful smile. "Yeah, that sounds good."
.
.
.
The next morning.
The lobby of the Hazbin Hotel bustled with a chaotic activity that Charlie hadn't anticipated when she decided to open her doors to sinners.
The new guests—those who had arrived after the battle against the exorcists—occupied every available corner of the space. Some had settled on the sofas, others stood in small groups, and a few had found spots on the floor with their belongings scattered around them.
Charlie stood in the center of the lobby, trying to maintain a smile while explaining for the fifth consecutive time that the hotel was not a military training camp.
"But we heard you killed Adam!" A sinner with goat horns insisted, banging the table enthusiastically. "We want to learn to kick angelic ass!"
"No, no, that's not—" Charlie began.
"I want one of those spears that pierce angels!" Another sinner interrupted.
"The spears are for exorcists, not for—!"
"Then teach us to steal spears from exorcists!"
Charlie felt her left eye start to twitch. Beside her, Vaggie was clenching her fists so hard her knuckles had turned white, clearly fighting the urge to pull out her spear and give them a practical demonstration of what they didn't teach at the hotel.
At the bar, Husk served drinks with an expression of absolute annoyance while ignoring the increasingly ridiculous questions from guests about "combat strategies against heaven."
"For the last time," Husk growled, "this is a bar. I serve alcohol. I don't give military tactics classes."
Angel Dust was lounging on one of the sofas, with Fat Nuggets curled up in his lap, watching the chaos with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Hey, toots," he said to Charlie when she passed nearby, "want me to show them my other skills so they leave? I bet they'll shut up real quick."
"No, Angel!" Charlie groaned.
Cherri Bomb had found a spot in a corner of the lobby, her legs crossed on a table while casually tossing and catching one of her cherry bombs. Her single eye followed the chaos with a lazy smile, clearly entertained by the whole spectacle.
"This is better than television," she commented, catching the bomb for the umpteenth time. "They should charge admission."
Baxter, the demonic fish, stood near the basement door that led to his laboratory, his arms crossed and his expression of permanent disdain intensified to the maximum. He had insisted he was only staying to "scientifically document the inevitable failure of the concept of redemption," but now seemed to deeply regret that decision.
"This is exactly what I predicted," Baxter muttered to himself, pushing his glasses up. "Total chaos. Absolute disorder. Social entropy at its maximum expression."
"Nobody asked you to stay, little fish!" Cherri shouted at him from her corner.
"My research requires in situ observation!" Baxter responded indignantly.
Niffty ran from one side of the lobby to the other with her feather duster, desperately trying to maintain some order while guests left a trail of destruction in their wake. "Dirt! Dirt everywhere! Why doesn't anyone use coasters?!"
KeeKee meowed with concern, dodging feet and following Charlie like a furry shadow.
Somewhere in the shadows, Alastor observed everything with his perpetual smile, clearly enjoying the chaos in a way that made Charlie wonder if he had somehow provoked it himself.
"Listen everyone!" Charlie finally shouted, climbing onto a chair to make herself visible. "The Hazbin Hotel is a place of REDEMPTION! R-E-D-E-M-P-T-I-O-N! It's not a military training camp! We don't teach how to kill angels! We don't have celestial weapons to distribute! The goal is to improve as people, not—!"
"But if we improve as people, we'll be better warriors!" The sinner with goat horns interrupted.
Charlie opened her mouth to respond, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and—
BOOM.
The explosion of energy hit like an invisible hammer.
There was no warning. There was no signal. One moment Charlie was standing on the chair trying to maintain her sanity, and the next she felt as if a tsunami of pure power had hit her directly in the chest.
The air was expelled from her lungs. Her vision went white. Every nerve in her body ignited with a sensation that wasn't exactly pain—it was too massive to be simply pain. It was as if reality itself was screaming.
Charlie was thrown from the chair, crashing to the ground with enough force to stun her. Vaguely, she heard screams around her—Vaggie screaming her name, Angel cursing, Husk roaring in surprise, and the chorus of panic from guests who seconds before had been demanding combat lessons.
The hotel windows exploded inward in a rain of glass. Furniture overturned. The ceiling chandelier swung violently before detaching and crashing to the floor in an explosion of twisted metal and spilled candles.
The guests screamed, pushing each other in a desperate attempt to find shelter. The sinner with goat horns had thrown himself under a sofa, all his bravado evaporated in an instant.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" Cherri screamed, her cherry bomb falling to the floor as she clung to the nearest wall to keep from falling.
Baxter had been thrown against his basement door, his glasses crooked and his expression of scientific superiority replaced by pure terror. "This is anomalous! Completely outside all known parameters! Physics doesn't allow—!"
"SHUT UP, BAXTER!" Multiple voices shouted simultaneously.
And the energy... God, the energy.
Charlie could feel it in her bones, in her demonic blood, in the very essence of her being. It was ancient. Primordial. The kind of power that existed before words to describe it had been invented.
But she didn't recognize it. She had no idea what it was or where it came from.
"CHARLIE!" Vaggie was over her, covering her with her body and wings. "Stay down! Don't move!"
"What... what was that?" Charlie gasped, her heart beating so hard she thought it would explode.
"I don't know!" Vaggie responded, her own eyes full of panic. "But it was massive! Like nothing I've ever felt before!"
Angel Dust had thrown himself to the floor behind the bar along with Husk, Fat Nuggets pressed against his chest and his multiple eyes wide open. "Did anyone else feel like their soul almost left their body or was it just me?!"
"I felt that shit down to my guts!" Husk growled, his wings spread in an instinctive defensive posture. "That wasn't normal! That was serious magic, the kind that shouldn't exist!"
Cherri had recovered enough to crawl toward where Charlie and Vaggie were. "I've blown up entire buildings and never felt anything like this! What the hell is happening?!"
Niffty appeared from among the rubble, her single eye wider than normal, completely covered in dust. "The cockroaches! All the cockroaches are dead! ALL OF THEM! They just dropped dead!"
"THAT'S YOUR PROBLEM RIGHT NOW?!" Husk shouted incredulously.
"It's an important biological indicator!" Baxter shouted from his position on the floor, trying to get up. "If the cockroaches died, the energy radiation must have been—!"
"SHUT UP!" Cherri threw a small bomb that exploded inches from his head, making him scream and cover himself.
Alastor materialized from the shadows, his smile still in place but his eyes showing something they rarely showed—genuine surprise. His cane was firmly gripped in his hand, and Charlie noticed that the deer ears on his head were flattened against his skull.
"Well," Alastor said, his radio voice with a bit more static than normal, "that was... unexpected."
"Unexpected?" Vaggie repeated while helping Charlie sit up. "Unexpected?! The windows exploded! The chandelier almost killed us! And you say it was unexpected?!"
The guests had entered total panic. Some ran toward the doors, others hid under overturned furniture, and the sinner with goat horns was openly crying, all his previous bravery completely forgotten.
"I want to go home!" he sobbed. "I don't want to fight angels anymore! I don't want anything anymore!"
"Do you have any idea what that was?" Charlie asked Alastor, wiping blood from a cut on her forehead.
Alastor paused, his head tilting in an unnatural way as he considered the question. "No," he finally admitted, and there was something almost disconcerting about hearing him admit ignorance. "I don't have the slightest idea. But whatever it was, it came with a level of power I haven't felt..." he stopped, his smile tightening, "...ever, and I've been in hell for a good while. I know almost all, if not all the energies of power that exist."
And then the ground began to tremble.
It wasn't immediate. There were perhaps three or four seconds of absolute silence after the energy explosion—a moment of deceptive calm where everyone exchanged confused looks.
And then all of hell began to shake.
This time, Charlie was prepared. She clung to Vaggie, both staying close to the ground while the hotel trembled around them. The roar of the earthquake was deafening—not just the sound of the structure shaking, but the sound of hell itself being shaken to its foundations.
The guests screamed even louder now, some praying to gods who had clearly abandoned them long ago.
"The building isn't going to hold!" Vaggie shouted over the noise. "We need to evacuate!"
"Nonsense!" Alastor struck his cane against the ground with force. Immediately, his shadows extended from the point of impact, wrapping the hotel in a protective web of dark magic. Symbols glowed green as they reinforced the walls and ceiling. "My investment is perfectly safe!"
"Your investment can go to hell if it kills us all!" Cherri shouted, clinging to a column.
"Fascinating data!" Baxter had pulled out a small device from his coat and was frantically taking readings, even while the ground moved under his feet. "The vibrational frequencies are completely anomalous! This could revolutionize my research on—!"
A piece of ceiling fell inches from his head, and he finally had the sense to shut up and take cover.
But even with Alastor's magic protecting it, the building groaned like a living being. Cracks appeared in the walls. The floor undulated like water. The noise was absolutely terrifying.
Charlie huddled against Vaggie, closing her eyes tightly as the world crumbled around her. This was worse than the battle with the exorcists. This was worse than anything she had experienced.
Because in the battle, at least she knew what they were fighting against.
This... this was something completely unknown.
The earthquake continued. And continued. And continued.
Thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes. The hotel lobby was completely destroyed—overturned furniture, broken decorations, rubble everywhere. The guests were scattered across the floor, some crying, others simply in a state of shock.
Only Alastor's magic kept the building structurally intact.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
The silence that followed was almost worse than the noise. Charlie could hear her own labored breathing, her heartbeat, the small sounds of rubble falling, and the sobs of traumatized guests.
"Is it over?" Angel asked in a small voice, slowly emerging from behind the bar. Fat Nuggets trembled in his arms.
"I think so," Husk responded, though he didn't sound very convinced.
Cherri slowly got to her feet, dusting off her clothes. "Okay, this was officially more intense than any explosion I've ever caused. And that's saying a lot."
Charlie forced herself to stand, her legs trembling. She looked around the destroyed lobby, processing the damage. "Is everyone okay? Is anyone hurt?"
There was a chorus of affirmative responses from the permanent residents, though everyone sounded shaken. The guests were another story—many were injured by glass or debris, and all seemed to have completely lost any desire to "kick angelic ass."
"We need to tend to the injured," Vaggie said, entering organization mode. "And we need to go outside to see what's happening out there."
"I'll take care of the injured," Baxter said, surprising everyone. Faced with the incredulous looks, he added defensively: "I have medical knowledge! And I want to examine the effects of energy radiation on demonic organisms!"
"...That's disturbingly comforting," Angel muttered.
Charlie nodded, though every fiber of her being wanted to stay in the relative shelter of the hotel. But Vaggie was right—they needed to assess the situation.
Alastor snapped his fingers, and the hotel doors opened. "After you, my dear princess."
Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Cherri, Niffty, and Alastor went outside together, leaving Baxter in charge of the traumatized guests.
The landscape that greeted them was one of absolute chaos.
The streets were full of sinners running in all directions, screaming and pushing each other. Buildings that had survived the battle with the exorcists now showed significant damage—broken windows, cracked facades, some even partially collapsed.
The red sky of hell flickered strangely, as if a light were failing.
"This is bad," Husk muttered, his cat ears rotating in all directions, catching the distant screams. "This is very, very bad."
"I've never seen the Pentagram like this," Cherri said, her voice unusually serious. "And I've blown up quite a few things."
"Where did it come from?" Charlie asked, turning toward Alastor. "The energy, the earthquake... where did it come from?"
Alastor pointed with his cane. "If I had to make an educated guess, dear... from there."
Everyone followed his gaze toward Cannibal Town.
For a moment, Charlie didn't see anything unusual. The cannibal district looked the same as always from a distance—Victorian buildings, orderly streets, the kind of elegant neighborhood Rosie had meticulously cultivated.
But then, as she watched, something changed.
Three minutes after the earthquake stopped, Charlie watched as reality itself began to bend over the cannibal district.
It was subtle at first. A darkening of the air, as if a storm cloud were forming right over that specific neighborhood. But then it rapidly intensified.
A barrier—black as the void, pulsing with an energy that even from a distance made Charlie's stomach churn—began to materialize. It extended from the ground to the sky, completely enveloping Cannibal Town in a dome of absolute darkness.
"What... what is that?" Charlie whispered, unable to look away.
"Shit..." Cherri muttered, instinctively taking a step back. "That doesn't look good."
"That's a fucking understatement," Husk said sarcastically, his shoulders tense.
"A containment barrier," a voice responded from behind.
Everyone turned to see Lucifer materializing in the air, his wings briefly visible before disappearing. His expression was more serious than Charlie had ever seen him.
"Dad!" Charlie ran toward him. "What's happening? What was that energy? The earthquake?"
Lucifer landed softly, his eyes fixed on the distant barrier. "I'm not sure of the details. But I recognized the energy signature from the initial explosion."
"You recognized it?" Vaggie repeated. "What was it?"
Lucifer paused, as if deciding how much to reveal. "It was... primordial. Ancient. The kind of power that shouldn't exist in hell."
"But what was it specifically?" Charlie insisted.
"The energy signature was consistent with the Tree of Knowledge," Lucifer finally said, each word coming out with difficulty.
The silence that fell over the group was absolute.
"The Tree?" Charlie repeated, feeling her world tilt. "But Dad, you said all the apples were destroyed after the Fall."
"I thought they were," Lucifer responded, his voice bitter. "Apparently I was wrong."
"Wait, wait, wait," Angel raised all his hands. "Are we talking about the Tree of Knowledge? The one from the Garden of Eden? That tree?"
"The same," Lucifer confirmed.
"Oh, shit!" Cherri exclaimed. "Someone ate one of those apples here?! In fucking hell?!"
Alastor narrowed his eyes with curiosity while assimilating the information.
"That would be my best guess," Lucifer said, still not taking his eyes off the barrier. "The initial energy explosion was consistent with a soul being transformed by the Tree's power. And the epicenter..." he pointed toward Cannibal Town, "was definitely there."
"But who?" Husk asked. "Who in Cannibal Town would have access to something like that?"
Before anyone could speculate, Lucifer pointed at the barrier. "That's what worries me most right now."
"The barrier?" Charlie asked. "What about it?"
"It has nothing to do with the apple," Lucifer explained. "That barrier was created after the initial transformation ended. Someone or something deliberately raised it."
"For what?" Vaggie asked.
Lucifer finally looked at his daughter, and Charlie saw genuine concern in his eyes. "For containment. To make sure no one inside can escape."
"Escape?" Charlie felt her stomach sink. "Dad, Rosie is there. All the cannibals are there. Are you saying they're trapped?"
"I'm saying," Lucifer responded carefully, "that whoever or whatever consumed that apple... someone decided they needed to be contained. Along with anyone else in that district." It was one of his guesses; the other he didn't dare mention.
"We have to help them," Charlie said immediately, taking a step toward the distant barrier. "We have to—"
"No." Lucifer grabbed her arm. "Charlie, no. Look at that barrier. See how it pulses? How reality distorts around it?"
Charlie looked more closely. The barrier was completely opaque, an absolute darkness that didn't allow anything inside to be seen. The air around it rippled like heat over asphalt, distorting reality itself.
"I don't know if it's possible to cross it," Lucifer said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he studied the barrier. "From here I can feel the immense power emanating from it. It's... significant. Even for me."
Charlie turned toward her father, surprised. "Are you saying that not even you could break it?"
"I'm saying I don't know," Lucifer admitted, and there was something unsettling about hearing that uncertainty in his voice. "And I'm not eager to find out without more information."
"Okay, this is officially giving me the creeps," Cherri said, crossing her arms. "And I don't scare easily."
"I know, baby. All my hairs are standing on end." Angel rubbed his forearms trying to get rid of the creepy sensation.
"So what do we do?" Charlie asked, frustration and fear mixing in her voice. "Do we just stand here watching while who knows what happens to Rosie and her people?"
"For now, yes," Lucifer said, and Charlie could see how much it cost him to say that. "We need information. We need to understand what's happening before we can act."
"And how do we get that information when there's a giant barrier blocking everything?" Angel pointed out.
Before anyone could respond, a sound filled the air.
A scream.
It wasn't a normal scream. It wasn't the frightened scream of a sinner or the howl of some infernal creature. It was something much deeper, more primordial.
It was a roar of pure rage.
The sound resonated throughout the entire Pentagram, so loud and penetrating that Charlie had to cover her ears. She could feel it vibrating in her bones, making her teeth chatter. It wasn't just a sound—it was a declaration. A challenge. A war cry from something that had just awakened.
And it was definitely masculine.
"Holy shit!" Cherri screamed, also covering her ears. "What the hell is that?!"
"A furious bad boy?!" Niffty commented, trembling, though no one knew if it was from excitement, arousal, or fear.
The scream continued for what seemed like an eternity—ten, twenty seconds of uninterrupted fury that made every sinner in the Pride Ring stop in their tracks.
When it finally faded, it left absolute silence in its wake.
Charlie looked toward the barrier again, and this time—now that the scream had ceased—she could see something different. Flashes. Barely perceptible movements within the darkness. Like shadows moving behind a black veil, too distant and distorted to identify, but definitely there.
Something was happening inside that barrier. Something active. Something violent.
"What... what the hell was that?" Angel whispered, his face pale.
Lucifer stood motionless, his expression indecipherable. "That," he said slowly, "was someone who just transformed. Someone who isn't happy with their situation."
"Transformed?" Charlie repeated. "You mean...?"
"Whoever ate the apple," Lucifer confirmed. "Their transformation just completed. And by the sound of it..." he paused, "it wasn't a pleasant process."
"That sounded like someone was being tortured," Niffty commented casually, and everyone looked at her disturbed by how casual her tone was.
"Can you tell who it was?" Vaggie asked Lucifer. "By the voice, can you identify them?"
Lucifer shook his head slowly. "The transformation would have changed their voice too much. But..." he stopped, frowning, "there was something familiar about it. Something I can't identify."
Charlie looked toward the barrier, her mind racing. Someone in there had eaten the apple. Someone had transformed. And now they were trapped—along with everyone else in that district.
"We need to do something," she said firmly. "We can't just stand here."
"You're right," Lucifer admitted. "But we need to be smart about it. That barrier..." he pointed toward the pulsing darkness, "isn't going to fall easily. And whoever created it clearly has a plan."
"Do you think Rosie created it?" Charlie asked, processing the implications. "To protect the rest of hell from what's happening inside?"
Lucifer opened his mouth to respond, but Alastor interrupted him with a click of his tongue.
"I'm afraid not, dear," Alastor said, his smile tightening as he studied the barrier with narrowed eyes. "I recognize the magical signature of our dear friend Rosie—I've worked with her long enough to identify her particular style. And that," he pointed with his cane toward the pulsing darkness, "is definitely not her work."
"Then who?" Vaggie demanded.
"Well," Alastor spun his cane casually, though his body language was tense, "if I had to make an educated guess... I'd say it was created by whoever consumed the apple. Or by whoever gave them the apple in the first place."
"Someone gave the apple to someone?" Husk growled. "That sounds fucking premeditated."
"Indeed," Alastor nodded. "A rather efficient way to ensure there are no witnesses to what happened inside, don't you think?"
Lucifer gave Alastor a withering look, but he ignored it. The silence that followed was heavy as everyone processed the implications.
"Wait," Charlie said slowly, horror filling her voice, "are you saying someone deliberately locked all the cannibals in? With themselves? To... for what? To kill them?"
"Or to make sure no one escapes to tell what they witnessed," Alastor responded with chilling calm. "Though I admit that's speculation on my part."
"Fuck..." Cherri muttered. "That's... that's a shitty situation."
"This is a fucking disaster," Husk agreed with her.
Before she could elaborate, Charlie's phone began to ring. And Vaggie's. And Angel's. And Lucifer's. And Cherri's.
All at the same time.
Charlie pulled out her phone and saw it was being flooded with messages—from terrified sinners, from reporters demanding statements, from overlords seeking answers.
And on Lucifer's screen, Charlie saw a notification that chilled her blood:
"EMERGENCY ALERT - ALL RINGS OF HELL. PRIMORDIAL CATEGORY EVENT DETECTED IN THE PENTAGRAM. EMERGENCY PROCEDURES ACTIVATED."
"Dad," Charlie said slowly, "what does 'Primordial Category' mean?"
Lucifer looked at the notification, his expression becoming even more somber. "It means what just happened was powerful enough to alert all the rings of hell. It means Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan, all the other deadly sins are now aware that something massive just occurred."
"And that's bad?" Angel asked.
"It means," Lucifer responded, "that in the coming hours, I'm going to have to give a lot of explanations. And honestly..." he looked toward the dark barrier, "I'm not sure I have answers."
Charlie followed his gaze, watching as the barrier pulsed with unnatural energy. Somewhere inside that darkness, Rosie and her people were trapped. Somewhere inside, someone had transformed into something new, something powerful.
And that roar of rage... that primordial scream...
Charlie felt a chill run down her spine.
Something terrible had just awakened in the heart of hell.
And she had the horrible feeling this was only the beginning.