The theater was tucked into a side street in what Vaggie called the “Glitter District”—a collection of venues that catered to Hell’s wealthier residents.
The building itself was impressive, all dark stone and stained glass windows that shimmered with internal light, casting luminescent rainbow swirls on the opposing structures.
Inside, the theater was packed full.
Sinners of every description filled the plush seats, their conversations creating a buzz of anticipation that crackled through the air like static electricity.
Ushered by a small imp, Kevin and Vaggie were guided to their seats near the front of the stage.
“How did you manage this?” Kevin asked.
Vaggie smiled, her whole demeanor very excited.
“Charlie called ahead to secure two good seats for us.”
“Really?
She doesn’t like doing that,” Kevin commented.
“Using her station as princess.”
“True,” Vaggie admitted.
Then, to his surprise, she leaned into him and whispered, “But she wants this night for us to be special.” She paused, her eye shining as she gazed up at him, “I do, too.”
Kevin leaned in just the same, “It is.” He whispered back.
Both their cheeks flushed lightly before Vaggie poked him gently and said with a chuckle, “Just don’t get any ideas, mister.”
“I’ll save those for Charlie,” He teased back.
“So will I,” Vaggie giggled, “including a spanking or two.”
Still, she made no move to sit up, and he couldn’t help but let a thought or two get through.
Clearing his throat, Kevin looked around, changing the topic, “So, who is Diax, exactly?
You gave me a little preview at lunch, but tell me more.”
“Diax?” Vaggie settled back in her seat, happy to explain again.
“Well, he’s a legend in Hell’s entertainment world.
Son of the demon Malphas, who was one of the first demons to appear in Hell under Lucifer’s creation, but now works under the direction of Satan himself.”
“I’ve read about Malphas in the Lesser Key of Solomon.
Isn’t he an Ars Goetia?”
“Yes,” Vaggie nodded, “Though, like many others, he did not keep the original form of a bird, as others like Stolas did.
Rather, he only takes on such an appearance if summoned to Earth.
Mostly, he’s just a typical demon making deals for power.”
“An area I have some trouble keeping my hands off,” Kevin groused, “Now that I know what it all entails.” He looked at the stage, “But I digress.
Diax isn’t like his father, I assume?”
“No, far from it.” Vaggie nodded again, “Diax didn’t have a taste for power or ruling territory, and he was rather vocal, speaking openly against his family’s ways.”
“That doesn’t happen down here often, I take it?”
“No,” Vaggie shook her head, “and Malphas was not happy at all.
Cut him off from the family fortune and kicked him out.”
“That, unfortunately, happens everywhere.” Kevin sighed, “But I suppose it’s better than what I would have expected to happen.”
“Yeah,” Vaggie frowned, “Even though he was angry, Malphas wasn’t about to stir up political drama by executing his son.
Banishment and dishonor would be enough.
But Diax was a dreamer of a different sort.
He didn’t want power; he wanted to entertain.
So, he went to work for Mammon in the Greed ring to learn the business side of things, but that was short-lived.
He didn’t like how Mammon ran things, either.”
“From what little I’ve heard of Mammon, I can’t blame Diax.”
“Right.” She gestured toward the elaborate stage and décor around them.
“He started his own franchise, creating experiences for sinners and demons.
Not torture, not suffering, but actual moments of joy.
Escape rooms, fashion shows, and theatrical productions like this one.
Anything that lets sinners forget where they are for a few hours.”
Kevin leaned forward, intrigued.
“So he’s built success on… making people happy?
In Hell?”
“Yeah.” Vaggie nodded.
“Diax carved his own path.
No soul contracts, no turf wars.
Just pure showmanship.”
“That’s impressive,” Kevin murmured thoughtfully.
“Succeeding down here without the usual methods…”
“He’s Pride Ring through and through, though,” Vaggie added.
“From what I hear, he’s got an ego the size of the Pentagram.
Needs every show to be perfect, needs the adoration.”
“To make up for loss of family?”
“Maybe.
But—” She smiled slightly.
“He’s also never failed.
Everything he touches turns to gold.”
Kevin’s expression shifted, something calculating flickering behind his eyes, but before he could respond, the lights dimmed, and the crowd fell silent.
Then Diax made his entrance.
He stood at an imposing seven feet, easy, with skin that shimmered between deep purple and midnight blue depending on how the light caught it—like twilight given form.
Twin obsidian horns curved back from his temples in elegant arcs through dark-brown hair, polished to such a mirror shine they reflected the stage lights like dark prisms.
His eyes were molten gold—bright, intelligent, predatory—missing nothing as they swept across the crowd with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect he had on people.
Sharp cheekbones gave his face an aristocratic edge, while a carefully maintained goatee added a touch of roguish charm.
He wore a vest that seemed woven from captured starlight itself, constellations twinkling and shifting across the fabric with every movement, paired with fitted black trousers and a crisp white shirt.
But it was his tail that truly commanded attention—long, muscular, prehensile, moving with serpentine grace and a life entirely its own, coiling and uncoiling in slow, hypnotic patterns that punctuated his every word and gesture like a conductor’s baton.
“Good evening, sinners and demons!” Diax’s voice was smooth as silk, carrying to every corner of the theater without amplification, a faint accent—German, perhaps—coloring certain syllables.
“Welcome to ‘Eternal Reverie’.
Tonight, I have assembled the finest performers Hell has to offer, ja?—dancers who defy gravity, singers who’ll make you weep, and illusionists who’ll make you question your own damnation.”
He paused, letting the anticipation build.
“But first, let me tell you what this show is really about.” His smile was sharp, knowing.
“It’s about reminding you that even in Hell, beauty exists.
That even in damnation, there’s still room for wonder.
That no matter how far you’ve fallen, there’s still something worth experiencing.
Hope!”
The crowd erupted in applause.
Soaking up the cheers for a full minute, Diax finally gestured toward the right side of the stage, “So without further ado, let’s begin, shall we?”
What followed was spectacular.
Diax introduced each act with perfect timing, his commentary witty and sharp, his transitions seamless.
He read the crowd like a book, knowing when to build excitement and when to let a moment breathe.
A trio of aerial dancers performed impossible feats fifty feet above the stage, their bodies wreathed in flames that never burned.
A singer with a voice like shattered glass brought half the audience to tears with a ballad about lost love.
An illusionist made the entire theater disappear, leaving only stars and void, before snapping reality back with a flourish.
And through it all, Diax commanded the stage—not as a performer, but as a master of ceremonies who knew exactly how to make every act shine.
Kevin leaned toward Vaggie during one transition.
“He’s incredible.”
“Told you,” Vaggie whispered back, her expression one of childlike wonder.
It was a look he’d never seen in the brief time he’d known the smaller angel, except when she was with Charlie.
Though he was her armor now, the way she let herself go by cheering, whooping, and wiggling in the seat in response to the performances seemed to take her away from all the pain she’d ever felt, leaving her with nothing but pure, unfettered joy.
If Diax could illicit this kind of response from someone whose life had been filled with violence and death, regret and fear, like Vaggie’s, he imagined what it could do for others.
So when intermission came, Kevin stood abruptly, announcing.
Vaggie blinked.
“What?
Why?”
“Because,” Kevin held out his hand.
“I have an idea.
Come on.”
“Kevin,” Vaggie took hold of his hand while protesting, “We can’t just go backstage.”
“Watch me,” Kevin winked and pulled her along.
So they made their way backstage, Kevin using a mix of charm and strategic name-dropping by following Vaggie’s earlier advice and introducing himself and Vaggie as the consorts of the Princess of Hell, implying through omission that Diax was expecting them.
As they passed one burly security guard after such a comment, Vaggie whispered, “You’re enjoying this too much!”
Kevin gave her a sly smirk, “Just working the system to our advantage.”
As they continued to make their way through the backstage area, they saw it was organized chaos—demons rushing around with props and costumes, with the hum of magic in the air.
It didn’t take long before they found Diax’s dressing room.
Before Kevin could knock, Vaggie tugged on his hand, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m sure I know what I want to do,” Kevin admitted, “Because if what you told me about Diax is all true… he’s exactly what the hotel needs.”
“Wait,” Vaggie blinked, “What?”
But Kevin was already knocking at the door.
“Go away, please,” came the irritated response from inside.
“This is my private moment to rest!”
Kevin knocked again, harder and more insistently.
Sharp steps could be heard approaching before the door flew open, revealing Diax with his vest removed, dabbing at his forehead with a towel.
His tail lashed once, sharply.
“I said—” He stopped, eyes narrowing as he took in Kevin and Vaggie.
“Wer zum Teufel!
Who the hell are you, and how did you get past security?”
“My name’s Angel,” Angel said, using his call sign for the time being.
He motioned to Vaggie.
“And this is Vaggie.
We’re here on Charlie Morningstar’s behalf, from the Hazbin Hotel.”
Diax’s expression didn’t soften.
“That weird redemption hotel.” His tone made it clear what he thought of that.
“Great.
Two more people are trying to recruit performers I’ve already booked.
You’re as bad as the Vees!” He started to close the door.
“Just as I told them, I’m not interested in sharing my talent.”
Angel put his foot in the doorway.
“We’re not here for your performers.
We’re here for you.”
That stopped Diax.
His eyes flicked to Angel’s foot, then back to his face.
Something in the angel’s face made him pause.
Tilting his head toward a burly guard thirty feet away, he snapped, “You’ve got about ten seconds to make this interesting before I call security.”
“You’re the greatest showman in Hell,” Angel said, words coming fast but measured.
“Everyone knows it.
You sell out every show.
You create experiences that make sinners feel things they thought they’d lost forever.
But we’re not here to ask you to perform.”
“Nein?” Diax’s tail coiled slowly, a sign of reluctant curiosity.
“No.
We’re here to offer you the greatest challenge of your career.” Angel leaned against the door frame.
“The Hazbin Hotel is trying to do something impossible—convince sinners they can be redeemed and earn their way to Heaven.
But we’ve got an image problem.
The hotel is a joke to most of Hell.”
“With good reason,” Diax muttered, but he wasn’t closing the door anymore.
“We need someone who can change that narrative,” Angel went on, undeterred.
“Someone who can make Hell believe in something they think is impossible.”
Diax laughed sharply.
“Wait a minute!
You want me to be your PR guy?
To convince sinners to want redemption?” He shook his head incredulously.
“This has to be the most ridiculous pitch I’ve heard in all of eternity.”
“Is it?” Angel challenged.
“Or is it the first time someone’s offered you something you can’t just buy with money and status?”
“Nothing I do here was bought,” Diax’s eyes flared, “This is all because of my talent as an artist and a showman.”
“Of course,” Angel agreed readily, “But it’s still a show, isn’t it?
Scripted, rehearsed, planned?
You know your audience, what they need, and it fits.
But is it enough?”
Diax’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ve got everything I need, Angel.
Success.
Respect.
Every show I create is a triumph.
Why would I risk all that on the princess’s pipe dream?”
“Because you never fail,” Angel said quietly.
“Every victory is guaranteed.
Every show sells out before you even plan it.
You could phone in your performance, and they’d still call you a genius.” He met Diax’s molten gold eyes steadily.
“When was the last time you faced something that actually scared you?
Something you weren’t sure you could pull off?”
The dressing room went very quiet, and Diax’s tail had stopped moving entirely.
Angel answered the question for him, “Other than standing up to your father, and chasing a dream of your own?
When you didn’t know for sure if that dream could be reached?”
For the first time since the day he’d been kicked out, Diax fidgeted, uncertain.
The silence bolstered Angel to continue, “I’m offering you the chance to do something no one else in Hell could do.
To take something everyone thinks is insane and make them believe in it.
To prove your genius isn’t just about selling products people already want—it’s about creating desire for something they never thought possible.”
“Five minutes to curtain,” someone called from the hallway.
Diax glanced toward the sound, then back at Angel and Vaggie.
His tail resumed its slow, thoughtful coiling.
“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.
Interrupting my break to all but insult me, challenge my power, and pitch me the impossible.”
“Is it impossible?” Vaggie spoke up.
“Charlie doesn’t think so.
She wants to save her people from extermination.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Diax’s mouth.
“So were you once, and then you made those dreams a reality,” Angel motioned around him to the bustling backstage noise.
Diax stared at them both for a long moment.
His tail coiled and uncoiled in that slow, thoughtful rhythm.
“Say I was interested,” he said finally, voice careful.
“Hypothetically.
What makes you think redemption is even possible?”
Vaggie and Angel exchanged glances.
Angel spoke up with a firm voice, “Because we have something most of Hell lacks.”
“And what’s that?” Diax asked with a hint of genuine interest.
“Faith,” Angel answered boldly.
“Out there tonight, you told the crowd to believe in hope.
Faith is just an extension of that.”
Diax didn’t respond.
Angel pressed, “And because I’ve seen what Charlie can do,” he said simply.
“I’ve watched her inspire people who had given up hope.
I’ve seen Sir Pentious sacrifice himself to protect the hotel, so I know he believed.
We just need someone who can make others believe it, too.”
“Changing one sinner’s beliefs doesn’t prove a concept,” Diax countered, but his tone had shifted from dismissive to genuinely considering.
“No,” Vaggie interjected.
“But it proves it’s not impossible.
And that’s a start.”
Diax’s eyes flicked between them.
“You’re offering me a chance to fail.
Spectacularly, publicly, completely.”
“Yes,” Angel agreed without hesitation.
“To risk my reputation on something that could blow up in my face.”
“Yes.”
“To work for a hotel that was attacked just over a month ago, trying to sell a product that every sinner in Hell thinks is insane.”
“Yes.”
The dressing room fell silent except for the muffled sounds of the theater beyond.
Someone called “Three minutes!” from afar.
Then Diax laughed—a genuine sound, rich and surprised.
He grabbed his vest and shrugged it back on, shaking his head.
“Alright.
Ach, you magnificent bastard.
You’ve got me interested.” His tail gave one sharp, decisive lash.
“Color me curious enough to at least visit this hotel of yours and see what we’re working with.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Angel said.
Diax laughed again—bigger now, freer.
“I like you, Angel.
You’re devious.
You have a sense of showmanship, too!
I appreciate that in a colleague.” He extended his hand.
“Alright.
Let’s make a deal.
I’ll visit your hotel, evaluate your situation, and if I think I can work with what you’ve got, we’ll talk terms.”
Angel paused, his eyes focused on the demon’s hand.
Diax looked confused.
Vaggie spoke up with a touch of humor, “It’s not a soul-contract, just a traditional handshake.”
“He thought this was a soul deal, ja?” Diax couldn’t help but grin at Angel’s discomfort.
“Oh, you are going to be so much fun to work with, Angel.”
Kevin gave Diax a look, then grabbed his hand and shook, “I hope so, and please, call me Kevin.” He smiled, “All my friends do.”
Diax laughed.
“You do have faith, don’t you, that I’m gonna say yes?
Well, Kevin, my boy, we shall see.” He flicked his fingers dismissively, “Now get out of my dressing room.” He commanded, but with warmth in his voice now.
“I’ve got a second act to run, and you’ve made me late.
We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As the door closed behind them, Vaggie asked in a surprised voice, “Did that really just happen?”
Kevin’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“It did.”
“Did we really just hire Hell’s most famous showman?”
“Let’s not count our Egg Bois before they hatch,” He chuckled, “The next part is going to be difficult.”
“Still,” Vaggie shook her head, “It was a risk to barge into his dressing room and annoy him as you did.”
“Sometimes the best way to get someone’s attention is to catch them off guard.” Kevin’s smile widened into a grin.
Vaggie stared at him for a moment longer.
Then she burst out laughing—a real, genuine laugh that made her eye crinkle at the corners.
“4D chess!”
“In this case?” Kevin surprised Vaggie by leaning down and kissing her on the cheek, “I had a guardian angel show me the way.”
He was rewarded with the darkest shade of purple he’d ever seen on the smaller exorcist angel.
Silently, he added a point for himself.
Stuttering, she grabbed his arm, “Ch-Charlies gonna lose her mind on this one!”
“She needs staff,” Kevin looked at the dressing room door, “And we need to make her dream come true.” Taking her hand, he led her through the backstage area towards their seats, “Now, come on.
There’s a second half of a wonderful show to watch.”
But Vaggie didn’t move, so when he tried to step forward, her hand held him back.
“Vaggie?”
“This was supposed to be a date,” Vaggie smiled softly at him, “a chance to get to know each other more.”
“Shit,” Kevin frowned, “Vaggie, I—?”
“And,” She interrupted him, “the moment you saw a chance to help Charlie and her dream, you became singularly focused.” Boldly, Vaggie stepped forward, perched up on her tiptoes, and set her lips to his in a chaste yet firm kiss.
When she broke it, she spoke in a whisper barely heard above the bustling of the backstage, “Just as her knight is supposed to do.”
“Still.” Kevin dropped his gaze, now with a blush of his own, and he spoke with a contrite tone, “It wasn’t that gentlemanly of me.”
“Then you will just have to ask me out again, won’t you?” Vaggie winked.
“How about every other weekend?” He proposed, “intermixed with dates with Charlie and dates with all three of us?”
“Just like our sleeping arrangement?” Vaggie smirked, “Sounds good to me.”
A loud buzzer indicated the curtain was about to go up.
“Come,” Kevin pulled softly on her hand, “We still have three hours before dinner.
Let’s finish the show, then focus on each other the rest of our date.”
“Deal.” Vaggie nodded with a fresh blush.
Quickly, they made their way back to their seats, sitting just as the lights dimmed again.
Diax strode back onto the stage, and if their conversation rattled him, he didn’t show it.
If anything, he commanded the second act with even more energy than before, his introductions sharper, his timing more precise—like something had been reignited inside him.
As Kevin watched Diax engage the crowd, he felt Vaggie’s hand find his in the darkness.
He squeezed it, and she returned the pressure.
They sat in comfortable silence, hands linked, watching as Diax worked his magic—not through his own performance, but through his mastery of orchestrating others.
And Kevin felt something like hope stirring in his chest.
Maybe, just maybe, they could pull off the idea of sinners finding redemption inside the Hazbin Hotel.
All they needed was a little showmanship.