Charlie Morningstar paced the hotel lobby, her heels clicking against the freshly polished marble as the chandelier above cast fractured crimson light across the walls.
With her hands clasped in front of her and her tail out, swishing behind her with anxious energy, she moved back and forth beneath the massive family portrait like a caged animal awaiting judgment.
Kevin and Vaggie exchanged a glance from where they stood near the grand staircase, both well aware that the tail only made an appearance when she was nervous, angry, or… they smiled at each other knowingly.
Vaggie approached and placed a hand on her girlfriend’s shoulder, “Babe, calm down, okay?
It’s going to be fine.”
“He’ll be here any minute,” Charlie said for the third time in less than five minutes.
“Are we ready?
Is the hotel presentable?
Should we have made refreshments?
Oh god, we should have made refreshments—”
“Charlie.” Vaggie’s hand tightened on her shoulder, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“Breathe!”
Taking the breath as commanded, Charlie turned to Kevin, who stood with his arms folded, radiating calm.
“You know, when I said we needed to discuss staffing, I meant discuss.
Not… recruit Hell’s most famous showman without running it by me first.”
Kevin’s features softened slightly.
“We did discuss it, Charlie.”
“Yes.
Doctors, psychiatrists, mentors, coordinators.
Maybe a front desk receptionist.” She threw her hands up.
“Not someone who could potentially overshadow the entire redemption message with… with spectacle!”
“Charlie,” Kevin moved closer, his tone measured.
“The battle a month ago sent the wrong message; that we’re a target, which is why we haven’t had an influx of guests yet.
Diax specializes in changing narratives.
In making people believe in things they thought were impossible.
He brings the one thing this hotel needs desperately: the right attention.”
Charlie’s mouth opened to argue, then closed as her shoulders sagged slightly.
“I know.
I know you’re right.
It’s just…” She looked around the lobby.
“What if he takes one look at this place and… sees that I have no idea what I’m doing?”
“Then we’ll be honest about it,” Vaggie interjected.
“We’ve never pretended to have all the answers, babe.”
“No shit,” Charlie said glumly.
Kevin shrugged, “I dunno, I think the mysticism of it all is kinda charming, honestly.”
“Is it though?” Charlie’s voice dropped to barely a whisper.
“Is it charming that we’ve had exactly two residents this whole time… and I had to watch one of them fucking die in front of me a month ago?”
Kevin and Vaggie exchanged glances.
“We already had this talk, too, Hun,” he reminded her gently.
“I just don’t want all of this to be a fucking joke.” Charlie lamented, eyes cast down.
“Not for Pentious’s sake.”
“It isn’t, and it never was,” Vaggie said firmly.
“And it never will be,” Kevin added sternly.
“Come on.
We need this.
We need Diax.”
Before Charlie could respond, there was a knock at the door—three precise raps that somehow managed to sound theatrical.
Swallowing once, Charlie gave her lovers a look, one that said very clearly she hoped they were right.
Straightening her jacket and smoothing her hair, she put on what Kevin had come to recognize as her “Princess of Hell” smile—bright, enthusiastic, and only slightly manic.
“Showtime,” she said through gritted teeth.
With a soft shake of her head, Vaggie went and opened the door.
Standing on the threshold in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit with a burgundy vest that caught the light, Diax cut an impressive figure.
His horns gleamed, and his golden eyes swept across the lobby with the refined assessment of someone who evaluated venues for a living, while his tail coiled and uncoiled in that hypnotic rhythm Kevin remembered from the theater.
“Princess Charlotte,” Diax said with a slight bow, that faint German accent coloring his words.
“Thank you for your charming invitation.”
“Please, call me Charlie.” She extended her hand, and Diax took it with surprising gentleness.
“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.
We’re so glad you could make it.”
“The pleasure is mine.” His smile was professional, charming.
“Your consorts spoke very highly of your vision.”
Her cheeks flushed pink.
“They’re very enthusiastic.” She shot Kevin a look that promised a conversation later about the “consorts” line, unaware of the conversation her two lovers had had the night before.
“Shall we give you a tour before we talk?”
“I would love one.”
As they moved deeper into the lobby, Diax’s gaze swept over every detail—the grand staircase with its polished banister, the spotless wallpaper with subtle damask patterns, the crystal chandelier that caught and refracted the crimson light from outside, the portrait of Charlie’s family dominating one wall in an ornate golden frame.
Everything shimmered with newness, untouched by age or wear.
Diax’s face stayed neutral, professional, but Kevin could see him cataloging everything with the same sharp eye he had.
He understood now that Diax not only created spectacle but was also always calculating.
He knew the look well.
“We finished with the rebuild of the hotel just over a week ago,” Charlie explained, hands gesturing with enthusiastic energy.
“After the battle against Heaven’s forces last month, we had to start from scratch.
But Dad—Lucifer—brought in workers from all seven rings, and our resident hotelier, Alastor, chimed in with endless demons to assist.
So now we have twenty-three floors, hundreds of rooms, and magnificent halls, all ready to receive guests.” Her enthusiasm dimmed slightly.
“We just… need the guests first.”
“The battle against Heaven,” Diax repeated thoughtfully.
His tail flexed once, slowly.
“Yes, 666 News reported on it extensively.
The Princess of Hell, leading a defense against Adam’s exorcist army, which led to the death of the First Man himself.” He paused, “By a small maid, if I recall?” Locking onto her with new intensity, he seemed to reassess everything.
“Quite the statement.
So tell me, what’s to stop them from trying again?”
“We’re currently under investigation,” Kevin chimed in.
“A Heaven-born angel named Eryn resides here, compiling information on whether the hotel can or can not do what Charlie is advertising.
So as long as she is here, the hotel is safe.”
Diax paused.
His eyes scanned past Vaggie to Kevin, then up towards the rooms, and he chuckled lightly, “You seem to be collecting a lot of angels down here.”
“I’ve noticed the irony,” Kevin shared the laugh, “And Eryn is a dear friend of mine, I trust her final report will secure the hotel’s future.
But, we need sinners to want to try so we can prove it.”
Diax nodded in understanding, but he was not yet convinced.
Waving his hand before him, he said graciously, “That’s why you invited me here.
Please, continue the tour.”
They continued through the hotel.
Leading him to the ballroom first—a massive space with vaulted ceilings and a stage at one end—Charlie swept her arm across the empty floor.
“We’re thinking group activities and trust exercises.”
Walking to the center, his footsteps echoing across the floor, Diax paused to examine the room’s layout, and his ears perked up.
“The acoustics are excellent.
And the stage…” He climbed the steps and turned to face the room.
“You have the perfect setup for grand performances.
Therapy through art.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Charlie admitted, her eyes lighting up.
“I do love to sing.”
Diax gave a half-bow.
“I’d be quite pleased if, sometime, you grace me with your voice at one of my shows, your highness.”
Blushing, Charlie smiled, “I’d love to.”
The library came next—floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with a diverse collection.
Running his fingers along the spines, Diax paused occasionally.
“Still cataloging the books,” Charlie said.
“Turns out Alastor had some very diverse reading habits.”
“I can see that,” Diax mused, pulling out a volume on ancient Sumerian rituals, then spotting a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice two shelves down.
“Chaos and classics.
A fitting metaphor for the Radio Demon himself.”
Various common areas followed—sitting rooms with plush furniture, a game room with a pool and ping pong tables, as well as a few dart boards, and a meditation space that doubled as a small chapel.
Diax paused at the archway, “I never thought, in a million years, I would see a chapel of any kind in Hell.”
“My idea,” Kevin spoke up, “For sinners who may find prayer useful.”
Diax nodded silently as he followed Charlie to the next area, which was an art studio filled with easels, canvases, and supplies.
“You have an art studio too?” He mused.
“This one was Niffty’s idea, actually,” Charlie said.
“When she’s not cleaning, she’s creating.
Most of it is roach puppet shows, but I caught her in here just the other night, painting.” She chuckled, “And I think I startled her, because she covered it up before I could see what she was making.
So I think it’s as much for her as anyone.”
“Clever,” he said quietly, running his fingers along a blank canvas.
“Art is as much catharsis as it is creative.”
Each room revealed more of Charlie’s vision, the excitement of showing it all off overriding her earlier nervousness.
“The core concept is redemption through genuine change,” she continued as they walked.
“We help sinners examine their actions, understand the harm they caused, make amends where possible, and actively choose to be better.
It’s not about punishment—they’ve had plenty of that.
It’s about growth.”
“And you believe this works?” Diax asked.
Not skeptical, just curious.
“I believe it can work.” Her voice grew soft, tinged with memory.
“We had a resident—Sir Pentious—who was making real progress.
He sacrificed himself to save us during the battle.” Her throat tightened.
“But he didn’t complete his redemption.
He died before… before we could know for certain if it was working.”
Kevin appeared at her side, adding, “That’s what this hotel needs most—belief that redemption is possible, even without proof yet.”
Stopping mid-stride, Diax’s gilded irises studied Charlie’s face.
“You’re asking sinners to take a leap without knowing where they’ll land.”
“I’m asking them to trust that the landing exists,” Charlie said quietly.
“That they deserve the chance to find it.”
The honesty seemed to surprise Diax.
His tail tightened, and a flicker of something—respect, perhaps, or recognition of a fellow dreamer—crossed his features.
“I admit, princess, I am impressed.
But it is a risky venture, and I’m not quite sure I…” He paused, drawing in a slow breath through his nose.
“That’s quite the enticing aroma.
Kitchen?”
Brightening at the question and the distraction from what appeared to be an approaching decline of his service, Charlie nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh!
Yes, please, let me show you.
It’s a spectacular setup, designed to prepare meals for hundreds of guests at a time.
You’ll love it!”
Diax took another whiff and had to agree it needed to be seen.
“Lead the way.”
The kitchen sprawled before them as they entered, and the wave of heat hit first—warmth radiating from the massive industrial stove where three pans sizzled and popped in competing rhythms.
Gleaming appliances lined the walls beneath bright overhead lights, with spacious prep areas of pale marble stretching between them and copper pots hanging from ceiling racks like instruments waiting to be played.
But the pristine space had been transformed into organized chaos.
Ingredients covered every available surface.
Vegetables sat in various states of chopping while herbs lay scattered across cutting boards, their sharp fragrance mingling with the rich scent of garlic and wine rising from a massive pot that bubbled with what could only be a complex reduction sauce.
Steam curled toward the vents, and beneath it all, the steady scrape of a wooden spoon against cast iron kept time like a heartbeat.
In the center of this controlled storm stood Cherri Bomb.
Her hair, usually styled with precision, had come partially loose from its tie, wisps sticking to her forehead.
The hairnet she would be wearing lay on the floor behind her, probably ripped off in frustration at some point.
Food stains decorated her chef’s jacket—tomato sauce on one sleeve, what looked like chocolate on the collar, and flour dusting her shoulder.
Her single eye blazed with fierce concentration as she nearly simultaneously stirred a reduction, flipped something in a sauté pan, and tasted a sauce from a small spoon.
“Not now,” she said without looking up, her Australian accent sharp with irritation.
“I’m in the middle of perfecting the béchamel, and if I break the emulsion—”
“Cherri,” Charlie ventured gently.
“We’re just showing Diax around—”
“Don’t care if you’re showing Satan himself around,” Cherri snapped, finally glancing up.
Her eye landed on Diax, traveling from his polished shoes to his perfectly coiffed hair, and her expression soured further.
“Great.
Another suit.
Kitchen’s off-limits during prep, princess, ya know that!”
But Diax hadn’t moved.
He stood in the doorway, transfixed.
While Charlie saw chaos, he saw something else entirely.
The way Cherri moved between stations wasn’t frantic—it was choreographed, each motion purposeful and precise.
She wasn’t just cooking; she was conducting a symphony of flavors.
The seemingly random scatter of ingredients revealed itself as strategic placement—everything within arm’s reach, organized by the sequence of her preparation.
“Fascinating,” he murmured, and it was obvious to Kevin, standing next to him, that he wasn’t referring to the kitchen or the mess.
But Cherri, herself.
Cherri’s eye snapped back to him.
“What?”
“You’re an artist.” Diax took a single step into the kitchen, his tail twisting with interest.
“This isn’t just food preparation.
You’re creating something from apparent chaos.
Transforming raw ingredients into…” He gestured at the simmering pans, the precisely chopped vegetables, the complex layering of flavors.
“Into something transcendent.”
For a moment, Cherri’s irritation faltered as surprise flickered across her face, perhaps even flattery.
Then her face hardened again.
“Yeah, well, art takes concentration.
And you’re breaking mine.”
“My apologies.” But Diax didn’t sound apologetic.
He sounded intrigued.
His eyes tracked her movements as she turned back to her work, noting the confidence in every gesture, the way she tasted and adjusted seasonings without measurement, the fierce intelligence behind her decisions.
“Though I must say, watching a master work is its own form of entertainment.”
For a moment, Cherri stood still, surprised by the unexpected compliment.
Then she shrugged and said, “I’m not entertainment, mate—” with a dry grin in her voice as she grabbed a bottle of wine, poured some into the reduction without measuring, and watched the sauce hiss and steam.
“—I’m busy.
So, unless you want to grab an apron and start dicing those carrots, get out of my kitchen.”
“Your kitchen?” Diax’s mouth curved into a slight smile.
“So you’re not a sinner seeking redemption?
You work here.”
“Hotel cook,” Charlie supplied quickly.
“Cherri isn’t ready for the redemption path.” She added the second part with a forlorn sigh.
“Sorry, princess,” This time, the tone in Cherri’s voice was lighter, almost playful.
“No time for trust falls when there’s bellies to fill.”
Kevin cleared his throat.
“Which mine is eager for.
So, we should let Cherri get back to work.”
“No shit!” Cherri snapped at Kevin with a grin.
“That’s what I’ve been saying.
So, if you don’t want dry bread for dinner?”
“We’re out of here,” Kevin said quickly, motioning everyone through the door.
But as they left, Diax couldn’t help but glance back one last time.
Cherri had already returned to her work, but he noticed—as was his nature—the slight tremor in her hands when she reached for the salt, the way her fingers lingered on a photograph tucked beside the spice rack—a dapper snake demon smiling back at her.
Sir Pentious, most likely.
The resident Charlie had mentioned during the tour.
The one who’d sacrificed himself.
The one who’d died before completing his redemption.
The pieces fell into place.
Cherri’s sharp dismissal, her irritation at his attention, the way she’d thrown herself into her work as if the act of cooking could somehow fill the void—it wasn’t about him at all.
Her heart was elsewhere.
Still tethered to a ghost.
The flour in her hair, the stains on her jacket, the barely controlled fury in her movements—she was channeling grief into creation, pouring loss into sustenance.
Something he knew very well from his early days after being cast out of his family’s home.
Diax felt his chest tighten.
A warning.
A reminder to tread carefully with whatever he was feeling.
This wasn’t a stage where he could command the narrative.
This was real grief, still raw, and he would need to be patient.
Respectful.
But even knowing all that, he couldn’t deny what he saw before him: Cherri Bomb was beauty wrapped in chaos, indeed.
And he was undeniably smitten.
“Let’s show you the bar.” Vaggie’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He turned his gaze upon her and the others.
“Yes.
Yes, please.
A drink sounds good right now.”
Kevin took the lead, “It’s just through the other door, here.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
The hotel bar was an impressive space—dark wood, warm lighting, and a vast array of bottles that indicated that the bartender knew just what any potential resident would want.
Behind the bar stood Husker, the cat demon.
He was polishing a glass with slow, methodical movements.
When he glanced up and saw Diax, the glass nearly slipped from his paws.
“Holy shit,” Husk breathed.
“Diax?
You actually showed up?”
A genuine smile spread across Diax’s face.
“The very one, and yes.
I couldn’t pass up a chance to visit this remarkable hotel.
You seem familiar, though.
Have you attended my shows before?”
“Attend?
I used to tend bar at the Velvet Vice years ago.
Best gig I ever had before I got my own casino.” Husk set down the glass, suddenly appearing younger despite his gruff appearance.
“You ran a tight ship, but you treated the staff right.
Always made sure we got our cut of the tips, never pulled any contract bullshit.
That’s rare down here.”
“Ah, the Velvet Vice.” Nostalgia softened Diax’s appearance.
“One of my earliest ventures.
You worked the main floor or the VIP lounge?”
“Main floor, mostly.
Sometimes VIP when you had those big demon overlord gatherings.” Husk’s wings ruffled with something like pride.
“Ah, yes.
When Carmine wanted to impress some new overlords,” Diax chuckled, “Or get them so drunk that they would sign exclusive contracts without realizing it.”
“And she was damned good at it, too.” Husk laughed with him.
“And now you work here at the Hazbin Hotel?” Diax asked, drawing his finger atop the bar’s counter.
“Doing my best.
It’s not the Velvet Vice, but…” He shrugged, glancing at Charlie, “It’s for a good cause, and it’s honest work.”
“Honest work is rare in Hell,” Diax agreed.
“As are good causes.”
The last bit warmed Charlie’s face.
Could he be seriously considering joining?
She cast a glance at Kevin and Vaggie.
Vaggie shared her hopeful look.
But Kevin?
He looked confident.
He always looked confident, and it made her feel like this could work.
“I was promised a drink,” Diax ventured, “What’cha recommend?”
“I’m working on a new concoction suggested by someone else who lives here,” Husk answered as he gathered a few bottles, “something called a ‘Harder Daddy’.”
Raising an eyebrow, Diax shrugged, “Well, then, I’ll be one of your first taste-testers, then.”
As Husk went to work on the drink, a blur of motion exploded from behind the bar as Niffty launched herself onto the counter, her single eye fixed on Diax with unsettling intensity.
She circled him like a predator, examining him from every angle.
“This is Niffty.” Charlie made introductions, “She’s head of our maid staff.”
“Our only maid staff.” Vaggie corrected.
“‘Cause I don’t need help,” Niffty said with pride as she continued to scout Diax with her eye.
Rubbing her chin, she shook her head, “Hmm,” she hummed, her voice dripping with disappointment.
“You don’t seem like a bad boy.”
“Uh, thanks?” Diax looked at the others, perplexed.
“Not a compliment,” Niffty sniffed, but then her lips curved into a big smile, “Enjoy your stay.
Bu-bye!”
Hopping off the counter, Niffty scurried away, muttering something about needing to find more cockroaches to kill.
Diax blinked, clearly not sure how to respond to that.
“Niffty has very specific interests,” Charlie explained weakly.
“Art and puppet shows, you said?” Diax eyed her.
“And stabbing angels,” Vaggie added.
“Ah, yes.” Diax recalled, “She’s the one…” He shook his head in amusement, “Your staff is… eclectic.”
“A delightful rogue’s gallery,” Kevin agreed with a grin.
“Hey there, daddy long legs!” Angel Dust’s voice rang out as he descended the main staircase, his multiple arms gesturing dramatically.
He wore one of his more flamboyant outfits—pink and white stripes and a plume of fake fluff that meshed with his chest fluff perfectly—his gold tooth glinted as he grinned.
“Heard we had a VIP visiting.”
“Speaking of eclectic,” Charlie smiled at the timing, “This is Angel Dust.
The hotel’s first resident.”
“Angel Dust,” Diax acknowledged with a polite nod.
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“I bet it does.” Angel sauntered over, making a show of examining Diax up and down.
“Gotta say, the suit’s working for you.
Very mysterious businessman with secrets.”
“I prefer ‘professional entertainer with standards,'” Diax replied smoothly with a wide smile.
“Oooh, touché.” Angel’s grin widened.
“I like you already, you got bite.”
Between them, Husk set down two drinks, his eyes settling on Angel Dust, “Did I get the measurements right this time?” He asked gruffly.
“We’ll see, kitten,” Angel Dust teased sexily as he raised his glass toward Diax, “Down the hatch, handsome.”
Diax clinked glasses and threw back his drink in one fell swoop.
Angel Dust blinked, then followed so as not to be outdone.
Both coughed, with Angel Dust pounding the bar with two fists, “Woo!
Now that hits the spot!”
“It’s…” Diax coughed again, “hitting something alright!”
Concerned that Angel Dust might take the tour in the wrong direction, Charlie spoke up, “Well, we should go check out the back.
Vaggie and Kevin set up a cool training area you might find…”
The front doors’ opening interrupted her, and everyone turned.
Two female demons stood in the doorway, looking around with obvious curiosity.
One was tall and lean with dark red skin and spikes all over her bare head.
The other was shorter, stockier, with mottled green-grey skin and small tusks protruding from her lower jaw.
“Uh…” The red-skinned one spoke first.
“This the Hazbin Hotel, right?”
Charlie’s face lit up like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds.
“Yes!
Yes, welcome!” She practically bounced toward them.
“I’m Charlie Morningstar.
Are you here to check in?
Oh my gosh, please tell me you’re here to check in!”
The two demons exchanged glances.
The green-skinned one spoke up, her voice gravelly.
“Not exactly.
We heard this place defended against Heaven’s army last month.
Killed Adam and everything.
Figured we’d check out the hot spot, you know?
Tourist stuff.”
Charlie’s enthusiasm dimmed but didn’t extinguish.
“Oh.
Well, that’s… that’s great!
I mean, not great that you’re not checking in, but great that you’re here!
Would you like a tour?
We could show you—”
“We’re good,” the red-skinned one said, already pulling out her phone for photos.
“Just wanted to see where it all went down.”
“But—” Charlie stepped forward, her hands clasped.
“Have you ever thought about redemption?
About maybe trying to get into Heaven?”
Both demons laughed.
The green-skinned one shook her head.
“Nah, princess.
No offense, but there’s no way Heaven’s taking any of us.
We’re sinners.
That’s just how it is.”
“But it doesn’t have to be!” Charlie’s voice grew more passionate.
“What if there was a way?
What if you could change, grow, become better versions of yourselves and—”
“Look, it’s a nice dream and all,” the red-skinned one interrupted.
“But come on.
Be realistic.
We’ve been here for decades.
This is our eternity.
Might as well accept it.”
Charlie’s shoulders slumped.
Kevin moved to her side, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder, but before she could respond, Diax stepped forward.
“Excuse me, ladies.” His voice, now clear of the harsh drink, carried that same commanding presence from the theater—smooth, confident, impossible to ignore.
“If I might interject?”
Both demons turned to him, their eyes widening slightly at his appearance.
The red-skinned demon’s eyes lit up.
“Holy shit, you’re Diax.
I saw ‘The Devil’s in the Details’ last year.
That was incredible!”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Diax’s smile was warm, genuine.
“Tell me—during that show, did the experience make you feel better?
Even for just a few hours?”
“Well… yeah,” she admitted.
“It was like… like forgetting you’re damned for a while.
Like there’s still beauty and hope and—” She stopped, looking embarrassed.
“Exactly.” Diax moved closer, his tail moving in that hypnotic rhythm.
“Hope.
Dreams.
The feeling that you’re not trapped.
That there’s something more than just existing in your sin.” He gestured around the hotel.
“What if redemption could be like that?
Not a punishment, not a chore, but a transformation into something… glorious?”
The red-skinned demon hesitated, clearly wrestling with the idea.
Her friend, however, snorted.
“Whatever, man.
I don’t care about glorious transformations or hope or any of that shit.
I’m fine where I am.” She turned and walked toward the door.
“Come on, Jessa.
Let’s bounce.”
“I…” Jessa, the red-skinned demon, looked between her friend and Diax.
“I mean… maybe?”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Diax said softly.
“Maybe.
Keep the maybe alive.”
Jessa nodded slowly, then followed her friend out the door.
Silence filled the lobby.
“That…” Charlie’s voice was quiet.
“That was really close.
You almost had her.”
“Almost.” Diax’s expression was thoughtful, his tail moving up to scratch his chin for him.
“My first loss in quite some time.” He looked at Charlie, and something had shifted in his eyes.
“I think—”
He was interrupted by the front doors opening yet again.
Vox, leader of the trio known as the Vees, stepped in, his screen-face flickering with a bright, cheerful smile that seemed forced.
Velvette, one of his partners, was trailing behind him with her phone out, already recording.
“Well, well, well,” Vox’s voice crackled with that distinctive electronic undertone.
“Look at what we have here!”
Charlie straightened, her face hardening.
After her experience with Valentino, she wasn’t in the mood to be cordial.
“Vox.
Velvette.
What brings the Vees to my hotel?”
“Why, to see for myself what this grand venture is all about!” Vox cackled, “And it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, princess.” He bowed to her, “I’ve heard sooo much about you, and what happened here last month.” He looked around, “The infamous Hazbin Hotel.
Defended against Heaven’s exorcist army, killed Adam—” Suddenly his cheerful voice turned cold and mocking, “and still can’t convince a single sinner to walk through your doors.
That’s almost impressive in its patheticness.”
“We’ve just finished rebuilding,” Charlie said, her voice strained with forced politeness.
“We haven’t even turned the open sign on yet.”
“Open sign?” Velvette laughed, her phone panning across the lobby.
“Bitch, you’re playing pretend.
This whole redemption fantasy is a joke, and everyone in Hell knows it.”
Velvette zoomed in on Kevin with her phone, her British accent sharp.
“Still proper pissed you denied me that exclusive interview on Extermination Day, Angel.
My followers would’ve eaten that shit up.
Fallen angel turning on Heaven?
That’s prime content, mate.”
“I’m not fodder for your viewers,” Kevin clipped, “and this is private property, where we ask permission to record.”
“Pfft,” Velvette scoffed, then prompted, “Come on, one little quote for my viewers?”
“Turn that off,” Vaggie stepped forward, her spear appearing in her hands.
“Or what?” Velvette didn’t even lower her phone, just adjusted the angle.
“You’ll stab me?
Bit on-brand for an ex-Exorcist playing lapdog, innit?”
Growling, Vaggie took another step, but Kevin placed his hand on her shoulder, “It’s okay.
It’s just a camera.”
The temperature in the room dropped several degrees as Alastor materialized from the shadows near the bar, his smile fixed but his eyes crackling with radio static.
“My, my,” Alastor’s voice carried that old-time radio filter, which was deceptively cheerful.
“What an unexpected displeasure!
The Vees, gracing us with their gaudy presence.” His grin widened impossibly as he looked at Vox.
“I don’t recall extending an invitation, old pal.
Have your manners deteriorated along with your ratings?”
Vox’s screen glitched, electricity sparking around his frame.
“Still clinging to relevance through that crusty radio gimmick, huh?
At least my medium evolved past the fucking Stone Age.
I’ve got reach across all seven Rings, Alastor.
What’ve you got?
A microphone and delusions of grandeur?”
But before Vox could continue, his screen flickered as his gaze landed on Diax.
His expression shifted to something between surprise and cruel satisfaction.
“Well, well.
Diax.” Vox’s laugh was sharp, cutting.
“So the rumors were true.
You’re actually here.
Slumming it with the redemption rejects.”
Diax’s tail had gone completely still along with the thin line of his lips.
Only his eyes, which focused hard on Vox, showed signs of life.
Velvette’s phone immediately pivoted, zooming in on the showman.
“Bruv, this is even better than I thought.
Diax at the Hazbin Hotel?
My followers are gonna lose their shit.”
“Let me guess,” Vox continued, circling Diax like a shark smelling blood.
“The princess offered you what—a title?
‘Director of Public Relations’ for a hotel with,” he gestured mockingly around the lobby, “exactly zero guests who actually want to redeem themselves?
That’s your big career move, your evolution from simple show demon?”
“Evolution,” Alastor tilted his head, eyes narrowing to radio dials.
“How amusing, coming from someone whose ‘evolution’ amounts to plagiarizing every trend until something sticks.
Tell me, how many sponsorships did you buy this week to keep your empire from imploding?”
Vox’s face flickered with static as he approached the Radio Demon menacingly, “You washed-up has-been—”
Kevin moved to stand between them, his attention squarely on Vox.
“That’s enough.
As head of security, I’m ordering both of you off the premises.
This is a private showing.”
“Hotel security?” Vox’s laugh was harsh, pixels flickering with contempt. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“You’re just the princess’s newest plaything.
You don’t scare me, choir boy.”
Kevin’s expression stayed calm as his hand moved up to grasp his halo.
In one smooth motion, he pulled it down from above his head.
Golden light burst forth as the halo spun once in his palm, then transformed—reshaping, extending, and solidifying into a shining sword of pure angelic energy.
He held it at his side—not aggressive, but ready.
A warning.
Vox’s frame expanded slightly, electricity crackling more intensely around him.
His clawed hands extended, fingers sparking with voltage.
“You really want to do this, Angel?
Test yourself against real power?”
“No,” Kevin shook his head, “I do not.
I’d prefer you just leave peacefully.
But, if I have to remove you by force, then that is exactly what I will do.”
Charlie had moved up by this point to stand by Kevin’s side.
Not with the presence of trying to de-escalate as she normally would, but in support of his decision.
However, she didn’t change into her hybrid demon form, just folded her arms in defiance.
Beside her, Vaggie appeared, spear in hand.
Vox’s laughter grew louder, more distorted.
“Oh, what’s this?
The princess and her fallen angels are going to smite us?
Please.
Threats are my Tuesday morning.
I’m the fucking backbone of the Vees.
I’ve got broadcast reach across seven Rings, control over every pixel of information flow in Pride.
What’s your shiny little toothpick gonna do against that kind of power?”
To Kevin’s surprise, Alastor moved to stand beside him as well.
Despite the mutual dislike between them, there was something calculated in the gesture—something showy that was meant for Vox.
Alastor’s grin took on a razor-sharp edge, shadows lengthening behind him.
“You have power, certainly.
Digital reach, commercial influence, the adoration of imbeciles who stare at screens.” His voice dropped to something darker, more primal.
“But do you really want to test that here, now?
Against the princess of Hell and her angelic lovers?”
Alastor gestured lazily at Kevin’s sword, his smile widening.
“That blade, for instance, is quite the fascinating little trick.
I’d love to know how it works.” His eyes flickered with barely concealed curiosity before returning to Vox.
“But I digress.
The two of you against me?
Against him?” He leaned forward, antlers beginning to grow.
“With the Princess of Hell herself at our side?
Is that a challenge you really want to take, old friend?”
The air grew heavy with potential violence.
Vox’s screen flickered rapidly, algorithms calculating odds, electrical surges crackling around his frame.
“Besides,” Alastor continued, his voice dropping to pure menace, radio static building to a deafening screech, “you’re interrupting my entertainment.
And I do so hate,” his form began to grow, shadows writhing, “being interrupted.”
Vox’s gaze darted between Kevin’s sword, Vaggie’s spear, Alastor’s seething malice, and Charlie, who now had changed into demonic form—the same that fought against Adam.
The math wasn’t in his favor.
His screen processed, recalculated, and came to the same conclusion.
But before admitting defeat, the TV Demon’s screen face twisted into something uglier as he focused on Diax.
One last parting shot.
“You really want to risk your reputation?” Vox’s laugh was cruel, broadcasting quality.
“Diax.
Let’s talk about your career trajectory, shall we?
From headlining the hottest venues in Pride to playing PR flunky for a redemption project nobody believes in.
That’s not just a step down—that’s a nosedive.”
Diax tilted his head but stayed silent.
“Your shows?” Vox continued.
“Lazy.
Predictable fantasy nonsense.
Just like this hotel—pretty to look at, absolutely worthless in practice.
The only difference is that your shows at least had paying customers.
This place?” He gestured mockingly around the empty lobby.
“What are we at, zero guests?
Oh, wait, I’m sorry—ya got Angel Dust.
How convincing.”
From the bar, Angel Dust flipped Vox the finger.
Vox ignored it, “Oh, and what about those two tourists who just left.
They really seemed interested in redemption, didn’t they?”
Velvette kept her phone trained on Diax, zooming in.
“This is definitely going viral.
My followers are gonna eat this up, babes.
#DiaxDowngrade!
#RedemptionReject!”
“At least the Vees deal in reality,” Vox’s screen grew brighter, feeding off the attention.
“Power, influence, market domination.
You?
You’re just a showman clinging to whatever spotlight you can find, even if it’s in a brand new building playing to an audience of,” he counted mockingly on his fingers, “what, six?
Seven, if we count the maid?”
His laugh was designed to cut, honed by years of tearing down competitors.
“When this all falls apart—and it will—don’t come crying to VoxTek looking for a job.
We’ve got standards.”
“Snip-snip-snip,” Velvette chimed in with a mocking hand gesture.
“Though I suppose we could throw you a bone, let you perform in one of Val’s clubs.
I’m sure you could pull off ‘desperate has-been seeking relevance.’ Very on-brand.”
“Are you finished?” Diax’s voice was quiet.
Dangerous.
And there was something else—a subtle shift in the air pressure, a tingling sensation like static electricity.
Power emanated from the showman in waves that originated within a family with centuries-old strength.
“Whatever,” Vox forced casualness into his tone, though his screen betrayed his frustration with rapid flickering.
“This dump isn’t worth the electricity it wastes.
Come on, Vel.” He turned toward the door, then paused for one final jab.
“But hey, when you’re ready to admit this was a mistake, the Vees might still have a place for you.” He paused, letting the insult sink in.
“Might.”
Velvette and Vox turned to leave, but Diax’s voice stopped them at the door.
“I’m staying.”
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What?” Vox’s screen flickered with genuine confusion.
Diax stepped forward, his posture straightening, his tail dancing behind him with purpose.
When he spoke, his voice carried that same commanding presence Kevin had heard in the theater—the voice of someone who knew exactly how to hold an audience.
“I said I’m staying.
Not just evaluating.
Not just visiting.
I’m all in.” His golden eyes locked onto Vox.
“I’m joining the Hazbin Hotel as their Director of Public Relations and Guest Services.
And I’m going to make this place shine like everything else I’ve ever touched.”
“You’re joking,” Velvette said, phone zooming in on his face.
“I never joke about my work.” Diax moved to stand beside Charlie, and something had shifted in his demeanor—the professional assessment replaced by genuine commitment.
“You want to call my work lazy fantasy?
Fine.
Let me show you what this fantasy can accomplish with an impossible dream and a princess who actually gives a damn about her people.
I’m going to sell redemption so well, you’ll wish you’d thought of it first.”
Charlie’s eyes were wide with hope.
“Diax, are you sure?”
“I’m certain,” Diax replied gently, though his eyes never left Vox.
“You have passion, Princess.
You have faith.
You have a cause worth fighting for.
All you’ve been missing is someone who knows how to sell it.
Someone who can make sinners believe the impossible is possible.” His smile turned sharp as he looked back at the Vees.
“And I’m the best salesman in Hell.”
Vox’s screen flickered rapidly, processing, algorithms running hot.
Then he laughed—forced, bitter, laced with static.
“You’re making a mistake.
A catastrophic, career-ending mistake.”
“Perhaps,” Diax conceded, his voice hardening.
“But that’s part of the thrill.
Something I’ve been missing for a long time.”
“Come on, Vel.” Vox turned and stalked toward the door, electricity crackling with barely suppressed rage.
“Let’s leave the delusional to their fantasy.
This’ll be entertaining to watch burn.”
Velvette hesitated, then followed, but not before giving Diax one last calculating look, her phone still recording.
“This is going straight to my feed.
Hope you’re ready for the roasting, babes, #hazbinhasbeens!”
The door slammed behind them leaving the lobby stilted in silence.
Then Charlie let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and threw her arms around Diax.
“Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
“Princess, please,” Diax said, but he was smiling despite his awkward attempt to extricate himself from the hug.
“We haven’t even discussed terms yet.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Charlie said, pulling back with tears in her eyes.
“Whatever you need.
We’ll make it work.”
“What I need,” Diax said thoughtfully, “is creative control over all public-facing materials, access to hotel resources for events and promotions, and…” His gaze drifted toward the kitchen.
“Perhaps some input on meal presentations.
For aesthetic purposes.”
“Done,” Charlie said immediately.
“Vaggie, make sure he gets whatever—”
“I’m already making a list,” Vaggie said, pulling out a notepad.
Kevin watched Diax carefully.
The showman’s expression was calm, professional, but there was something underneath—pride, yes, but also excitement.
The genuine thrill of facing something uncertain.
“Welcome to the team,” Kevin said, extending his hand.
Diax took it, his grip firm.
“Thank you for the sales pitch at the theater.
You were right.
This is exactly the kind of challenge I needed.”
“Just so we’re clear,” Kevin said quietly, “Charlie’s dream is the real thing here.
Not the spectacle around it.”
“I understand,” Diax assured him.
“But sometimes the spectacle is what gets people through the door.
Once they’re here?
That’s when the real magic can happen.”
Kevin studied him a moment longer, then nodded.
“Fair enough.”
From the bar, Husk called out, “This calls for another drink!
Get over here!”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Angel Dust cheered.
“We’re celebrating!”
Then, Cherri appeared at the bar, a tray of strange crackers and some things spread about, strange but oddly delicious-looking things, stating, “Figured this might happen.”
Diax eyed the tray, “Those look amazing.”
Cherri eyed Diax with something between suspicion and grudging respect.
“They are.
Now, just stay out of my kitchen unless you want to double up as a cook.”
“Noted,” Diax said with a smile.
“Though I’m tempted.
I’d love to watch you create art out of chaos.”
His tone hinted, and she got the hint.
He knew it because she rolled her eye and turned away, seemingly uninterested.
Diax pursed his lips, seeing another challenge added to his list.
One that he had to take slowly, or lose the opportunity altogether.
Alastor, still standing near Kevin, tilted his head thoughtfully.
“How delightful!
A new addition to our merry band.
I do hope you’re prepared for the entertainment ahead, my good man.
Things do tend to get,” his grin widened, “interesting around here.”
“That’s the plan.” Diax smiled coyly before joining the others.
As the group began migrating toward the bar, Kevin approached Alastor, keeping his voice low.
“I’ll admit, your assistance with the Vees was… helpful.”
Alastor’s grin widened, eyes glinting with amusement.
“Oh, don’t mistake necessity for camaraderie, dear boy.
Their presence interrupted my entertainment—that simply couldn’t stand.
Besides,” his voice dropped to something more calculating, “watching you wield that fascinating little blade of yours was worth the momentary alliance.”
“Still not telling you how it works.” Kevin deadpanned.
“Oh, and where is the fun in getting free information?” Alastor chuckled, “I do like a good mystery, after all.”
“I’m sure.” Kevin looked over his shoulder, “But I know Charlie appreciates us getting along.
I did promise her I’d try.”
Alastor’s voice betrayed his smile.
It was cooler, serious.
“Don’t get used to it, Angel.
I’m not in the business of being anyone’s knight in shining armor.” His form began to dissolve into shadow.
“But do remember—the Radio Demon always collects on favors, one way or another.”
He sank into the floor, his grin the last thing to disappear.
Kevin shook his head.
He may not have struck a deal with Alastor, but favors were just as important to repay because the consequences could be dire.
He didn’t like that, but it just meant evening the odds before the Radio Demon cashed in.
Turning toward the bar, he saw Charlie grab Vaggie’s hand, practically dragging her toward the bar, her enthusiasm infectious.
“We recruited him!
We actually recruited Hell’s greatest showman!
I can’t believe it!”
“That’s because he believes in you, Charlie,” Vaggie encouraged.
“Your passion, honesty, devotion, and sincerity—that’s what convinced him.”
Joining them, Kevin added, “We all do.
We’re going to make this work.”
Beaming, Charlie guided her lovers over to the bar.
With Vaggie on her right and Kevin on her left, the three took their seats to listen as Diax chatted it up with Husk, who was lining up glasses for everyone.
Angel Dust and Niffty, who’d returned from wherever she’d run off to, leaned in to listen with deep interest as Diax shared stories of his early days.
As they listened and drank, Charlie leaned into Kevin, whispering, “Thank you for this, Kevin.” She nuzzled him, ” Just do me one favor, please?”
“Consult with you first from now on?” He guessed.
“Please.” She smiled warmly as she kissed his cheek.
“So that we’re prepared together for whatever comes next.
Okay, my Knight?” She paused and turned to give Vaggie a kiss as well, her voice filled with amusement, “It’s the least my two consorts can do for me.”
Vaggie’s face flushed purple.
Kevin bowed his head slightly and promised, “Yes, my Princess of Hell.”
Satisfied, Charlie turned to focus entirely on listening as Diax and Angel Dust began trading stories of their past adventures, captivated by the flair with which both of them spoke.
Behind her back, Vaggie and Kevin shared a soft smile, and Kevin whispered, “I also promise that our next date will be much less exciting.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Vaggie whispered back, giving him a teasing glance.
” I still haven’t shown you the lust ring.”
The look on Kevin’s face was exactly what she wanted to see, and silently, she added a point for herself.
Yes, even though their relationship was different from his and Charlie’s, she found herself loving the connection they were building.
Shaking his head, Kevin acknowledged her score and sighed with a chuckle.
Taking a sip of his drink, he smiled warmly at what they’d accomplished today.
They’d hired their first new staff member for this version of the Hazbin Hotel.
Tomorrow, who knows who else would join this weird family, and who might look to check in, looking for a chance for their own redemption.
Charlie Morningstar’s dream was just beginning.